EPILOGUE

 

So that’s my story.

I still go to Horace Henchell Middle School, and Horace is still dead. The hallways are still a grimy yellow, the classrooms are still way too hot, and the cheeseburgers are still way too cold. And Alex Mutchnik is still in my class.

But it’s okay. I don’t mind Horace so much, or his school. In fact, I like it a lot more now. It’s fun, and it’s hard but not that hard, and it’s just a normal part of my normal life.

I still play the cello, which I’m really good at; and I still play baseball, which I’m not that good at. But no more tennis or karate or swimming or tutors. I have some free time now, which I mostly spend hanging out with friends, reading, playing video games, and wrestling with my dog.

Nana and I do yoga together every day.

My dad is good with all the changes and everything, but he still talks about China, and how important it is. He asks me about once a week if I would consider giving Chinese another try. I told him that maybe I’d consider taking it in high school.

We’ll just have to wait and see on that one.

*   *   *

When Nana came home from the hospital, she looked tired but healthy. She was pretty grumpy, though, because Dr. Worsfold told her that tongue sandwiches were off-limits: way too salty for her strict new diet.

The first night she was home, she was having trouble falling asleep, so she asked me to play the cello for her. I played for thirty-five minutes straight, concentrating on nothing but the music. It felt so good.

When I finally stopped to ask Nana if she wanted me to play more, she was snoring so loudly I thought the walls might cave in.

*   *   *

On Monday, my first day back at school, which also happened to be the start of the last week of the school year, Cathy Billows, who’s still so pretty that it makes my eyebrows hurt, came running up to me.

“Jack’s back! Yay!!! Hey, everyone, Jack’s here!” Exclamation points were flying all over the place.

All day, I was treated like a king. At lunch, Mrs. Bondetto, the head cafeteria lady, gave me an extra chocolate chip cookie AND an extra chocolate milk. In English class, Mrs. Bender gave me a big hug, with her tiny but unmistakable mustache brushing my cheek. Mr. Lahiff, the gym teacher, let me skip the annoying pommel horse. And at recess, all the kids wanted me on their basketball team, but I decided to just hang out on the sideline with Leo and Lucy.

Then, at the end of the day, Cathy pulled me aside.

“The End-of-Year Dance is coming up on Friday!”

“Cool.”

“So, do you think you would want to go with me?”

This was it. The moment I’d been waiting for from the first moment I realized girls existed, about halfway through third grade. Cathy Billows was inviting me to a dance.

I shook my head.

“I can’t,” I said. “I forgot all about the dance, so I made other plans for Friday night.”

Cathy’s face went a little dark, the way it did when I told her I couldn’t go to her party two weeks earlier. But this time, she snapped right out of it and gave me a bright smile.

“What kind of plans?”

“You wouldn’t be interested, I don’t think.”

“Try me!”

So I told her.

*   *   *

The next day, Tuesday, was the Little League All-Star game. Even though I wasn’t exactly an all-star, the coaches decided to let me play. Maybe they thought Brody Newhouse would come and cover it, but he didn’t. In any case, I was batting against Kevin Kessler, the strikeout king. It was the bottom of the sixth (and last) inning, with us losing by one, one out and a man on third.

My dad was in the stands, videotaping. My mom was yakking to another mother. And Maddie was grazing on dropped French fries.

Just like always.

The count quickly went to no balls and two strikes. Kevin wound up and fired. I took a mighty swing … and fouled it off.

Contact! That felt good.

Then Kevin threw me three straight balls. I stepped out of the batter’s box, thinking about how this was just like the last time I was up, in the World Series. I’d worked the count full from 0–2, then hit the epic pop-up to second base that won the championship.

Holy moly! Would I be the hero again?

Kevin checked the runner at third, stared in at me, then reared back and let fly. The pitch came. It looked outside. A walk! Awesome! I could go to first and let Kevin Kessler be someone else’s problem. I was totally good with that.

Only, the pitch wasn’t outside. It was on the outside corner. I watched it go by with a sinking feeling.

“Strike three!” yelled the umpire, who happened to be Alex Mutchnik’s older brother, Henry. I think he was smiling when he said it.

I trudged back to the dugout and threw my helmet.

“Easy there, Jack,” said the coach, Mr. Bonner, whose main claim to fame was that he could spit sunflower seeds farther than any human being alive.

“Sorry, coach,” I said.

I sat down on the bench. Other kids came over and said things to try and make me feel better. It was pretty clear I wasn’t a big deal anymore. I was just another kid who struck out. But as I looked around and watched everybody root for Ben Liscomb, who was up next, I realized something.

It felt great.

*   *   *

Then it was Friday. I got on the bus to go home, sitting in my usual seat: third row, window seat on the left. But one thing was different: the seat next to me was never empty anymore, because people always seemed to want to sit next to me.

That day, Alex Mutchnik decided to plop down.

I immediately grabbed my backpack before he could do anything to it, but it turned out he wasn’t interested in that.

“Can I ask you a question?” he said.

“I guess.”

He looked around the bus. “So, my parents are telling me that I have to do like some community service thing this summer, and maybe like take a class or something. I really don’t feel like doing any of that stuff. I just want to hang out and chill, you know? Like, the way you do. What should I tell them? Or better yet, do you think you could talk to them?”

I had to laugh. Alex Mutchnik, asking me for help!

“Listen Alex, I’d love to help you out, but maybe doing a little volunteer work this summer is a good idea. I do EMT training, you know.”

“You do? I thought you hated all that stuff.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t hate all that stuff. I just want to do things I want to do, that’s all. Volunteer work is cool as long as you do it, and not your parents.”

Alex looked at me, then decided he was done being nice to me. “Whatever,” he mumbled. Then he grabbed my backpack out of my hands and threw it onto the floor.

Just like old times.

*   *   *

The school bus headed for home, and it couldn’t get there fast enough. That night, Leo and Lucy were coming over for a marathon of Bruce Lee’s classic Hong Kong martial arts movies. Not only that, but after I’d told Cathy that our movie marathon was the reason I couldn’t go to the school dance, she’d decided to come too, and bring her brother Baxter. My dad was going to grill some burgers and dogs, my mom was going to make a salad that no one would eat, and Nana was going to make some of her legendary chocolate chip cookies.

“Why Bruce Lee movies?” Cathy asked, when I told her the plan.

“It was my dad’s idea. He thought I should get some use out of my Chinese-English dictionary before we gave it away,” I said.

Cathy thought about that for a second. “That makes perfect sense,” she said.

Using my jacket as a pillow just like always, I rested my head against the bus window and smiled, thinking about the night ahead. It was going to be completely perfect, because it combined all of my favorite things: cheeseburgers, movies, family, friends, and dessert.

And the couch.