Thursday. Game day.
I got up late, which made everything a rush. As I picked at my breakfast, my mother complained about the travel arrangements for the game. “I don’t see why you can’t just get in the car with us and go to the game.”
“I’ve told you, Mother. Coach Wheatley wants the team all together.”
“And I want our family all together,” she snapped.
“There’s nothing I can do about it,” I said, heading for the door.
“Oh, I know,” she answered, her voice gentler. Then she gave me a kiss on the forehead. “I’m just nervous. I’m glad you were able to sleep last night. I didn’t.”
The kids at Crown Hill were nervous too. The halls buzzed with baseball talk. Guys patted me on the back and wished me luck. “Go get ’em!” they said.
“You bet,” I answered.
The school was on a half-day schedule so people could make it to Tacoma for the game. I thought even the half day would drag, but there was so much tension that the first three classes flew by. I had no time to plan; no time to think.
Then came Ms. Hurley’s class. I still wasn’t used to Monica’s not being there. And that day, with the game just hours away, her empty chair seemed even more empty.
The other teachers had gone easy, figuring that nobody was up for studying. But Ms. Hurley tried to run a normal class. We were supposed to discuss a story I hadn’t read. Actually, it seemed as though nobody had read it. As the minutes ticked by, I could feel Ms. Hurley’s growing frustration. I wanted to help her out, but there was nothing I could do. When the bell finally rang it was like being released from prison.
Only I wasn’t released. “Could you stay a minute, Ryan?” she asked, and from the way she said it I knew it had to do with Monica. Josh knew it too. He looked over at me as he left, a question in his eyes.
Once we were alone, Ms. Hurley took a deep breath and then began. “I’ve been wanting to tell you how much I appreciate what you did for Monica. I’m sure you know she’s special to me.”
I nodded.
She went on. “There’s something else I’ve been wanting to ask. Something a little harder.” She fiddled with a pencil in her hand. “You don’t think Josh was involved, do you? Because if he was I’d feel—”
“It wasn’t Josh,” I said, cutting her off.
“How can you be so sure?” she asked, surprised by my certainty. “I thought they were wearing masks.”
“I’m sure,” I said. “I’m absolutely positive it wasn’t him.”
She sighed. “Well, that’s a load off my mind. I kept thinking that maybe something had happened in class that . . .”
“It wasn’t Josh,” I repeated, interrupting again.
“Good,” she said. “Good.”
I looked up at the clock. “Ms. Hurley, I’m supposed to be . . .”
“I’m sorry, Ryan. You go.” I headed for the door. “And good luck!”
I hurried down the hall and away from that classroom. I was just starting to breathe normally again when I pushed open the door that led out of the building to the gym. There, in the doorway, was Josh.
“What was that all about?” he demanded.
“What was it about?” I said, my frustration boiling over at last. “I’ll tell you what it was about. It was about me covering for you, that’s what it was about. That’s what everything is about these days, isn’t it? And you know what else, Josh? You know what else? I shouldn’t be doing it. And you shouldn’t be making me do it.”
He stepped back, stunned. Right then Brandon Ruben called out to us. “Coach sent me looking for you two. We’ve got a game today, in case you forgot. You guys coming, or you got something better to do?”
“We’re coming,” Josh managed. “We’re coming.”
In the parking lot the bus started up, a big cloud of black smoke coming out of its exhaust pipe. I walked down the steps and headed toward it. Josh followed behind.