by Harry Mazer
He’d done something that he’d never thought he could do. He’d proved something to himself. He could change. He’d run the race, he’d run against Aaron Hill. He’d done something he’d dreamed of and been afraid of. He’d done it to prove to her that he didn’t have to be the way he was, that he could do something else, be somebody else.
That was what he’d come up here to tell her. He wanted to tell her about the race and the scholarship. Who else could he tell who would know what it meant to him? But most of all he wanted to tell her about the way he felt about her, and he didn’t know if he could say it.
“I missed you,” he said. “Sophie, please …” Rain battered the tin roof. It sounded like barrels rolling on the roof.
“What?” she yelled.
“I love you!”
He pointed to himself, to her, then put his hand over his heart. “You … me …”
She flung her arms around him and whispered in his ear.
Above them, the rain raced down the gutters like apples down a chute.
Later, when the lights came on, Sophie went back to her work. She shoveled grain into a wheelbarrow. Then she handed the shovel to Willis and wheeled the barrow toward the stanchions. He followed her, and while she grained the cows, he read her Bunny Fried’s newspaper article about him.
She took the article from him and read it herself. “I didn’t know that,” she said. “You did it, Willis!”
“I thought you knew I ran.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I was sure I saw you. I ran for you. I ran the race and you were watching me.”
“I wasn’t there,” she said. “I wish I had been.” She smoothed the article. “Can I keep this?” She folded it and put it into her pocket.
Forty-four
In the Spring Street Diner, Sophie is sitting by the window, waiting for Willis. It’s raining outside and the window is fogged over. George is sweeping, closing up. Two white plastic bags of garbage are by the door.
Sophie sips her cocoa slowly. It’s warm in the diner and she’s tempted by the pie rack. The apple pie looks good, but so does the blueberry. “George,” she says, “can you give me half a slice of apple pie?”
“And what do I do with the other half, darling?”
“I’ll save it for my boyfriend.”
George brings her the pie on two plates. She takes tiny bites, making the pie last. Ever since she and Willis came back to the city together, she has felt herself torn between pleasure and worry. Things are good between them. They are very good. They are wonderful. She’s happy, but the little bit of worry is always there, the little bit of uncertainty.
Today is the end of her first week on her new job. She is still surprised every time she thinks of what she is doing. When she came back from the farm, she didn’t even know if Carl would give her her old job back. At best, she thought, he would put her back on the newsstand.
But the first day he drove her all over town in his blue Mercedes, showing her the apartment buildings he owned. He had a clipboard beside him, a yellow pad. He was following up a list of tenant complaints. One tenant was sick of waiting for his new shower head. Another complained that her neighbor was leaving the kids’ bikes in the hall and creating a fire hazard. And someone else complained about not enough storage space.
“I don’t have time for all this petty garbage, Sophie. I’ve got more important things to do. What about that shower head? I haven’t got it. What am I supposed to do?”
“Why don’t you let the tenant buy his own shower head and give you the bill?”
“What about those bikes in the hall? There’re fire regulations. It’ll be my neck.”
“Can you make a bike room in the cellar? Divide up the space?”
“That’s going to cost money.”
“Not that much. You just need some two-by-fours, Sheetrock and a door with a lock. Anybody could do that. I could.”
She didn’t think her ideas were that great. They were just common sense, but over lunch, he offered her a job as his roving super and troubleshooter. More responsibility, more money and the use of a car.
She took the job.
Now in the diner, she’s making a list of things she’s got to do tomorrow.
When Willis comes in, he’s full of excitement. He’ll explain in a minute. “Got a pencil, Soph?” He kisses her. He sits down and eats the pie and then asks George for a sandwich and more pie. He borrows Sophie’s notebook and starts figuring.
“I was up at the college today. That scholarship really is going to pay everything, but you know what I forgot to ask them? What about Zola? Am I going to be able to keep her in the dorm with me? Yeah, probably, I see dogs all over the place.” Then he laughs. “Can you imagine me living in a dorm with college kids?”
“Zola can always come live with me,” Sophie says and gets close and looks at his scribbles. “You going to tell me what that’s all about?”
“You remember the emergency fund I was talking about? For my mother? In case something happens to her or to my father while I’m in school and she needs money? She’s only got me to turn to.”
Sophie nods. She knows about this.
“I asked Miholic for overtime for the rest of the summer, and I’m going to get a weekend job. An ice-cream truck. I’ll probably sell the car. We can use yours, okay?”
“Lady and gentleman,” George says, “the kitchen is closing in fifteen more minutes.”
“Thank you,” Sophie says.
Willis is still figuring. “I can save a little by cutting out movies, Soph. The stinger is my rent. If I could get a cheaper place until I start school.… What are you paying over there at Brenda’s?”
“Almost the same as you. We should eat together more, that would save money. And I’ll take you to the movies.”
“Listen, I’ve got this great idea. I thought of it on the way over. It’s going to solve the whole thing for me.” He put a finger on her hand. “One, I give up my apartment. Two, I camp out with you.”
“My place?”
“Don’t you think it’s a terrific idea? I don’t take up a lot of room. You won’t even know I’m there.”
She laughs. “I always know when you’re there.”
“Two can live as cheap as one,” he says.
“Saving money isn’t a good reason to move in together,” she says.
“That’s not the only reason I want to live with you.”
“We haven’t even talked about it.”
“It would only be temporary,” he says.
“You know, that’s kind of insulting. I’m not a motel.”
“You mean you want me to move in for good?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t want me to move in at all?”
“You make it sound like I’m denying you something. What if we don’t get along?”
“We’re going to get along. We always get along.”
“Oh, sure. Short memory, Willis. This is a serious thing. Maybe it’s too soon for us. Besides …” She hesitates, thinking that she’s been on her own for only a little while. She’s still figuring things out for herself, and having Willis around won’t make it easier.
She knows herself: She’d start depending on him to make up her mind for her. She definitely doesn’t feel positive enough about living together to say yes. Not just like that. Not now. Not this soon. Sure, it sounds nice, but—and there are a lot of buts and what-ifs.
What if they get in each other’s way? What if he wants to eat pizza three times a day? What if she wants to stay up when he goes to sleep? Her place is tiny. Weekends, she likes to sleep in and he gets up at the crack of dawn. And it doesn’t mean just the two of them in that little apartment, it means Zola, too.
Sophie doesn’t want to be selfish, but she doesn’t want them to make a mistake, either. “Living together, we could end up hating each other.” He doesn’t say anything, and she can see he’s disappointed. She jiggles his arm. “Say s
omething.”
“What am I supposed to say? You don’t want to live with me.”
“That’s what I was afraid you’d say. You’ve got it all wrong. Do you think I’m being selfish?”
“Yes,” he says.
“Because I’m not giving you what you want, that makes me selfish?”
“You asked.”
“But you—you’re not being selfish?” she says, and it feels and it smells and it sounds like they’re off to a fight.
“That’s right,” he says. “What’s the big deal about living together for a few months?”
“Lady and gentleman, I’m closed now,” George says.
Willis zips up his jacket. “What do you say?”
“I wish we weren’t fighting.”
“You don’t want us to live together? You don’t want me to move in?”
She shakes her head.
He pulls his collar up like a turtleneck and puts his hands in his pockets.
Sophie puts on her jacket, and they go out.
Outside, they’re not talking, but they’re not going away from each other, either. They start walking. It’s raining and they’re not talking and Willis is feeling bad, because it feels like all the other times they fought. All day he couldn’t wait to see Sophie and tell her this great idea and then it turns out to be a rotten idea.
They walk over to Broadway together. Finally, he says, “If it was my place, I’d probably feel the same way.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t,” she says, and links her arm with his.
“I would if it was a bum idea.” He puts his arm around her. “Guess what, Sophie. I was doing something unusual. I was just thinking about me.”
“Oh, you’re not that bad,” she says, and gives him a loving look.
Being close with someone isn’t easy, he thinks. It’s not just a matter of saying I love you. When you’re with somebody else, when you like that person and love that person, you have to think about them as much as you think about yourself. If easy is what you want, he says to himself, then be alone and all you’ll have to think about is you.
And he remembers how it was before Sophie, alone in that box of a room, alone with his radio and his dreams of running and dreams of a girl he created out of thin air, a girl who never was.
And he leans in toward Sophie and brings her closer to him. “Which way?” he says.
They stand there undecided for a moment, then with their arms around each other, they run toward Sophie’s place.
About the Author
Harry Mazer is the author of twenty-two novels for children and young adults. Best known for his acclaimed realistic teen fiction, Mazer has been recognized with the New York Library Association’s Knickerbocker Award for Juvenile Literature and the ALAN Award for contributions to young adult literature, as well as several best-book designations from the American Library Association, among other honors.
After graduating from the Bronx High School of Science, Mazer joined the US Army Air Force, serving in World War II from 1943 to 1945 as a sergeant. He received a Purple Heart and an Air Medal after his B-17 bomber was shot down in 1945. Mazer’s wartime experiences later inspired several of his novels, including the Boy at War series.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1987 by Harry Mazer
Cover design by Heidi North
ISBN: 978-1-5040-0997-3
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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