IT’S MONDAY AFTERNOON AND I’M IN CHEMISTRY, working on a lab with my group. The two boys do most of the work, while another girl and I record the results in our notebooks. This arrangement is fine by me; I’ve never been so great at science. We’re standing around the table, waiting for some concoction to come to a boil, when I overhear two junior girls talking behind me.
One girl whines, “I’m so ready to quit yearbook. All we’ve gotten to do is make photo collages of freshmen. That’s not what I signed up for.”
What I immediately think is: Yearbook is the sort of thing Kat was talking about! I have to put myself out there, find my own happiness. I’ve had a lot of good days, full days at school where I’ve seen Reeve and haven’t gotten upset. And I’ve had no issues with, um, my issues.
Also, I love making photo collages.
I used to make them all the time, back when I was a kid. I’d never throw out a magazine unless I cut out the pretty pictures first. I’d spend hours arranging them like puzzle pieces; then I’d glue them to a piece of poster board and hang them up in my room. We didn’t take them with us when we moved off Jar Island. I wasn’t in any state to pack, obviously, so it was up to Mom and Dad. I wonder if they threw them out, or if they might still be in the garage someplace.
I draw circles in my notebook and keep listening.
“I know,” the other girl says with a huff that makes the flame on her Bunsen burner flicker. “But we have to hang in there if we want a chance at editor-in-chief next year. You know how it is. So political.”
Yearbook committee. There. I’m joining yearbook committee.
After class, I pack up my textbooks and head to guidance to ask where and when the yearbook meetings are held. I end up spotting a flyer stapled to the bulletin board outside the offices. It has a picture of a camera on it and the words YEARBOOK IS A SNAP! MEETINGS EVERY MONDAY IN THE LIBRARY!
Today is Monday. I feel lucky, like this is some kind of sweet serendipity. It’ll be good, I think, to have a club to put down on my college applications next year. College apps are all Lillia and Kat talk about these days, and they’ve definitely got me thinking about the future. It’s not that far off, honestly. Junior year is almost half-over.
I need to start thinking about what I want to be when I grow up. My mom said she always knew she wanted to be an archivist, ever since she was a little girl and found a bunch of old Zane family papers tucked away in the attic. She cataloged them and put them into a special binder between layers of acid-free tissue paper. And this was when she was seven.
By that logic, I might be destined to be a veterinarian. It’s what I’ve always wanted to be. One time, Montessori arranged a field trip to a zoo and I got to watch a vet give antibiotics to a sick baby penguin. It was amazing. After that I used to pretend with my stuffed animals, giving them shots and wrapping up their legs with bandages I found in our medicine cabinet.
I debate calling Aunt Bette to say that I’ll be home late, but decide against it. I don’t need her on my case about where I’ve been and what I’m doing. I swear, she starts up as soon as I come home from school.
I’m halfway across the courtyard when someone almost knocks me over.
Reeve.
I manage to step out of his way in the nick of time. Thank God he doesn’t see me. Actually, he doesn’t seem to notice any of the people darting out of his way as he catapults himself forward on his crutches. He’s too busy growling into his cell phone, his forehead wrinkled and tense. He has the phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder, since he can’t use his hands, not with his crutches.
Only one thing has improved—his big white leg cast is off. Now he’s got a black Velcro thing. A soft cast, I think it’s called.
I end up following him. Not on purpose. He’s just walking in the same general direction that I am. Even though I give him a ton of space, I can still hear what he’s saying into his cell phone.
“I keep telling the dude I can do more, Ren,” he says passionately. “Yeah, well, if he can’t get with our program today, he’s fired. I’ll take over my PT my damn self. I’m almost a week behind where I should be according to our schedule.”
Reeve abruptly stops at the chain-link fence, the one that runs along the football feld. Practice is underway. The team stands in a big circle at midfield, stretching out together, clapping on beat every time they switch positions. Alex is in the center. I wonder if he’s the captain now.
None of the guys notice Reeve watching them. They don’t see him standing there, and they don’t notice when he walks away.
Don’t feel bad for him, I tell myself. Don’t feel anything for him.
Reeve slips off the path and heads toward the pool building. There’s a guy standing near the door, an older man in a full windbreaker suit. I don’t think he’s a teacher here; I’ve never seen him before. He’s got a clipboard with him and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
“Reeve. Hey, pal. You ready to get to work?”
After clapping Reeve on the back, the man tries to get the door for Reeve, hold it open for him. Reeve gives the guy a cold hard stare. “I’m always ready to work. Are you?”
The yearbook committee turns out to be a pretty popular club, especially for girls. I guess because if you’re on year-book committee, you can make sure no bad photos of you get put in. That is a bonus. The library is filled with people sitting in small clusters, working on their tasks. Some are sorting through contact sheets; some are working through page layouts; some are contemplating cover treatments and working out the costs per person.
There are a few boys here too. I get the sense that they’re more into the technology aspect, because they’ve already claimed spots at the computers. The girls mostly stand behind them and point at where they want things to go.
I see the girls from chemistry, sharing a chair with frowns already on their faces, sorting through piles of color pictures. They point and laugh at some of them, making gross-out faces and snickering to each other. “Let’s put in this one of Carrie sneezing,” one girl says. I sort of hope these girls do quit. They’re so mean. If I’m lucky enough to work on any collages, I’ll make sure not to let any unflattering photos in of anyone. Even people I don’t like.
It’s intimidating, though, to see that everyone already has a set job. What’s a newbie like me supposed to do? I lean against one of the library shelves near the back of the room and try to think of things I can say to the adviser, Mr. Kraus, when he arrives and the meeting officially gets started. I should probably introduce myself, maybe tell him about my collage experience, if I can even call it that. I wish I knew how to use some of the fancy school-owned digital cameras that kids are passing around the room, so I could help out with the photography, too. Maybe he’ll offer lessons on that sort of thing.
A few more people trickle into the library after me. One of them is Nadia Cho. She’s in her cheerleading practice clothes, and she hangs out near the door, like she won’t be able to stay long.
I like Nadia. She looks sweet, like a young Lillia, but with bigger eyes and freckles.
I think about going up to her and saying hi, since we’ve never officially met each other. But then Rennie comes in behind her. Rennie’s not in her cheering workout clothes. Oh my gosh. Has she quit the squad, now that Reeve isn’t playing anymore? I could totally see her doing that.
Rennie wraps Nadia in a hug. It’s a tender one and it lasts for a few long seconds, definitely longer than the ones I see girls give each other between classes. Rennie peels herself away a bit and fusses with Nadia’s bangs while she tells her something I can’t hear. Nadia smiles up at Rennie and nods pertly. She hands Rennie a memory stick and bounds out the door.
At the stables, Lillia mentioned to Kat and me how weird and tense things have been between her and Rennie since home-coming. I bite my lower lip. It worries me to see Nadia being so chummy-chummy with Rennie. She’s not a good influence. Not at all. Plus, Lillia is Nadia’s big sister. Nadia should be loyal to her, not to Rennie.
Mr. Kraus comes into the room. He’s an art teacher, so it makes total sense that yearbook is one of his responsibilities. “All right, everyone! Listen up!” The room quiets, but only a little bit. Most people keep talking. “We need the home-coming spread done this week, as well as foreign language clubs and fall sports.” He scans the room briefly. “If you’re new today, find someone and help them with their project.” Then he disappears into his office and closes the door.
Oh. Okay.
So it looks like yearbook is pretty much left up to the students.
I meander my way over to some girls who are uploading photos directly from the cameras, hoping I might pick up some pointers. I end up within earshot of Rennie. She’s working on the homecoming spread with another girl.
“We got more homecoming pictures today,” Rennie says, handing her the memory stick.
The other girl keeps her eyes on the computer screen. “I doubt we’ll need them. You’ve collected, like, more homecoming photos than senior pictures. It’s only a one-page spread.”
“We want to make sure we get the perfect shot,” Rennie insists, her voice sharp.
“I think I have,” says the girl, with a smile. She clicks the mouse, and a picture of Lillia and Reeve pops up on the computer screen. Them dancing onstage. Him holding her tight, gazing at her with a big grin. Before he saw me. Before I went . . . crazy.
I force myself to look away.
The girl taps the screen with her pencil tip and says, “I say we build the entire page around this shot.”
Rennie shakes her head, takes over the computer mouse, and clicks onto another picture. One of the entire homecoming court. “This one is better. But, really, we should wait until we get all the pictures in before we make the final choice. We’ve got to be thorough.”
“But the photo you want doesn’t show who won king and queen!”
Rennie spins to face the girl. “Are you kidding me? The picture you want is going to make everyone remember the accident, okay? It’s going to be a trigger.” For the first time, I agree with Rennie. Actually, I wish they’d skip that page all together. “Not to mention that it’s completely disrespectful to Reeve.”
Defiant, the girl says, “We’ve always featured at least one picture of just the king and queen in the yearbook.”
Rennie shoots her a nasty look and then softens her tone. She crooks her finger at the girl, wanting her to lean in close. “Look, I didn’t want to say anything because it’s on the DL, but the homecoming queen title is still somewhat in dispute. Coach Christy is considering a possible recount. So let’s not settle on a photo until we know for sure, all right?”
The girl nods, her eyes wide. “Okay,” she whispers back. “That’s a different story.”
I get a squeeze in my chest. Could Coach Christy somehow figure out that Kat and I snuck into her office to mess with the homecoming ballots? I shake my head. Nope. No way. We were careful. We didn’t leave a trace.
I take a seat near a group of students voting over which superlative categories to include this year. Best-looking, most popular, nicest eyes, most athletic. I force myself to think of a different boy, a boy who isn’t Reeve, for each one.
After the meeting, I’m heading home when I hear a shrill whistle coming from the school pool. Is Reeve still there? Even though I know it’s probably not the best idea, I can’t help but be curious. How much is Reeve improving? Is there a chance for him to maybe get those football scholarships after all?
I sneak in and watch him. Reeve’s in the water in his swim trunks. His big black soft cast is up on the bleachers. The man is sitting up on the side of the pool, his legs dangling in the water. He’s not in a swimsuit. He has his track pants rolled up to his knees.
“All right, Reeve, now I want you to hold on to the side here and kick your legs frog-style for fifteen-second intervals for the next three minutes.” He puts his coaching whistle back in his mouth. “Set . . .”
Reeve lets out a groan.
“Unless you can’t do it,” the man adds teasingly.
And Reeve loses it. He snaps, “Of course I can do it. That’s not the issue.”
“Then what is?”
Reeve seethes, “The issue is, I can do it for sixty-second intervals.”
“So?”
“So why aren’t we in the gym, putting me on the treadmill?”
The man blinks a few times. “You’re not ready for the gym yet, buddy. That’s why you’re in a soft cast, not a walking cast. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard as it is.”
“You don’t know that. You haven’t even tried to push me. Trust me. I can be doing so much more than I am right now.”
The man shakes his head. “Son, you need to accept your injury, not fight it. It’s going to take time to heal.”
Reeve pulls himself half out of the water. Even though he’s dripping wet and shivering, his cheeks are bright, fiery red. “I found this article online about a guy who broke his fibula and five weeks after, he was running seven-minute miles. That’s the kind of ‘Eye of the Tiger’ I need you to have. That’s the level I want you to push me.”
The man sighs. “Reeve, look. There’s no way you’re getting back on the football field this season. I want you to get that out of your head.”
Reeve tightens every single muscle. “I know that! I know I’m not playing this season. But college camps start in February, man. I need to be able to hold my own. If I don’t play football, then I don’t go to college. End of story. It’s a wrap.”
The guy calmly puts his clipboard down and folds his hands in his lap. “It’s a process, Reeve. One step at a time. If you get there, you get there. But you need to prepare yourself for the if.”
Reeve recoils at the word, and then shakes his head, like he’s trying to forget he ever heard it. “You know what? I’m going to do this on my own.”
“Reeve—”
“Did you not hear me? You’re fired. Your services aren’t needed.” Reeve hoists himself out of the water. He tries to put a little weight on his leg, but can’t. So he ends up hopping over to his towel. Under his breath he mutters a few curse words.
The physical therapist shakes his head and packs up his stuff. He walks out of the pool, right past me in the hallway.
Reeve sits on the bench a while longer, dripping puddles of water on the concrete floor. I’m thinking he’ll pack it in and head home, but instead he slides back into the water and assumes the position at the shallow end. He does the exercise he was told to do, the frog kicks, but without stopping for a full minute. And then he does that five more times.
It’s crazy, how similar we are. Here’s both of us, working through our stuff, trying to make something positive out of something really bad.
