It was the first day of school. The sky was just turning pink when the school bus pulled into the circle drive and stopped in front of Gram’s cabin. It had been an uncomfortable weekend. Neither Gram nor Kaden had said a word about his dad or Friday’s argument. Necessary conversations were brief and overly polite. Otherwise they kept their thoughts to themselves.
The anger had left Kaden but a sense of disappointment and puzzlement replaced it. All weekend, Gram’s words echoed through his head. Your father is not ready to see you. Kaden had worried about seeing his dad yet never once thought his dad might be afraid of seeing him.
Something else about Gram’s words kept nagging at him, too, and he worried that he might have misinterpreted his grandmother. Gram used that expression “you’re not ready” quite a bit, and it always meant something different. Sometimes it meant he wasn’t old enough. Other times, Gram used the same words when discussing Kaden’s attitude, meaning Kaden needed to clean up his act. Gram also used those words to mean Kaden wasn’t being responsible. Kaden kept bouncing back and forth, trying to interpret what Gram meant this time. Was his dad afraid to see him, or did Gram decide Dad didn’t have the right attitude or wasn’t responsible enough?
These questions had driven him crazy over the weekend, so now Kaden was actually glad it was finally Monday, his first day of middle school. He needed to think about something besides his dad. Kaden stepped up into the bus. Doris sat behind the wheel.
“Don’t you look spiffy for the first day of school,” Doris said. “Must have given up some of your hard-earned bucks in Chapston City.”
“Yeah, Emmett took me,” Kaden said. He thought about the quiet ride to Chapston City to buy school supplies. Kaden knew Emmett wouldn’t explain Gram’s words. So he just looked out the window, keeping his eyes peeled for a white pickup with a cargo carrier in the back. But the only white pickup he recognized had a magnetic sign stuck on the door with the eagle head emblem and the words UNITED STATES POSTAL SERVICE written in dark blue.
Now Kaden plopped down in the seat right behind Doris, feeling conspicuously new. New jeans, new sneakers, new T-shirt, even new socks and underwear. Just like the first day every year, Gram had insisted, but Kaden knew he was a sitting target for Luke.
“Don’t take off yet,” he told Doris. “Gram’s coming today.”
“Good,” Doris replied. “It’s been a long summer. Lots to catch up on.”
Kaden was always the first on the bus and the last off. The bus always arrived a half hour earlier than it needed to because Doris enjoyed a cup of coffee with Emmett every morning before going on down the mountain into town. Kaden didn’t mind. Unlike Gram, Emmett loved to bake.
“Not cook, mind you,” he would say. “Bake.”
Kaden could always count on something good in the morning. Cheese biscuits, apple crisp, or his favorite, homemade cinnamon rolls. Emmett’s treats made a nice dessert to the bowl of lumpy oatmeal with raisins Gram placed in front of Kaden every morning.
Gram also liked “a little something,” as she called it, and even though she wouldn’t admit it, she also enjoyed a bit of gossip with Doris. Gram didn’t go every day but rode the bus to Emmett’s at least a couple of times a week.
“I forgot,” Doris said to Kaden as Gram climbed aboard, “you’ll get first choice of middle-school seats now, won’t you?”
“Yep,” Kaden answered, “and I’m taking this one, right here.”
Promise Elementary and Promise Middle School were both squished into the same building. A crow flying over would see its hallways made a big rectangle with a courtyard in the middle. The left hallway held middle-school classrooms. Elementary classrooms were on the right. A back hallway completed the rectangle leading to an all-purpose room that served as both cafeteria and gym. Opposite the all-purpose room was the library, with a set of glass doors that opened into the courtyard.
A one-way drive for buses only went down the left side of the school, across the back and then up the right side. A cars-only drive curved past the front. Beyond that was a wide strip of grass and then the school parking lot. Standing prominently in the grass were a flagpole and a sign saying PROMISE ELEMENTARY AND MIDDLE SCHOOL.
Only teachers and car riders entered through the front doors. All other students entered and exited in back. Doris required middle-school students to sit at the front of her bus in the morning because they would get off first. In the afternoon, when the middle schoolers loaded first, she had them sit at the back. She was very proud of her entry and exit system and boasted she could load and unload a bunch of kids faster and with fewer problems than anybody in Hill County.
Kaden figured the seat right behind Doris would be the best one. He could be down the steps and out the bus door before anyone could push, shove, elbow, or trip him.
The bus pulled out from the McCrorys’ cabins, went around the bend, down the hill, and pulled into Emmett’s driveway. With the bus windows down in the late August heat, Kaden could smell cinnamon rolls before Doris even opened the door.
Doris and Gram walked through the kitchen and into the dining room, taking their usual spots at the dining room table. Kaden stayed with Emmett in the kitchen. While Emmett poured coffee and put cinnamon rolls on a platter, Kaden poured himself a glass of milk.
“Any new pictures on the wall?” Kaden asked, even though he knew the answer.
“No, none since your birthday last month,” Emmett stated.
They were referring to the wall at the far end of the kitchen, where four large cork bulletin boards hung. Each bulletin board was loaded with photographs. Layers upon unorganized layers overlapping each other, depicting years and years. There were babies, kids, people holding fish they’d caught, trophies they’d won. Dogs and horses, kittens and puppies. Sunsets, flowers, and snowy landscapes. The collection had long ago outgrown the bulletin boards and covered the entire wall. It was now creeping over the doorframe and wending itself around the corner. It reminded Kaden of ivy covering a medieval castle, a living wall. But this one was made of a lifetime of memories, and Emmett could tell you the story living behind each picture. Kaden was so familiar with the stories, they had become his stories, too, even though many occurred before he was born and were about people he’d never met.
“There’s your birthday picture.” Emmett pointed to Kaden holding a big piece of poster board with a gigantic number eleven written on it. There were eight other similar pictures scattered here and there, one for each year since he turned three. Emmett took the cinnamon rolls into the dining room, but Kaden stayed, looking at the wall. There were several pictures of his dad but there wasn’t one in which his father was over fourteen years old.
Kaden looked closely at one of the pictures, trying to see if there was any resemblance between the young teen and the grown man with the white truck. But he hadn’t gotten a good look at the man. Not enough to compare with a twenty-year-old photograph.
Back on the bus, Kaden put his backpack on the seat to guarantee nobody would sit next to him. He didn’t think anyone would, but just as a precaution. Entering town, the bus wound through neighborhoods and quickly filled with students. The last house was Luke’s. No one had taken the seat behind Kaden but now Luke plopped down in it. Kaden pretended to be very interested in looking out the window.
“I bet he held up a store for those new clothes.” Luke’s voice was clearly heard over the din of voices. Several giggles followed.
“Should have nabbed a new backpack while he was at it,” Luke continued. “He’s used the same backpack for years.”
Kaden kept quiet and continued to stare out the window, pretending he didn’t hear. Luke was right, though. It was the same backpack he’d had since third grade. Gram had patched up holes and countlessly sewn the shoulder straps back on, but each fall she said it would last another year.
The bus came to a stop and Kaden sprang from his seat. He entered the building, thinking Doris wasn’t the only one with a superb exit plan.