Roll

  “Yeah. What?”

  “Did you help Atticus write the sign? The one . . . well, you know. That one?”

  Aiden shakes his head. “No. But I should have told you. It was stupid. I was stupid.”

  “You’re not stupid,” I say automatically. “Remember when we found my uncle’s old Rubik’s Cube? You did it in, like, two minutes. Plus, you know what bottle episodes are. And you can draw. Your Bananaman is better than the original.”

  “Yeah. Well, no offense to John Geering, but he wasn’t exactly Picasso, you know?”

  “I’m just saying.” I shrug. “I’m not that smart, either. I’m just good at memorizing stuff. I’m like . . . a parrot, or something. ‘Polly want a cracker?’”

  “Shut up. You don’t even like crackers.”

  I can’t help grinning a little, even though I’m soaking wet, and I just made a fool of myself, and I’m not even sure if I have any friends anymore. “They’re just so dry, you know? Who wants their food to be that dry?”

  Xerophobia, my brain whispers. The fear of dryness.

  Aiden pulls up some more grass, twirling it between his fingers. His hands are getting bigger, too. Pretty soon they’ll be meathooks, like Dad’s.

  “Anyway,” I say. “Sorry. I know I’m a pain, sometimes. I get why you’re embarrassed to be around me. Why you want to be friends with Kurt instead.”

  “I’m not embarrassed,” Aiden says. “And I don’t want to be friends with Kurt instead of you. It’s not, like, all or nothing, you know? Why can’t I be friends with both of you?”

  When he puts it like that, it sounds logical. “I don’t know,” I shrug. “You’re just . . . so different, you know? You’re going out for basketball next year, and you’ll sit with Kurt and everyone at the jock table, and I’ll just be . . . the same.”

  Kurt’s parents aren’t going to be very happy when they see the bald patch of lawn Aiden’s made.

  Part of me is waiting for Aiden to tell me I’m wrong. That everything’s fine. That it’ll all go back to normal, once school starts.

  But another part of me knows that’s not going to happen.

  I look around at Kurt’s yard.

  Sutton was right.

  I don’t belong here. I don’t know why I was pretending I did.

  This isn’t who I am.

  I’m not a sports guy. I’m not cool. I’m not popular.

  I’m not like Kurt, or Atticus, or John.

  I’m not like Aiden.

  I’m a geek.

  I’m the King of the Geeks.

  And maybe that’s okay.

  “We’ll still hang out,” Aiden says. “Just not, you know . . . all the time.”

  I nod, not looking at him. The chlorine is burning the back of my throat again.

  “Besides,” Aiden says. “What about Sutton? And the pigeons, or whatever they are? I’m not the only one who’s doing new stuff, right?”

  “She left,” I admit. “I don’t even know what happened. One minute we’re talking about her dad and everything is fine, and then the next minute . . .” I trail off. “Girls are complicated.”

  Aiden shrugs. “Yeah, but all that stuff with her dad, it’s gotta suck for her, right?”

  “Yeah,” I admit. “I mean, I guess so.”

  “When’s he getting out of the hospital, anyway?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But he’s going to be able to, like, walk again and stuff, right?” Aiden asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  And then it hits me.

  How is it possible that I have no idea what’s going on with Sutton’s dad? I mean, I know she said she didn’t want my pity when she first told me, but I’ve barely even asked about him.

  No wonder she left.

  “Can I use your phone?” I ask Aiden. “I have someplace I need to be.”

  CHAPTER 28

  I’M ABOUT TO knock on Sutton’s front door when it hits me; Sutton’s dad may not be here to see it, but the Fly is still tomorrow morning; I’m standing in front of the wrong door.

  Turning around, I cut across the lawn and head out to the field. It’s getting darker now, and I can see the light spilling out through the open door of Sutton’s coop.

  “Sutton?” I give a little knock to the side of the loft. “Are you in there? It’s me.”

  As she steps into the doorway, she doesn’t seem surprised to see me.

  She’s looked better, I can’t help noticing.

  Her fiery hair is scraped back into a bun, with straggly pieces escaping at the front, and her eyes are all puffy and red. She’s wearing baggy plaid pajama pants and another one of her dad’s T-shirts, which reads “Violent Femmes” across the front.

  Something tells me Mom would not approve of their music.

  “Hey.” Her voice is dull. “What are you doing here?”

  “I had my mom pick me up,” I tell her.

  “Oh.”

  Silence.

  It seems like there’s been a lot of awkward silences in my life lately.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “You were trying to tell me about your dad, and I just . . . I’m sorry. I’m a terrible friend.”

  Swinging the door shut behind her, Sutton sinks down on the step. “You’re not a terrible friend, Ren. I’m the one who told you not to be weird about him.”

  “There’s a difference between being weird about something and completely ignoring it,” I point out. “I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you do it alone.”

  Sutton looks at the coop. “I haven’t been alone. And besides, you’ve been here. I probably wouldn’t even be flying tomorrow, if you hadn’t been helping me.”

  “It’s not enough. I’m going to do better,” I promise. “It’s not just about the pigeons. I mean, we’re friends, right?”

  She grins. “Yeah. We’re friends.”

  It feels like a weight has just slid off my shoulders. “And sorry about before, too,” I add. “The party. You were right. I don’t really fit in with those guys. They’re Aiden’s friends, not mine.”

  Saying it out loud makes me realize how true it is.

  And how it’s okay.

  “Did you at least figure things out with Aiden?” Sutton asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe. I hope so.” Just because things are different, doesn’t mean they’re bad, right?

  Sutton sighs. “Big day, huh? Do you want to just watch a movie, or something? Zone out?”

  There’s a plan brewing in my head.

  I wouldn’t even call it a plan yet, actually.

  But there’s an idea for a plan in my head.

  And it’s a good one.

  I nod. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

  CHAPTER 29

  DAD IS WAITING up for me when I get home. He’s sitting at the dining room table, a cardboard box resting on the table in front of him.

  The guilt that I’ve managed not to think about for the past couple of days slams back into my stomach.

  “Hey,” I say. “Sorry, I know it’s late.”

  “Mom says you came home early from the party?”

  “Yeah.” I clear my throat. “It was kind of a bust, actually.”

  “Ah,” Dad says. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Not really,” I say honestly.

  He nods. “So, listen. About yesterday. What you said about not wanting to join the cross-country team.”

  My stomach gives a little flip of dread. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I know I shouldn’t have lied to you. I—”

  He holds up his hand, cutting me off. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I was just . . . taken aback, I guess. I thought you liked running.”

  “I wanted to,” I say. “I mean, I tried to like it.”

  Dad’s lips curve up a little at the edges. “I’m still not happy that you lied to me, but I’m more upset that you thought you had to. I’ve been putting too much pressu
re on you, kiddo.”

  “No,” I protest. “I mean, I’m the one who asked for your help, remember?”

  “I should have realized what was going on. I’m your dad. I’m supposed to know things about you.” He shrugs. “It’s kind of my job.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say again. “I know you’re disappointed. I thought that maybe because I’m a Hall, I’d be good at it,” I admit, realizing how ridiculous it sounds. “That I’d take after you, or something. But I guess it doesn’t work that way.”

  “Look in the box,” Dad says.

  “What?”

  “The box,” he repeats, pointing toward the table. “Look in it.”

  I step forward, confused, and flip the cardboard flaps open.

  It’s full of comics. Old ones, even older than the ones I’m into. Popeye, and Little Lulu, and Tarzan of the Apes. “Whoa. Where did you get these?” I ask.

  “They were Grandpa’s,” Dad says. “I found them in the basement. I’d forgotten all about them, until you mentioned those old trophies of mine down there.”

  “These are awesome,” I say, flipping through the box. Smilin’ Jack? I’ve never even heard of that one. “How did I not know we had these?”

  “I’m obviously overpaying you and Aiden,” Dad says, grinning. But a second later, he looks serious again. “Just because I like running doesn’t mean you need to. You don’t need to worry about being a Hall, okay? You just have to worry about being yourself.”

  I stare down at the box full of Grandpa’s old comics, inhaling the warm, dusty scent. “Okay,” I say, feeling a tiny flood of happiness. I mean, who knows what’s buried at the bottom of the box? “Are you sure?” I ask.

  “Please,” Dad scoffs. “Can the Silver Surfer fly?”

  Actually, the Silver Surfer can’t fly. He uses his surfboard-like craft to travel through space. But I get what Dad’s going for.

  I force myself to step away from the box. “Um, just so you know, it’s the same for you, too.”

  Dad looks surprised. “For me?”

  “I just meant, you know, you don’t have to pretend to like comics anymore. If you don’t want to. I mean, it’s nice of you to try,” I say, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “But I know you’re not really that into them.”

  Dad smiles. “I’ve maybe been overdoing it a little, huh?”

  I hold up my thumb and index finger close together. “Maybe a little.”

  “Sorry. I guess I’ve just been feeling a little guilty lately. I know the move’s been hard on you.”

  “I don’t know,” I say, thinking about Sutton and the kit. “I’m actually starting to like it out here.”

  “Really?” Dad asks in surprise.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’m even thinking of unpacking my room.”

  He stands up, stretching out his arms. “Well, let’s start tomorrow, kiddo. It’s late.”

  “Yeah. Umm, about that. Before we go to bed, I kind of need . . . a favor.”

  In the end, we have to estimate the square footage in a couple of places, and we can’t decide on cement or crushed gravel when it comes to the pathways, but on the whole, the plans turn out pretty well.

  As the sun starts to rise out the window, the sky above Sutton’s house turns the same shade of peach as the walls in my room.

  It’s nice, unless you start thinking about how all the peachy color is actually just pollution. Sometimes scientific knowledge is a curse.

  “And that’s basically it,” I tell Dad, stifling a yawn. “Oh. Except for you get extra points the faster they roll.”

  “On top of the points for distance?”

  “Yep.”

  On the laptop screen, a kit of rollers plummets in slow motion toward the ground. We’ve watched it a bunch of times now. “Fascinating,” Dad says again, shaking his head.

  “I should probably get going.” I start to gather up the plans, which are strewn all over the kitchen table. We actually finished hours ago, but, by then, we’d had too much caffeine to even think about sleeping. It was kind of fun, though, staying up with Dad. Like a really weird sleepover, where one of us drank coffee instead of soda.

  Dad nods absently, still staring at the screen. “You know,” he says. “Your mom’s been so busy, she hasn’t even started planning her garden yet. That shed out back is just going begging.” He looks up at me. “What do you say next year we give Sutton and her dad a run for their money?”

  “Really?”

  A giant yawn almost splits his face in two. “Ask me again after I’ve slept,” he says, grinning.

  I can’t help grinning back.

  “Thanks again for everything, Dad. Really.”

  “My pleasure, kiddo. Tell Sutton good luck for me, will you?”

  “Luck is preparation meeting opportunity,” I inform Dad, heading for the door.

  “Benjamin Franklin?”

  “I heard it from Oprah,” I call over my shoulder.

  I’m jittery with nerves, and caffeine, and sugar as I head across the field, the drawings tucked carefully under my arm. It’s a perfect day for the Fly; cloudy, with a light breeze, and just a hint of moisture in the air.

  I wonder if Sutton managed to get any more sleep than I did, or if she’s been awake the entire night, too.

  Something tells me it’s probably the second option.

  As I near the house, I can see an unfamiliar truck parked in the driveway; the judge must already be here. “Sutton?” I call out toward the coop. “Are you in there?”

  Her answer comes from the direction of the house. “We’re in here!”

  I pause to straighten my shirt before opening the door. Hopefully the judge has a sense of humor, because I’m wearing my favorite “Bananaman vs. Doctor Gloom” tee, for luck.

  Don’t tell Oprah.

  “Sutton?” I poke my head inside the house. “Mrs. Davies?”

  Sutton darts into the hallway, looking as manic as I feel. She’s wearing a plain black T-shirt, and her shorts are Sharpie-free. Her hair swings from a high ponytail and looks freshly washed. “Hey.” She licks her lips, looking nervously toward the kitchen. “He’s here. He’s eating.” She’s shifting from foot to foot, practically wobbling back and forth with excitement. Or maybe she just really needs to pee. “He seems nice,” she says in a low voice. “He said I’m the youngest fancier he’s ever met.”

  “And this must be your partner.” A man follows Sutton into the hall, still wiping crumbs from his chin with a napkin. I’m surprised to see that he’s not much taller than me. “Grant Mueller,” he says, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you.” Hovering behind him, Sutton’s mom gives a little wave in my direction.

  “Lauren Hall.” I manage to introduce myself without squeaking too much. “Nice to meet you, too. But I’m not her partner. I mean, I’m just helping. She’s the one who’s done all the work.”

  “We’re partners,” Sutton says firmly. She shoots me a “shut up, already” kind of look.

  “Well,” Mr. Mueller says, “technically, we can only have one name on the entry form. But Sutton here tells me you’ve been irreplaceable, training wise.”

  I can feel myself blushing.

  “So.” Mr. Mueller looks between us. “Should we start? We’ve got a tight schedule today. Thank you again for the muffins, Eva. Best I’ve ever had.”

  She smiles. “Secret family recipe.”

  “Eggnog,” Sutton mouths at me as she follows the judge out the door. “Wait a minute,” she says in her normal voice, pointing at the phone clutched in my hand. “Is that a cell? Did your parents finally realize the whole ‘waiting until you’re fourteen thing’ is a terrible idea?”

  “I wish,” I say ruefully. “This is my mom’s. I thought maybe I could film the Fly? You know, so your Dad can watch, too. And here.” I thrust the papers I’ve been holding underneath my arm in Sutton’s direction. “These are for you.”

  She takes the stack from me, looking confused.

  “I made the
m for you. Well, Dad and me. They’re drawings. I mean, not drawings. Plans. He’s a structural engineer, so they should be, you know . . . okay.”

  Sutton looks down at the plans.

  “It’s the coop,” I babble. “The 2.0 version. Look.” I point at the large front section of the redesigned loft. “It’s handicapped accessible. For when your dad gets home, for his wheelchair. He’ll still be able to get inside, and everything. And Dad drew some plans for a ramp, too, for your house? He knows a guy, so he can get you a really, really good deal, and there are a couple different options for the walkway, but I think you’ll want to go with . . .” I trail off. “Sorry. I should have asked. It’s totally okay if you don’t want any help. It was a bad—oof!”

  The papers fly to the ground as Sutton slams into me, knocking the breath out of my lungs with a painful thwock. For a second, I think she’s tackling me. But as her arms close around me, squeezing me like a cobra, I realize it’s a hug.

  Sutton’s hugging me.

  “Thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  Pressing a slightly wet kiss to my cheek (I think she’s actually crying a little, but it’s hard to tell since I can’t see her face), she gives me a final squeeze, then hurries off to catch up with the judge. I reach up to wipe my cheek.

  Technically, that was my first kiss.

  I make a mental note to tell Aiden later.

  For some reason, as I make my toward the coop, I can’t stop grinning.

  CHAPTER 30

  “READY WHENEVER YOU are,” the judge calls out, holding his tally counter up in anticipation.

  Sutton looks over at me, nervously straightening the end of her ponytail. “This is it, I guess.”

  “This is it,” I echo. “You ready?” I hold Mom’s cell up and start filming.

  Sutton takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Count of three?”

  “One,” I obediently count. “Two. Three!”

  She pulls open the gate.

  For a minute, nothing happens.

  Then, cautiously, the birds begin to spill out of the coop, winging their way upward. Sutton ducks inside, shooing the rest of the kit outside.

  “Five minutes to time in,” the judge tells us, watching as the kit begins to crisscross back and forth across the sky.