by Beth Vrabel
“I knocked over the heater,” Jocelyn whispered. “I got scared and hid instead of leaving. I’m why he’s dead.”
“You’re wrong,” a gruff voice over us said. There was Max. Maybe everyone else had seen him walking up, or maybe they were just too tired to be surprised by his appearing there, seemingly out of nowhere. I looked around for Master Waters’s Jeep, but then remembered Max only lived a couple blocks from us.
“I came to apologize to Ryder,” Max said, even as he kept his eyes on Jocelyn, who hadn’t moved. “You don’t remember, Jocie, do you? I lit the heater. And then I ran when it fell. I ran, yet everyone thinks I’m some kind of hero.”
All three of us went up on our elbows as Max spoke. Gramps sighed and pushed himself to his feet. He walked over to Max and put his hammer in Max’s hand. “People die. They die in horrible, awful ways sometimes. Maybe even a little bit at a time. It’s not fair. But it’s not anyone’s fault.” Gramps tilted his head toward the horse.
“Go ahead,” I urged. “Beat up the yard horse. It’ll make you feel better.”
Jocelyn nodded, then lay back down. I followed suit.
“I’m tired of being perfect.” Max hit the horse.
“I’m tired of being messed up,” Jocelyn whispered. Then she screamed it. “I’m tired of being messed up!”
Max slammed the hammer again. “I’m glad I’m off the team.”
Jocelyn stood. She held out her hand and pulled me to my feet. She took a deep breath, raising her arms over her head. “I’m tired of hiding my scars.” She swept off her big sweatshirt so she just had on a T-shirt. The white lesions on her arms shone in the moonlight.
Slowly, gently, I touched her arm, right over the scars. The electricity was definitely back.
Max threw the hammer on the ground next to us. “I’m sorry for what I did to you,” he said to me. “I still don’t like you.” He grinned at me. “But I’m glad we met.”
“Likewise,” I said, smiling back.
Max half-saluted us and walked away.
“Your grandma,” Gramps said, standing next to us, “she cheated at Scrabble. Never would admit she was wrong. Not ever, even about the orange carpet. God, I miss her.”
“I miss my brother,” Jocelyn said. I had a feeling she had never actually said it out loud before.
“I miss who I used to be, when I wasn’t scared all the time. When I wasn’t trying so hard not to be angry,” I found myself saying.
Jocelyn and I lay down on our backs again, staring up at the sky. She probably watched the stars. I looked up into blackness without blinking.
That’s that. The next day, Dad finished the yard horse demolition. When he and Mom had come home from their date the night before and spotted us sprawled out around the broken yard horse, he hadn’t even asked what happened. Just said, “I’ve always hated that freaking horse.” He was grinning a little now as he whapped at the remains with a hammer in the morning light.
Across the street, Jocelyn waved as she and her mom got in their car. She was wearing a tank top. Later, I was going to ask her to go to the coffee shop with me. Like on a real date. Sort of, anyway, considering Mom or Dad would drive us there and pick us up.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and banged out a quick text to Alice.
Knock, knock.
It took a few seconds—I knew she was at the animal hospital; Tooter couldn’t seem to wake up that morning—but soon my phone dinged with a reply.
Who’s there?
Me. In a couple days.
WHAT?!?
Mom’s bringing me on Sunday. If you’d like some company.
After a few seconds, she replied.
Thank you.
I smiled, tucked the phone back in my pocket, and walked up toward the house.
“Gramps?” He had set up a lawn chair on the front porch to watch Dad take down the rest of the yard horse.
“Hmm?”
“Can we stay with you? I mean, if you don’t mind, can we all live here with you? I haven’t asked Mom and Dad yet, but I’d like to stay. Maybe finish high school here.”
Gramps nodded. “I’d like that.”
“But some things will have to change,” I added.
“They always do.” Cah, cah, cah!
So that’s that, Dr. Thomas. I wrote it all down, just like you said, in the hopes that you can make me normal. The thing is, Doc, even I can see (get it, see?) that there’s no such thing. None of us are normal.
But I think we’re going to be okay.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my family and the baristas at my local Starbucks, both of whom politely ignored me randomly snorting laughter and ugly crying (sometimes both) while crafting Richie Ryder Raymond. Much love to super-agent Nicole Resciniti for falling in love with Richie’s story and showing me how to make it even better. I’m so grateful! Just as much love to Julie Matysik, editor extraordinaire, for strengthening and polishing the Blind Guide series. Much gratitude to Kathryn Svendsen (Shelf Full of Books reviewer) for her insight on working with students who have limited vision.
Also, thanks to my parents’ yard horse. Sorry we never dressed you up.
