#2: Angel

The dirt made a dusty cloud around the girl who slid into the base. Before it was fully clear, she noticed that her foot didn't quite touch the bag, so Marla dropped the ball clumsily onto the ground.

She didn't mind that her coach gave her shit about it during the stretch. She had known the girl--what was her name?-- back in elementary school, back when she came to class one day after being out for two weeks wearing a halo to keep her neck straight. Marla sat behind her and watched the ways the pins went into the skin on her shaved head.

Brianna, that was it. Brianna Philips.

And it was pitch dark at Camp Vale, the girl scout camp two years later, when Brianna whispered in the dark about why she had worn the halo, how she had broken her neck. And when word of it got around, Marla wasn't at all surprised to hear that her father had found work in another town, that Brianna had to move, that no one had her number.

It didn't make the winning run. It would be hard to say if it affected the outcome of the game or of playoffs or of anyone's chance for a softball scholarship. But she was glad. Marla was glad she dropped the ball. Even if she didn't say hi after the game. Even if they pretended not to know each other. Even if it was he smallest measure of pity she could imagine after all these years.

Issue Six Index