“Inthe pool.”
“Oh,uh,nothin’.” I sighed and continued to work thetoothbrush against my teeth. Why did she have to be so dang nosy?
“Didn’tsound likenothin’,” she continued gently. “Mollylooked a little upset.”
Ispit the lathered toothpaste into the sink and took a mouthful of water fromthe faucet. Mama waited patiently as I swished and spit again. When I lookedback to her, I saw the expectancy in her eyes and the tightness in her lips andgroaned. I wasn’t going to get away from her and I knew it.
“Wewere justtalkin’ about stupid stuff,” I reasoned andbrushed past her to head down the hall and into my room. I hurried through thedoor and to my desk with the intention of putting my binder and textbooks in mybackpack.
Mamafollowed. “Whatkindastupid stuff?”
“God,Idunno,” I mumbled. “Just …” I shrugged as my handbrushed against a spiral notebook. “We weretalkin’about wishes.” An immediate rush of embarrassment heated my cheeks as I glancedover my shoulder. Mama didn’t know about what Molly and I did out in the yard.She didn’t know about the stargazing and the wish-making. What would she say?Would she think we were too old for that type of stuff?
ButMama’s inquisitive expression softened as she nodded. “What about wishes?”
“Um…” I shrugged again and tucked the notebook into my bag as I made a silentpromise to write my wishes down later. “Just that Molly waswritin’hers down.” I looked over my shoulder again and added, “So they’ll come true.”
“Isee.” She nodded with motherly wisdom. “That’s a good idea.”
Therewas a pause in our conversation, so I assumed it was over. I zipped my bagclosed and dumped it on my desk, before heading to the bed to grab my pajamasand get ready to shower. I had school the next morning. The last week of schoolbefore summer vacation. Before high school. A festering ball of stabbing achesimmediately swelled in my gut at the thought.
ShermanHill School was so small, the elementary and junior high schools were all inthe same building. But come ninth grade, my school and another junior high fromacross town, both funneled into Red Ridge High School.
Tocontrol the number of kids distributed to each teacher, they split the studentbody into two teams, with two separate sets of teachers, starting from freshmanyear. Molly and I had been lucky for a long time. What were the chances of bestfriends being put into the same class for nine consecutive years? We thought itwas just who we were and the nature of our lives. “Written in the stars,” asour mamas both repeatedly put it.
Butwhat if our luck ran out? What would happen to us then?
Ilaid a hand over my stomach and Mama asked, “You all right, baby?”
Nodding,I said, “Yeah,” even though I wasn’t. Not in the way she meant it.
Shesighed and mentioned, “Molly’sgoin’ through a hardtime with this whole high school thing.”
Inarrowed my gaze at her. “What do you mean?”
“Youknow how she’s always been picked on.”
Ishrugged my response. Because I was very aware of how the other kids treatedher, and I hated it almost as much as Molly did.
“Don’ttell her you know this, but she’s real worried abouty’allnotbein’ friends anymore.”
Myhead whipped around so fast I could’ve broken my own neck. “Why would she thinkthat?”
Mamashrugged. “’Causeyou’redifferent people, Chad. You’re a socialkindakid,and Molly isn’t.” She sighed and took a glance around my room, looking at allthe trophies and medals that littered the walls and shelves. “Y’allhave been with the same group of kids for a longtime, you know. And I guess maybe Molly thinks you’ll find yourself some newfriends, and then forget about her.”
Therewas nothing painful about my stomach now. Instead, I was angry that Molly couldthink something so horrible and that my mother could say it. “That won’thappen,” I insisted hotly, all but stomping my foot against the carpet.
Mamanodded solemnly. “I know you say that, baby, and I believe you mean it. Butsometimes things happen—”
“No.”I shook my head and crossed my arms, ready to shut her out and shut her up.
RealizingI was going to insist on having the last word, she nodded again. “Well, I hopeyou’re right,” she concluded gently. “But I want you to know, if it doeshappen, it’s not your fault. It’s just life, Chad; thosekindathings happen. I just hope—”
“Mama,”I growled, shaking my head.
Shesmiled and stepped backward toward the door. “I just hopey’allwould find your way back to each other. That’s all I wanted to say.”
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