What About Will
Page 12
Her to call me back tonight.
But she does.
Was it my last question?
Hello, Trace. I’m so sorry
it’s been radio silence.
Hearing her voice
makes me happy
makes me sad
makes me mad
makes me lonely.
It’s just, between gigs
and travel, I’ve been—
“Super busy. I know.”
Yeah. I think about you
and Will all the time, though.
“Sure, Mom.”
Seriously. How’s everyone?
“Dad has a girlfriend.”
Whoa. Slipped right on out.
Oh. That’s wonderful.
I mean, you like her, right?
“Sure. Lily’s cool. It’s just . . .”
What?
“She’s not you. I miss you.”
Oh, Trace. I miss you, too.
But I think it’s good your dad
has found someone special.
Nobody wants to be alone. I—
“He’s not alone! He has me.”
It’s not the same thing.
You’ll understand one day.
She asks about school.
I tell her about robots.
She asks about Little League.
I tell her about Cat and her dad.
She asks about summer plans,
if we have any that might
interfere with a Colorado visit.
“I don’t think so. Why?
Does this mean one might
happen?” I shake off a flutter
of excitement. Even if she says
yes, it won’t be a promise.
I do hope so. The band’s finalizing
the summer tour schedule now,
so I’ll try to fit it in once we’re set.
Not even a yes.
Finally, she asks, Okay, so
what about Will? What now?
I tell her about my glove.
She says it was a mistake.
I tell her about my money.
She says he’ll pay me back.
I tell her Will thinks he’ll die young.
She says all kids think that.
I tell her I wish she’d come see
for herself what’s going on.
Oh, Trace. I’m just—
“Are you still in Colorado?”
No. We’re at Tahoe now. It’s nice.
The club where we’re playing
is right on the beach. Off-season,
so it’s not too crowded.
Lake Tahoe
Is maybe five hundred miles
from here. Far, but not nearly
as far as clear across the country.
“You’re so close! When your
gig is up, can you come?”
Maybe. We’re here for eight
weeks. And there’s stuff coming
up after. But I will if I can.
“School will be out by then.
It will be hot, but we could go
mountain biking in the actual
mountains. Or go to the lake, or—”
Easy now. Your dad might
have other plans. But I promise
we’ll talk about it, okay?
Talk about it sounds like
not gonna happen. But the idea
of seeing her twice in one
summer makes me so happy!
“Please, Mom. We need you.”
That quiets her for a minute.
I’ll do my best. I’ve got to run.
“Okay, Mom. Good
night . . . Wait!”
Wait
There’s one more
thing I have to say.
Why haven’t I
said it already?
“I love you.”
One more thing
I need to hear.
Why hasn’t she
said it already?
Love you, too.
Always and forever.
I really hope
she means it.
Give my love to Will.
“Okay.”
By the time
the second syllable
clears my lips,
she’s deserted me.
Again.
Suddenly, I Need to Play
The keyboard is in the living room.
Luckily, Will isn’t watching TV.
I sit.
Power up.
My hands settle
on the keys.
Usually I’d play
something with a driving
beat, but tonight a beautiful
classical piece calls to me.
I open my music book,
turn to Debussy’s
“Clair de lune.”
Most kids would probably
only know this song
because it was in Ocean’s Eleven.
But it’s also one of Mom’s
favorites. That’s not the only
reason it reminds me of her.
The name means “Moonlight,”
and the soft chords and gentle
melody are like waves
of light beneath my hands.
It’s beautiful.
Like my mom.
And I barely have
to look at the music.
It’s like my fingers
understand exactly
how it should sound
by remembering her face.
Surfing moonlight.
Halfway
Through the piece,
Will wanders in from
the kitchen.
Why are you playing that?
I don’t stop.
“Because I like it.
It makes me feel good.”
It’s slow. Why do you like it?
I have no reason
not to say, “Because
it reminds me of Mom.”
Mom! Who’s that?
His voice is kind of slurred.
Still, “You know who she is.”
I forgot. Remind me?
Not like she ever does.
“I just talked to her,
Will. She said to tell
you she loves you.”
You talked to her? Guessing
you must’ve called her.
Okay, So He’s Right
And he knows it.
I don’t have to admit it.
But I do feel the need
to defend our mom.
“She’s doing the best
she can. She’s just
really, really busy.”
Heard it before, thanks.
Dozens of times.
“Well, I’m not giving
up on her yet.”
Why would you?
She didn’t leave because of you.
She left because of me.
I’ve thought the same
thing myself. And yet,
I say, “No she didn’t.
She left because of her music.”
Okay, Trace. Whatever.
You keep playing boring
songs and dreaming
about Mom coming home.
I’m going to take a shower.
Boom. See ya.
My Head
Feels like someone’s playing
Ping-Pong inside it, thoughts
bouncing this way and that,
side to side, against my skull.
I start to play another song
Mom taught me a long time
ago. It’s called “The Sound
of Silence.” When I jump in,
it’s the original, kind of soft
version by this group
named Simon & Garfunkel.
But I start to pick up speed,
and play with more volume
and power, more like Will’s
favorite version of this song
by a band called Disturbed.
And it’s still the same song—
Mom’s version, and Will’s—
and that seems so right,
it quiets the ping-ponging
in my brain, sharpens the focus.
I drop back down from forte
(loud) to piano (soft).
I love music.
Mom gave it to me.
I hate music.
It took her away.
I’m Mostly Amused
By it in C Day music class
this morning. We’re playing
recorders, and not everyone
is exactly talented at it.
Just doing a simple scale
is too much for a couple.
Bram happens to be one.
“Dude. What was that?”
He laughs. The key of X-Y-Z?
“Even if they went past G,
each key is only one letter.”
Tell that to my recorder.
Okay, class. Let’s try that
again, says Mrs. Marone.
Once you’ve conquered it,
we’ll move on to Mozart.
She’s joking. By the time
class ends, we’ve managed
a bad “Three Blind Mice.”
Some music is more like poison.
On My Way to Lunch
I notice Cat talking
to a knot of girls.
Woo-boy.
I’m glad she’s trying
to make friends, but
Leah and Sara and Star
are, like, the most “popular”
girls in our class.
That equals the most
stuck-up, and the “in crowd”
doesn’t accept new
members easily.
Still, Leah caws a laugh,
so loud it’s obvious
she wants people to hear.
The others smile, but
it’s the fake kind of smile
that means they’re just
going along with Leah.
Now Cat says something
else, and if evil glares
could drop someone
in their tracks, she’d be
flat on the ground.
But it’s her turn to laugh.
Cat Sees Me
And waves, then follows
me outside.
Bram’s already
staked out a place,
so we sit with him.
“You joining the Mean
Girls Club?” I ask Cat.
Nah. Just messing with them.
Like, how? asks Bram.
I asked if they like sports.
Leah said sure, as long
as the players are cute.
Star and Sara were all like,
yeah. If the players are cute.
So then I asked if they thought
I was cute. I guess they didn’t
think that was very funny.
No way! But Bram
sounds impressed.
That is so Cat.
And now she does something
unexpected, and yet still so Cat.
She Digs
Through her backpack,
and I figure she’s looking
for her lunch.
But that’s not what comes
out of there.
What does is a well-worn
baseball glove. She offers
it to me, and I see it’s signed.
Yes, by Victor Sánchez.
I talked it over with Dad.
He and I both want you
to have this. It was Mateo’s.
But he doesn’t need it now.
“No. I can’t. I mean—”
Yes, you can. It’s been sitting
in a box for four years.
Even if he does come home,
he won’t need it.
“Why are you so nice?”
I’m not. Just ask
the Mean Girls Club.
But She Is Nice
And she makes me laugh.
Oh, yeah, and she can play
killer baseball, too.
I never knew girls
could be all those things
at the same time.
I study the glove,
which is oiled and soft,
but also scarred,
like it’s seen a lot of use.
“Hey, Cat. Thanks.
I promise to take good
care of it.”
Better hide it from
your brother, says Bram.
“No kidding.”
It’s sad when you can’t
trust someone you love,
adds Cat. Believe me. I know.
“Obviously, Mateo played
baseball, and from the looks
of the glove, he played a lot.
So, why did he quit?”
I’m not sure, but I think it was
because of the pressure.
When your father’s a major leaguer,
people expect you to be as good.
And he wasn’t? asks Bram.
He might have been if he hadn’t
given up on it. But honestly,
he didn’t want to work that hard.
Not on the field. Not in school.
Mateo was always a little lazy.
“Well, what about you?”
Hey, I’m not lazy!
“No, I was talking about
the pressure. It doesn’t seem
to bother you very much.”
Because I’m a girl. No one
expects me to play as well
as my dad, or any boy, really.
“And that’s okay with you?”
No, but I’m used to it. Anyway,
I like to surprise them. It’s fun
to earn a little respect.
She’s definitely earned mine.
We’re Finishing Lunch
When I happen to look up
and see Will headed toward
the parking lot. Midday?
Is something wrong?
“Be right back. Watch
my stuff, okay?”
I sprint as fast as I can,
catch him just as he reaches
his car. “Where are you going?”
Home, I guess. I just got
a three-day suspension.
“For what?”
He shrugs. There was
a little problem in the hall.
“Like . . . ?”
This dude called me a crip.
I was getting ready to pop
him one when Mr. Gabriel
happened to come walking by.
“But . . . but you didn’t
hit the guy, right?”
Nope.
“So, then . . . ?”
Well, Mr. Gabriel called me
into the office and asked what
was g
oing on. And then he started
to lecture me about better ways
of dealing with anger.
But it was too late. I was really
upset and I told Mr. Gabriel
to leave me the bleep alone.
He didn’t much care for that.
Mr. Gabriel is the dean
of boys, and he’s pretty cool.
So I’m guessing Will used
a different word besides “bleep.”
“So, you’re out until Monday?
Does Dad know?”
Yes, and yes. According to
Mr. Gabriel, per school
district regulations,
a parent has to be notified.
“Was he mad?”
What do you think?
I Think I’m Glad
Someone other than me
is letting Dad know Will
has a problem.
Or ten.
I’m also happy I don’t have
to cover up for him again.
I hate keeping secrets.
Especially from Dad.
Pretty sure this is the first
time Will’s been in trouble
at this school.
Maybe Dad will wake up.
But what about Will?
The look in his eyes tells
me he doesn’t care at all.
I’d be embarrassed.
I bet Will thinks
it’s a three-day vacation.
Five, including the weekend.
“You picking me up after school?”
Guess I’d better, huh?
He Does
But he’s an hour late.
Even in the shade
it’s probably ninety degrees.
Hard to work on homework
when you sweat all over it.
I’m just about to call Dad
when Will swerves off
the main drag and weaves
across the lot to where
I’m sitting, all alone.
Come on.
Get in.
Let’s go.
His voice is staccato,
his hair is plastered,
wet, around his face,
and B.O. stink drifts
out his open window.
I get in, but leave the door
open. “Dude, have you ever
heard of deodorant?”
Hurry up
and shut the door.
I do, and he punches it.
Will Either Drives
Like he can’t find the gas
pedal or like a maniac.
Today, he’s going way