Skye and I wait for him
just outside the door.
Thanks, Trace. He followed
me all around the mall.
“That guy’s a goon.”
Exactly. A nasty goon.
“What happened to the friend
you were supposed to meet?”
He’s running a little late.
“He?”
Kevin. My boyfriend.
“Boyfriend? But what about
Will? You said you miss him.”
I do. I still love him, and probably
always will. You can’t turn off love
like the lights. But sometimes
you have to move on.
You Can’t Turn Off Love
I hope that’s true.
It kind of looks that way
when Will finally comes outside.
And it’s awkward.
He exits the building,
tense and scowling.
But when he sees Skye,
everything softens:
his shoulders
his jaw
his eyes.
He stands there,
almost smiling,
staring at Skye,
who stands there,
staring right back.
Bet ol’ Kevin wouldn’t
like this one bit.
Finally, Skye opens her mouth.
Good to see you, Will.
Thanks for coming to the rescue.
Wait. What?
It wasn’t exactly Will
who came to the rescue.
I could say something.
Will should say something.
He does. No problem.
But FYI, Jackson’s bark
is worse than his bite.
It’s one of Grandpa’s sayings.
It means Jackson might be rude,
but he wouldn’t actually hurt her.
I’m not sure that’s true, though.
And neither is Skye.
Her face flares bright red.
He was all over me, Will.
I can’t believe you’re defending
him. Your little brother understood.
Trace doesn’t know Jackson
like I do. He’s a friend.
You used to have better friends.
That’s for sure.
I have to go. Is it okay
if I give you a hug, Trace?
“Yeah. It’s cool.”
See, now, that’s consent.
Will and I Don’t Talk Much
On the ride home.
To break the silence,
he turns up the radio.
Super loud.
Drake booms
out the open windows.
At every stop sign,
every red light,
people in other cars
look around, trying
to find the source
of the pounding bass.
I tune it out as best I can,
consider the last couple
of hours. What is going
on with my brother?
Like, why
would he make me
be the one forced
into playing hero?
And why
would he stick
up for the vampire
instead of Skye?
I Thought
He cared about her.
He used to.
I’m positive about that.
Did he turn off
love like flipping
a light switch?
He’ll get mad
if I ask. But I’m getting
used to that.
So here goes, anyway.
“Hey, Will?”
Not sure he heard me.
I reach out, turn
down the radio.
“Do you still love Skye?”
What? Mean voice. Why?
“Just wondering.”
No response.
“Well, do you?”
None of your business.
He didn’t say no.
And that kind of
says everything.
Back to the Routine
Homework
Dinner (already accomplished)
TV or a video game
Bed
Day done.
Next morning:
Breakfast
Brush teeth
Off to school
Looks like Will’s going to stay
today. When he parks, I remind
him, “I’ve got practice later.”
He answers with a grunt.
That’s the most he’s said
to me since yesterday.
B Block today is ace
because in social studies
we’re learning about ancient
Greece, and in ELA we get to
write our own myth.
You have to set it in Greece,
though, instructs Mr. Benton.
No Percy Jackson in New York City.
The Research Is Interesting
In ancient Greece,
more than 2,500 years ago,
they had city-states, which
kind of inspired the states
here in the good old USA.
A lot of people were slaves,
who had to work for free,
sort of like the African American
slaves in our country’s past.
But there were also these
philosopher guys like Plato
and Socrates. They were
all into deep thought
when there was no internet
or even books to help them
figure out stuff, like how
the universe worked.
They studied the sky
and wanted to know
what it meant when the sun
or moon seemed to move.
Were they in motion?
Or were we?
Math. Science. Logic.
They trusted
in those things.
They probably didn’t believe
in the gods and goddesses
most people worshipped
back then. According to
their mythology, each of
those gods was in charge
of different things, like war
or love, death or learning.
Twelve of them supposedly
lived in Zeus’s palace, on
top of Mount Olympus,
the highest mountain in Greece.
Writing my myth makes me think.
If I lived a long, long time
ago, would I have believed
Zeus was an all-powerful god?
Or would I have stared at
Mount Olympus and decided
I should climb it, not to see
what was on top, but to get
an awesome look at
the real world below?
Last Class
At the end of the day is PE.
Today, and probably for the rest
of the year, that happens inside,
out of the hot Vegas sun.
We’re moving to music.
Which, I guess, sounds better
than dancing, at least to the guys.
Some of them complain anyway,
but our teacher just laughs.
Professional football players
do ballet to improve balance
and flexibility. So it won’t hurt
you to rock ’n’ roll a little.
We’re listening to Ms. Kendall’s
personal playlist, which is a mix
of oldies and newer alternative rock.
Suddenly, a familiar voice is singing
her latest song. It’s like she’s right here.
Breathing hard from effort
and surprise, I stop moving.
Cat’s right behind me.
What’s wrong?
“Nothing. Only, that’s my mom.”
Hearing Her Sing
Makes me feel proud.
Makes me feel sad.
Makes me feel happy.
Makes me feel lonely.
After class, we collect
our backpacks and, time
to go home, leave the building.
Cat walks outside with me.
I didn’t know Serene Etienne
was your mom. That’s awesome.
“You know who she is?”
Who doesn’t?
“She’s not really that famous.
Obsidian is kind of a niche band.”
Niche?
“Yeah. Not so mainstream.
A smaller but loyal fan base
that loves everything they do.”
My mom is one of those fans.
She’s even seen them play.
It’s the first time I’ve heard
her mention her mother.
Which makes me wonder.
“You said that lady who drove
you the other day was your dad’s
personal assistant, right? Why
didn’t your mom just drive you?”
She’s still in LA.
“Are you parents divorced?”
No. But Mom didn’t want to move
until we find out about my brother.
She keeps hoping he’ll come home.
“That must be hard.”
She nods. I miss them both.
But Mateo made everyone worry,
even before he disappeared.
He got into drugs. Joined a gang.
Sometimes I wish Mom would let him go.
I think I can relate.
Speaking of the devil.
“Here comes Will.
See you at practice.”
Will Doesn’t Wait
For me to follow him.
He jumps in his car,
backs out of his spot,
and for a second
I think he’s planning
to leave without me.
But then he circles the lot,
pulls up at the curb,
motions for me to get in.
I’m still thinking about Cat
when we start toward home.
“Wanna hear something
cool? My friend Cat knows
Mom’s music. She said
her mother loves Obsidian
and has seen them in concert.”
Cat? You mean the new girl
player on your team?
Since when is she your friend?
It’s kind of a good question,
actually. We didn’t know
each other at all a week ago.
“I guess since now.”
I’ve Never Had a Friend
Like Cat before.
I mean, yeah, because
she’s a girl.
I can’t even call her a buddy.
I never thought about
having a girl for a friend.
Not really sure why except,
I guess, I never knew
they could play baseball
or design robots.
But even if she couldn’t
do those things, I’d like Cat.
She’s smart, funny, real.
Girls always seemed
kind of fake, with their
makeup, glitter, polished nails.
Maybe I should’ve looked
harder, deeper, longer.
Because Catalina Sánchez
can’t be the only awesome
girl in the world.
Right?
Will Pulls Up
In front of the house.
I get out of the car.
He doesn’t.
I motion: Open the window.
“Aren’t you coming in?”
Nah. I’ve got somewhere to be.
“What about practice?”
Something wrong with your bike?
“No, but—”
Coolio. See you on the far side.
Coolio?
Where did that come from?
The thought
barely materializes
before he takes off.
Oh well.
Not exactly a surprise.
I let myself in,
change into my uniform,
grab my cleats, and put
them in my gym bag.
Now, where’s my glove?
Not on my dresser.
Not in my closet.
Not on the chair.
Where did I leave it?
Oh, yeah.
In the living room.
But when I go to find
it, it’s nowhere in sight.
I look in the sofa cushions.
Under the coffee and end tables.
Beneath Dad’s La-Z-Boy.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
I look in the kitchen.
In the bathroom.
In the hall closet.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
The last time I saw it was . . .
Sunday
The morning after the game.
Will was holding it,
checking out the autograph.
I run back to his room.
Look under his bed.
Dig through his drawers.
Search his closet.
No sign of my glove.
It’s disappeared.
Dad might yell at me
for leaving it out,
but he wouldn’t hide it.
The last person to touch
it was Will. He must be
the one who took it.
But why?
He knows I need it to play.
Thanks to him, I don’t have
enough money to replace it.
And even if I did, a new one
would have to be broken in,
and it wouldn’t have . . .
Victor Sánchez’s autograph.
No Wonder
He took off so fast.
I try calling him, but
of course he doesn’t answer.
Just you wait, Will.
Just you wait.
And now I’m late for practice.
I decide to go anyway,
so my coaches don’t think
I flaked out on them.
Even if I can’t play our next
game because I don’t have a glove.
Just you wait, Will.
Just you wait.
I jump on my bike.
Pedal it like a madman,
because I am one.
And not just mad, but furious.
It seems like I feel that way
more and more lately.
All because of my brother.
They say exercise is good
for releasing stress
and anger. I hope so.
Will should hope so, too.
Batting Practice
Is over.
Everyone is in the field.
Trevor is pitching.
He’s, like, last string,
but everyone deserves
the chance to get better.
I lean my bike against the fence.
Approach Coach Hal,
who motions for me to wait.
So I sit, watching,
until he comes over.
What’s up?
I tell him my glove
seems to have vanished.
That I looked all over
but just couldn’t find it.
I see. Well, you can’t play
without one, can you?
“No, but I didn’t even know
it was gone until after school.”
Tell you what. Practice
with mine for what’s left
of our time today. But have
one by Saturday. Deal?
No-Brainer
Coach’s glove is too big,
but I make it work
for the half hour remaining.
Afterward, Bram and Cat
tag-team me.
Bram: What happened?
Me: gives information.
Cat: Are you sure it was Will?
Me: huge eye roll.
Bram: You got Victor Sánchez’s
autograph? How? When?
Me: gives information.
Bram stares at Cat.
Cat: Not my fault he’s my father.
Bram: Why didn’t you tell me?
Me: claims forgetfulness.
Bram stares at me.
“Sorry, man. I would’ve showed
you today. But now my glove
is gone, and so is the autograph.”
Cat: If it’s useful, I can forge
Dad’s signature. I’ve done it
on permission slips.
Bram and I spit laughter.
Not just because she’s funny,
but also because she’s probably
not even kidding.
What? Comes in handy.
Bram changes the subject.
So, what are you going to do
about your glove?
“Guess I’ll have to ask Dad
to buy me another one.”
What about Will? Shouldn’t
he be the one who buys it?
“If he got rid of my old one,
yeah, he should. But he won’t.”
Even if he did, it would be
with your money, observes Bram.
What do you mean? Cat asks.
“Long story.”