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Star showed me a shiny stone she had picked up before tottering off again.
“Anyway…he claimed no one knew about his past, so he was nervous I would give him away.”
His eyebrows drew together. “Why wouldn’t anyone know?”
“He tried to explain, and the best I could understand is his parents didn’t want him to be stereotyped as the sick kid, so they pulled strings at the school to keep it quiet.”
He scoffed. “How cliché.”
“Right?” I smirked. “His parents do seem self-important. I remember that about them.”
One time Henry’s mom was snacking on a package of these biscuit cookies the hospital provided, and when the nurse offered to send some home with her, Henry’s father intervened, saying, “We can perfectly well buy some ourselves,” as if he couldn’t bear to take a handout.
Strange how that memory came back to me right then.
“Christ, these people with money. Not that I’d know,” he said, and I grimaced. “Of course, not all of them are awful. Just like not every poor person is decent.”
“Too true. The world is way more nuanced than that.”
“Uh-huh. Still, you’d think Henry’s remission would be something his family wants to celebrate.”
“That’s what I told him. But…who am I to disrupt his perfect college experience?” I frowned. “For now, I’m going to keep my distance.”
“Good idea,” he replied as we got to the perimeter of the junkyard lot. “Catch you later.”
We watched for a bit from a distance as Pete helped his uncle work on the machine, mostly because Star wanted to see the giant magnet in action. But after a time, she got bored, so we walked back into the woods and took the path leading to the swings.
I pushed for as long as she wanted while my mind wandered, taking inventory of the past month. It still felt surreal.
Back home, I put on a kids’ movie, made us dinner, then got started on my homework.
It wasn’t much different from high school, except the work was tougher and I’d need more confidence and perseverance.
Failing was not an option. I needed to make it through the year to keep my scholarship. What I didn’t need were any more distractions from Henry Albrecht.
6
HENRY
I madeit a habit to walk past Lark’s dance class before football practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays. If students were in the hallway, I’d keep moving like I was on my way to somewhere important. But if no one was around, I’d watch for a few minutes. And after his class, I’d sometimes see him at the fence, watching the marching band get in formation.
“Isn’t that your friend Lark?” Bones said during practice the following Thursday. “Bet he’s watching Emil. The dude plays the trumpet. Glad he doesn’t practice in our room.”
I chuckled. “Better not piss him off, or he might wake you up using that thing.”
“Fucking hell, he better not.” Bones rubbed a hand over his face. “And by the way, I think they’re probably queer for each other.”
“Dude, what the hell? Just because they’re dance majors doesn’t automatically make them gay.” That was the kind of stereotype I hated and dreaded all at once.
“Well,duh. But that’s not what I mean. The other day they were in my room when I got back from class. Lark looked uncomfortable, like I’d caught them doing something, and then they left right away.”
My gut churned, and suddenly a memory from the hospital filtered back to me.
“Do you miss your friends at school?”I’d asked.
“Yeah, sure. Though I don’t have many. How about you?”
“Uh-huh, but I’m missing football and soccer too.”
