Epilogue

The lights on the television set are super bright, but I’ve gotten used to bright lights. On Martha’s Vineyard, night means darkness sliced with slivers of clear moons and twinkles of bright stars. Here in New York City, there are tons of lights all the time. They glow in all different colors, sizes, and shapes. There are headlights from cars, billboards flashing ads in neon, and tall buildings lit up from within. When I first got here, I felt like I had to squint. Just like when I stood onstage at school. But then I got used to the lights.

Nina squeezes my hand as we stand, waiting. “This is so exciting!” she says. “I’ve never been on the set of a real TV show!” Her hand in my hand swings back and forth. Back and forth. I’m too nervous to speak. Or smile. In just a few minutes, a producer wearing a gray sweatshirt and headset is going to give me a hand signal. I’m going to walk down a narrow hallway to stand next to Benjamin Boyd and Martina Velez and announce the next Create You challenge—to design a shirt that sparks kindness. I’m supposed to tell the contestants the story of my scarecrow.

I’m supposed to tell everyone.

I’ve never been this nervous in my entire life. There are people and cameras everywhere, all waiting to start recording. In a few weeks the show is going to play on a big screen in the school auditorium. Principal Finnery invited all the residents of the Vineyard Senior Center to come. We got to spend an entire art class with Ms. Ratowski handwriting invitations. Sophie and Amelia wrote a petition to protest old people taking up the front row seats and crowding the hallways with their wheelchairs and walkers, but no one signed. Not one single person. When Principal Finnery heard about the petition, she gave Sophie and Amelia five afternoons of trash pick-up duty for violating the updated student code of conduct. Trash pick-up duty is a new job. For some reason students have started digging around in trash cans and dumpsters. The teachers can’t figure out what to do about it.

I hope Jack will still be at school when the show plays. I picture him sitting with his arms spread wide. Maybe Molly and I will sit next to him. Or Charlotte M. Or Walt.

I peek around the corner to check on Mom. She’s sitting with Sean, Toby, and Clark in a small room with television screens on the walls. The screens show different angles of the Create You stage where Martina Velez is stretching her neck and Benjamin Boyd is smoothing the sleeves of his leather jacket. Mom didn’t want me to go to New York City, but when I got the invitation, all expenses paid, I told her I was going with or without her.

“But it would be much better if you came with me,” I said.

“I don’t know, Cove,” said Mom. “It’s a lot. It’s more than you could ever imagine.”

“Remember what you always say about the traffic, or the rain, or anything bad?” I said. “That it’ll pass? How about we stop waiting for everything to pass. How about we open an umbrella and walk in it?”

Sean clapped when I said that. “I’ve been trying to tell your mom that exact same thing for weeks, Cove. Only, kudos, kid, you said it way better.”

“Please, Mom,” I said. “We’ll still be us. We’ll just be us in New York City.”

Mom looked at me, laughing and crying at the same time, the beaded bracelets on her wrist clanking as she raised her hand to wipe her eyes. She pulled me onto her lap, where I don’t fit anymore. She buried her nose in my hair. “Okay, Cove,” she whispered. “I’ll go. We’ll go together.”

In the room with all the television screens, Sean puts his arm across Mom’s shoulders. His arm with all the numbers representing the places he’s been.

40.759011, -73.984472. That’s the number for New York City. Nina looked it up on her phone last night when I told her about Sean and his tattoos.

Nina smiles at me. I think about the spinning wheel at the playground next to the Artists Market. How Nina and I would lay back and look up at the clouds. How we would spin into the same person, our bodies and thoughts whirling together so that we could read each other’s minds.

Now we are still.

There is no bright blue sky above us, no dirt below us.

But we are friends. Always and forever. She can read my thoughts.

I’m scared.

I know you are. But you’re also brave. You can do this. I’ll be right here when you’re done.

The producer wearing the gray sweatshirt and headset walks toward us.

I take a deep breath. Anna’s black dress brushes against my legs.

The producer counts down with his fingers. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. He points to me and I let go of Nina’s hand.

I take one step. Then two. Then three.

I walk toward the bright lights.

I tell my story.