Wednesday, March 4

DAVID

Of course, I wake up right at seven a.m. No reason to be awake, with the massive snowstorm and school closed, so: the sun hits my face and boing! I’m up. I hate myself. I hate mornings, but this morning I hate myself even more than I hate the fact that it’s seven o’clock in the morning.

Pop took away everything: cell phone, computer, Xbox, even my old Nintendo DS, which I haven’t played in like two years. I felt like saying, “There were no electronics on the bus, Pop. And no electronics in the stairwell either. I didn’t need electronics to be a total jerk to Sammie, or to Luke.” But I figured it was better to keep my mouth shut. He was a man on a mission.

So I’m lying in my bed at seven o’clock in the morning on what could have been possibly the best snow day of my entire life, feeling sick and guilty and awful, when I hear a kind of soft scratching sound. I think maybe it’s a mouse or a squirrel trapped in the walls, and I’m starting to spin a whole fantasy about how I’ll tame the mouse/squirrel, and make friends with it, like prisoners do in all those old prisoner movies, and it will be my only companion during my long, lonely years of being grounded for the entire rest of middle school, when I hear the scratching sound again, a little louder, and coming from my door.

“Allie?” I whisper.

“What?” she whispers.

“Why are you scratching on my door?”

“I wanted to see if you were awake.”

I sigh. “I’m awake.”

“Can I come in?” she whispers.

I sigh again. She’s not exactly a tamed mouse/squirrel that I’ve won over by saving crumbs of my prison bread to feed it with, but she may be my only companion for a very long time, so I decide to be nice.

“Sure,” I whisper.

She pushes the door slowly open and crawls in on all fours.

I groan quietly because if she is going to be my only companion for the rest of middle school, I am so screwed.

“What’s up?” I whisper.

“Luke,” she whispers, and it feels like a punch in my gut.

I catch my breath, then wait, but she doesn’t say anything else. I don’t know what she knows, and I don’t want to say anything that will make her hate me in case she’s going to be my only companion. But after three minutes of silence, I can’t help myself. “What about Luke?”

“He’s missing, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Since last night?”

“Since yesterday.”

“I think I saw him.”

I sit up in my bed. “What? When?”

It would be just like Allie to say that she remembered that she saw him once three days ago, at the supermarket, so that’s what I’m expecting, but instead she says, “Last night. In our backyard. Right when you and Dad got home.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure I saw someone in the backyard,” she says, “and I’m sure it was right when you got home, because I was in my room, and I heard the garage door, so I turned my light off because I was going to come downstairs and I wanted to conserve electricity. That’s when I saw something moving in the backyard, and I was afraid it might be the abominable snowman, so I looked, and it was a person.” She pauses and takes a breath. “I’m not sure it was Luke. He was wearing a big coat, and he was walking across the backyard, away from our house. So I never really saw his face. But I didn’t even know he was missing then, and I thought it was him. I thought to myself, Why is Luke in our backyard?”

Why would Luke run away in a snowstorm, and end up in my backyard? It doesn’t really make sense. But then again, who besides Luke would be running around in people’s backyards during a snowstorm? I mean, if it was someone walking their dog, they wouldn’t be in my backyard, would they?

Just in case, I ask, “Did this person have a dog with him?”

Allie shakes her head no. “But maybe it was the abominable snowman,” she says hopefully, “and he was wearing a coat as a disguise.”

“There’s no such thing as the abominable snowman. But why was Luke in our backyard?”

“Maybe he wanted to return something that he borrowed from you.”

Allie is not the most logical person, but I don’t say this to her. Instead, I ask, “Why would someone who has run away—in a snowstorm—be worrying about returning something he borrowed?”

“Well, then,” Allie says, because she’s nothing if not full of ideas, “maybe he wanted to borrow something from you.”

Which is when the light bulb goes off: the coats and boots in our garage. Luke came to my house to borrow some stuff, all right.

After telling Allie a hundred times that she has to be absolutely quiet, not even a whisper, because we don’t want Mom and Pop to wake up, we go down into the garage. Right in front of the coat rack, there’s a small partly frozen puddle, made, I’m pretty sure, by someone who was covered with snow and looking for a warm coat. Plus, there’s an empty hanger on the coat rack and an empty space in the row of spare boots. I pull out the plastic bin where Mom keeps extra pairs of socks and gloves, and I’m about to lift the lid off when Allie starts jumping up and down. She covers her mouth with one hand and points behind the bin with the other.

“What?” I whisper.

Her eyes are practically bugging out with the effort of not talking, which she’s taking extremely seriously, but she shakes her head back and forth, refusing to be tricked into speaking, and points like her life depends upon it. I look, and see: a balled-up pair of cold, wet white socks. Luke’s socks, I am 100 percent sure.

And in that moment, as I’m staring at Luke’s cold, frozen socks, I know where he is.

SAMMIE

It’s six a.m., and still pitch-black outside, but I’m so not used to sleepovers, and the muffled noises of Ms. Wilcox getting ready wakes me up. I yawn and stretch, and look over at Haley, who’s sound asleep. I know I’m up for good, so I pad out to the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Ms. Wilcox says cheerfully. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m an early riser.”

“You’re going to be on your own for a couple of hours, then. Haley’s most definitely not an early riser. She could sleep though a tornado. You guys have a snow day, but good old New York City public schools are open and ‘ready for customers.’ So I’ve got to go to work. Thank God for four-wheel drive.” As if to demonstrate Haley’s sleep-through-anything ability, Ms. Wilcox opens a kitchen cabinet, pulls out a fry pan, and bangs the cabinet shut loudly. She sets the pan on the stove, then grabs eggs and butter from the fridge.

“Scrambled eggs?” she asks me.

“Sure.”

It feels nice to be awake with the world still dark. I sit at the kitchen counter and watch while Ms. Wilcox cracks four eggs into a bowl, then pours them into the pan and cooks them up. She sets mine in front of me and eats hers standing in the kitchen.

She takes a bite of eggs, chews, swallows, and says, “I chose this apartment because of the underground parking. Saves me having to shovel off the car. When Haley and I lived in Riverdale, we had street parking. Any time there was any chance of snow, I had to set my alarm for four a.m., just in case I’d need to dig the car out.”

“That’s doesn’t sound safe,” I say. “Driving in the snow like that.”

“Most city students get to school by public transportation, so as long as the subways and buses are running, schools can stay open. Of course, many of the teachers drive in. But the ones who can’t make it safely call in absent. Half the teachers will be out. No learning today. Just babysitting. Trying to keep the chaos a little bit under control.”

Before she leaves, she goes to the hall closet and pulls out these things that look kind of like tennis rackets, but with shorter handles and some weird straps across the racket part.

“These are snowshoes,” she tells me. “One pair is Haley’s and one is mine. But they’ll fit you. They’re really easy to use. Haley knows how. If you girls want to go out later, maybe to your house or something, you could use the snowshoes.” She speaks gently, like she’s suggesting something hard and maybe even painful.

“Thanks,” I say.

She opens the front door, then hesitates and says, “That alert I told you about yesterday? It was for two missing kids. You were one of them.” She looks right at me, into my eyes. “You weren’t quite truthful with me, because your parents didn’t know where you were. I called them immediately and let them know you were okay. They were very worried about you, Sammie, especially because that Luke boy is missing. There was some thought that the two of you might be together. In any case, I reassured them that you were safe and here, with Haley and me, and we agreed you’d stay the night.”

Then she hugs me tightly, wrapping her arms around me and pulling me in close. “Parents make mistakes,” she says quietly. “Lots of them.” My eyes fill with tears, and I duck my head so she won’t see.

After she’s gone I think about going back to sleep, crawling into the nice, warm spare bed in Haley’s room, but instead I sit at the window and watch the sky turn from black to gray to gray-blue. A small, bright jewel of sun appears, and it changes everything. I watch that tiny drop of brilliance grow bigger and brighter until the whole living room is filled with a beautiful morning light.

I don’t know why, but I get up and fish my dead phone from my backpack and shake it, like it’s a snow globe, like it will tell me something about my future.

But the screen remains black. I blow on it, as though my warm breath will bring it to life. Nothing happens.

Maybe if I take the phone battery out and blot the insides with a tissue, I can get it to start up. I’m pretty sure I have a pack of tissues somewhere at the bottom of my backpack, so I grab the bag and start emptying it out. Which is when I find the second set of papers, the ones my mother handed me. I set them down on top of my binders, wondering why she didn’t tell Dad that she filled them out. And then I see what’s printed across the top: “Girls’ Softball.”

My mother filled out the paperwork for girls’ softball.

I pick up the papers and flip through them like they’ll tell me something I’m not understanding. But they’re just forms. Almost the same as the baseball team ones. But also not.

I wonder if Luke’s been found yet. I wonder what I’d be doing right now if Luke had never come to our school. If David and Luke hadn’t ganged up on me on the bus. If David hadn’t spread rumors about Luke and me. If I’d been able to tell Dad everything, and he’d been able to help me figure it out.

If David were still my best friend.

I close my eyes and try to picture today, but without all the bad stuff. But I can’t. Because it did happen. And everything that followed happened too. Including Haley. Who listened to me and was a real friend. And my mother, who filled out the forms for me to play girls’ softball.

I realize that I have to go home. That I want to go home.

Haley’s still asleep so I get dressed in the living room, pack my backpack, and write her a note. It’s two blocks to the Greenway, which, I know, won’t be plowed, but that’s okay. I’ll take Ms. Wilcox’s snowshoes. I can walk on top of the snow.

DAVID

The snow in the backyard is up past my knees, so by the time I get to the Greenway, I’m sweating and panting. I think about just turning around and waking Mom and Pop, and letting this be their problem, but I can’t. I want to do this one thing right.

Allie begged me to let her come too, but I explained that she needed to stay home, that her job was just as important as mine, and that we each needed to do our own important jobs. Hers is to watch the clock, and if I’m not back in two hours, to tell Mom and Pop where I’ve gone, and why.

I’m kind of wishing that I’d said three hours, because it’s probably been half an hour just getting across the yard. I turn and look back at the house, and Allie’s standing at the sliding glass door, waving like mad. I give her a thumbs-up, and she gives me a double thumbs-up back.

I have no idea how long it takes me to get to Fort Maccabee. I just put my head down and walk, or try to, in snow so deep that my legs burn as I push them through it. The sky is clear and blue, and the sun beats down on me and on the silent, white world around me.

When I get to the turnoff for Fort Maccabee, I almost don’t recognize it because everything is covered in snow. I kick through the soft snow until I hit the hard-packed stuff that lines either side of the walkway. Then I lean over and see a bit of blackness, which is the tunnel’s entrance. I take a deep breath and push away the fresh snow until I’m down to the hard part, climb over it, and stumble and tumble down the hill, glad for the soft new stuff that breaks my falls, which are too many to count.

I’m panting and hot and covered in snow, and I’m sure Luke must hear me, must have heard me come rushing and falling down the hill. But the whole world is quiet, except for the sound of my own ragged breath.

The tunnel is dark. I can’t see anything, so I shade my eyes and call out, “Luke?” My voice echoes back at me, and for a second, I feel almost relieved because maybe I’m wrong and Luke isn’t here and there’s nothing more I can do.

But I step into the blackness, and as my eyes begin to adjust, I make out a dark blob against the dark tunnel wall, and in the center of it, a small patch of lightness. I step closer, and say again, “Luke?” but the dark blob is silent. I step closer still, and the darkness resolves into a pile of clothing—dark pants and a dark hooded coat, the small patch of lightness becoming Luke’s face, pale and still beneath the jacket’s hood.

“Luke,” I say again, quietly because he is so quiet, and I step closer and stare into his face. His eyes are shut, and his face is so white—ghostly white, I think. Deathly white.

“Luke,” I say, louder.

I kneel down in front of him and shout right into his face, “Luke!” My voice comes out funny, like I’ve been coughing.

He opens his eyes, but the way he looks at me, I know he doesn’t see me. He is seeing something else, something terrible and sad.

“Hot,” he says. “Is this hell?”

“No,” I say, and I put my mittened hands on his shoulders. “It’s me, David. You’re in the fort—Fort Maccabee.”

He shakes his head slightly from side to side. “Hot,” he says. “Take my coat off.”

“No!” I’m really shouting now because it’s freezing cold in this tunnel and Luke is crazy and we are alone together and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help him, and I was wrong again because I should have told my parents, I should have come out here with someone, but there is only Luke and me. My stupid eyes fill up with tears, and this is the thing Luke sees.

The stupid tears are running down my face, and my nose is dripping, and I don’t know what to do.

“Crying,” Luke says.

“I’m sorry,” I say, not sure whether I’m apologizing for crying, or for everything else.

“I thought we were friends,” Luke says sadly. “You were funny. Nice. Not like my old friends. But you pranked me.” His face crumples. “And Sammie. I thought you wanted me to—I was a jerk. No one likes me.”

“Not true,” I say, shaking my head back and forth hard, my jaw clenched tight because the stupid tears keep coming. “I was the jerk. I was jealous of you and Sammie. I thought you guys really were . . . I was the one who messed everything up. You are my friend.”

Luke is staring right into my eyes, wanting to believe me, and then it’s like a curtain comes down and his eyes slowly close and his head sags forward.

I wrap my arms around him, pulling him into me as tightly as I can, and call out, “Help! Someone help!” but my voice is ragged and hoarse and no one will ever hear me.

SAMMIE

A guy with a mini snow-blower is clearing the sidewalk in front of Haley’s apartment building. He’s got a narrow path done along the whole block. The sun is shining, and even though there aren’t many cars out, most of the stores on North Avenue have opened for business. I walk the two blocks to the Greenway, carrying the snowshoes under my arm and smiling and saying hi to everyone. When I get to the Greenway, which isn’t plowed at all, I strap on the snowshoes and step onto the wide, white untouched trail. The snow is almost blinding. It looks like a ski trail, except horizontal. But with snowshoes, horizontal doesn’t matter. I feel invincible. Ten feet tall. Almost like I’m floating.

Passing David’s house, I see the weirdest thing: footsteps through the deep snow in his backyard. They come right up to the Greenway and head in the direction of the Fort.

I remember the last time we were there, Luke pulling me down on top of him. I want to turn around, to get away from this reminder of David and Luke and from the remembering, but it’s my way home. I have to pass the Fort to get home.

So I keep going on the Greenway, trying to focus on the blue sky and snow-covered tree branches. I want to keep my eyes up, but they’re drawn to the trail David carved through deep snow. It wasn’t an easy walk. I can see in his footprints how hard he had to work. Why? What would bring him out here?

Unless it wasn’t David. Unless maybe the footprints are Luke’s.

The trail goes right to where the Fort is, then veers off the side. I look over, and see a path of broken snow down the side of the hill, right into Fort Maccabee. Maybe this is where Luke went when he disappeared. But the trail looks fresh, like it was made after the snow stopped.

I stand and listen, but there’s only silence. I shiver, and decide I’ll tell Dad about it. That maybe someone should check and see if Luke or David is in there. But not me. Not alone.

I’m just about to start walking again when I hear a sound. Something like a sob or yelp, I’m not sure.

I stop and hold my breath and listen.

“Help,” a faint, hoarse voice cries. “Somebody help.”

It’s coming from the tunnel, and it’s a voice I know—have known since I was five years old, when David Fischer said “Here you go” as he handed me the baseball that had rolled to his feet. Except now his voice sounds so scared and desperate that I scramble up over the frozen snow, and kind of ski down the hillside on Ms. Wilcox’s magical snowshoes.

“Sammie?” David says when he sees me.

I nod.

“Sammie?” he says again.

“Yeah,” I say. “It’s me.”

He’s half lying down, with his arms wrapped around another kid who I’m pretty sure is Luke, and he’s sniffling and hiccuping and kind of panting. The other kid isn’t making any sound at all.

“Is that Luke?” I ask.

“I think he might be dead,” David says, his voice hoarse and choked. He begins to pant.

“Dead?” I say, which is stupid, because the dead thing is clearly why David is freaking out.

“I think he was here all night,” David says. “After what happened at school yesterday. When I found him a little while ago, he was kind of awake, but then he passed out or something and I can’t wake him up. Now he’s cold all over, and I think he might be—” He makes a hiccuping sound, which I realize is actually that word—“dead.” David gives Luke a big shake. Luke just flops a bit but doesn’t respond, and David starts panting again.

I stare down at the boy who used to be my best friend, at the two boys who did the meanest thing ever to me—one maybe dead, and the other definitely crazy—and I think about turning around and leaving them here. Just walking away, effortlessly, on top of the snow, wearing these awesome snowshoes. I’ll go home and tell Dad, and he can call the police or whatever. It won’t be my problem.

But then I remember Haley. The friend I found when David and Luke hurt me. Haley, who listened to me and showed me how to be a true friend. Who didn’t walk away.

I turn back to David. “What about your cell phone?”

“I don’t have it,” he says hoarsely. “I told Pop what was happening at school, and he took my cell phone away and grounded me for the rest of middle school. Maybe forever.”

“Oh,” I say.

“What about yours?”

“Not working,” I say. “It fell into the toilet.”

David makes a kind of whimpering sound.

I scan my surroundings. No houses nearby. Just frozen marsh on this side of the tunnel and frozen marsh on the other. I look up at the sky and then down at my feet. Of course, with my awesome snowshoes, I can walk to the closest house in minutes. I might even be able to run.

“David,” I say, trying to sound calm and in control. “I’m going to go get help. I think you should keep doing just what you’re doing—” By which I don’t mean the whimpering, but just in case, I explain. “Keep your arms around him. Share your body warmth with him. Keep trying to talk to him. He’s definitely not dead.”

David nods, wiping snot off his face with one mittened sleeve.

I nod back and say, “It’s going to be okay.” I don’t actually know that it will be okay, but it seems like the kind thing to say.

I turn and start off, again, walking on top of the snow. In my head, it’s like a prayer, I can’t stop it: Don’t be dead don’t be dead don’t be dead. I skate along the Greenway, through the backyard of the first house I come to, and up onto the porch.

Ring the bell thinking, Don’t be dead don’t be dead don’t be dead. Then stand, listening to a little yippy dog barking furiously right on the other side of the door. A quavery voice, somewhere off in the house, keeps saying “Coming” every couple of seconds. After forever, the door squeaks open about three inches, but the old lady keeps the chain lock still on. Her dog’s foxy little face pokes out of the door down at shin level. It growls at me, showing its foxy teeth.

“Can you call 9-1-1?” I ask, the chant still in my head: Don’t be dead don’t be dead don’t be dead. “There’s a boy freezing in the tunnel under the Greenway. He was there all last night, and my friend can’t wake him up now.”

The old lady looks at me suspiciously, and I ask again. “Can you call 9-1-1? Please,” I add because maybe she’s one of those old ladies who’s constantly complaining about kids these days not having any manners. “It’s really important. The boy is maybe freezing to death.”

She turns away from the door, and I think she’s going to close it and tell herself that the girl on her front porch was all a dream, but she says, “Hold on.” She shuffles away from the door, then shuffles back, and through the three-inch gap hands me a cell phone.

“You call,” she says. “I don’t know how to work that darn thing.”

So I call. And explain. And wait, standing on her front porch, for the ambulance to arrive, still with those words—don’t be dead don’t be dead don’t be dead—in my head over and over, like maybe I can keep him alive if I just keep saying them.

I wait, listening to the sirens, which start out faint and distant, and grow louder and louder, coming right for me. I keep saying the words don’t be dead don’t be dead don’t be dead as an ambulance and an emergency truck come screaming down the street and pull up right in front of me. Two EMTs get out of the ambulance and race-walk over to me. Two more get out of the truck, then go around to the back and open the doors.

“Sammie?” one asks. I nod. Don’t be dead don’t be dead don’t be dead.

The two EMTs at the truck pull a stretcher out of the back and the two others grab big black suitcases full of what I figure is EMT equipment.

As I lead them to Luke, they ask me questions about him—do I know how long he’s been out here? Are his clothes wet? When was he last conscious? I keep saying, “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

They don’t have snowshoes, which is a really big mistake, so by the time we get to Fort Maccabee, the EMTs are all panting and sweating and red-faced. But they don’t complain, just follow me down the hill to the tunnel, then set to work.

I stand right outside and watch them, still chanting my chant—don’t be dead don’t be dead don’t be dead—as one of the guys kneels down and peels David away from Luke. They lay Luke flat down on the floor of the tunnel, then all crowd around him. One EMT opens Luke’s coat and puts a stethoscope against his chest. Still bent over Luke, she calls out, “Pulse is thready but he’s got a heartbeat.”

Then I know I can stop my chant because Luke’s not dead. So instead I start crying, which I would feel really awkward about except David’s crying too. And not just crying—bawling, with his mouth wide open and his eyes squeezed shut.

So I figure it’s okay if I do it too.

DAVID

Everything happens so fast. One minute I hear them coming toward us on the Greenway and the next there’s a crowd of EMTs in the tunnel, and they pull me off Luke, lay him flat on the tunnel floor and crowd around him, with stethoscopes and tubes and an oxygen mask. They wrap him in a silver blanket and lift him onto the stretcher. Luke opens his eyes as they’re wrapping him up, and the tears start pouring down my face, but I don’t even feel embarrassed. One of the EMTs activates about a dozen instant hot packs and tucks them up against Luke’s silver-wrapped mummy body, and then they lift the stretcher and carry him out.

Leaving me and Sammie behind. I look at her, and I know that there’s so much I need to say, but I don’t say anything at all. Instead I just wait.

Finally, Sammie says, “I guess we should go home.”

“Yeah,” I say.

We walk out of the tunnel and start to climb uphill to the Greenway, not saying anything at all. Sammie’s got snowshoes, so she can walk on top of the snow, but I sink with every step, feeling stupider and stupider because I can picture the snowshoes that are hanging in the Fischer garage. I don’t mention that to Sammie. And she goes slowly, staying right with me as I stumble and slog through the deep, heavy snow.

I wish that she would ask me how I found Luke, so I could at least tell her a story that makes me look good. But she doesn’t.

When we reach the top, we stand awkwardly, silently, for a minute.

“It’s kind of a miracle that you were walking on the Greenway just then,” I finally say.

She nods. “It’s kind of a miracle that you found him there. And called for help just when I was walking above you.”

I nod. “I was calling for help a lot. I mean, more than once. But still . . .”

“Still . . .”

I look up at the sun and around at the trees.

“I should get home,” Sammie says.

“Yeah, me too.”

We stand there for another minute, neither of us moving. I think of what Melvin Marbury wrote on my Splish Splash comic strip.

“The truth is,” I say, “I was jealous. Of you and Luke. I thought there was something going on between you guys, and I was jealous.”

“I was jealous of you and Luke,” Sammie says. “I thought we were best friends, and then Luke shows up and it was all ‘David and Luke.’ And then on the bus . . .” She trails off.

“The bus,” I say, and I feel my face flush bright red. I have to look down at the snow because I can’t meet Sammie’s gaze, but I keep talking because I need to say it all. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that. I wanted to show you how I felt because I’ve had a crush on you for a long time. I was trying to make a move, the way Luke would, cool and smooth, so you’d know how I felt. I’m sorry. For everything.” I look up at Sammie, hoping I’ll see forgiveness in her eyes, and hoping even more that I’ll see us there, the way we used to be. But she’s staring down at the snow.

She’s silent for a long time. Then she sighs, “Thanks. I should go now.”

“Me too.”

“See you at school,” she says. I look right at her big, beautiful brown eyes, and for a moment they meet mine, and then she turns away from me.

“Okay,” I say.

We start walking away from each other, on our separate paths. But I can’t help it; I turn and call out to her, “I’ve been drawing a comic strip about us. About the way we were friends.”

She stops and tips her head a little, then half turns towards me. “Like the picture book you stuck in my backpack?”

“Nope. Not a picture book. I’m trying something new. Want to read it sometime?”

Sammie shrugs, then turns away from me and calls over her shoulder, “Maybe. Sometime.”

SAMMIE

I walk the rest of the way home hearing David’s voice in my head. I’m sorry. For everything. They’re only words. They can’t change what happened. But I feel stronger for hearing them. Surer.

On the back deck, I unstrap Ms. Wilcox’s snowshoes. Then I walk in through the sliding glass door, ready to stand up for myself. I will tell my parents who I am. I will tell them what matters to me, and what doesn’t. I will speak for myself.

But the house is quiet. Deserted. The kitchen lights are off, and for a moment I think they’ve forgotten me.

Then I notice my mother, sitting in the dark on the family room sofa.

“Hi, sweetie,” she says quietly.

“Where is everyone?”

“Your sisters ganged up on Daddy.” She smiles a small smile. “Something about women athletes and taking softball seriously and Title Nine. I heard the name Jennie Finch, and something about Brandi Chastain, and a reference to Venus and Serena. They apparently feel he has to be straightened out about his attitude toward women’s sports.”

I’m about to ask her to please explain what that means, because the Peas have never been my biggest defenders. But then my mother says, “Actually, I asked the girls to take Daddy out. They plowed our street about an hour ago. Then we heard from the Fischers just a few minutes ago. They said that you’d found Luke, you and David, in one of the drainage tunnels under the Greenway, and that the EMTs left you there when they took Luke to the hospital.” She gives me another small smile and pats the space next to her on the couch. “I figured you would walk home along the Greenway. I wanted to have you to myself.”

She pats the couch again, and I walk slowly toward her. I want to ask her to explain about the softball paperwork. But when I sit down, she reaches out and puts her hand on my shoulder, then pulls me into her. I feel her begin to shake, and realize that she’s crying. We stay like that, her crying into my hair and me holding her, unsure of how to let go, unsure of what to do, until she pushes herself back. Her hair is a mess, and her nose and eyes are red. Her mascara is apparently not waterproof, because it’s dripping down her face, leaving thick tracks of black on her cheeks. My beautiful, perfect mother looks awful.

She grabs a tissue out of the box on the coffee table, blows her nose, and wipes beneath her eyes, clearing away the worst of the mascara drips.

“I was so scared,” she says. “I’d told Nancy not to interrupt me for anything, so when she told me I had a call, I asked her to take a message. I didn’t know it was you until after the clients left. And then I knew it must have been important because you never call me.” She smiles a small, sad smile. “You and I don’t always . . . our wires seem to get crossed sometimes. I tried to call you back, but it went right to voicemail. I called Daddy and the girls, and no one knew where you were. Then when you didn’t come home . . .” Her eyes fill with tears that spill out into the black mascara tracks on her cheeks. “I knew that you’d reached out to me, and I’d let you down.”

“It’s okay.”

“No,” she says, shaking her messy, tangled hair. “It is most definitely not okay. We heard from the Fischers last night. About what’s been going on between you and Luke and David. About the way the boys have been ganging up on you. And spreading rumors. Daddy felt awful because you’d tried to talk to him about it, and he completely missed what you were trying to say. He can be so dense sometimes. Me—” She puts her hands on either side of my face and her eyes fill with tears again. “I felt awful because you didn’t try to talk to me.”

“I didn’t know how to,” I say.

“Sammie, I may not be the kind of woman that you want to be, and that’s okay. There are lots of different ways to be a woman. But I do know what it’s like to be a twelve-year-old girl, and to feel responsible for something that is not your fault.”

She takes a deep breath and tries to smile, but it doesn’t stick. “I was twelve too. The boys were strangers. I’d gone to the Y with my best friend, Amy, and we had a wonderful time swimming. We were getting ready to go home, getting out of our suits, and four boys came into the area where we were changing. I was wearing a one-piece and I had it half off. The boys blocked the doorway, watching us. When we tried to get past them, to get away, they let us, but one grabbed me as I passed, touched me”—she hesitates, then grimaces and says quietly, like the words are hard for her to get out—“between my legs.”

“Oh,” I say, stunned.

She pushes the hair back from her face and takes another deep breath. “We didn’t tell anyone. For years I felt like it was my fault, because I was changing in the wrong place, or because I didn’t yell at the boy and stand up for myself. I felt like . . . like maybe I deserved it, somehow.”

She stops talking, and I’m not sure what to say.

She takes both my hands in hers. “What happened to you. None of it was your fault. You didn’t cause any of it.”

“I didn’t know what to do,” I say. “How to make them stop. But I didn’t say no.”

“You didn’t say yes either.”

“I felt so scared.”

“I know,” my mother says. And the amazing thing is, I think she really does.