Page 6 of Ghost Ribbon

“What if a very fat cat falls in a fountain?”

I considered this with the seriousness he seemed to expect. “No.”

“What if the cat is wearing a hat?”

I looked at him. He looked back, completely serious, waiting for my answer.

“A hat?”

“A little one. With a ribbon.”

“Why would a cat wear a hat?”

“Because,” Marco said, with infinite patience, “he is going to church. And you must look nice for church, even if you are a cat. Especially if you are a cat. God watches cats very carefully because they think they are better than everyone.”

Then he made a tiny meow in the most solemn voice I had ever heard. “Miao.”

The corner of my mouth pulled upward before I could stop it.

Marco’s entire face lit up like someone had turned on a light inside his skull, his eyes widening, his mouth splitting into a grin that showed all his teeth including the gap.

“There!” he whispered, barely containing his triumph. “I found it.”

I wiped the expression away immediately, forcing my face back into its usual blankness.

“Found what?”

“Your smile.”

“I don’t have one.”

“You do.” He leaned forward, fearless, delighted, practically vibrating with vindication. “It is just hiding. Like me.”

Before I could move, he crawled closer on his knees and reached toward my face, his small hand extended.

I caught his wrist. Hard enough that most children would have whimpered. Marco only froze. His pulse fluttered beneath my fingers like a trapped bird.

I could have broken his wrist.

Easily.

But his eyes didn’t fill with fear. They didn’t fill with hatred. They filled with concern.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“What?”

“When people touch you. Does it hurt?”

No one had ever asked me that. People feared me. Avoided me. Used me. Studied me. Diagnosed me.

I let go of his wrist. Marco rubbed it once, absently, but not as if he blamed me.

“I will be gentle,” he promised, his voice soft. Then, very slowly, he lifted both hands to my face. I should have stopped him.

He placed one finger at each corner of my mouth and pushed upward, forcing my lips into a shape they had never naturally held.

“There,” he said with satisfaction, examining his work like an artist examining a canvas. “See? You are not so scary now.”