The Memory Book(52)

The free air. Nobody asked me questions. I just sat on the porch swing and ate chocolate chip cookies, and occasionally Maddie would swing by and we’d exchange a joke, or she’d tell me a story about how she’s been Facebook stalking her new roommate at Emory, a lizard enthusiast.

When she started in on what classes she was taking, I had to bite my tongue. College shit. I couldn’t handle college shit.

I nodded along for Maddie’s sake, but every mention of higher education was still like someone pinching me and twisting. Mariana Oliva’s words rose up behind me, a ghost: Study everything. It’s not like I still harbored dreams that I could do it. I couldn’t do it, I knew I couldn’t do it.

But damn. All the hope I had felt, flaunting itself like a peacock in the letters we received from the NYU registrar, every logo, every mention.

After her aunt so-and-so called Maddie away, I noticed Coop and that guy Maddie had punched all those years ago refilling their lemonade cups.

When Coop spotted me, I waved, and he came over and sat down on the swing. We didn’t say anything for a while. I remembered I had forgotten to make him brownies for giving me a ride.

“Qué pasa, Sammie?” He bumped his cup on mine. One of the last classes we had taken together was Spanish 1, our first year of high school. He used to greet me like that every class period.

“Nada, zanahoria.”

Coop turned to me, confused. “Did you just say, ‘nothing, carrot’?”

I laughed. “I couldn’t remember what * was.”

“Are you still mad at me for digging into that Stuart guy?”

“You can just call him Stuart.”

Coop rolled his eyes. “Are you still mad at me for digging into Stuart?”

“Well, maybe I was, but you were right.” I took a deep breath. “I told him.”

“And?” Coop raised his eyebrows, his voice bracing for another blow.

“Stuart’s sticking around.” I swallowed. “I mean, for the time being. He even comes over and helps out around the house. That’s why my parents haven’t asked your mom to check in for a while.”

“Wow.”

“I mean, not all the time,” I said. “He still has to write a lot. And he works at the Canoe Club.”

Coop nodded, shrugged, didn’t say anything for a second. “Good,” he finally said.

We smiled, but there was a little sadness to his—I’m not sure why.

Anyway, the fight was over, like rapid fire, because we knew it was over. It was just like letting him into the kitchen after all those years. We could have been fighting about who got to lick the cake-batter spoon.

Over in the yard, Maddie screamed with delight. Coop and I glanced in her direction.

Pat and Maddie’s aunt had just presented Maddie with one of her graduation presents: a navy blue hooded sweatshirt, embroidered with EMORY UNIVERSITY.

I tried not to be jealous, I tried to be happy, but I must have winced. I couldn’t help thinking, That could have been me, too.

“Qué pasa?” Coop asked again, studying my face.

I nodded toward Maddie, hoping he would get it.

He did.

“I’m about to head home,” Coop said. “Do you want a ride?”

“Oh, I think Maddie was going to drop me off later…”

Coop glanced at Maddie. “You really want to wait that out?”

Maddie was ripping the sleeves off the Emory sweatshirt, because she hates sleeves. When she was done, Maddie’s aunt took the sleeves and waved them around over her head. Maddie put on her hood and pretended to throw a few jabs at her aunt. Her aunt slapped her with a sleeve and they chased each other around the yard.

“Yeah, it looks like it’s going to be a long night.” I looked at Coop, and we laughed.

I put the present I had brought for Maddie on her dining room table—a set of brand-new Remington Virtually Indestructible hair clippers I found online—and we slipped out the back door.

Coop and I hopped in his Blazer.

“When are you supposed to be home?” he asked as he turned the ignition.

“Not for another couple hours,” I said. We still had about an hour of sunlight left, those shadowy hours where it was still warm in the light, cool in the dark. Just a couple more hours of freedom. I put on my seat belt.

Coop glanced at me as we pulled out onto the highway. “Want to go to the Potholes?”

I considered it. But going to the swimming hole with Coop probably meant going to the Potholes with everyone. Plus, he’d probably want to “relax,” and I wasn’t going to take any more risks with mentally compromised people operating vehicles. “Nah,” I said. “I can’t party anymore. Too many cookies.” Coop let out a laugh. “I’m wasted,” I added in a fake-drunk voice, which made him laugh more.

“Well, I meant just stop by. Chill. For old times’ sake.”

The air smelled so good, so clean, and almost wet. I wasn’t lying when I told Stuart it was my favorite part of living here.

“Okay,” I said, and Coop slowed down to turn the Blazer around. “Can I invite Stuart?”

Coop didn’t answer right away.

“You’d like him if you got to know him,” I said, flicking him in the shoulder.