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“Something will come through,” I tell him. “Try not to stress about it.”
I say it because this is what I want to happen for him. Maybe if we say it enough times, it really will.
“What about you?” he asks. “You made a decision?”
I sit at the kitchen table and Be
He squints his eyes like he’s confused by my response. “But you’re good, Pynes. I mean, do you know how good you are? It’s like taking that beautiful and delicious cake we made, that we worked so hard on, and throwing it away. It’s such a waste.”
“As long as I go to college, isn’t that the important thing? I mean, I played ball these past four years because it was fun, with you and the other guys. And around here, you know how it is.”
“As my dad likes to say, it keeps us out of trouble,” Be
“Exactly. I’m glad I played. We all make a good team.”
“Not just good, Pynes. A hell of a team.”
“Yeah. But next year, it’s a whole new ball game. The reasons I’ve loved it so much these past four years won’t be there anymore.”
“So how you go
I fiddle with a burgundy place mat in front of me. “I don’t know. But I figure people do it all the time, right? I can get a job. Take out loans. My grades are really good; there might be other kinds of scholarships I can get.” I look at him. He’s trying to understand, but I also know he would give just about anything to trade places with me right now. And if I could, I would.
“And you know, it’s important for you to remember that too,” I tell him. “If you don’t get a football scholarship, there are other ways. We can help each other figure it out, okay?”
“But I want to play,” he says. “You probably don’t even know how much I want to play.”
He’s right. I don’t. Just like he doesn’t know how much I’m ready to move on from living and breathing football.
His mom comes in. “Russ is pulling up. Can you boys get the table set, please? I just need to finish up the salad, then we’ll be ready.”
Both Be
He reaches for a fist bump. “You can count on that.” His eyes light up when he asks me, “Hey, after we eat di
I’ve lost track of how many times we’ve watched it.
“Is the Hulk green?” I ask.
“That would be a yes,” he says.
And then Be
17
Lauren
me what I really want, most of all.
18
Colby
Tuesday afternoon, I stop in at Whispering Willow Bookshop again, between work and the second practice.
“Hey, Colby,” Mr. McMa
“Actually, that’s why I’m here. Some of us are getting together on Saturday. We’re going up to the creek to swim, and I thought I’d see if she wants to come along. Does she have a cell phone?”
He shakes his head. “No, unfortunately she doesn’t. She’ll have to get a job if she wants one. We just can’t afford one for her. You could call her at the house, though. Do you want the number?”
“Sure.”
He grabs a pad of paper, and when he’s finished writing, he tears off the piece of paper and hands it to me.
“Thanks,” I say.
“You bet. Hey, did you give your grandpa the book yet?”
“Oh, yeah. Last night. He liked it a lot. Thanks again.”
He smiles. “My pleasure.”
“See ya later.”
As I walk to my truck, I think about how I probably shouldn’t have lied. Maybe Mr. McMa
Last night, after looking at the book for a while in bed, I redid the list. I do that sometimes. Narrowing it down to twenty is about as hard as scoring a touchdown on a kickoff.
The top five stayed the same, though:
A couple of weeks ago, Gram was asking Grandpa if he’d take her out for a picnic at a spot near an old bridge she’d heard about.
“I just love old covered bridges,” she’d said. “There’s something special about them, don’t you think, Colby?”