What school do you go to?
“Rainbow Ridge.”
She smiles. Cool. That’s where
I’ll be going, too. It will be
good to know somebody there.
What Are the Odds?
Only a couple of other
Padres players go to RRCS.
“How come you’re not going
to some fancy private school?”
Her dad hears my question.
Oh, we looked into them.
But Cat was dead set against it.
I went to one in LA the last
couple of years. The teachers
insisted on calling me Catalina,
and all the girls talked about
was boy bands and phones.
And all Cat did was complain.
We told her every school is different,
and that includes private schools.
Yeah, but I’d rather be just
a regular kid. The kind that
plays baseball and stuff.
She’s a good student, but loses
interest in learning if she’s unhappy.
Valid. Wonder just how
good of a student she is.
Gifted and talented?
I’m betting probably.
Dad Takes Lily Home
But instead of dropping her off,
we go inside because she followed
through and we’re having Mexican
food for dinner.
Her house looks small on the outside,
but the living room, dining room, and kitchen
are like one giant open space.
You can tell a lady lives here.
Our walls are all off-white, but hers
are painted sunset colors—rose
and apricot and yellow gold.
Her furniture is kind of plain.
But there are pillows and cushions
with sunflowers and watering cans,
roosters, geese, and cows.
They turn everything pretty.
Make yourselves at home, boys.
I have to put the enchiladas
in the oven to heat them up.
“My pants are kind of dirty.
I don’t want to mess up your couch.”
Oh. Don’t worry about that.
Sylvester doesn’t.
“Who’s Sylvester?”
Lily Points
Toward the sliding glass
door past the dining room
table. Standing just outside
on the shady back porch
is a big cocoa-colored dog.
It looks sort of like a huge
poodle, except fuzzier.
“What kind is he?”
A Labradoodle. Is it okay
if I let him in? He’s friendly.
I would’ve guessed that
by his goofy dog grin. “Sure!”
I love dogs, and always wanted
one, but Mom and Dad both
said they were too much work.
Sylvester boings across the floor,
skids to a stop right in front of me.
“Hey, Sylvester.” I reach out my hand
and he ducks his head under it,
asking to be petted. Hey, no problem.
You two get acquainted,
says Dad. I’ll see if Lily
needs help in the kitchen.
“One second, Dad.”
He looks anxious to join
Lily. Probably wants a kiss.
But he pauses long enough
to ask, What is it?
“Did you give Will some money?”
I did. Why do you ask?
“And Lily did, too?”
Yeah. I was a little short.
“What did he want it for?”
He said his car needed an oil
change. You’ve got to keep up
on those things, you know.
Allowance money can’t cover it.
Sounds reasonable.
Why do I doubt it?
It was nice he came to your game
and got to meet Lily, though, huh?
Pretty sure he just came
to get the money, but all
I say is “Uh-huh. Real nice.”
Should I Confess
That I’m scared for Will?
I’m not even sure exactly why,
so probably not. At least,
not until I have a solid reason.
I suspect . . .
I guess . . .
I think . . .
I worry . . .
Those are not solid reasons.
Dad goes to help Lily,
and Sylvester finds a ball,
drops it on the floor at my feet,
focuses his big brown eyes on me.
I understand what that means
more than I understand
what’s going on with my brother.
“You wanna play fetch?”
It’s like I flipped a switch.
He gets all excited, starts
wagging his tail, gives a little yip.
I think I’ve made a new friend.
“Can I take Sylvester outside
to play with the ball?” I yell.
Of course, agrees Lily.
Sylvester is already at the door.
He turns, telling me, Hurry up!
Check it out. I speak Labradoodle.
Lily has a huge fenced yard,
with grass and lots of flowers.
Guess Sylvester isn’t much
into digging stuff up, because
it’s all really pretty.
I stand on the porch, throw
the ball across the yard.
The dog is quick. Prefers
catching midair to chasing
on the ground. But either
way, he loves to play.
After twenty or thirty rounds,
he drops the ball by the door,
lies down beside it. Guess
we’re officially finished.
“Good boy,” I tell him.
His tail moves side to side,
slower than before. He’s tired.
Come to think of it, so am I.
Tired and hungry.
Enchiladas, here I come!
Lily’s a Super Cook
The enchiladas are as good
as any I’ve had in a restaurant.
By the time Dad and I are ready
to leave, I’m stuffed to the max.
Lily sends the leftovers home
for Will, or for us to snack on later.
Sylvester follows us to the door.
“See ya, boy. Next time we’ll play longer.”
Which means I figure we’ll be back.
Dad definitely thinks so, too.
You don’t always have to do
the cooking, he says to Lily.
We can certainly fire up the grill.
I’m a decent barbecuer, eh, Trace?
“Uh, sure, Dad. Maybe let Lily
help you out, though.”
They both laugh, so they get
my not really so funny joke.
When Dad kisses Lily goodbye,
it only jabs a little.
Not as bad as last time.
Sunday Morning, I Sleep In
As the light grows brighter,
part of my brain insists
I need to open my eyes.
Another part is holding me
stuck in a really nic
e dream.
Will and I are playing keep-away
catch with Sylvester while Dad
barbecues and Mom sits on
a porch swing and sings.
It’s a mash-up, but a happy one,
so when I finally wake up
all the way, I’m in a good mood.
Only I wish Mom and Sylvester
were really here.
My stomach growls, telling me
it’s past time for breakfast,
so I get dressed. On my way
to the kitchen, I pass Will,
hunched over on the couch,
checking out my baseball glove,
which I must’ve left on the end table.
He looks up with droopy eyes
when I go by. Hey. What’s this?
“The autograph? It’s Victor
Sánchez’s. He signed it yesterday.”
I Give Him the Details
He actually seems impressed.
Wow. That’s awesome.
Victor Sánchez is a legend.
“You could’ve met him, too.
Why did you leave so fast?”
Yeah, sorry. I had to meet
up with someone.
“I thought you were getting
your oil changed.”
There it is—the throb
of blood in his temples.
It’s not as funny as it was
when I was a little kid, though.
I had to do both. Oh, hey, dude.
Who won your game, anyway?
Way to change the subject.
“We did. Five–four. Like you care.”
Now the tips of his ears
turn red. I said I was sorry.
“Yeah, Will, I know.
You’re always sorry.”
What difference does it make?
I turn my back on him.
Stomp into the kitchen, fling
open the fridge door.
I didn’t even notice Dad,
reading a newspaper at the table.
His voice makes me jump.
Something wrong, Trace?
I could tell him. Should tell
him. But he looks relaxed.
And his eyes tell me he’s happy.
Why ruin his mood? Why spoil the day?
“Oh, no. Everything’s cool.
Didn’t mean to jerk it so hard.”
Oh, good. There’s a Dodgers game
on at one. Wanna watch?
We used to watch them together
on his days off all the time.
But lately, he’s been too busy.
“No Lily today or what, Dad?”
No. She’s chaperoning an event.
But she might stop by later.
Guess I’m Good With That
Not that it matters.
But honestly, I like seeing
Dad with a smile most of the time.
Plus, there are perks. “Can I have
leftover enchiladas for breakfast?”
If there are any left, go for it.
There are, and I do.
It’s the last day of spring break,
and it’s nice to spend it with Dad.
Before the game starts,
we play some catch, just like
we used to do when I was little.
Mr. Cobb hears us out in the yard
and sticks his head over the fence.
Did I ever tell you about the time
I had a beer with Sandy Koufax?
Koufax pitched for the Dodgers
back before my dad was born.
He’s a Major League Hall of Famer
and, according to Mr. Cobb,
a straight-up nice guy.
Did I ever tell you about touring
a brewery, and oo-ee, did that
place stink to high heaven!
Mr. Cobb talks so long
we miss the start of the game,
but Dad is too polite to say so.
He might talk even longer
except a car out front starts up
and we all look to see who it is.
Oh, there goes your Will, says
Mr. Cobb. That boy sure does
come and go all hours. Does he
drive for that Uber or something?
Nah, answers Dad. He isn’t old
enough. But you know teenagers.
They always have spring break plans.
Like what kind, Dad?
At least it gives us a chance
to excuse ourselves, go inside.
It’s the third inning by the time
we turn on the TV. No score,
so guess we didn’t miss much.
But as the Dodgers come to bat,
I’m wondering why Mr. Cobb
seems to have noticed Will’s
unusual schedule.
And why Dad mostly overlooks it.
It’s Good
To go back to school,
where things make sense.
A Days:
science
math
computers
B Days:
social studies
English
PE
C Days:
library
music
art
I know what to expect,
what time to expect it.
The only variables I worry
about are the algebra kind.
Will drives us to Rainbow Charter
the same way he always does.
We listen to his favorite radio station,
which is mostly rap and hip-hop.
He knows all the words.
But today he doesn’t sing along.
“How come you’re so quiet?”
Will shrugs. Don’t feel so good.
Think I ate something that
didn’t agree with my gut.
“You know what Dad always says.”
He tries to smile. Yeah. Nothing
a decent poop couldn’t cure.
Not so easy to do at school,
but maybe he should try.
He turns into the parking lot,
pulls into his assigned space.
But when I open my door,
he just sits, staring out the window.
“Aren’t you coming inside?”
In a few. Probably. Trying to
decide if I should go home
instead. You head on in.
Suddenly, he jerks the driver’s
door open, jams his head outside,
upchucks all over the pavement.
“Do you want me to call Dad?”
No. I feel a little better now.
But I’m going to take off.
“What about after school?”
Don’t worry. I’ll get you home.
Don’t Worry
Seems like that’s all I do
lately, at least when it comes
to my brother.
I stop by the office
before heading to class,
tell Mrs. Pearson, the school
secretary, that Will got sick.
I don’t mention the puke
in the parking lot.
Too embarrassing.
Even if it wasn’t me
who did it.
It’s an A Day,
which means science
first block for my squad.
The students here are organized
int
o teams or squads, and we stay
together with our teammates
through all our core classes.
All the kids on my squad
are GATE, which means
our classwork is more difficult.
Must keep those ultra-curious
minds engaged is how Ms. Pérez
puts it. She’s our science teacher.
As I half expected, we have
a new kid on our squad.
Hey, Trace, says Cat when
I come through the door.
You two know each other?
asks Ms. Pérez.
“Yeah. From Little League.
We’re on the same team there, too.”
Good. Why don’t the two of you
work together on today’s lab?
This quarter’s STEM project:
design and build a workable robot.
We’ll have lots of helpful videos
and a kit with basic parts,
but we can make it look however
we want and assign it a unique task.
Our math and computer science
classes will also be involved,
and at the end, there will be a challenge.
Epic!
Okay, It Does Mean
I’ll be partnered with a girl
for all my A Day classes.
At this point, I’m guessing
that’s not a bad thing.
Most girls are annoying.
A few in my class are kind of cute,
I guess, but the way they flock
together, always chirping
and cawing, reminds me of birds.
I doubt Cat is a chirper.
As we watch an introduction
to engineering video, she takes
notes. Sometimes she writes
down questions to ask Ms. Pérez.
I should probably be doing that, too.
“Hey. Can I copy your notes later?”
Cat shrugs. They’re for both
of us. It’s called teamwork.
After science, we break for lunch.
We don’t have to stay with
our squads to eat or at recess.
I usually hang out with Bram.
Mostly because we’re buddies,
but also because his MPU
(Mom Parental Unit) likes to bake
and sends pretty good treats.
I’ve never invited a girl
to join us. But here’s the thing.
Cat doesn’t know anyone here.
At least, I don’t think so.
“Hey, Cat. You don’t have to
have lunch with me if you’d rather . . .”
What About Will Page 8
