Not If I See You First(22)

We finish almost at the same moment the bell rings.

“Hey, Parker?” he says while we pack up. He’s actually whispering now. “Thanks for helping me, okay?”

Hearing this makes me flush a bit. Like I’ve done something wrong. Have I?

“Thanks for helping me,” I say. “Um, your name’s Stockley, right?”

“Yeah. I guess you heard someone else call me that, huh?”

I feel a twinge. He said it in a normal voice so I can’t tell if it’s a dig from our first conversation or a coincidence.

“Ms. McClain, yeah.”

“My name’s Kent Stockley but people just call me Stockley, I guess ’cause of football and I wear my jersey a lot. But you can call me D.B.”

“But it means…” I’m not sure where to go with this.

“Nah, we all call each other douchebag all the time, me and Scott and Oscar and… well, everybody. But I like D.B. better.”

“Okay. Then I guess it’s only fair that you can call me P.G.”

“Does anyone else call you that?”

“Just Faith.”

“Faith… Faith Beaumont?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, okay, cool. Hey, we should hang out sometime.”

“Oh, I don’t hang out with Faith.”

“Yeah, well… I… okay, see you tomorrow.”

I can’t tell if that was an actual goodbye, as in he’s walking away, or not.

“Okay, later,” I say.

It occurs to me that he maybe was asking to hang out with me, not with me to get to Faith. I feel myself frowning and relax my face. I’m used to people wanting Faith, not me, which suits me fine, but I don’t like it when I misunderstand anything.

“D.B.?” I say.

No answer.

Then Scott says, “He’s gone.”

I concentrate on closing up my bag. I’m afraid that even saying “Okay” would open a conversation.

“See you tomorrow,” Scott says. “Unless you see me first.”

The room is quiet enough now that I hear him walk away and out the door.

See you tomorrow… unless you see me first.

That’s what Scott used to say to me instead of goodbye, for years. Four whole years. A part of me remembers the warmth I used to feel when he said it, a warmth like no other.

My heart pounds in my chest and in my ears.

Damn you, Scott Kilpatrick… You don’t get to say these things to me anymore.





It’s harder to get to the curb right after school, where everyone else is going, instead of the library, where usually only Molly and I go. People are hustling toward the parking lot, jostling each other, or maybe just me. As I navigate from the hedges by the office down the stairs I get seven apologies, some of them sincere. At the parking lot nobody speaks to me but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

“Sheila?” I say in a normal indoor voice.

“What?” she says, not far to my left.

“Were you going to say anything?”

“I just did.”

Whatever.

No, not whatever.

“You know it’s rude to just stand there without saying anything?”

“You know it’s rude to tell people you think they’re rude?”

I laugh. That was pretty funny. I don’t hear Sheila laugh.

“Are you smiling?” I ask.

“No. Why should I?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, a bit sad. “If someone makes a joke but doesn’t know it’s a joke, is it still a joke?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Philosophy, I guess.”

“Whatever.”

Yes, whatever.

I hear a familiar voice behind me say, “Hello, Parker Grant.”

Jason walks up beside me. “How’re you doing?”

“Oh, you know—” I catch my arms swinging up and remember what Sarah said about what Faith said and I quickly drop my arms to my sides. I shrug. “Just another Tragic Tuesday.”

“Oh? Why tragic?”

I have absolutely no idea why I said that. Maybe because it rhymed? Or alliterated? Well, both words start with T anyway. I feel strangely unbalanced, distracted by hearing what I’m saying and wanting it to actually mean something.

“I don’t know…” My arms rise and I clamp them down again. “Aren’t all Tuesdays tragic, really?”

“Um—”

“Hey,” I quickly say to derail this tragic conversational turn. “This is my cousin, Sheila Miller.” I gesture a bit and force my hand down again. “Sheila, this is Jason Freeborn.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“We live together.” I hear how funny that sounds but I don’t want to get into it all now. “So… when are tryouts?”

“Tomorrow and Thursday after school. You coming?”

“Mmmm…” As much as I want to say yes, it just doesn’t make sense. “I don’t think so. I don’t get a lot out of sitting on bleachers.”

“Not to watch. To try out.”

Okay, something’s not right. Treating everyone the same is one thing, playful banter is another, but asking a blind girl if she’s going out for track…