IT’S SATURDAY, EARLY, BUT I CAN’T WAIT. I RACE down to Emmalee’s apartment. Knock on the door. She opens it, looking sleepy. “What?” she says. And then she sees me.
“Holy cow, Maxie.”
“For my birthday,” I squeal. I’m going to be a Panther! A real live full-on Panther! Well, I don’t know if this means they’ll let me start training, but at least I look the part. “Can you believe it?”
“Not really,” she says. “But it looks good. Let me try it on.”
I shrug out of it and hand it over ’cause that’s how we do. Nothing will stop it being mine, and mine forever. The jacket looks nice on her, but seeing her in it makes it so obvious that it’s exactly right for me.
“Raheem has good taste,” she says, handing it back. As if she knows I can barely stand to part with it for a moment.
“I’m going outside,” I tell her. I have to be seen in the jacket. “Want to come?”
“Nah.” She yawns. “It’s too cold to be out.”
I don’t care about the weather. I slap on my purple mittens and run out to tell the next person on my list.
Sam comes out of the clinic and glances both ways before he starts like he’s about to cross the street.
“Sam!” He flinches and turns toward me. I rush up to him. “Check it out.”
“Hey,” he says.
“I got it from Raheem and now we match!” I stretch up on my toes and kiss him. Sam’s eyes cloud as I pull away, and I realize what I said may have sounded not so nice to him. I got a jacket from my brother, and so did he, but not the same way. It seems like no matter what happens, there’s always going to be that difference between us. And no way of talking about it is ever going to sound exactly right.
But nothing can spoil my excitement today. “Where are you going?”
“I’m—uh—nowhere. I just wanted some fresh air, I guess.” He turns back toward the clinic. “Do you want to come in?”
“I’m not sick,” I say. “I want to walk around. And show them at the office,” I admit.
“It’s cold,” he says. His jacket is unbuttoned. I guess he really did just pop out for a minute. “I’m going back in. See you later?”
“Later,” I reply, heading off down the block. Looking around as I go, I notice that not all the parked cars on the opposite side of the street are empty. In one of them—a plain gray sedan just a few spaces down from the clinic—a white man in a trench coat and hat is sitting in the driver’s seat, staring my way. I look directly at him, not on purpose. He averts his eyes.
What is someone like him doing here, I wonder. Strange. I peek over my shoulder again as I walk away. He’s not looking my way anymore; instead, he’s watching the clinic.