CHAPTER TWO

Lexie has to leave school early and go home, even though it’s the beginning of the day.

“Oh, my poor girl,” her mom says when she walks into Mrs. Webber’s classroom. We’ve settled Lexie in a beanbag in the reading nook. Breezie’s holding a frozen sponge from the office against Lexie’s forehead, and Hannah is rubbing Lexie’s feet. (She gently took off Lexie’s shoes first and placed them to the side. Sparkly black high-tops with rubber soles. No wood.)

Elizabeth and I are guarding Lexie from Taylor, who’s singing a rap song for her that involves dancing. His rap is okay, but his dance is on the wild side.

“Hi, Mom,” Lexie says.

Hannah lets go of Lexie’s foot and takes Lexie’s hand, which she pats. “See? Your mom’s here now. You’ll be fine.”

Lexie rolls her eyes. “I’m not a baby,” she says. “I got beaned by a flying clog, that’s all.”

Mrs. Webber rises from her big teacher’s desk, and she and Lexie’s mother join us in the reading nook.

“Charlene, I am so sorry,” she says. “Taylor, this is not the time for dancing.”

“Susan, please,” Lexie’s mom tells Mrs. Webber. “You didn’t kick her on purpose. I know that.”

“I didn’t kick her at all,” Mrs. Webber says. “Did someone tell you I kicked her?”

“It wasn’t my fault either,” Lexie says. “I was just sitting there being good. Right, Mrs. Webber?”

“Absolutely,” Mrs. Webber says, while at the same time Lexie’s mom cries, “Of course, sweetie! Accidents happen to everyone.” She pushes past Taylor and helps Lexie to her feet. “Let’s swing you by the Youth Clinic just in case, and then we’ll get you home.”

“Can I watch TV?” Lexie says.

“As much as you want.”

“And have popsicles?”

“Lexie could live on popsicles,” Lexie’s mom says to us with a laugh. She takes over the job of holding Lexie’s ice pack in place, and we walk as a group across the room.

Hannah gets jostled. She scowls at Chase and whispers, “Move! You’re crowding me!”

“You’re crowding me!” Chase says back.

“I’m sure Lexie’s fine,” Mrs. Webber says over their bickering. “But do call and let us know.”

“If I have brain damage, can I skip my spelling homework?” Lexie asks.

“Brain damage?” Taylor says. He darts from one side of our procession to the other, trying to worm into the center. “Oh, man, that would be so epic.”

“I know, right?” Lexie says.

“It would not be epic in the slightest,” Mrs. Webber says. “And, Lexie, good heavens. You do not have brain damage.”

Lexie shrugs. “You never know about me.”

Lexie’s mom laughs, which I don’t approve of. I don’t think Mrs. Webber does, either, because she gives Lexie’s mom a funny look.

“Well, we’re off,” Lexie’s mom says. She flashes a smile with lots of white teeth. “Lexie? Can you say bye to your friends?”

“Bye to my friends,” Lexie says. “Hopefully I’ll be back tomorrow. Hopefully I’ll remember your names. But maybe you should wear name tags, just in case?”

“I’ll make sure everyone does,” Hannah says, still holding fast to Lexie’s hand.

Lexie’s mom pries off Hannah’s fingers. “Let go now. You need to let me take Lexie with me.”

“Wait!” I cry. Lexie’s high-tops. The cool black sparkly ones. It occurs to me that I would really like to have a pair of black high-tops like those. Then it occurs to me that it is time for me to stay on task, so I go back to the beanbag, grab Lexie’s shoes, and thrust them at Lexie’s mom. “Here.”

In my whole life, I hardly ever give people shoes. Today I’ve done it twice in one hour.

• • •

Morning recess feels strange. I file outside with the rest of the kids, but who am I supposed to play with?

In the olden days, I would have played with Joseph, who is my true best friend. But Joseph’s in the hospital. He has leukemia.

He won’t be in the hospital forever, and he’s going to be okay, but he isn’t here on the playground with me. That’s my point.

In the newen days, I usually play with Lexie—but Lexie went home.

Sometimes I play with Taylor, but Taylor is rough. There’s been enough roughness today already.

I sit under the play structure and sift through the sand and the rocks. I look up through the metal slats of the bouncy bridge. I gaze at bits of clouds. I fill my lungs up with air, then let it out in a whoosh.

“Can I come in?” a person asks. It’s a girl person, and she’s leaning over and peering at me, and it’s Breezie. Breezie! Her blond ponytail is perfect and shiny and swings back and forth. I wouldn’t mind touching it. I push my hands beneath me and sit on them.

She squats and duck-walks into the space under the bouncy bridge. I’m surprised, because she is not a duck-walking girl. She sits, carefully tucking her legs beneath her and fluffing out her skirt.

“It’s weird without Lexie here,” she says.

“I know.”

“Do you think she’s going to be all right?”

“I think she’s already all right. She just has a bump on her head.”

“More like a dent.”

“Okay, a dent.”

“Do you think it will pop back out?”

“The dent? I think so.”

“Are you sure?”

No. But Breezie’s eyebrows are scared, scrunchy caterpillars, so I say, “Uh-huh. I’m one hundred percent sure, that’s how sure I am.”

The worry leaves her face, and my heart swells, because I did that. I made Breezie feel better.

“Good,” she says. She’s silent for a few seconds. Her hand hovers over the pile of pebbles I made, and I want to say, Go on. You’re allowed.

She pulls back her hand. She says, “Also, Taylor caught a fly.”

I crane forward and peek out from beneath the bouncy bridge. I see Taylor. I see kids gathered around him.

“I think you better go over there,” Breezie says.

“Me? Why?”

“Because he’s Taylor, and you’re . . . not. Please?”

Well. I crawl out from beneath the play structure and brush myself off. Reluctantly, I approach Taylor. Breezie follows, staying about ten feet behind.

“Taylor caught a fly!” Chase exclaims when he sees me. “He caught a fly, and now he’s going to pull its wings off!”

“Maybe,” Taylor says. His hands are cupped around something, and the something is buzzing. “Or maybe I’ll eat it. Or both!”

“Taylor, no,” I say. “If you have a fly in there”—I nod at his hands—“you have to let it go.”

“My cousin says flies taste like carpet,” Taylor says.

“Well, he’s wrong,” I say.

“How do you know?”

“Because I do. Because I asked a fly once, and he said that flies taste like . . . like . . .”

Taylor squints. He’s deciding whether to pop the fly into his mouth, I just know it.

“Like cheese puffs!” I say. “Yucky cheese puffs. And the fly you caught?” I step forward and put my ear next to Taylor’s cupped hands. “Ohhh,” I say. “What? What? Oh. Okay, sure.”

I straighten up. “He says his name is Cheese-head. Cheesehead the Fly. So you can’t eat him, because he has a name.”

Taylor doesn’t know if he should believe me.

“You can’t pull his wings off, either,” I say. “He’s already used his special fly radar to tell all of his fly brothers and sisters that he’s trapped in your hands, and if you hurt him, they’ll come and find you.” I widen my eyes. “It will happen when you’re least expecting it.”

“It’s true,” Breezie says. She’s not ten feet behind me anymore.

“But if you let him go, he’ll be your special fly protector forever,” I say.

“Like a fly bodyguard?” Taylor says.

“Exactly like a fly bodyguard,” I say. “Only so sneaky you’ll hardly even know he’s there.”

Taylor uncups his hands. The fly zips away. Everyone watches, and then Taylor says, “Let’s play soccer. I call goalie!”

He and some other kids run to get a ball. Chase heads for the grassy field, while Hannah and Elizabeth wander toward the swing set.

“Thanks,” Breezie says.

“You’re welcome,” I say.

We look at each other. I’m not sure what to do, so I hold out my hand. She hesitates, then shakes it. Then she spins on her heel and jogs toward Hannah and Elizabeth. “Hey!” she calls. “Wait for me!”

I stand there, my arms dangling by my sides. I think about Lexie. I hope she’s okay. I think about Joseph. Being in the hospital means Joseph’s not all the way okay, but his doctor says he’s doing a great job of getting more okay, which makes a small glow light up inside me. Still, I’m ready for him to hurry up and be every single bit okay, so that he can finally come back to school.