The Beginning of Everything(27)

“I don’t really think I’d fit in,” I finally said.

“No, of course not.” Cassidy’s tone dripped scorn. “You’d prefer to fit in with the brainless jocks who win high-school popularity contests and the vapid girls who worship them.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t exactly fit in with them, either.”

Cassidy started laughing.

“Ezra,” she said slowly, “everyone has noticed.”

I leaned over and placed the crown of flowers onto her head, letting my hands linger in her hair just a moment more than was necessary.

And I suppose I should have tilted her face up toward mine and kissed her then, but I didn’t. I couldn’t tell if she was just trying to see if I would, or if she really wanted me to, and I didn’t want to find out.

Instead, I told her about how it had been for me ever since the accident. I told her how I’d spent nearly two weeks in the hospital while the rest of my classmates finished junior year without me; how I’d missed prom and the student government elections and the Junior-Senior Luau; how the first surgery hadn’t worked and my mom had cried when she found out I had to have another; how my tennis coach had come by the hospital and I’d heard him fighting with my dad out in the hallway, blaming me; how my so-called friends had sent a cheesy card they’d all signed, rather than visiting; how the doctors made such a big production of telling me that I’d never play sports again that I thought they were going to say I’d be in a wheelchair for the rest of my life; how the worst part was having to go back to school with kids I’d known since kindergarten, and the only thing that had changed was me, because I didn’t know who I was anymore, or who I wanted to be.

When I finished, Cassidy didn’t say anything for a long time. And then she closed the short distance between us and brushed her lips against my cheek.

They were cold from her diet soda, and it was over in an instant. But she didn’t move away. Instead, she sat down with her jeans touching mine and leaned her head on my shoulder. I could feel the flutter of her eyelashes against my neck with every blink, and we sat there for a while, breathing quietly together, listening to the thrum of traffic on University Drive and the gurgle of the creek.

“There’s this poem,” Cassidy finally said, “by Mary Oliver. And I used to write a line from it in all of my school notebooks to remind myself that I didn’t have to be embarrassed of the past and afraid of the future. And it helped. So I’m giving it to you. The line is, ‘Tell me, what is it you plan to do/With your one wild and precious life?’”

We stared out at the creek, watching the couple across from us gather their things and head back to the path.

“Well,” I said. “What are my options?”

“Let me consult the oracle,” Cassidy mused, leaning forward to pull up a blade of grass. She examined it in her palm as though she was reading my fortune. “You can sound your barbaric yawp over the rooftops . . . or suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune . . . or seize the day . . . or sail away from the safe harbor . . . or seek a newer world . . . or rage against the dying of the light, although that one doesn’t start with s, so it sort of ruins the poetry of it all, don’t you think?”

“And here I thought you were going to say doctor, lawyer, or business executive.” I laughed.

“Honestly, Ezra.” Cassidy stood up, brushing the grass off her jeans. “You’ll never escape the panopticon thinking like that.”





13


THAT NIGHT, I took Cooper out to the end of our cul-de-sac and tossed a ball for him. It wasn’t the same as taking him for our run down the hiking trails, but he seemed to enjoy it all the same. He even found a wild rabbit to chase, although I don’t think the rabbit particularly appreciated the game, or being hunted as game.

When I brought Cooper back to the house, my mom was at the kitchen table with a mug of tea at her elbow, flipping through the TV Guide even though we have On Demand and streaming.

“Where’d you go?” she asked.

“End of the block,” I said, pouring fresh water into Cooper’s bowl. “Tossed around a ball.”

“Off the leash?” She looked horrified. “Ezra, it’s dark outside! He could’ve been hit by a car!”

“It’s a cul-de-sac, so I highly doubt it.”

“Tone, young man.”

“Sorry.” I took a pack of cookies out of the pantry and opened them. “Want one?”

“Not this late,” she said. “Bring those to the table and tell me about school.”

I suddenly regretted my foray into the pantry.

“School’s fine,” I said through a mouthful of cookie. “Although these are terrible. I thought they were chocolate chip.”

“Carob chip. It’s healthier. How are your classes?”

“Good. I need you to sign a permission form for debate. There’s an overnight tournament in San Diego next weekend.”

“An overnight field trip?” She shook her head. “Honey, I don’t know. Don’t you have physical therapy on Saturdays?”

“I can call Dr. Levine and reschedule,” I said impatiently. “And it’s not a field trip, it’s a tournament. I joined the debate team.”