Josh and I were “official.” That’s what he called it. Back home, my friends would say that we’d gone from “keeping company” to “courting.” Whatever we called it, one thing was true: for the first time, Josh and I could present ourselves as a couple.

There were two weeks left of summer, and we spent them in delicious closeness. Each evening, when my chores were done, I called Josh and he was over in minutes to take me out for coffee or to a movie or to someone’s basement where other couples had gathered. When we were alone, we were starved for each other, and though we’d stepped beyond bundling, I knew that there was one limit that was absolute. One evening, after watching a movie, wound around each other on his basement couch, I told him what I’d learned about my mother’s rumspringa. It had been her secret, but I had an important reason for letting Josh know about it. “Whoa,” he said. “That’s intense.”

“It is,” I said. “And I think my mother wanted me to know so that nothing like that would ever happen to me.”

“Okay,” he said, his voice a low hum. “Then it never will.” I felt relieved. Now Josh was sharing the burden of keeping our limits. It wouldn’t only be up to me.

The last days of summer galloped by as only summer days can. I felt a new exhilaration when September neared, because this was the time I would have been returning home. Instead, I was still here and we were still together. And we didn’t have to hide our togetherness.

When Josh’s class schedule arrived in the mail, he called one friend after the other to find out who would be in class with him. I felt a little left out, but I kept busy. Camp ended for the children, and I occupied them during the day while Rachel worked at the library or in her little office. School would be starting for the children, too, with Ben in fourth grade and Janie in first. I was the only one not making a fresh start in the fall. So I clung to those last summer nights, with the warmth of Josh’s arm draped comfortably over my shoulders, and the air rich and sweet.

On the last day of summer vacation, Rachel took the children to their school for an orientation program. I waited excitedly for Josh, and when he greeted me at the door, he handed me a blue cap with the red letter C above the brim. Uncle John had told me endless stories about the Cubs, and I had watched so many games with him on Sundays that I was beginning to understand his proud and painful possessiveness of the team. But I had never been to a game. Now Josh and I would be sitting in the bleachers of Wrigley Field.

The whole afternoon I sat elbow to elbow with the other fans, feeling the sun’s warmth pressing into my back and shoulders. I ate peanuts and threw the shells on the ground, where they crunched beneath my sneakers. In front of me was the field, so green and precise, with white lines and bases forming a perfect diamond.

I had never seen so many people together in one space. It was a place where strangers were all in partnership for the same cause. When the Cubs scored runs, we cheered and slapped each other’s outstretched hands; and when a Cub player struck out, we all groaned in unison. What happened down there with the nine ball players on the green grass was the most important thing in the world. And when the Cubs right fielder caught a fly ball in the ninth inning to win the game, I stood up and shrieked my excitement with everyone else.

Riding home on the el, I smiled while Josh replayed the game to me, as though I hadn’t just seen it myself. I was tired and sunburned, and happy that the Cubs had won. But I was also a little sad. This was another thing to put on my list, something else that I had wanted to do and had looked forward to with anticipation. Now it was over, like my first movie and play and concert. If I came to Wrigley Field again, I would already know about the emerald grass and the smell of peanuts and the cracking sound the ball makes when it hits the bat. I had been to only one baseball game, but already I could imagine it feeling ordinary.

I turned to face Josh. He was talking about a play in the fourth inning when he was sure the umpire had incorrectly called a Cub player out at second.

“But they won in the end, so that doesn’t really matter, does it?” I asked.

“I know. I just like to analyze it. It’s the sportswriter in me.”

I smiled. The boys at home talked about their future jobs, too. Most would end up doing the same work as their fathers. When the girls discussed their futures, they talked about their husbands and children.

I shook away the thoughts of home that were taking me out of my present. I didn’t want to be back there, where the options were narrow and predictable. I wanted to be here, in the swaying el car, next to a boy who planned to earn his living by writing about sports.

“Can we rent a movie tonight?” I asked.

“Not tonight. I have to be at school early tomorrow.” I felt the hot rush of disappointment. “But I’ll call you after school.” I nodded, not wanting him to see that it mattered to me.

Now that school had started for Josh, I no longer waited for the phone in the middle of the day in the hopes that we could snatch some time together before the children got home. He left for school in the early morning and came home after he was done with his work for the newspaper. His lawn-mowing business ended, and his hours at the computer store were scaled back. Our schedules were suddenly at odds with each other. During the day while I was alone, with time weighing on me, Josh was at school. By the time he got home, I was helping the children with their homework and getting dinner ready for the family. In the evening, when my work was finished, Josh was studying.

My life slipped into a five and two pattern: five days of work, two days with Josh. I spent my Fridays racing through my tasks, checking the clock, waiting for the weekend to begin. Most Friday nights I babysat while Sam and Rachel went out, and Josh was allowed to come over to spend the evening with me. After the children went to bed, we’d order pizza and watch a movie together, stretching out on the couch, our limbs intertwined. Saturdays and Sundays were my days off, and I usually spent them with Josh, as long as he didn’t have too much homework. On Saturday nights, Josh and I went out to a movie or party or a concert. At Sunday night dinners with Aunt Beth and Uncle John, I felt an unaccustomed sensation, a dismal feeling that the week loomed ahead.

I’d often think about Josh and the mysterious place where he spent his days. High school. The only thing I knew about it was what I saw on television and read about in books. Students sat at desks listening to teachers until a bell rang, and they slung their backpacks over their shoulders and moved into another classroom to listen to another teacher talk. Between classes they gathered in large areas, like the cafeteria or gymnasium, where they talked and flirted with each other. Josh and his friends told me that school wasn’t like what I saw on TV; that the days were long and dull. But I wanted to find out for myself.

One warm September Friday night, while I basked in the airy feeling of the weekend, Josh tried to explain it to me. Sam and

Rachel had gotten home early, so we had walked to town for ice cream, and sat on a bench, the breeze catching the ends of my hair. “There are all these random rules,” Josh said. “Like we can’t use our cell phones or leave the room without a pass. And then each teacher gives homework assignments like theirs is the only class we have, so even when we’re out of school, our time isn’t our own.”

I listened and tried to share his dismay with the rules and the work, but the whole idea of school felt like privilege. Suddenly I had an idea. “Can you take me there?” I asked. “Can I see your school?”

Josh slid his arm around my shoulders, and I leaned into him. It was an easy movement, as natural as blinking. “Sure,” he said. “As a matter of fact, Homecoming’s next month. I was going to find a clever way to ask you to the dance, but I guess this will have to do. Will you go with me?”

I nodded happily. I wasn’t sure what “Homecoming” meant, but dancing was involved and I’d get to see the school. And Josh wanted to take me. It was something else I could step into and try on. I smiled and nestled against him. The smell of his skin was achingly familiar, and the weekend stretched ahead of us, long and enticing.