A shrug. “Tell him the truth.”
I got Ezra’s number from Foster and dialed him in the hallway. It rang, and rang again, and in the space between rings I had another panicky moment of “what the hell should I say?”
“Hello?”
“Uh, hi. Hello. Is this Ezra?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s Devon. Devon Tennyson?”
A pause. “What’s up?”
“Foster.” Gahhh. “I mean, Foster was wondering—and I was wondering—”
If only phones had an Abandon Ship! function that you could press in the instance of a really awkward conversation. Though I guess the End button functions pretty similarly.
“It’s Foster’s mom,” I said after a moment of regrouping. “Has Foster ever told you about his mom?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, she’s … my parents, they’re…” Swallow, breathe, think. “He’s going to be staying with us. Permanently. It’s, like, being made official, and we just found out, and … and Foster and I were wondering if maybe you would just want to come and … hang out. For a little bit, because…”
Why? Because we need you? I couldn’t say that, so I let my “because” fizzle out, and it was silent on the other end of the line.
Then,
“I’ll be right there.”
And he was. Not ten minutes went by and there was Ezra Lynley, pulling up in front of our house in a shiny pickup truck.
We all sat on Foster’s bed and watched Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure. Foster made me sit between them.
After a while, Foster took off his football helmet, snuggled down into his pillow, and shut his eyes. I shifted around a little, very aware of every time my sleeve would brush up against Ezra’s. It was a small bed with three people in it.
I could tell Foster was asleep, and suddenly—even though we weren’t—it felt like Ezra and I were alone.
Something switched on in me, some awareness, and it turned into a need to make conversation.
“What are your schools?” I said, eyes fixed on the television screen.
“Sorry?”
“You said you narrowed it down to four schools. Are they like a secret or something?”
He rattled off the names. All big universities, all within a one-state radius.
“They’re close by,” I said.
“They’re good football schools. But yeah, they’re close, too. I just … my mom…” He didn’t finish. His gaze moved to Foster, as if maybe mentioning moms in Foster’s presence was taboo or something.
But Foster’s breathing was still heavy. No internal alarms went off at the sound of the word.
“Thanks for calling,” Ezra said after a pause.
“It was Foster’s idea,” I said, even though—if I recall correctly—it was mine.
Ezra nodded.
“I’m sorry this is happening to you guys,” he said. “If there’s anything I can do to help…”
“You are.” I said it before I could even think about it. “Helping, I mean. You are helping.”
Ezra nodded, and we turned back to the TV, and I must’ve fallen asleep shortly after. When I next opened my eyes, it was very dark outside, the movie was over, and both Ezra and Foster were gone.
20
The game the next day was against Independence High School. Usually day games were a lot of fun—something about them was a little more cheerful, more relaxed than night ones—but today’s was something else. Today’s game was the first time Mr. Harper ever let me hold the camera, and this is why: Mud. A lot of it. And a healthy downpour to boot.
It had been raining since the previous evening. After waking from my nap, I wandered downstairs and found Foster watching TV and eating popcorn with my parents. Ezra was gone, and the rain had settled in.