I made myself keep it folded; I just tucked it in my bag. It would be easier to read at home and since I wasn’t responding to it, it didn’t matter when I read it.
But ten minutes in, I realized I wasn’t going to get any work done until the letter was read. Using my Chemistry book as a blockade, I read it while the rest of the class studied.
You asked if there’s something specific I hope my dad will say or do. That’s a good question. I didn’t request anything in the letter I wrote to him (which included not a single song lyric). I guess I’m hoping he’ll drop everything, get on a plane, and come see me. But in the real world in which we actually live, I just want him to pick up the phone and acknowledge my existence. Acknowledge he’s made mistakes. I guess I just want an apology. Well, and a commitment to try harder. I’m his son; tell me that’s not too much to ask. I know that he only thinks of me when my mom remembers to remind him it’s my birthday. I think my mom slowly grew tired of that chore. I don’t blame her.
It’s been a few letters since I whined this much. I get a free pass, right?
I always feel like I need to balance all this heavy stuff with something light but I’m kind of out of humor today. Sorry.
I set down the letter. Why did he have to break my heart like that? My irritation from earlier melted away. I was so glad I read it because I needed to respond to it now. I positioned my review packet over my new sheet of letter paper. I continually glanced at the book while writing so anyone watching would think I was writing down something I read there. I wasn’t sure I was fooling Sasha, but I didn’t care at the moment.
Don’t apologize. You’ve made me laugh plenty. You’re not my free entertainment or anything. You can whine as much as you want. You get at least a hundred free passes. And of course that’s not too much to ask of your father. He’s your father. If your dad does decide to get on a plane and fly out here, can I punch him? I really want to. That might not be good for your relationship with him, so maybe I can resist. I don’t know what to say except I’m so sorry.
I was dying to read Cade’s letter the next day, hoping it would be a happier one. I’d thought about him a lot the night before, wondering if I needed to think of another excuse to go visit him, check on him. I had talked myself out of it, remembering how poorly my last visit to his house had gone. I didn’t want to make him feel worse.
So when I slid into my seat in Chemistry, I let my hand immediately go to the bottom of the desk.
I found nothing there.
One strategic pencil drop later produced the same result. There was no letter today. My first thought was that Sasha had taken it. But she wasn’t here yet. Lauren was looking through her review packet from the day before, and Mr. Ortega, the only other suspect, was writing on the whiteboard.
Cade must’ve stayed home from school. I considered several horrible reasons for his absence, but I forced myself to settle on the idea that he was probably just sick. There was nothing to worry about. People stayed home sick all the time.
I wrote him a get-well-soon note, which included a turtle soup bowl. Tomorrow, everything would be back to normal.
Only everything wasn’t back to normal the next day. There was still no note—only my old letter from the day before. I was tempted to ask Sasha where Cade was, but thought better of it.
I left yet another note, telling him he was really ruining Chemistry for me by being selfishly sick and I hoped that was really all it was.
“Remember the final is tomorrow,” Mr. Ortega said, just as I slipped my latest note under the desk. “Make sure you study your review packet and be ready.”
Was Cade going to miss the final? Did he remember it was the final?
Sasha would tell him. He wasn’t my responsibility.
After school, while Isabel and I were talking about plans for the coming weekend, I saw Cade throw his backpack in his locker and pull out a duffel bag. My heart jumped.
“He was here today?” I asked out loud.
Isabel turned to see what I saw.
“Who?” Isabel asked.
“Cade. He wasn’t in Chemistry.”
“He was in Chemistry.”
Her statement hit me like a punch to the gut. He was in Chemistry, just apparently not writing me back. Had he figured out that his pen pal wasn’t Sasha? That it was actually me?
I grabbed Isabel’s elbow and hustled her out of school before Cade could see me.
The noises coming from the back patio weren’t unusual, but the voices accompanying those noises were. My mom and dad were out there together pounding something with a nail and hammer.
I opened the back door and saw that half of a large cage was assembled. Not just any cage, but a two story one, complete with ramps and ledges and all sorts of things a rabbit would enjoy. The kind of cage I knew my dad had specially designed, and had taken a long time designing.
Dad stood proudly by the cage. I raised my eyebrows at him.