Saturday, March 7

DAVID

Pop probably started telling me how to Be a Man before I could say “man.” There’s a lot of crap you have to do to Be a Man: own your mistakes, face your problems, treat girls with respect, clean up your own messes, play fair, follow the rules. Sometimes I want to remind Pop that I’m not a man, I’m a twelve-year-old boy, because Being a Man really stinks.

Being a Man is why I end up in the lobby of Memorial Hospital, holding a gift bag with a Yankees fleece blanket in it, asking for Luke Sullivan’s room number. Pop wanted me to bring a plant, which would be a totally lame thing for any boy to bring to another boy, and also would not be something Luke Sullivan would want, so I suggested a new Nintendo DS game, which made Pop’s face turn purple because he immediately thought I was just trying to get around the electronics ban, which I kind of was. Mom had the idea for the Yankees blanket, which I immediately agreed to, mostly because it made Pop’s face get less purple. He doesn’t look good purple.

Mom and Pop both wanted to go with me to Luke’s room, but on that I put my foot down: I would go alone.

Except you can’t go alone to a patient’s room if you’re a minor, even if the patient is a minor, and even if you’re the minor who kind of saved the minor patient’s life, so Pop agrees to escort me upstairs and then wait in the hall.

We ride the elevator without talking, and then Pop asks the nurse which way to Luke’s room, and waits outside while I go in. Luke’s dad is sitting next to his bed, and Luke’s looking out the window. When I walk in, Mr. Sullivan gets up and holds out his hand, and we shake, but Luke keeps staring out the window.

“David,” Mr. Sullivan says. “Great to see you. Super nice of you to stop by. How about your dad and I go grab a cup of coffee and leave you two guys alone?”

“Thanks,” I say, watching Luke, who’s still staring out the window.

After Luke’s dad leaves, I hold out the bag with the Yankees blanket and say, “I brought you something. A get-well gift.” Luke doesn’t say anything, or even look at me, so I keep talking. “It’s from the store, of course. They’re a really popular item this year. Made of polar fleece, so they’re pretty warm, plus they have this year’s lineup printed around the edge. So they’re kind of like a collector’s item because next year there will be a different lineup.”

Luke still won’t look at me, and I wonder if he’s embarrassed about the way I was hugging him in the tunnel, because I kind of am, but the EMT guys told me that it was the exact right thing to do, because I was sharing my body warmth with Luke, and that I maybe saved his life, plus the doctors told the Sullivans that Luke probably wouldn’t remember most of what happened in the tunnel, and Mrs. Sullivan told my mom, who told me.

But since he’s still not looking at me, and not talking to me, and I’ve run out of dumb things to say about the stupid Yankees blanket, I rush on and say the hard thing that I need to:

“I’m sorry about everything. Making up stuff about you and Sammie, and that stupid prank in the stairwell. I was jealous, if you want to know the whole truth. Jealous about you and Sammie, because when you both weren’t in the cafeteria I thought you guys were, like, together. When I finally figured out you were with Dr. Ginzburg at lunch . . . well, duh.”

I set the gift bag down on the end of Luke’s bed and turn to leave.

“You knew where to find me,” Luke says quietly. “You told me I was your friend. In the tunnel.”

I turn back, and he’s looking at me. I nod, and for a moment I want to be the hero of this story. But trying to be the hero is kind of what got me into trouble in the first place, so I say, “Allie saw you in our backyard, and she told me. I guessed that you’d come in to get a coat and boots from the garage, after you ran out of school. Then I found your wet stuff behind my mom’s sock bin. That’s how I figured out where you’d gone.”

“Thanks,” he says, and I’m not really sure whether he’s thanking me for finding his socks or for telling him he was my friend or for all of it.

But I nod again and say, “No problem. Sammie’s really the one who saved you though. She heard me calling for help.”

Luke winces. “Sammie,” he says quietly. He closes his eyes, and for a moment I worry that maybe he’s passed out again like in the Fort. But then he opens them, slowly, not looking at me, and says, “She heard you.”

“Yeah. That was some dumb luck,” I say. “Crazy dumb luck.”

Luke nods again.

I’m not sure whether I should leave or sit down and start talking about basketball scores, so I stand there awkwardly for a long time, neither of us saying anything.

Then Luke says, “They don’t think they’re going to have to amputate any of my toes.”

“Great!” I say.

“They won’t know for certain for a couple of weeks, but the doctor said he’s pretty confident.”

“Good news,” I say, sitting down in the chair next to Luke’s bed.

“I have blisters all over my feet, and two of my toenails are black, but none of the blisters had blood in them, so that’s good.”

“Cool,” I say.

“Wanna see?”

“Sure,” I say, even though I think regular toes are pretty gross-looking, let alone black, blistered ones.

“You can’t see much anyway, though. They’re all wrapped up.” Luke pulls back the covers and reveals two mummy feet, encased in mounds of gauze. “I won’t be able to really walk on them for a couple of weeks.”

“Wow,” I say. “That sucks.”

Just then, a nurse walks into the room. “Okay,” she says to me, “let’s let Luke get some rest now.”

“All right,” I say, and I get up to leave. “Good news about the toes, though.”

“Yeah,” Luke says, and one side of his mouth turns up into an almost smile. “Good news.”

At the door, I stop, and turn around. “I could come by again, if you want.”

“That would be great,” Luke says. “Maybe even bring some board games? Like—what was that one we played New Year’s Eve?”

“Blokus.”

“Yeah. Blokus. Bring that one.”

“You got it.”