Benchlight

Rain tapped the playground slide like drumming fingers.

Sky tilted her blue umbrella and checked her phone. A class chat blinked: “Yellow means Neru. Blue means Teto. Don’t lie.”

Sky’s bright blue eyes narrowed. “People really have hobbies,” she muttered.

A bench stood near the puddles. Someone sat there without an umbrella.

Sky stepped closer. Pink hair clung to the girl’s cheeks. Her pupils were black as wet ink.

“Teto?” Sky asked.

Teto’s voice came out small. “Go home, Sky.”

Sky held the umbrella over both of them. “I am. That’s why I’m taking you.”

Teto blinked hard. “You don’t even know what my eyes mean.”

“I know what rain means,” Sky said. “Cold. Come on. Madison makes cocoa that tastes like melted cookies.”

Teto’s shoulders shook once, then she stood, and her wet sleeve brushed Sky’s white pupils

The Machine That Eats Coins

The apartment elevator was broken, so Madison marched everyone into the laundromat next door.

Bright lights made the wet floor shine. Madison fed coins into a washing machine. “You two sit. No puddle hugs.”

Teto’s hoodie dripped on the plastic chair.

Sky dug in her backpack and handed over her spare gym shirt. “It’s big on me. It will be huge on you.”

Teto took it, then froze.

Sky’s phone buzzed. A class post showed a blurry photo: Sky’s blue umbrella, Teto’s pink hair, and Sky’s white pupils caught like little moons.

Comments stacked fast.

“White means anyone.”

“Umbrella flirt.”

“Poor black-eyes girl.”

Teto’s black pupils flicked away. “You should not get dragged into my mess.”

Sky swallowed. “I did the dragging. On purpose.”

Outside the glass door, a tiny brown sparrow flapped in a puddle, feathers stuck.

Sky grabbed a clean sock from the laundry basket and ran out. Teto followed, silent, and together they scooped the sparrow onto the curb just as another notification popped