orange
by Helen

There was nothing to do; their part was done, all that was left was to was wait for Lance and Joey to show up. JC sat down on the tarmac of the roof and leaned against a chimney, squinting in the noon sun and the haze. Chris dug two cigarettes out of his pocket, put them in his mouth and lit them, hands cupped against the wind on the roof. He handed one to JC, who took it gratefully.

From the roof they could see Evanston Hill, gracious mansions spilling down the hill, overlooking the town below. If he squinted, JC could see the high sloping roof of his old house, the attic where he had never been allowed to play. He took a drag off the cigarette and tilted his face into the sun, closing his eyes.

"you miss it," Chris said.

JC shrugged.

Chris sucked fiercely at the cigarette. "I don't—you just left. everything. your family," he said.

"It wasn't real," JC said.

They finished their cigarettes in silence, stubbing them out and tossing the butts away. Chris checked his watch.

"I miss oranges," JC said.

"Oranges," Chris said.

"We used to get these oranges from Spain," JC said. "Christmas. Birthdays. I used to trade candy with my sister for them. She—" JC said, and snapped his mouth shut, tight. Across the roof, a door opened. Lance, Joey. JC and Chris got up and grabbed their backpacks, crossing the roof to meet them.