You Asked for Perfect(48)

I think of last night and the pirate project spread out all over the floor. I think of the last few weeks and Rachel doing homework instead of playing with the animals at the shelter, not putting her book down at the table. I turn to my sister.

“Rachel…” I start, not wanting to say it. “Are you stressed about your project? Is it school?”

Her face is still hard. Then, it crumples. Her voice cracks when she speaks. “I just wanted to do a good job.”

She starts crying, and I try to fight back my own tears. I want to escape, but this is my sister. I need to be here for her. So, I move to her bed and hug her. She buries her face in my shoulder, and I bury my face in her pillow, and we both let the tears come.

*

He’s standing in front of the cages, finger looped through the bars, varsity jacket thrown over his shoulder. “Isaac?” I ask.

He turns and blinks. The animal shelter is busy today. There’s a family and a single guy up front, both waiting to sign adoption papers with Marnie. So Isaac and I are back here all alone. I don’t think either of us expected to run into anyone.

“Hey, sorry,” he says. “The woman, um, Marnie, said I could come back here.” His eyes are unfocused, hair unkempt. “I’m supposed to be at practice…” He lets the sentence hang without further explanation. “What about you?”

“Uh.” My brain freezes. Then, the truth. “I just got back from the hospital. My sister is sick.”

“Oh damn, is she going to be okay? What is it? The flu?”

“No.” I scratch the back of my neck. “Stress. Uh, school stress.”

“It made her sick?”

I nod. “Guess so.”

My throat constricts thinking about it. My little sister was in the hospital—the freaking hospital—because of school. And Malka and I could’ve landed there when I was driving her home the other day. Because of school.

“That’s messed up,” Isaac says. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, it is messed up.” I pause, glancing at the cages. “I volunteer here, and Rachel helps sometimes. So I was going to take our favorite dog to visit her. We’re not really supposed to do that, but Marnie is pretty awesome.”

“Yeah, she seems nice.” Ezekiel sits in a cage by Isaac. He wags his tail, and I mouth soon.

“What about you?” I ask. “You said you’re supposed to be at practice?”

Isaac hesitates. He slips that red stress ball out of his pocket and squeezes it twice. I didn’t realize he always carried it around. “I sprained my ankle at the game last night,” he says. “If I play on it, I could injure it worse, and I won’t be able to play the rest of the season. I’ll lose my chance of getting a scholarship.” His fingers grip the ball so tight they go white. “But if I don’t play, scouts won’t see me at the upcoming game, and I could lose my chance of getting a scholarship. It’s only a sprain—” His voice catches. “—but it could ruin everything.”

Something breaks within me.

It shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t be this hard.

Isaac looks like he’s on the verge of tears. I wonder if I look much different. “C’mon,” I say, unlatching Ezekiel’s cage. “We can play with him outside before I take him home.”

“Do you have time? With your sister and all…”

“I have time,” I say. Ezekiel scrambles into Isaac’s arms and licks his face. Isaac laughs and pulls him closer. “I can make time.”

*

Later that afternoon, I knock on Rachel’s bedroom door. After she was discharged from the hospital, with a follow-up appointment set with a pediatric psychologist, she came home and napped. So did my parents. It was strange being at home on a Saturday without attending synagogue first. I was too anxious to nap, so I went to the animal shelter instead.

“Come in,” Rachel calls.

I open her door. “The Chain” by Fleetwood Mac plays from her iPad. Great music taste definitely runs in the family.

“Someone’s here to see you,” I say, keeping Ezekiel out of her sight.

“Who?” Rachel asks. “Sara?”

“Nope.” I bend down and unhook the leash. Ezekiel races into the room and jumps onto the bed, licking Rachel’s face. She squeals and hugs him.

“Oh my god!” she says. “Is he ours?”

“Oh, oops. Unfortunately not.” I wince. “Mom is still allergic. But guess what? My friend Isaac and his family are going to adopt him!”

“Really?” Rachel asks, excited.

“Really! And Isaac said we can come over and play with Ezekiel whenever we want.”

“Oh good.” Rachel grins. Ezekiel tries to climb onto her chest and ends up haphazardly hugging her, one paw stretched out to her neck, another on her stomach. Rachel leans down and cuddles him, breathing deeply. “I love him,” she says.

“Me too.” I climb on the bed with them and pet Ezekiel, but he only gives my hand a tiny lick and stays curled up against Rachel.

We sit with him for a long time, talking about nothing more serious than his cute puppy tail and his cute puppy face. But then, Rachel says, “I’m scared to go to the psychologist. Have you ever been to one?”