A History of Glitter and Blood by Hannah Moskowitz

in a row and sat in the kitchen in silence, their fingers laced together and Josha and Beckan sat with them and eventually there was no way to avoid the fact that two prostitutes was no longer enough, in a time when the gnomes were clinging to each bit of meat like it was made of gold and licking their teeth and smacking their lips whenever Cricket and Scrap came down, to secure food for four mouths.
    â€œTeach me,” Beckan said, and most of her was excited, most of her had been waiting, most of her wanted to feel everything that Scrap had ever felt, because that was where she was then. “I’ll go.”

7
    Beckan browses the tightroper shops and is wandering around, looking up at the sky, when a hand pushes down hard on her shoulder and a little blue and pink fairy catapults over her shoulders and onto the ground.
    She hauls him off the ground. “Someone’s feeling better.”
    â€œMuch.” Scrap bends over and pants. The brass locket she made jingles around his neck. “Had to run ages to catch up to you. What are you doing out? Are you working today?”
    â€œNo.” Now that the girls are back, Beckan goes down much less frequently, despite the silence still between Tier and Rig. “What, are you?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œYou’re still sick.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œTheir girls are back. Why do they still need you?”
    â€œThey love me. I went down back when the girls were still here, remember?”
    â€œWell . . . I guess we need the money.”
    â€œYeah. Hey.” He grabs her, suddenly, and hugs her. “Thank you for taking care of me. You’re amazing. I owe you. Really big.”
    â€œShh, no. You sure you’re better? You’re still all pant-y.”
    â€œYeah, I’m going to hit Tier up for another one of those pills when I’m down there. But I’m much better.”
    â€œYou look good.”
    He smiles at her. “Hey,” he says. “I found some old board game in the basement. Want to play tonight? I think we can get Josha to. He’s having one of his better days.”
    â€œAbsolutely.”
    â€œI’ll invite Tier if you want,” he says.
    â€œNo, no, he needs to stay down there. Girlfriend and all.”
    â€œYou got it.” He stands up, finally done panting, and smacks a kiss on her cheek. “See you. Thank you, Beckan. You help with all of it.”
    She touches her cheek for a while before she starts scanning the sky again. It isn’t long before she finds him, that smiling figure in the sky, leaning against the rope. Patient, hopeful, incredibly young.
    What bothers her, she realizes, is that’s the most happy Scrap’s been since the war ended, and it is a far cry from tickling him on the floor.
    But there’s a boy in the sky smiling at her.
    Scrap brings Tier’s history book home and sits down and tears through it, and Josha takes the opportunity to steal Scrap’s notebook. Not the one he kept during the war, not the boring three-line descriptions of each day, but the blue one he keeps hidden under his pillow, the one with loose pages and glued-in ripped-out paragraphs and spaces for illustrations and horrible, fevered handwriting.
    Josha reads it and now he knows everything.
    Scrap sees him and his mouth opens, and he is very quiet for a minute.
    â€œI didn’t know it was this bad,” Josha says. “I thought you were just . . .”
    â€œDon’t tell Beckan,” Scrap says, eventually. “For the love of . . . please don’t tell Beckan.”
    â€œShouldn’t you tell her?”
    â€œI do,” Scrap says. “Every day.”
    â€œYou’re a coward.”
    â€œThis is . . . this is all we can handle right now.” He looks down. “I’m getting there. I’m working on it.”

    â€œThat’s abuse,” Piccolo says. “Pushing you into