“Thanks for telling me about the shortcut.” I pick up the pace, even though my legs are furious with me.
He doesn’t come after me, which is good since I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to look him in the eye ever again.
I make it home with seconds to spare, getting the door shut right before my mom calls.
I know I should feel grateful that I made it home in time and avoided further punishments, but all I feel is trapped, in desperate need to get control again. I can’t breathe. I swear the walls are about to close in and crush me to death.
A small part of me wishes they would.
Luna doesn’t show up at the library. With how horrified she looked when she ran away from me, I’m not that surprised. I could see in her eyes that she thought I was judging her, and why wouldn’t she think that? It’s not like I have a great track record of being a nice, nonjudgmental guy, but I wasn’t judging her.
While I don’t fully understand why she stole, I don’t think she’s a bad person like she thinks she is. After I saw how her parents treat her, I think I get why she thinks she’s bad person, though.
I call her when I get home, but she doesn’t answer, so I end up asking my mom for help with my English paper, which turns into a disaster.
She freaks out when she discovers that the assignment is about Shakespeare’s work. “But I haven’t read anything by him.”
“Don’t worry; I haven’t really read much of it, either,” I tell her¸ trying to make her feel better.
She scowls at me from across the kitchen table. “You’re telling me you haven’t been doing the reading assignments?”
“I tried, but I could barely make it through the first scene.” I lower my head in my hands. “I feel like an idiot. I should’ve tried harder instead of waiting until my senior year to try to get my grades up.”
“Honey, you’re not an idiot, and I don’t want you to ever say that again.” She reaches across the table and tugs on my arm until I look at her. “We’ll get your grades up somehow.”
I force a smile, hoping she’s right, that somehow she can help me make good on the promise to be a better person. Getting my grades up is part of accomplishing that. I wish I hadn’t screwed around so much for the last few years. Then maybe reading Shakespeare wouldn’t be like trying to understand Latin.
“What happened to that girl who was supposed to help tutor you?” my mom asks as she reads over the assignment sheet again.
“She had something come up and couldn’t make it,” I lie as my stomach grumbles.
My mom glances at me then at the clock. “Wow, I didn’t even realize it was that late. I probably should make dinner.” She pushes back from the table, wanders over the cupboard, and takes out three cans of Ravioli. “Why don’t you go call this girl and see if maybe she can meet you another day?”
My hunger pains increase at the sight of the cans. “That might work.” But I’m not sure Luna will be too happy to help me after what happened unless I somehow convince her that I’m not the douchebag guy I used to be.
“Mom, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course, honey,” she says as she presses the can opener into the top of the can.
I pick at the cracks in the table. “Say there was this person who was an asshole to people for a really long time. Then one day something happened, and he decided he needed to change, but the girl he wanted to be friends with was someone he did some messed up stuff to. How would he go about convincing this girl that he’s not a jerk anymore?”
She narrows her eyes at me as she rotates the handle of the opener. “Grey Sawyer, have you been mean to girls?”
“Not lately . . . But, yeah, I have . . . in the past,” I confess, ashamed.
She pries the lid off the can. “I thought I raised you better than that.”
“You did . . . I just didn’t listen to all the amazing stuff you taught me.” I try to dazzle her with my most charming smile.
She wags a finger at me. “Don’t try to charm me, young man.”
“Sorry. I’m trying to change, though . . . be better . . . be the person dad thought I was.”
She grows quiet, and when she speaks again, her voice is overflowing with emotion. “Your dad didn’t think you were a good person. He knew you were.”
I shake my head. “He might’ve thought I was a nice guy, but . . . I’ve done some messed up stuff, and everyone at school knows it.”
She chucks the lid of the can into the trash below the sink then wipes her hands clean on a dishtowel. “Well, then I guess it’s time to start showing everyone the sweet, caring side of Grey Sawyer that I know.” She pulls out the trash bag from the bin and ties it up. “And you can start with taking the trash out for your mom.”
I get up and take the bag from her. “That sounds like the easy part.”
As I’m heading for the back door, she says, “And, Grey, if you want to show this girl that you’re a nice guy now, you can start by saying that you’re sorry for whatever it was that you did to her.”
“You think it’s that easy?”
“No, but I think it’s a start.”
Could it be that easy?
I hope so.
I spend the rest of the night eating dinner with Mia and my mom while trying to think of what I’m going to say to Luna tomorrow and how to apologize to her. After I eat as much as I can, scraping the plate clean, I get ready for bed and head into the office to say goodnight to my mom. But I stop just outside the door when I hear her talking on the phone.
“I know we’re behind on the mortgage, but things have been really rough lately.” She pauses, and when she speaks again, her voice is wobbly like she’s fighting back tears. “Fine, I understand. I’ll come up with the money.” She hangs up and bursts into sobs.
I give her a moment to cry before I knock on the door.
“Just a second,” she says quickly. I hear her rustling around with something, and then she calls out, “Okay, you can come in.”
I open the door and step in. Papers and folders are scattered all over the floor and stacked so high on the desk that I can’t even see the computer. She’s kneeling in the center of the mess, her eyes red from crying.
“Hey, honey.” She starts sorting through papers. “Did you need something?”
“I just wanted to say goodnight.” It’s hard to see her like this, so broken down.
“Goodnight, sweetie.” She smiles, but it looks forced.
“I start work in a few days,” I remind her. “So I’m going to either need to borrow the car or get a ride there.”
“Are you sure you’re going to be able to handle a job?” she asks distractedly as she sifts through a small stack of papers that looks like medical bills.
I lean against the doorframe. “Yes, I’m sure.”
We’ve had this conversation at least ten times already, and I’ve given her the same answer. If I didn’t think I could handle a job, then I wouldn’t have begged Benny again today to take a risk on me. Thankfully, he took pity on me, mostly because of my father.
“Your father was a good man,” he said as he struggled to turn on the computer mouse. “You know he helped me out when he was your age. It was when I first opened the store.” He pounded the mouse against the counter. “Damn technology. I told Margret I didn’t want an upgrade, that my system was fine, but she said it was getting too complicated without having electronic records of everything.”
“Here, let me help you.” I took the mouse from him, flipped it over, and turned on the power button. “It should work now,” I said, handing it back to him.
He looked at the mouse dubiously then set it down on the pad and clicked it. His eyes lit up as he stared at the screen, and he smiled at me. “Grey, you have yourself a job.”
He hired me for weekends since I have school and practice on weekdays. That is, if I ever make it back on the team. Truthfully, I think I would have asked for weekdays if my college career wasn’t riding on a sports schol
arship.
“There it is!” my mom exclaims as she waves the paper in the air.
“What is that?” I inch into the cluttered room.
“It’s the title to your father’s first car.” She hops over a plastic bin that’s in the middle of the room and hands me the paper. “Your uncle Nate’s been storing it for your dad since forever. He was going to give it to you as a graduation present, but . . .” She forces a lump down in her throat. “But, yeah, I thought it might be better to give it to you now.”
I look down at the title. A 1966 Chevy Impala.
“We should probably just sell it,” I say quietly.
“That’s really up to you.” When I open my mouth to protest, she adds, “Your father wanted you to have that car. If you sell it, I won’t take the money. You can put it away for college or something. Besides, in the condition the car is in right now, it’s not really worth anything.”
“Does it run?”
“Kind of.”
“How can something kind of run?”
“I’m not sure.” She twists a strand of her hair around her finger, thinking. “How about we go talk to Nate before school tomorrow? I can drive you over there before I have to go to work, and if it runs, then you can drive it to school.”
“Are you sure you’ll have time to do that?”
“Of course I do.”
“Okay. I guess that sounds good.” I glance down at the title again.
My dad even signed it over to me. I don’t know why, but I find myself tearing up. He must have done it when he found out he was sick.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” my mom asks. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean for it to upset you.”
“I’m not upset.” I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt as I back out of the room. “I need to get to bed. We’re going to have to get up really early if we’re going to check out the car.” I turn to leave yet pause in the doorway. “Mom, thanks for giving me this. It . . . It means a lot.”
I leave the room before I start bawling. When I get to my room, I take out the envelope I hid under the mattress earlier today. I thought I’d have more time to decide if I wanted to use the money, more time to decide if I was ready to give up the signed baseball my dad gave to me at the first Yankee’s game we ever went to.
“My dad gave it to me at the first game we ever went to,” he said with pride as he handed me the signed ball.
“Thanks, Dad.” I looked down at it in awe, knowing I was never going to forget the moment.
I suck back the tears and write my mom’s name on the front of the envelope along with the message: Someone once helped me out when I needed it, and I want to pay it forward. Hope this helps. Then I sneak out the front door and put it in the mailbox.
I hate being sneaky about it, but I know my mom will never take the money if she knew where I got it. I also know it’s not enough money to solve all our problems, but hopefully it’ll help keep my family afloat until the house sells.
After I return to my room, I close the door and take a good look at the emptiness—another painful reminder of how much everything has changed, how my dad’s gone and is never coming back. He’ll never come to another one of my games again. There won’t be any more Sundays of watching our favorite teams play. There won’t be any more celebration dinners.
All I have left now are memories of him and a beat up old car.
With the title still clutched in my hand, I crawl into bed and cry myself to sleep.
First thing the next morning, my mom walks out to the mailbox to stick a bill inside. By the time she returns to the kitchen, she looks as if she’s seen a ghost.
“Everything okay?” I ask her as I butter a slice of toast.
She shakes her head, her gaze descending to the envelope in her hand. “It’s nothing.” She turns the envelope over several times before shoving it into her purse. Then she plasters on a fake smile. “You about ready to head to Uncle Nate’s?”
I put the butter back in the fridge. “Yeah, let’s go.”
We drop Mia off at school before we drive to my uncle Nate’s house. My mom prepares to leave the second he gets the engine started, muttering that she needs to make a quick stop at the bank before she heads to work. I’m glad to hear her say that because I was a little worried she might not use the money.
She gives me thirty dollars before she heads for her car. “It’s for gas,” she says when I open my mouth in protest. “And I don’t want to hear you argue about it. You’ll take the money or else.”
I stuff the bills into my wallet. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Just make it last as long as possible.” She gets into her car and drives away with the tires kicking up a cloud of dust.
Once she’s gone, I concentrate on the car in front of me. It’s in worse condition than I imagined. The passenger door is dented, the entire outside is practically bondo, and it’s in serious need of a paint job. On a positive note, the tires are in good condition, the interior’s pretty decent, and there’s hardly any rust.
“She could be a real beaut with some body work and a new paint job,” my uncle Nate insists as I lap the car, eyeballing all the scratches and dings.
“Would it be worth anything if I did?” I feel guilty for bringing it up, but I need to know.
The money I gave my mom last night isn’t going to last very long, and I’m worried my family’s going to be kicked out in the streets. I know my dad would rather me sell the car and pawn off his baseball to keep that from happening, contrary to what my mom believes.
Uncle Nate runs his hand over his head. “You want to sell it?”
I crouch down to inspect a large dent in the bumper. “Maybe.”
“Yeah, you could get a lot out of it if it was fixed properly,” he says, giving the tire a soft kick with his boot.
“Really?” I run my fingers along a small spot of remaining cherry red paint.
“I could help you fix it up,” he offers, sliding his hands into the pockets. “Your dad and I were supposed to start at the beginning of this year, but we . . . We never got around to it.”
I shove down the pain rising in my throat as I stand back up. “Yeah, I’d like that. Thanks, Uncle Nate.”
“No problem. I’m happy to help. Just promise me that you’ll think about it before you sell it.”
“I promise.” I wave good-bye then slide into the driver’s seat.
I try to focus on the positive side of having a car again as I pull into the busy school parking lot. I wish I was running late because I know it’s going to draw attention.
“What the hell happened to your truck?” Logan appears by the door the moment I climb out of the car.
“I traded it in for this,” I lie as I grab my bag from the back seat.
He cringes at the nails-on-chalkboard noise the door makes as I push it closed. “That’s seriously your car now?”
“What? It’s a classic,” I say like I know what I’m talking about. Really, I’m just repeating Uncle Nate’s words.
“Classic means old, and old stuff is usually a piece of shit,” he sneers, picking at a small section of paint that’s left.
I push him away from the car. “Don’t touch the car, man, unless you’re going to be nice.”
“Oh, come on, Grey.” He shoves me back. “You act like you actually like this car or something.”
“You know what? I kind of do,” I tell him truthfully. I knew it the moment I saw it, dings and all. Turns out, I’m a classic car kind of guy, just like my dad was when he was my age, at least according to Nate.
Logan gapes at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. “What the hell is going on with you? I mean, you spend all summer blowing everyone off, and then you come back to school and barely speak to anyone. It’s like you think you’re better than everybody now.”
“I don’t think that at all.”
“Then what the fuck’s going on with you?”
I picture telling him about my promise to become a better person and see h
im laughing in my face in response.
“I have to get to class.” I sidestep around him and head toward the sidewalk.
“Piper thinks you’re acting weird, too.” He follows me. “She spent, like, an hour last night yapping my ear off about it.”
“I’m glad you two are getting along.” I scan the grass area, the benches, and the trees for a certain brown-haired girl with really big eyes. I desperately want to talk to Luna so I can tell her I’m okay with what she told me yesterday.
“So that doesn’t bother you?” Logan questions as we reach the sidewalk.
“Does what bother me?” I ask when I spot Luna and her friend Ari crossing the parking lot. She’s wearing an oversized, bright orange hoodie that looks big enough to fit me, along with a pair of loose khakis. Her hair is down and wavy, and she doesn’t have a drop of makeup on.
As I’m openly staring at her, she laughs at something Ari says, and it makes me smile.
“Dude, are you checking out Luna Harvey?” Logan asks, sounding appalled.
I realize that I’ve stopped walking and that he’s watching me. My first instinct is to say no, but I find myself glancing at my car parked in a sea of nearly brand new vehicles.
“So what if I am?”
“You’ve got to be shitting me.” He shakes his head. “So, is it the baggy as shit clothes that turn you on? Is that part of your new”—he waves his hand at my car—“whatever the hell you want to call what’s going on with you?”
“She doesn’t dress like that all the time,” I growl. “And who cares if she does? She’s still a person, which is more than I can say for you.”
“You think I give a shit about being nice?” He laughs in my face. “Girls don’t want nice guys, man.”
I clench my hands into fists to stop myself from punching him in the face. “Just drop this, okay? It’s none of your damn business what I do or who I’m checking out.”
“You know she’ll never put out for you, right? Girls like that don’t.” He glances in Luna’s direction and shakes his head before looking back at me. “Do yourself a favor; go find Piper, say you’re sorry, and let her fuck some sense back into you.”