In Sight of Stars(56)

“So,” she says, smiling at me, “the worst of it is out, yes? And here you are, in the sunshine, still standing.”

Day 10—Afternoon

When I get back to my room, Martin is waiting at my door.

I’m so not in the mood. It’s not that I mind the kid, but I don’t feel like talking. And seriously, he’s way too young to think he should be hanging out with me.

“What’s up, Martin?” I ask, still feeling the weight of the morning. I feel heavy and churned up, like my insides are the contents of a cement mixer. I want to lie down, take a nap, or find some mindless rerun on television.

“Want to hang in the game room? There’s a Ping-Pong table in the back.”

“There is?” I think of Sister Agnes Teresa, going in there and loading up her cart with board games from the past several decades, and find myself wondering if she’s good at Ping-Pong, too. Because, that I could beat her at, though the thought is unfair. She can probably barely reach above the table.

“Do you know Sister Agnes Teresa?” I ask.

“Who?”

“Sister Agnes Teresa. The nun who volunteers here.”

“The short one?” Martin asks, which makes me laugh a little, because it’s seriously the understatement of the year.

“Yeah, her.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve seen her around. Why? What about her?”

“No. Nothing. I don’t know. I like her. She comes in and plays games with me sometimes.”

“She does?” Martin sounds hurt. So I guess she doesn’t do the same with him.

“Dumb games,” I say, not wanting him to feel bad. “Seriously. Like Checkers and Candy Land.” I laugh and Martin laughs, too. But the truth is, I do feel a little special now. Like Sister Agnes Teresa picked me, saw some reason to annoy and enlist me. “Anyway,” I tell him, “sure, why not? Ping-Pong it is.”

“Okay, but I’m going to whip your butt,” Martin warns.

“I’m used to that.” I follow him the few doors down the hall. “Hey, where’s Sabrina?”

“I don’t know,” he says, pushing the game room door open and switching on the lights. “We’re not really friends, or hadn’t you noticed?”

“I hadn’t,” I say. “And, I’m sure you are,” but the insightfulness of his statement kind of surprises me. The kid is smart, clearly, but he doesn’t always seem aware.

Martin shrugs and says, “No, we’re not. Why would we be? Anyway, none of us stick around long, if we’re lucky. So no one is actually friends inside here.”

“I get that,” I say. “But I also think we are. Maybe there are different kinds of friends. People who support you.” I want to rumple his hair, do something. I’m suddenly feeling pretty sorry for the kid.

“Maybe.” He shrugs again. “Then again, what do I know? It’s not like I’m some sort of an expert.”

“Really?” I want to say, “Aren’t you?” because he always acts like one. But he sounds so defeated, so instead I ask, “So, do you have many friends at home?”

“Not exactly. You?” Martin finds the rubber stop from behind the door and wedges it in the crack so the door won’t close. “House rules,” he says, walking to the shelves. He retrieves a clear plastic bin filled with white Ping-Pong balls and padded paddles. “Follow me.” He heads back to a second room. “So, do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Have a lot of friends.”

“Me, nah. Same as you. Not too many. But, I only came to Northhollow this year.”

I figure he’ll ask me why, and I’ll have to explain about my father and why my mother moved us up here my senior year. Explain about Cleto and Dan, and what good friends we were. But all he says is, “Yeah, figures. Most of us in here rarely have many good friends.”

I stop walking, my mind going to Cleto again. “Is that true?”

“Of course it’s true. We’re loners. We isolate from others. We mess up relationships. There are plenty of signs before we end up in here. You’re pretty new at this, aren’t you? This isn’t, like, step number one.”

Jesus. I think about Sarah and how adamant I was about not hanging out with her friends. Then again, Abbott and Dunn, well, can you blame me about them? But still. And Cleto and Dan, I never reached out to them …

“We’re all guilty of it,” Martin says, shaking his head. “I hear everyone’s stories. None of us ever think we play a part. But we do. We refuse to connect. We withdraw. Or at least we don’t reach out to anyone for help. We can do it alone, we think. We don’t need anyone else.”

He stops at the small green table, the kind that converts to a card table or bumper pool.

“I know, I know, not regulation size. Better than nothing. You serve,” he says, tossing a paddle and two balls at me.

We volley back and forth, my game off given the odd size of the table, until Martin slams the ball hard, making contact with the very edge of my side of the table, before it whips past my head and into a window.

“Nice shot,” I say. “You didn’t tell me you were a prodigy at this, too.”

Martin shrugs. The last few days he’s lacked his original enthusiasm. “Dumb luck is all,” he says. “Besides, it’s a pointless thing to be good at. Anyway, I envy you. Being in college soon and all. I wish I were you.” He retrieves the ball and takes his serve.