by Matt Fazio
But now, as his eyes remained fixated on the picture, the memory became so vivid that he felt like he had traveled back in time and was standing on the beach. He could see the movement of the waves, the way they would rush toward the shore and then wash away in gentle retreat. He remembered how the tide varied according to the time and the wind, and he thought, for a moment, about how we are always inevitably changing.
In the closet of their beachfront condo, Drew had found an old set of sandcastle tools, containing a small sand shovel and three differently-shaped buckets. Standing by the curb in front of Skylar’s house, Drew could sense the excitement he had felt when he took those tools to the beach.
He continued to gaze into the picture. Now he could hear the sounds of the beach: the waves, the music, the people milling about, the cawing of the sea gulls. Strangely, though, none of those sounds served as distractions. Rather, they joined together harmoniously as background noise to allow the moment to be captured. Drew had spent what felt like hours building the biggest, best sandcastle he could – digging, piling, molding, shaping. And now he recalled the moment when a wave came to shore and knocked over his kingdom in the sand. He remembered what his parents said to him in that moment, and it seemed very important.
“Don’t cry, Drew,” his mother had said, putting her arm around him.
“We’ll build another one, bud,” said his father.
“But I liked this one,” young Drew whimpered as tears streaked down his cheeks. “And now it’s ruined.”
“Nothing is ever ruined,” said his mother.
“But it was perfect.”
“I know it was. So we’ll just have to build an even better one,” his father said, smiling at his wife.
She smiled back.
“It’s all we can do,” she said as she wiped Drew’s tears.
Drew looked up at his parents’ smiling faces and stopped crying. He stooped over, picked up his tools, and began building another castle.
“Do you like it?” Skylar asked.
In a hushed voice, Drew said, “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
Skylar blushed and brushed her yellow hair from her face.
“Seriously, I can’t believe you did all this –” Drew’s words were cut off by a different voice yelling from the front door.
“Hey, Mom, it’s him! I knew it! It’s really him!”
Sprinting from the front porch toward Drew was an elated little kid. “You saved me!”
Skylar looked to Drew, who shrugged to show that he was just as confused as she was.
“Who? Drew? Was it Drew this whole time?” asked Mrs. Jansen, following her son down the sidewalk.
As he got closer, Drew finally got a good look at the kid’s face. It was Brady, the kindergartener he had guided to the art room on the first day of school.
“What do you mean, he saved you?” asked Skylar.
“Come on, remember!” Brady implored.
“All year Brady has been talking about his savior,” said Mrs. Jansen, smiling at Drew. “The six-foot tall hero who saved him and got him back to his class. It’s all we’ve heard about.”
“You’re him?” asked Skylar.
“Um,” said Drew, “I don’t know about the six-foot tall stuff or anything about a hero, but I did help Brady find the art room on the first day of school.”
The once bashful Brady threw his arms around Drew’s waist. “You’re the best. Thank you!”
“I told him if he ever ran into you again, make sure to thank you,” said Mrs. Jansen. “So often people do good things but never know what real impact they make.”
Drew’s mind sprinted to the runner, the person he looked up to, the person who helped him launch his quest for the Mystery Artist in the first place.
Mrs. Jansen lured Brady back inside with the promise of a juice box and a snack. As Skylar and Drew stood in the Jansens’ front yard, Drew couldn’t help staring down at his brand new picture. Even though Skylar hadn’t seen the drawing in a full year, she had somehow recaptured all its beauty.
“So,” Skylar said, “you helped my little brother find the art room, did you?”
“It was no big deal. He was just a little mixed up. It was his first day.”
“Well, the picture wasn’t the only thing I wanted to talk to you about. We had class signups today. What did you take, music, art, or study hall?”
“I took art. I guess you’re taking study hall again, right?”
“Not this time. I took art. And what’s even better is because I didn’t take it this year, I’m in art-one next year … so we’ll be in the same class.”
“I … don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“But I do. Thank you, Skylar. The picture in the book. Now this. This is awesome.”
Skylar smiled and walked back up her sidewalk, and Drew continued down the street.
All the bad things from the past year – the storm, the broken window, the cheating, the bullies, the defeats – seemed small and distant, and Drew was glad to leave them buried in the past. But, looking down at the picture, he knew there were also some things worth holding on to.
He also knew that some questions still remained. Was the old Tommy really gone forever? And though she wasn’t the artist, what really did happen to Stacey Janofsky? And, most of all, he wondered what kinds of changes middle school would bring.
But for now, as he headed home with the picture in his hands, Drew had victory in his heart and a brand new summer before him. He carefully rolled the picture into a cylinder. Then an extra burst entered his stride, and his feet moved faster and faster. He turned the corner and ran toward Ernest Way without looking back.
Matt Fazio
Matt Fazio is not a bestselling author, but he hopes to be one someday. He teaches Composition and Communication courses at various universities in the Pittsburgh area and is a marketer for an accounting and consulting firm.
When he isn’t writing, teaching, or marketing, he’s likely researching fantasy baseball stats (2012 League Champion), playing songs on guitar (exclusively early 2000s pop punk), or quoting Willy Wonka (the Gene Wilder version, of course). He received a BA in English Studies from Robert Morris University, an MA in English Literature from Slippery Rock University, and a PhD in Rhetoric from Duquesne University.
Matt lives in Pittsburgh, PA, with his wife, Erica, and two daughters, Thea and Josie.
Follow Matt at:
www.detoursanddesigns.com
www.facebook.com/DetoursandDesigns
Instagram: @detoursanddesigns
Twitter: @fazio_matt
Josh Malacki
Josh Malacki lives in Pittsburgh, PA, and received a BA in English from Robert Morris University. He is left-handed. His hair is brown. He is terrible at writing third-person author bios, as you likely figured out, or at least suspected, when he told you he was left-handed, or certainly no later than when he informed you of his hair color (brown). Nevertheless, he promises you that Detours and Designs is a lot better than this bio.
Although Josh’s poetry and short fiction have appeared in a handful of publications, he is best known for his fifth-grade D.A.R.E. essay, which won first place in a landslide. Detours and Designs is his first novel.
Follow Josh at:
www.detoursanddesigns.com
www.facebook.com/DetoursandDesigns
Instagram: @detoursanddesigns
Twitter: @MoshLajacki
