My parents get home around lunch on Sunday. According to Guinness, the previous record for most people howling was 803. The new record is now 947. It could have been 949, but my parents missed their connecting flight and got to the attempt right after the record was set. Still, they got there in time to get a souvenir and brought me a T-shirt with a wolf on it. There’s a speech bubble coming out of the wolf’s mouth that says, “Howl do you like me now?”
First thing on Monday, Dad says, “We’ll take you to school today. Want to ask Jesse if he wants a ride too?”
I pick up my phone, but I don’t text him. I wait a few minutes and say, “Jesse wants us to go ahead without him.”
When we get to school, instead of dropping me off, my parents park and get out of the car.
“You don’t have to walk me inside.”
“Don’t worry, we’re not.” Mom smiles. “We need to talk with your principal.”
“What?”
“Relax, Milo. It’s a good thing.”
It is most definitely not a good thing. As soon as my parents go in there, Mr. Amondo will tell them that I ratted them out.
“I heard he was going to be out of town today.”
“We’ll stop by and see,” Dad says.
“And Monday mornings are super busy in the office,” I add.
“Milo,” Mom says. “It’s almost like you don’t want us to talk to him.”
“It’s not that. I just don’t want to get on his bad side.”
“I promise we’ll behave,” Dad says as he lifts a cardboard box out of the trunk. “We won’t mention your name at all. He won’t even know we’re related.” They start going up the steps to the school, leaving me on the sidewalk.
“See you this afternoon, sweetie,” Mom says.
I go to first period and sit down. Right now, my parents are probably figuring out what I did.
Brandon comes in and stops by my desk.
“Rematch today? After school at my house.”
I nod. Good plan. I’ll stay away from my house for as long as possible.
And actually, since Brandon’s parents are never there, maybe I’ll move in and nobody will even notice.
I close my eyes and pretend I’m in the principal’s office with my parents right now. I wish I knew what was happening.
Dread sits on my shoulders like a fat parrot.
“Good morning,” Mrs. Docet says. “I hope you had a great weekend. I plan on having a great week. Take out a piece of paper, add the heading, and number to ten. No better way to start the week than with a quiz.”
This might be the worst day ever.
I add my name at the top of a blank sheet and then glance up at the date.
Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.
How did I forget this was coming? No wonder Jesse flipped out this weekend. Today is the anniversary of Todd’s death.
Five years ago, we were sitting in class, clueless. The lady in the front office called Jesse’s name and then mine over the loudspeaker. Like innocent, dumb little kids do, we bounced out of class, thankful to miss the treachery of second grade.
“Boys,” said the counselor in a cotton-candy tone. “Your parents are here to take you home.”
The plan, I found out later, was for us to go to Allie’s house. There, my sister, mom, and dad would explain everything.
But that’s not how it happened.
Jesse and I were signed out of school. As we walked down the steps out front, Allie stopped, collapsed to her knees, and threw up. My mom and dad ran to her. Jesse ran back in school to get help. I froze.
The school secretary and the principal hurried outside. They told us about Todd right there on the sidewalk. Between the four adults, they managed to get my sister to the car.
The whole way home, Jesse rocked back and forth and said, “We’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”
I was worthless. I bawled—full-on snot and moans. But when I finally dried up, I promised myself I’d make it up to Jesse. I turned worthless when he needed me most, and that would never happen again. Which is why I went after Brandon. And why four years ago I decided Jesse should not spend the first anniversary of Todd’s death in school. It became a tradition.
Our parents have always written notes to excuse our absences; they’ve driven us to the movies or to the arcade, or, like last year, to both places because we figured out my sister and my parents would agree to whatever we asked. And, yeah, of course we knew we got something good because something so very bad had happened. But still, it made it a little better.
Today is the first time since the accident that we are here, sitting in class on the anniversary.
Even if Jesse and I are not really talking—even if we never talk again—I need to fix this.
Maybe my parents are still in the office and I can catch them.
I grab a trash can on the way to the teacher’s desk. When I have Mrs. Docet’s attention, I force a gag. This is a trick Jesse and I both perfected through practice, but we haven’t used since fourth grade. “I think I’m going to be sick. I need to call my mom.”
My teacher doesn’t ask any questions. She just scribbles something unreadable on a sticky note and says to take the trash can with me.
When I get to the clinic, the nurse takes my temperature with the ear thermometer. Of course, it shows I don’t have a fever, but I tell her because of the impending vomit and all, I should probably call my parents.
“Hello?” Mom says, answering her cell phone on the second ring.
“Mom, it’s me.”
“Milo? What is it? What’s wrong?” Her voice is high. She’s worried.
I want to tell her I’m okay, but I don’t want to blow my cover. “Are you still here?”
“No. We’re almost home. Are you sick?”
“I’m here in the nurse’s office.” I pause so she’ll get the message. “It’s today. I’m sick today.”
“Okay,” she says. “So I need to come get you?”
“Yes,” I say. “But there’s more.” I just need to remind her about today, and she’ll understand.
The nurse gets up from her chair. I’m hoping she’ll leave, but instead she grabs a disinfectant cloth to wipe the plastic cot next to mine. When she washes her hands, I use the noise of the water to rush out an explanation. “You need to get Jesse and me.”
“Huh?” Mom says right as the water turns off, and I lose my chance to say it again.
“Five. Years,” I say slowly.
The nurse stands straighter and turns an ear toward me. Now she’s listening.
Mom sighs. “I know, Milo.”
I clear my throat to make the shake in my words go away. “And we’re at school.”
“I’m aware of that as well.”
“But we shouldn’t be.” The nurse completely turns to face me now.
“Milo, your sister already said no. And we’re going to listen to her.”
“Why didn’t anybody tell me?”
“I’d assumed Jesse did.”
“No!” I say. Now I really do feel sick.
“But we can still do something after school if you want,” she says, her voice softer.
I swallow hard to try to smooth out the lump in my throat. “Whatever,” I say.
“Milo,” she says quietly. “Everything will be fine.”
“Can you go back to class?”
“Yes,” I answer.
We say goodbye, and I tell the nurse my mom thought I should stick it out. I walk back with an empty trash can and a signed pass.
When I’m in my chair, Jesse glances at me and I give him a head nod. Because, if nothing else, he needs to know I remember.
He nods back at me. A silent salute to Todd.
“You okay?” I ask Jesse in language arts.
He shrugs. “Yeah. Just… you know.”
“Yeah.”
I try to think of something else to add, but the past weeks of silent treatment make talking now seem too forced. I don’t say anything else for the rest of the class.
“So,” Jesse says right before the bell in Computer. “Mom said Nina and Pops missed another record.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes. But they gave me this.” I lean back so he can see my wolf shirt.
He smiles. “At least the swag was good.”
After class we walk together in the hallway. I’m careful not to speed up or slow down—I don’t want to be the one to break away.
“Hey,” he says when we walk into the cafeteria. “I know the stuff that happened this weekend wasn’t your fault.”
“Yeah? Thanks.”
We wind up at Jesse’s table.
I’ll sit here. Just for today.
Jason, Justin, and Luke don’t say a word. At all. Like it is painfully obvious everybody is watching us and waiting for something to happen. I guess they’ve noticed over the past several weeks that MiloandJesse have had big spaces between them.
“Break any records lately?” Jason finally says.
Before I can answer, Jesse, in a burst of imperfection, says, “Shut up, man.”