“I’m here,” I say.
I step off the porch and walk out onto the lawn to join them. Everyone else just stands aside and watches us like we’re doing something fascinating. Sam has the ball and kicks it over to me, and I’m able to stop it and kick it back to him. I don’t think I look too spastic, but who knows. It’s better than standing around. And honestly, after a while it starts to seem natural, the three of us aimlessly kicking the ball, like we’re totally unaware that this is being filmed for some sort of “feel good” story on the local news.
The cameraman eventually sets his camera down—I guess he has all the footage he needs. Even though he’s stopped filming, we keep kicking the ball. Beth is still staring from the porch. Even from this distance, I can see that she’s frowning. The adults are all talking to one another, and Mr. Walker and Sam’s mom are dealing with the TV people. Ruben’s mother calls him over, tells him it’s time to go home. So then it’s just the two of us. Sam dribbles the ball over to me.
“We can stop if you want,” he says. His hair is pasted to his forehead and a film of sweat coats his face.
I’m sweaty, too, and a little winded, so I say, “Okay.”
We both look toward the house, toward the reporter, who’s now interviewing Mrs. Manderson as the cameraman films.
“I haven’t played in so long.”
“You can’t tell,” I say. You should try out for the team, I want to say, but I don’t. I don’t know if Sam will even come back to school.
We’re silent for a few seconds, just standing there, then Sam says, “I knew you’d come.”
I turn and meet his eyes. He looks down at the soccer ball, then back up. He says, “We’re connected, you and me.”
I glance at Beth. She’s watching her mother, who’s still talking to the camera. Beth and I are connected, too, I guess. We all are—by that day, all those years ago. “Yeah,” I finally say.
Sam drops the soccer ball and dribbles away. He’s kind of gangly, but still there’s a grace in the way he moves around the yard. He kicks the ball up and then bounces it on his head a few times, before it rolls off into the grass.
Sam’s okay, I think. Anyone who can do that is fine. He heads back my way. He doesn’t say a word, but he comes to a stop right next to me. He’s a little too close. I can hear his breathing. I feel like he’s about to say something else, so I steal the ball from Sam and start dribbling away from the adults, away from Sam, toward the farther reaches of the yard, past the oak tree, almost to the curb. I hear Sam chasing after me, laughing, and he finally steals the ball back, snatching it from my feet so that I almost trip. But I catch myself and stop, and he turns around after running a bit and stares over at me. He looks triumphant and happy, smiling wide, his face flush, his chest heaving, just a normal boy having fun with his friend. Maybe his only friend in the world.
We’re connected, you and me. It only dawns on me just then that this wasn’t a question. It was a fact.
CHAPTER 5
The Famous Beth Walsh
Beth
Instead of parking in the student lot in back of school, I park in one of the lots near the athletic fields. It’s a longer walk, but I don’t care. It’s my first day back since Sam returned. After New York, I told Mom I didn’t feel well. I fake-sicked my way through Homecoming week. But I knew I’d have to go back eventually, and so here I am now, walking through the front doors.
I plan to head right to my locker and then homeroom, but the assistant vice principal, Mr. Bishop, carries his walkie-talkie at his side and walks up to me and tells me it’s so good to see me. Welcome back.
He’s never said a word to me before.
“Okay, thanks,” I say.
And then it’s my classmates—a bunch I don’t even know that well—smiling at me, saying hello, they are so happy for me and my family, what a miracle. Two juniors fist-bump me. We saw you on TV, omigod, what was it like meeting Helen Winters?
I clear through the crowd and beeline up the stairs to my locker, keeping my eyes on the floor. But when I get there, my locker’s insane. It looks like a shrine. There’s stuff taped to the door—envelopes, scrawled messages on Post-its and notebook paper. There’s more stuff on the floor surrounding the locker—a few stuffed animals, some gift bags, candy bars, even a tiny bundle of wilted flowers. What on earth.
Chita’s standing by my locker. She usually greets me with some sarcastic remark, like, “Another day in paradise.” But today she has this weird smile on her face. “We waited for you in the parking lot,” she says gently, like she’s talking to a shy kid.
“I parked somewhere else today.” I don’t want to explain why.
She reaches in and hugs me, which is not how we greet each other normally. It’s weird, and unsettling, and I just want her to act normal. I look back at my locker and say, “What is all this?”
“All your best friends in the world,” she says, clearing her throat, “welcoming you back.” There’s sarcasm in her voice, and she sounds like herself finally.
I keep staring at all that stuff. I know I’m supposed to be grateful, but really I feel like I’m under attack.
“I can help you with it, if you want?” she says. She bends down and picks up a stuffed animal frog and brings it up close to my face. “Ribbit.”
I start turning the locker combination.
“So, why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you return any of my messages?” She sounds weird again, needy and sad. “Ainsley and Darla, too,” she continues. “Nobody heard from you. We were worried.”
I pull the locker open. Some more notes have been shoved through the slots, but otherwise it’s how I left it that afternoon before I snuck off with Donal, which feels like it happened years ago.
“Sorry,” I say.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” she says, but I can tell she still wants an explanation. She pats me on the shoulder and keeps her hand there.
I put a few books in my backpack, grab the notes and shove them in there, too. “Things have been kinda busy,” I say, with maybe a little too much edge in my voice. “With my brother coming back and all.”
“I know. But we want to be here for you. You can talk to us.”
I can’t explain it to her. At home, I was always aware that Sam was missing. My mom’s obsession with finding him, and her bouts of sadness all filled the air and smothered me. School was so separate; it was like a refuge from all of that. I hardly ever talked about that part of my life with my friends, and they never asked. But now it’s all been dumped out in the open, just like all this stuff by my locker.
“Sorry,” I say again. By now more people are pouring through the halls and everyone is staring at me or saying hi. I wish I could just hide.
Then Ainsley and Darla walk up, and they both take turns hugging me. Great, I think. And then Chita has to get one more hug in, too.
“We missed you,” Darla says.