“See you tomorrow,” Scott says. “Unless you see me first.”
The room is quiet enough now that I hear him walk away and out the door.
See you tomorrow… unless you see me first.
That’s what Scott used to say to me instead of goodbye, for years. Four whole years. A part of me remembers the warmth I used to feel when he said it, a warmth like no other.
My heart pounds in my chest and in my ears.
Damn you, Scott Kilpatrick… You don’t get to say these things to me anymore.
It’s harder to get to the curb right after school, where everyone else is going, instead of the library, where usually only Molly and I go. People are hustling toward the parking lot, jostling each other, or maybe just me. As I navigate from the hedges by the office down the stairs I get seven apologies, some of them sincere. At the parking lot nobody speaks to me but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.
“Sheila?” I say in a normal indoor voice.
“What?” she says, not far to my left.
“Were you going to say anything?”
“I just did.”
Whatever.
No, not whatever.
“You know it’s rude to just stand there without saying anything?”
“You know it’s rude to tell people you think they’re rude?”
I laugh. That was pretty funny. I don’t hear Sheila laugh.
“Are you smiling?” I ask.
“No. Why should I?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, a bit sad. “If someone makes a joke but doesn’t know it’s a joke, is it still a joke?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Philosophy, I guess.”
“Whatever.”
Yes, whatever.
I hear a familiar voice behind me say, “Hello, Parker Grant.”
Jason walks up beside me. “How’re you doing?”
“Oh, you know—” I catch my arms swinging up and remember what Sarah said about what Faith said and I quickly drop my arms to my sides. I shrug. “Just another Tragic Tuesday.”
“Oh? Why tragic?”
I have absolutely no idea why I said that. Maybe because it rhymed? Or alliterated? Well, both words start with T anyway. I feel strangely unbalanced, distracted by hearing what I’m saying and wanting it to actually mean something.
“I don’t know…” My arms rise and I clamp them down again. “Aren’t all Tuesdays tragic, really?”
“Um—”
“Hey,” I quickly say to derail this tragic conversational turn. “This is my cousin, Sheila Miller.” I gesture a bit and force my hand down again. “Sheila, this is Jason Freeborn.”
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“We live together.” I hear how funny that sounds but I don’t want to get into it all now. “So… when are tryouts?”
“Tomorrow and Thursday after school. You coming?”
“Mmmm…” As much as I want to say yes, it just doesn’t make sense. “I don’t think so. I don’t get a lot out of sitting on bleachers.”
“Not to watch. To try out.”
Okay, something’s not right. Treating everyone the same is one thing, playful banter is another, but asking a blind girl if she’s going out for track…
“Try out for what?”
“For track. What’s your distance?”
“What makes you think I have a distance? Because I bought a pair of shoes? If you think everyone who buys shoes from you actually runs with them I have some bad news for you.”
“Oh. You don’t run?” He actually sounds disappointed. Maybe just confused. “I thought…”
Damn it, how did I back myself into this corner?
“Well, no, I mean yes, I do. Run, I mean. I just didn’t…” Didn’t know how you could know that? Shit, that makes no sense.
“Are you as confused as I am?” he says.
“Not really,” Sheila says. “This is pretty normal for her. I’m used to it. It helps not to listen closely.”
“Ja-SON!” a deep voice bellows from across the parking lot. “Let’s GO!”
“That’s my ride. See you around.”
He trots away.
“Shit.” Shit, shit, shit.
“Parker,” Sheila says.
“What?”
“I’m smiling.”
TEN
I don’t know why my brain does this to me. I occasionally dream things that really happened, almost exactly how they happened, and it’s usually things I specifically try not to think about when I’m awake. My brain is a troll sometimes.
The dream I had was of that perfect day two and a half years ago. It felt wonderful for a moment when I woke, when I was still the Parker who didn’t know what came next, and then reality slapped my face. Yet now my mind keeps trying to think about those good times anyway, to recapture that feeling, but I know the truth and won’t let it. As an antidote I try to replay the conversation I had with Jason in the mall.