Everything Between Us

The thick Texas heat clung to the air like a stubborn memory, refusing to loosen its grip even as the evening crept in. The sky above Houston was streaked with fading shades of pink and burnt orange, and the hum of cicadas filled the background. Gilia tightened her grip on the steering wheel of her modest silver Honda Accord, her gaze flicking between the road and the GPS on her cracked phone screen.

"We're almost home, baby," she called softly over her shoulder.

In the back seat, ten-year-old Ava sat curled up, clutching her favorite book a worn-out copy of Matilda. Her wide, dark eyes darted out the window, watching as neighborhoods blurred past. This wasn't the Houston she'd seen on TV. No skyscrapers or neon lights, just rows of quiet houses, porch lights flickering on, and kids riding bikes in the dwindling daylight.

Gilia sighed. "Okay, last turn."

They pulled into a small cul-de-sac lined with well-kept houses. Their new home sat on the corner a cozy brick one-story with white shutters and a tired-looking lawn that would need work. It wasn't fancy, but it was theirs. A fresh start.

Ava pressed her face to the window. "Is that our house?"

"That's the one, sweetheart." Gilia smiled, though exhaustion tugged at her face. Between finalizing the bank transfer, packing up their tiny Dallas apartment, and wrapping up loose ends at her job, she was running on fumes. But this was worth it.

As she parked, Ava scrambled out, bare feet hitting the cool concrete. She twirled once in the driveway, her hair catching the breeze.

"It's so quiet here," Ava murmured.

"Quite good," Gilia replied, stretching as she stepped out. "No more yelling neighbors. No more broken elevators. And guess what - we've got a backyard now."

Ava's face lit up. She darted toward the back of the house just as the moving truck rolled up behind them.

Across the street, a porch light flicked on. A man stepped outside, carrying a beer bottle, his tall frame silhouetted against the fading sky. He looked to be in his late thirties, rugged in a way that hinted at long hours and hard work. His name was Marcus, though Gilia didn't know that yet.

A teenage boy followed him out, maybe fifteen or sixteen, taller than the man, with an easy swagger that came with knowing you could get away with it. He wore a plain white T-shirt, jeans that hung low on his hips, and a pair of beat-up sneakers. His hair was messy, skin sun-kissed from too much time outdoors.

Gilia noticed them and offered a polite wave. The man returned it.

"Evenin'," he called. His voice was deep, edged with that Southern drawl.

"Evenin'," Gilia replied.

"You movin' in?"

"Looks like it."

He chuckled and took a sip from his bottle. "Well, welcome to the neighborhood. I'm Marcus. That there's my boy, Jordan."

Jordan gave a lazy nod, his gaze lingering on Ava as she came bounding back around the side of the house, cheeks flushed from excitement.

Gilia smiled. "I'm Gilia. And this is my daughter, Ava."

"Nice to meet y'all."

There was an awkward beat before Marcus gestured toward his house. "If you need anything - tools, or someone to curse out the water company when they screw up - we're right there."

Gilia laughed, the tension easing from her shoulders. "Good to know. Appreciate it."

The moving truck began unloading, and as evening slipped into night, Marcus came over to help carry a few of the heavier boxes. Ava, curious and restless, hung around Jordan like a shadow, though she barely reached his shoulder. He acted indifferent, but there was a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes.

"You skate?" he asked after a while, motioning to the skateboard tucked under his arm.

Ava shrugged. "I... I can learn."

Jordan smirked. "Maybe."

And just like that, the strange, quiet girl from Dallas started to find her place.

Over the next few weeks, the two families settled into a rhythm. Gilia's nine-to-five banking job demanded early mornings and long hours, but the steady paycheck was worth it. Their home filled with new routines - dinners in front of the TV, grocery runs, and Ava's growing collection of books scattered across the living room.

Marcus worked odd construction jobs, sometimes gone before sunrise. His house was louder, full of sports on TV, greasy takeout containers, and occasional bursts of cursing at whoever dared lose a game on screen. But it felt alive in a way Gilia secretly envied.

Ava and Jordan's friendship grew in the space between those two worlds. She tagged along while he shot hoops at the cracked driveway court. He teased her about her obsession with cartoons and ghost stories. She snuck cookies from his kitchen when Marcus wasn't looking.

Sometimes, they sat on the curb at night, passing a flashlight back and forth, daring each other to tell scarier stories. Ava was too young to fully understand the way Jordan's laughter made her stomach flip, or how she held her breath when he grinned at her.

But even then - in the sticky, starlit Houston nights - something electric hummed quietly between them.

And neither of them could name it yet.