Before Skipping Gym

“Going to throw up from all the chemo?”  Big Sister asks.

She kicks one sneakered foot in my face and tells me our ghost dad, G.D., bought her the shoes.  “Maybe you’d get a pair too if you weren’t such a liar,” she says.

“No one will find out.”  I arch my shoulders back and stand up tall – taller than I’m feeling.

A basketball appears in her hands and she slams it on the terrazzo floor and starts dribbling.

“You might want to skip gym class.”

She bounces the ball to me but I let it roll past my ripped up basketball shoes.  I don’t ask her why I shouldn’t go to gym.   I get the feeling she’s right about all of it, but I practically sprint there since she told me not to go.