I swung the door open to find Jay Cash, Tanner’s friend from down the street, standing there. “Hi, Jay,” I said, surprised to see him. His visits had been getting less and less frequent.
“Hey,” he said. He had hit a growth spurt over the summer, but he still had the same goofy grin and wore the faded, dingy Red Sox cap he’d been wearing every day for the past three years. He was holding a baseball glove. “Is Tanner home? I was wondering if he wanted to play catch or something.”
“Yeah, hang on,” I said. “He’s in his room.”
“My mom sent me down,” Jay added, shifting his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. He looked a little guilty. That explains it, I thought.
I invited Jay in and went upstairs to get my brother. I knocked, and when there was no reply, I pushed the door open.
Tanner was squatting in the corner of his room near the window, peering into the cage where his hamster, McGee, lived. Dad had always talked about letting us get a dog, but we’d never gotten around to it. After the accident, Tanner, who had vowed he’d become a vet one day to help save all the sick animals he could, had begged for a puppy. Mom had been firm on saying no; she said we had enough to worry about. But as Tanner’s silence deepened, she finally broke down and agreed to get him a hamster, as long as it stayed in his room. He’d had McGee, a chubby puff of brown and white fur, since May.
“Hey, Tanner,” I said as I walked in. “Jay’s here. He wants you to come out and play catch with him.”
Tanner was silent for a minute. “Why?”
“Because you’re friends,” I said gently. “Right?”
Tanner glanced back at McGee, who was curled up in the corner of his cage, his little hamster chest rising and falling in sleep. “I’m busy.”
“Tanner,” I said, “you’re not really that busy. McGee’s just sleeping. Why don’t you go play with Jay for a while? You guys haven’t hung out in ages.”
Tanner shrugged.
“Don’t you hang out with him at school?” Tanner shook his head.
“Why?” I asked. “Have you made other friends?” These were the questions a parent should be asking, I knew. But Mom didn’t seem to know how to talk to us anymore.
“Why not?” I asked when he shook his head.
No reply.
“Is it because you feel sad? About Dad?” He shook his head.
“Because the other kids at school tease you?” I tried again.
More head shaking.
“Because you feel left out when people talk about their dads?” I guessed again. I didn’t know what else to say. “Buddy,” I said finally, “I think you should go outside with Jay. Just for a little while.” I paused, trying to think of what Dad would do. But then again, Tanner had never had this problem when Dad was around. Maybe Dad wouldn’t understand it any better than I did. “You can come home whenever you want to,” I said.
To my surprise, Tanner slowly stood up. “Okay,” he said. He grabbed his baseball glove off the corner of his bookshelf.
My heart lurched a little. I put my hand on his shoulder as we walked out of the room and started down the stairs. “Good,” I said. “It’ll be fun.”
Tanner stopped and looked up at me. “It’s not fair,” he said.
“What’s not fair?”
“I’m not supposed to have fun,” he said after a long pause. “Dad doesn’t get to.” He was gone before I had a chance to open my mouth.
chapter 6
The whole next week, I avoided Sam’s eyes, ignored his notes in class, and tried not to feel guilty when I noticed the C+ on his trig test. I knew that if I’d helped him study, he could have gotten a higher grade. But I couldn’t take care of everyone. And there was someone far more important to pay attention to: Kelsi Hamilton. Knowing that I was the only one who knew how she felt and cared about helping her weighed on me. I watched her walk through the hallways like a zombie, floating from one class to the next.
The whispers were what bothered me the most.
“Did you hear about Kelsi?” was the most common refrain. Some people didn’t even bother to whisper. But the worst, by far, were the students who tried to capitalize on her grief to win extra popularity points. People who wouldn’t have given her a second look before her tragedy now wanted to be all buddy-buddy with her so that they could be at the center of attention when anyone asked about her.
“Why can’t people just be normal to Kelsi?” I exploded to Jennica in the cafeteria on Thursday. A hush had fallen over the room as Kelsi walked in. Dozens of pairs of eyes followed her as she sat down at a table by herself and pulled a brown bag out of her backpack without looking up. “We should invite her to sit with us,” I added.
Jennica looked at me. “Then you’re just acting like everyone else, aren’t you?” she asked. “Trying to get a piece of her?”