"Seventh, same as you," he said.
I nodded, feeling bad that he obviously knew who I was, but I'd never noticed him before. I cleared my throat. "So, hey, do you want to stop at Skyline and get a couple Coneys? Are you hungry? I'm starving. I go there after practice a lot. Some of the other guys might be there, too. The cool ones."
He shook his head. "No, I can't. I have to be home."
"Oh, okay. Another time then."
As we started walking, Ryan said, "So you, uh, obviously play football."
"Yeah, I love it. Man, it's my life. I'm number twenty-two. I'm gonna go pro someday," I said excitedly. "I'm gonna live in a big mansion and date celebrities, and have my own personal chef, and drive the coolest cars." It was all I ever dreamed about. "Do you play at all? Even just for fun?"
Ryan shook his head, sticking his hands into his pockets. "Nah. I like watching, though. I like the Cowboys."
I turned to him. "That's my favorite team. Holy shit, they're awesome!"
Ryan smiled and nodded.
"If you like football so much, why don't you play?"
He pressed his lips together and stared down at his shoes as we walked. "My dad . . . the gear and stuff, you know. It's just . . . not in our budget." His face turned kinda red. I nodded so he would know I understood.
"My parents are on a budget, too. I know what you mean. My dad had to pick up extra hours so we could afford for me to play."
Ryan nodded, looking like I'd made him feel better. "I go to all the school games. I think I've seen your parents at them, too—holding up number twenty-two signs."
I nodded. "Yeah, that's them, all right." I rolled my eyes. "The one's dressed entirely in our school colors, waving pom-poms, foam number-one fingers, and holding up signs with my number. It's so embarrassing." I kept talking. I always talked so damn much. Like my brain had no off switch. All my thoughts just flowed right out of my mouth. "My parents thought they couldn't have kids. They tried for years and nothing, then, boom! When my mom was forty-nine, she found out she was pregnant with me. You should see her, when she tells the story, she looks all dreamy like God himself came down and knocked her up, you know? So they kinda go overboard with the whole parenting thing. Like I'm their miracle child."
Ryan smiled a small smile. "I guess you kinda are."
"Yeah, I guess," I said. "So what about your parents?"
Ryan stiffened and stared down at his shoes again. "It's just me and my dad." I waited, but he didn't go on. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye as we walked in silence for a few blocks, getting up the nerve to ask the question I really wanted to know.
"Did your dad do that to you?" I asked as casually as possible, nodding to his eye when he turned his head to me. His expression was surprised for a second, then he looked kinda mad, then he closed his eyes and looked ahead, deciding to answer honestly.
"Yeah."
I was quiet for a minute, wondering what it was like to have a dad who hit you in your face. What did a kid do to deserve something like that? "Your dad sounds like a real asshole."
"Oh, so you know him," Ryan said sarcastically.
I breathed out a small laugh. "Hey, you know, so, why don't you come over sometime? We could watch a game. And it would give my parents someone else to fall all over."
Ryan looked like he might be just a little bit mad about the offer, but then he shrugged. "Maybe. Hey, this is my street. I gotta go."
"Okay," I called after him as he walked away. "See you tomorrow then."
He didn't turn, but I heard him mutter, "See you tomorrow."
I woke up with Ryan's name on my lips. I sat up abruptly and groaned at the pain that throbbed in my head. I was sprawled on the couch in the living room, the morning sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I'd fallen asleep at dawn so I couldn't have been asleep for long. But I'd dreamed. For the first time in a really long time. I lay back down. Something about the dream niggled at my brain, but I couldn't figure it out. Something felt off. But it'd left a lingering feeling of . . . happiness. That was it—I'd had the first happy memory of Ryan. I laughed softly to myself. Maybe there was something to this feng shui after all. And maybe, just maybe, I'd venture out into the woods again to look for my ghost. Something in me was having a hard time believing she didn't exist—I'd seen her. Besides, what the fuck else did I have to do? Wild boars be damned.
CHAPTER FIVE
Holden