To escape their stillness, I ventured out more. Back on the bus, staring, but rarely seeing the scenery slide by. I walked the streets of Ashville, past all my favorite spots: the bookstore, Juan’s newsstand, the square. There was no joy in it, no sense of adventure. I had to force each step and watched footfall after footfall. Not ready to face what I might see on the passing people if I looked up.
I took one of the sleeping pills someone had given me when I got home each night and sometimes another when I woke up.
When they were almost gone, I figured I might as well go back to school.
I’d been afraid being there would be uncomfortable, but Ash-ville isn’t a big place. I’d known my classmates pretty much my whole life. We might not be close, but I was there when Lucy Donato’s mom had cancer and Albert Lee’s dog was put down and when Jolanta Harris broke her leg. Not literally there, on the scene, but in the hallways and classrooms, sitting near them, helping them pretend life could go on until they didn’t have to pretend anymore. We knew how to treat one another in times like this. Going back to school did suck, but not because anyone said or did the wrong thing. Just because life in general sucked right now.
Tasha was my self-appointed guardian, walking to classes with me, at my locker during breaks. She seemed to get it that it was okay to be near people, but that I didn’t really want to talk. Or look at them, if I could help it. There were times, though, that she was at doctors’ appointments or classes and practices that didn’t mesh with my schedule. It was during one of these that Jack Petroski found me.
“Cassie!” He broke away from his baseball teammates and trotted over. Final bell had just rung and I was collecting books from my locker slowly, not relishing my solitary trip home to the empty apartment. “Hey,” he said softly, standing tall and slightly awkward at my side. “I wanted to say how sorry I am about Nan.”
“Thanks, Jack.” I glanced at him, saw genuine concern in his eyes, and looked quickly away.
“How are you?”
I shrugged and pushed hard against my locker to secure its bent latch. “Surviving.”
He nodded and seemed about to go, but then asked, “You heading home?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Want company?”
“Don’t you have practice?”
“Nah. Coach is at the dentist. Gave us the day off.”
I shrugged again. Jack didn’t live near me, but I didn’t have the energy to argue. “Sure.”
He hefted my book bag, carrying it easily along with his own. Jack was already tanned from hours of practice, and his hair, an earthy brown, lay wavy and rumpled as if he’d just run his hand through it, something he often did. I wondered briefly where Val was and if she’d be angry. Not that there was anything wrong with two friends talking. That’s what we were. Friends. Or had been back when the day’s big challenge was who could climb highest in the maple tree behind school.
“So, you guys ready for play-offs next week?” I asked as we went down the five wide steps out front. It felt weird to be asking about something so ordinary. Not bad, necessarily.
“Sure,” he said. “LaSalle’s got some great hitters, but I think we can take them.”
“Your mom going?”
“Oh yeah. She’ll be head-to-toe black and orange, and asking the whole time why our school colors couldn’t be something more flattering.”
“We all wonder that,” I said, smiling. “I hear some of the colleges have been watching you.”
He nodded, looking more serious. “I think one or two might actually come out for the games.”
I looked up at him, surprised. “But … that’s a good thing, right?”
“It is,” Jack answered slowly. “I just want to, you know, enjoy the game. Have fun. The scouts make it … I don’t know … too real.”
“I can see that,” I said, nodding. “Where are they from?”
“Granville and WSU. Both have great baseball programs.”
“Mm-hmm.” I’d never heard of either, which meant absolutely nothing. The only thing I knew about baseball was that our team was really good and it was mostly because of Jack, the star pitcher. He’d started varsity as a freshman last year and even made the paper a few times. “And, uh, where exactly are they?”
“Granville’s in Texas and WSU’s in Kansas.”
“Wow. Far.”
“Not too many worthwhile programs around here, so I won’t have much choice.” Jack hitched his shoulder, adjusting our bags, then looked down at me. “How ’bout you?”
“Nah,” I said. “No one’s recruited me yet.”
Jack grinned, nudging my arm with his. “You know what I mean. Have you started thinking about schools?”
“A little. Maybe Galein.”
He nodded. “Great school. You visited yet?”
“No. Still waiting for their packet.” Before Nan’s death, I had scanned the mail every day for their letterhead. I was surprised to realize I’d actually forgotten to check for a day or so, couldn’t remember the last stuff we’d—I’d—gotten. For all I knew, it was patiently waiting in our little keyed box.
“Where else are you going to look?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know. I was thinking maybe Richford and State. I didn’t want to go too far away.” I shrugged. “Though, now, I’m not so sure …”
He nodded slowly. “I guess a lot seems different for you now. It’ll still be nice to be close to here, though. Your friends and stuff.”
“Yeah.” I didn’t bother pointing out that when everyone left for school, there wouldn’t be anything or anyone here.
We were halfway to the apartment already. It was such a relief to have a normal conversation like this—about school, the future. I don’t think I’d had one with anyone, even Tasha, since Nan had died more than two weeks before. I sighed. Jack looked down at me and, seeing it wasn’t a sad sound, smiled.
“You know what I found the other day?” he asked.
“What?”
“Mickey Mouse poker chips.”
“You did not.”
“I did. I was looking for a picture of the fourth-grade baseball team for some project the cheerleaders are doing and it was there, in that box.”
Jack’s uncle Ray had taught us to play poker when we were eight. Before Jack and his mom moved to their new townhouse, they’d lived three blocks from me and Nan. After school, Ray would come over, done with his mail route by two, and we’d play. Penny ante, two-penny raises. For Christmas that year, he gave us each our own chips. Jack got Mickey, I got Minnie.