He nods.
“Yeah, I do.” My answer sounds just as unsure as I feel, and I’m sure it confuses Josh.
“Are you planning on trying out for the team?” He asks this question with hesitance, probably catching onto my lack of enthusiasm.
I nod. “Yeah, that’s the plan. Hopefully the varsity squad isn’t full.”
“We are,” Josh answers. “All the spots were filled during tryouts over the summer, but I’ll put in a good word. If Coach Martinez likes you, he might move some of the guys over.”
“You play too?”
He smiles proudly. “Team captain.”
My brow shoots up. To think, we moved in right next door to the team captain. My dad’s going to love this.
“Where’s your first class?”
I pull out my class schedule from my pocket, smoothing out the wrinkles to hide the evidence of how badly I’ve been studying it. “Uh, room thirty-six.”
“Mrs. Fix? French?” Teeny cuts in, overhearing our back and forth.
I look back at the crumpled paper. “Yeah.”
“Oh, we’re in the same class,” she says.
“Great! Then Teeny can show you where it is,” Josh says excitedly. “I’ll see you later.”
Josh walks off, joining a crowd of students in the main quad, leaving me and Teeny alone.
“It’s um, it’s this way,” she says, lifting a hand in the direction of a wide hallway to the left. I nod and follow, dodging a few people hurrying through the thickening crowd now that it’s getting close to 7:40.
“Are you a senior? Or…” I ask, trying to make small talk.
“Junior,” she answers. “Josh is older by, like, eleven months, but he’ll treat me like I’m eight for the rest of my life.”
I chuckle.
“Do you have any siblings?”
I shake my head. “Only child.”
“Lucky.”
I chuckle again. “Don’t you guys have another brother? He doesn’t go here?”
“He’s at UC Irvine,” she answers. “He was just visiting for the weekend.”
“Oh.” My chest untightens as we both smile and continue to stroll our way to first period.
“You know, that old couple that used to live in your house, Mr. and Mrs. Allen, they were really nice. They used to bring us donuts on the weekends and pump my brothers’ basketball when it needed air.”
“Yeah,” I respond, a little taken aback by the sudden mention of my grandparents. “They’re—were—my grandparents.”
“Oh,” she says softly. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
“My parents visited often after Mrs. Allen passed away last year. They helped him take out the trash bin and stuff when he couldn’t really do it on his own.”
