Clair and Zora took a moment to wave at the bus, and as it went around the corner, simultaneously collapsed onto the ground in a fit of giggles. Clair's mother declared them silly and went back into the house, and once the fit of laughter had subsided, the two of them lay panting, staring into the night sky. Theirs had been an especially rigorous game of grab and tag, and to make it more interesting, Zora had insisted that they needed to back and forth rhymes or else lose possession. Apparently, yelling, running, tagging, and trying hard not to fall over laughing at the silly rhymes left one quite out-of-breath. Yes, it was childish. Someone of 16 years wasn't expected to play games of tag late into the night, but such was the way that Zora was, and her youthful fun was infectious.

Clair was one of those tall, glasses-wearing blondes who stuck out at school like a sore thumb. She didn't fit into the "popular girls" clique (she was too nerdy for that), but attempting to go the other way and mesh with the nerds didn't work so well, either (she was too pretty for that). And so it was that here she was, lying in the grass with Zora on a beautiful night.

Zora herself didn't really fit in anywhere, so hers was a web of unpopular friends. She was too stupid for the nerds, too immature for the popular girls, she broke too easily for sports; so her friends had to be just as alone as she was. Which was to say not very along at all. If Zora had done any good, it was that she'd brought together all those who didn't really fit together, through her web. Those who maybe only would have been able to find one or two friends in all the dreary days of high school were connected through Zora to all those others just like themselves.

Of course, that was just a happy happenstance. Zora hadn't set out to create a "misfits anonymous", she was just willing to take anything she could get. Even Clair, who snorted when she laughed, was snobbish about her good grades, and when Zora wasn't around tried to get into the popular clique by spreading lies about her. But Clair had something Zora needed, and was willing to give it. Those hard years before she'd been old enough to legally work, Zora'd called on her maybe more than was socially acceptable. And Clair hadn't complained, and her mother had been gracious, and in the end it had worked out. And maybe she would be useful again. Hard times didn't have a habit of staying away for long, in Zora's experience.

A beam of light swept over the girls' prone forms as the sound of tires on asphalt changed to the sound of tires on concrete. Clair sat up, brushing herself off, and stood to greet her father. Zora just watched, smiling slightly, and waved when he acknowledged her.

"Daddy, I know it's late, but we've been waiting all day for you to throw the ball with us!" Which was true. Grab and tag had only been to bide their time until the football could come out and they could engage in a little friendly competition over a pigskin. Not that with three people they could have a real game, but if Clair's father threw the ball in the general vicinity of both of them, they could at least fight over who could catch and throw it back. Clair generally won (being taller and more healthy did that), but it was a tradition of sorts that they'd made when Zora's visits were more often.

"Ah, yes, where is that old pigskin, hmmm?" Mr. Stevenson stretched and placed his bag on top of his car, closing the door and watching his daughter scurry away to grab it from the porch. His job always kept him late; Clair had gotten her nerdiness from him, and his job working in the tech department at a manufacturer had flexible hours and good pay, but the drive was long. And without a key, his schedule could only really flex in one direction, and over time he'd made a habit of arriving and staying later and later until here he was, only getting home at 8 o'clock, leaving his daughter and her friend impatiently waiting out in the night for his arrival.

Mr. Stevenson hadn't always been a nerd, though. Well, at least not completely. He was one of those fathers who had stories about back in the day when he was on the college football team. Well, except the college didn't really have a team (the president had something against full-contact sports, so there was no football or hockey team to join), so really he'd just been on one of many intramural teams, but he'd been good, and never really let his skills get out of practice. He still found time on the weekends to, when others might be going out drinking or bowling, get down to the old field and have some fun in a scrimmage. He was surprisingly good for his ripe old age of fifty-two.

Try as he might, though, he'd never mastered the art of getting the ball to Zora 50% of the time. The little girl could jump well, and sometimes managed to snap the ball right out of Clair's hands, but it didn't amount to much when she was a whole foot shorter, with shorter arms to match. Still, though, it was good practice threading the ball to a stature-challenged receiver, so more-often-than-not that was his aim.

Tonight was a good night. The weather was fine, the pigskin obeyed, there was plenty of fun being had. Such a shame then that after one particularly high-thrown ball, which Zora had managed, with just the tips of her fingers, to knock out of Clair's reach, that Zora came down wrong. There was no snapping sound, and for a moment it was as if nothing extraordinary had happened; Mr. Stevenson laughed at the play, Clair turned around to fetch the ball, and Zora tried to get up off the ground. Only, when she'd done so, she let out a little squeek and fell right back down, quickly pulling her left leg up to hug it to her chest.

For some people, sprains happen as often as a blue moon. For others, a month without one is odd. Zora was one of those unlucky individuals who erred toward the latter side of the spectrum. Earlier this year it had been a wrist, and she'd hurt her hip, and this same ankle had given her trouble. The radiologists down at the local hospital knew her well. They weren't too surprised when Mrs. Stevenson drove up and brought in Zora to see them yet again.