The Last Time We Say Goodbye
Page 75
“I haven’t seen him. Not since I told the big whopper to my dad about the collage. How about you?” For some reason I can’t bring myself to tell her about what Dave said, that seeing Ty is a common occurrence, my brain filling in the spaces my brother used to occupy.
“Me?” She looks over at me quizzically.
“How’s Gregory, the spirit guide?”
I grin. She grins back.
“Oh, right. Gregory is fabulous. He’s got my life all planned out.”
Her watch beeps. “Run!” she orders, and off we go.
“Actually,” she says when we’re at the next walking interval, “I’m thinking about going to college. Not the Massachusetts Institute of Technology or anything,” she says with proper dramatic flair, “but I’ve looked into a few community colleges, and then if I liked that I could transfer to UNL.”
“Good for you!” I beam at her, as much as I am capable of beaming in this jogging situation. “I told you. You’re smart. You should do something with that.”
“I’m thinking psychology or counseling. Get paid the big bucks for people to tell me all of their problems.”
We pass by one of our neighbors, old Mrs. Wilson, who is watering her flowers. She looks at us suspiciously. Sadie waves. Mrs. Wilson scowls and goes back in the house.
“What about MIT?” Sadie asks me. “What’s going on with that?”
“Not much. I’m supposed to be getting a call from one of the students this week, and next month I’m going to visit the campus.”
“You don’t sound very excited.”
“I am, though.”
“You’re scared,” Sadie teases.
“No. I’m just anticipating this huge change. And I’ve never been great with change.”
I’ve been thinking about MIT a lot. Just six months away. I know better than anyone how much can change in six months.
Sadie’s watch beeps. “Run!” she yells, and we run, and I stop thinking for a while and focus on survival.
Walk.
Run.
Walk.
Run.
I’m out of breath. I have a stitch in my side. I’m pretty sure I hate Sadie. For each step of the routine, the run parts seem longer and the walk parts seem shorter. After six of these, I feel like I’m going to die.
“Walk,” she says finally. “Last leg.”
Thank God. If I believed in God.
“How’s your mom?” Sadie asks between pants as we cool down. “I saw her at the grocery store yesterday, and she looked—”
“Slightly better,” I fill in.
“Yeah. She looked better.”
“She’s doing okay. She laid off the wine and the pills, and she’s going to church again, which seems to give her some energy, so yes. She’s doing better.”
Mom and I haven’t talked about my little speech in the car on the way home from Graceland, but I feel like she heard me. That’s something.
“It’s such a cliché, the whole ‘time heals all wounds’ thing, but it’s true. Clichés are clichés for a reason, I guess,” Sadie says as we drag ourselves into her front yard. “Hey, do you want a ride to school later?”
I check my watch. “You mean in like fifteen minutes later? Sure.”
It would rock to not ride the bus.
“Okay, so shower, do something with that hair—I’m just saying—or whatever you need to do, and meet me back here in fifteen minutes.”
Fourteen minutes later I’m back at the McIntyre house. Sadie comes out, hair still wet but eyeliner perfectly in place, and unlocks the doors to her old Jeep Grand Cherokee with its peeling red paint.
I’m still thinking about MIT.
“Are you okay?” she asks me.
“Fine. I’m just jealous that you have a car that actually works.” I glance at the dashboard. “You’re almost out of gas, by the way.”
She shrugs. “Gas is expensive.”
“The light is on. Do you even have enough for us to make it to school?”
She rolls her eyes, annoyed that I have to be so darned practical, and turns the car off. Then she unbuckles her seat belt. “Wait here.”
She leaves the door open and the keys-in-the-ignition alarm ringing, goes into the garage, and reappears a few minutes later lugging a big red gasoline can.
“Seth always keeps extra for his motorcycle.” She reaches under the seat to pop the gas door.
As if on cue, Seth and said motorcycle pull into the driveway. He sputters to a stop next to the Jeep and removes his helmet. His spiky hair is smashed, and he runs his hand over it as he watches Sadie struggle to pour the gas into the tank.
“Um, may I ask what the hell you’re doing?” he asks.
“I’ll fill it up for you after school.”
“You be sure to do that.” He looks like he wants to say more, but he’s noticed me sitting there. He smiles. I roll down my window as he walks around to my side of the car.
“Hey, Lex,” he says. “Still hanging out with this loser?”
This is the most awake I’ve ever seen him look.
“Yes.” I try but can’t think of a clever quip. “Did you just get off work?”
“Yep. Time for the party to begin.” He smiles again.
Sadie scoffs and says something I don’t catch but is undoubtedly an insult, which seems doubly rude since she is stealing his gasoline.
“Me?” She looks over at me quizzically.
“How’s Gregory, the spirit guide?”
I grin. She grins back.
“Oh, right. Gregory is fabulous. He’s got my life all planned out.”
Her watch beeps. “Run!” she orders, and off we go.
“Actually,” she says when we’re at the next walking interval, “I’m thinking about going to college. Not the Massachusetts Institute of Technology or anything,” she says with proper dramatic flair, “but I’ve looked into a few community colleges, and then if I liked that I could transfer to UNL.”
“Good for you!” I beam at her, as much as I am capable of beaming in this jogging situation. “I told you. You’re smart. You should do something with that.”
“I’m thinking psychology or counseling. Get paid the big bucks for people to tell me all of their problems.”
We pass by one of our neighbors, old Mrs. Wilson, who is watering her flowers. She looks at us suspiciously. Sadie waves. Mrs. Wilson scowls and goes back in the house.
“What about MIT?” Sadie asks me. “What’s going on with that?”
“Not much. I’m supposed to be getting a call from one of the students this week, and next month I’m going to visit the campus.”
“You don’t sound very excited.”
“I am, though.”
“You’re scared,” Sadie teases.
“No. I’m just anticipating this huge change. And I’ve never been great with change.”
I’ve been thinking about MIT a lot. Just six months away. I know better than anyone how much can change in six months.
Sadie’s watch beeps. “Run!” she yells, and we run, and I stop thinking for a while and focus on survival.
Walk.
Run.
Walk.
Run.
I’m out of breath. I have a stitch in my side. I’m pretty sure I hate Sadie. For each step of the routine, the run parts seem longer and the walk parts seem shorter. After six of these, I feel like I’m going to die.
“Walk,” she says finally. “Last leg.”
Thank God. If I believed in God.
“How’s your mom?” Sadie asks between pants as we cool down. “I saw her at the grocery store yesterday, and she looked—”
“Slightly better,” I fill in.
“Yeah. She looked better.”
“She’s doing okay. She laid off the wine and the pills, and she’s going to church again, which seems to give her some energy, so yes. She’s doing better.”
Mom and I haven’t talked about my little speech in the car on the way home from Graceland, but I feel like she heard me. That’s something.
“It’s such a cliché, the whole ‘time heals all wounds’ thing, but it’s true. Clichés are clichés for a reason, I guess,” Sadie says as we drag ourselves into her front yard. “Hey, do you want a ride to school later?”
I check my watch. “You mean in like fifteen minutes later? Sure.”
It would rock to not ride the bus.
“Okay, so shower, do something with that hair—I’m just saying—or whatever you need to do, and meet me back here in fifteen minutes.”
Fourteen minutes later I’m back at the McIntyre house. Sadie comes out, hair still wet but eyeliner perfectly in place, and unlocks the doors to her old Jeep Grand Cherokee with its peeling red paint.
I’m still thinking about MIT.
“Are you okay?” she asks me.
“Fine. I’m just jealous that you have a car that actually works.” I glance at the dashboard. “You’re almost out of gas, by the way.”
She shrugs. “Gas is expensive.”
“The light is on. Do you even have enough for us to make it to school?”
She rolls her eyes, annoyed that I have to be so darned practical, and turns the car off. Then she unbuckles her seat belt. “Wait here.”
She leaves the door open and the keys-in-the-ignition alarm ringing, goes into the garage, and reappears a few minutes later lugging a big red gasoline can.
“Seth always keeps extra for his motorcycle.” She reaches under the seat to pop the gas door.
As if on cue, Seth and said motorcycle pull into the driveway. He sputters to a stop next to the Jeep and removes his helmet. His spiky hair is smashed, and he runs his hand over it as he watches Sadie struggle to pour the gas into the tank.
“Um, may I ask what the hell you’re doing?” he asks.
“I’ll fill it up for you after school.”
“You be sure to do that.” He looks like he wants to say more, but he’s noticed me sitting there. He smiles. I roll down my window as he walks around to my side of the car.
“Hey, Lex,” he says. “Still hanging out with this loser?”
This is the most awake I’ve ever seen him look.
“Yes.” I try but can’t think of a clever quip. “Did you just get off work?”
“Yep. Time for the party to begin.” He smiles again.
Sadie scoffs and says something I don’t catch but is undoubtedly an insult, which seems doubly rude since she is stealing his gasoline.
