So instead, Mrs. Florentino brought over hers, and that way Cory could read about the 49ers. Especially now, in the preseason.
He used his key and walked into their apartment. Then he set down his backpack and the paper, walked across the room, and opened the front window. Nothing but alleys and winos below, but Cory loved having it open. A little bit of summer came in with the breeze.
Oreo, the cat, rubbed against his ankle.
“Hi, boy.” Cory bent down and rubbed his fur. He was black and white with a lot of gray around the whiskers. Some days he was Cory’s best friend. Cory straightened and looked around. The apartment was small, but it was clean. Megan liked clean. And almost every day she left a snack for him. Cory went to the table, and there on a napkin, were two chocolate chip cookies and an empty glass.
“So you’ll remember to drink your milk,” Megan always told him.
At the other end of the table was the Scrabble box. Each day was a different game. Sometimes Yahtzee or a deck of cards or Memory. But Scrabble was their favorite. They’d eat dinner first and then they’d play a game before homework. Megan was nice that way. Plus, the TV only got four channels clear. So board games were good.
Cory poured himself a glass of milk and sat at the table. The cookies weren’t warm, of course, but they tasted like smooth vanilla and Hershey bars. Because that’s how Megan made them. Which was nice because Megan didn’t have much time. Early mornings, before he was awake, she delivered the Chronicle, and after that, she worked all day at Bob’s Diner downtown. Two jobs because she said that’s what it took to keep food on the table.
There was the sound of a key in the door and then it opened.
“Cory!” Megan stepped inside. She had a grocery bag in her hands and her cheeks were red, the way they got when she walked fast. She held up the bag. “Fudge brownie ice cream.”
“The best!” Cory stood and ran to her and hugged her tight. When he’d first come to live with Megan, he didn’t like to hug her because she wasn’t his mom. But she was his mom’s friend. And after two years, hugging her was almost as good as it used to feel to hug his mom. Plus, Megan liked the 49ers. So that made her and the apartment feel like home. Especially during football season.
Cory took the grocery bag. “Thanks.” He grinned at her. “The Crock-Pot smells good.”
“Not as good as Mrs. Florentino’s dinner, but…” She grinned. “It’s the best we can do.”
“Yep.”
He helped put the ice cream in the freezer, and he held the door shut extra long because it didn’t stay closed that good.
“Salad?” He opened the fridge and looked at her.
“Of course.” She lifted the lid on the Crock-Pot. “Always salad.”
He took out the head of lettuce and a worn-out knife from the drawer. If he had money of his own, he’d buy Megan some new knives. Forks too. And maybe a warmer sweater for the days she had to walk fast after dark.
They worked together, and Cory smiled to himself. It felt nice having Megan there. When they were sitting at the table eating the Crock-Pot dinner, Cory watched her a couple times when she wasn’t looking. She was pretty, and she loved him like he was her own. That’s what she said. And maybe she could keep him for good if the court hearings went okay. So far Megan said it was nothing but red tape and the runaround.
Whatever that meant.
Megan put her fork down. “I talked to the social worker again.” A half smile lifted her lips. “I told her I want to adopt you, Cory.”
He finished chewing a bite of potato. “What’d she say?”
“She said”—Megan raised one eyebrow and looked straight at him—“you told her the same thing. About having a dad.”
Cory shrugged. “Yeah.” He studied the pieces of meat still on his plate. Then he looked into her eyes. “Everyone has a dad.”
She gave him a look that said no-funny-business-mister. “You know what I mean.” A sad breath came from her. “If you tell her your dad’s in the picture, we’ll need his signature. I can’t adopt you until he says so.”
“Right.” Cory checked his dinner again. He poked his fork around and pushed the carrots to one side. “If we get his signature…I can meet him.”
Megan waited for a second. Then she breathed long and loud and looked at her plate. “Let’s talk about something else.”
They talked about soccer practice and the other guys on the team and about her work at the restaurant, because she had a rich guy come in today, a big baldy, who left her a twenty-dollar tip.
“That’s why the ice cream!” Cory raised his fork in the air.
“Exactly.”
After dinner, they played Scrabble, but Cory couldn’t think about big words. Some turns he couldn’t think about any words at all. He wanted to read the newspaper, the sports section. Because the 49ers were getting ready for the season and he didn’t want to miss a single story.
Megan won with the word zebras, and Cory hugged her. “Good job.” He took a few steps back. “I’m gonna read the paper.”
“How about the dishes first?” Megan had dark hair, and she tossed it over her shoulder when she stood up. It was easy to think of her as older, sort of his mom’s age. Maybe twenty-nine or thirty. But she was twenty-five. Megan said that wasn’t exactly young and that she had an old soul.
The two of them washed dishes, him scrubbing the plates and Megan rinsing. When they were finally done, he grabbed the paper and ran it to the couch. He was halfway through the sports section when he saw it. The headline read, “Derrick Anderson Hosts Pizza Party at Youth Center.”
Cory raced through the short story. It talked about how Derrick Anderson loved foster kids, and that he was having a pizza party on Friday night at the youth center. All foster kids and their parents were invited.
“No way!” Cory shouted. “Megan, look at this!”
She was washing off the counter and made a little laugh. “Must be big. Read it to me.”
“It is big!” He read her the story, every line, and then he let the paper fall to the floor and he ran to her. “Please, Megan. I could meet Derrick Anderson! He’s the backup quarterback for the 49ers, the famous one who used to play for the Bears. Remember him?”
“The whole world knows Derrick Anderson.” She did a sad sort of smile. “Well, they used to know him. Back in his prime.”
“What?” Cory jumped around. “He’s still in his prime, Megan! He’s thirty-nine, and he’s still one of the best quarterbacks in the league.” He jumped some more. “I can’t believe we can meet him.” He stopped, his eyes wide. “We can, right? Can we? Please, Megan?”
Her eyes twinkled. “Are you kidding?” She messed her fingers through his hair. “That’s the best Friday night offer I’ve had for a year, at least.”
“Did you know about this, the pizza night?” Cory blinked at her. Megan volunteered at the youth center three times a week. She should’ve heard about this long before the newspaper.
Her eyes danced. “I had an idea. But I wanted to be sure before I told you. The 49ers’ front office set it up. I guess the team wants to do whatever it can for the city. With all the talk about building a new stadium thirty miles south in Santa Clara.”
“Yeah.” Cory didn’t like thinking about a new stadium. The 49ers had played at the same place since 1971. They were the best pro sports franchise in the state. Anyone knew that. Plus, Megan said if the mayor convinced the 49ers to stay in the city, they were going to build a bunch of new houses and stuff. Cory and Megan would have to move for sure. He blinked and tried to forget about the whole stadium thing. “Besides, Derrick’s doing the pizza party for a different reason.”
“Oh, really?” Megan gave him a half smile.
“Yeah, because he likes foster kids. And that’s all.”
Megan tilted her head, and her eyes said she was done teasing. “I think you’re right.”
“So”—he felt his heart dance around inside him—“We’re going?”
A laugh came from Megan. “Definitely.”
He grinned and held out his hand, official-like. “Okay, then. It’s a date.”
“Date.” She shook his fingers, and then she laughed and went back to wiping the counter.
Cory picked up the paper again and stacked it on the sofa. Friday was only four days away. Which meant it wasn’t too soon to do what he’d done a hundred times before. He ran to his room, pulled a box out from beneath the bunk bed, and grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil. He took out a dictionary to use for his table, and he started to write.
Every other time he’d done this, he never actually gave the letter away. Because when his mom was alive, she told him he couldn’t just send it off without knowing where it would go, or if it would even be opened. So usually, he wrote the letter and threw it away. Or tucked it into his box, or his backpack. In case he ever ran into the guy at the park or something.
But this…this was the most exciting thing to ever happen, because Derrick Anderson could deliver his letter, Cory was sure. And maybe these were the good plans from God his mother had always told him about.
Cory thought for a long time. He would write the best letter yet, stick it in the nicest envelope, and write across the front. So Derrick would know who to give it to. And Derrick would do it, because he loved foster kids. The Chronicle said so. And the letter was for one of Derrick’s teammates, one of the most famous football players in the country. A man Cory prayed every night he might someday meet.
The man was quarterback Aaron Hill, but Cory didn’t want to meet him because he was the city’s favorite football player. He wanted to meet him for a different reason.
Because Aaron Hill was his dad.
TWO
Megan couldn’t go five minutes without Cory asking her about the time or how long it was until they left or some other question about the pizza party. Now it was five-thirty, almost time to leave, and Megan was in the bathroom running a brush through her hair. In the other room, Cory was talking to himself, going on about how this was the big day, the time of his life, the chance he’d been waiting for.
A smile tugged at Megan’s lips. Cory’s excitement was refreshing, and it gave both of them a reason to look forward to the night. But Megan worried about the boy too, about the letter he’d written for Aaron Hill.
Megan stared at the mirror. “You hear that boy out there, right, God?” She kept her conversation quiet, the way she always did when she talked to God. Cory’s mother may have been a churchgoer, but Megan wasn’t—she didn’t trust organized religion. But from the time she’d been out on her own, God had been her closest friend. She held her breath. Please, God…don’t disappoint him.
“Almost ready?” Cory popped into the doorway. His eyes were wide, his smile so big, his freckles stretched ear to ear.
“Almost.” She set the brush down and studied her look. She didn’t wear much makeup, and tonight was no exception. She dabbed on fresh lipstick and tossed her hair. Then she turned to Cory. “Okay…let’s go.”
“Yay!” He wore his best 49ers T-shirt, a 49ers baseball cap, and blue jeans. He grinned at her. “Do I look like their number-one fan?”
She tugged at the bill of his hat. “Definitely.” Something bulky stuck out from his back pocket and she raised her eyebrow at it. “The letter?”
“Yes.” His voice was practically trembling with anticipation. “Derrick’ll get it to him, I know it.”
Megan didn’t want to dim the boy’s enthusiasm, but she had to keep him grounded in case he never had a moment alone with the veteran quarterback. “You know, Cory, he might be too busy. It’ll be packed tonight.”
He grinned, unfazed. “I only need a few minutes.”
“Hmmm.” Megan walked past him into the kitchen and found her bag on the counter. The center had called on every volunteer to help with tonight’s event. “You might only get a few seconds.”
Cory thought about that for a heartbeat. “Perfect! That’s just enough time to give him the letter and ask him to get it to Aaron.”
Megan opened her mouth to say something about Cory having too vivid an imagination and setting himself up for heartbreak, but she changed her mind. There were a dozen ways Cory could get hurt or disappointed by the end of the night. The whole idea of a letter for Aaron Hill telling the star player that he was Cory’s dad was crazy in the first place. If Aaron Hill was Cory’s father, Amy would’ve said something about it. Megan and Amy talked about everything. The two were together all the time. And though they were both 49ers fans, the subject of Aaron in connection with Cory never once came up.
The notion was nothing but a little boy’s fantasy. Megan could understand that much. There was no father in his life, so Cory had dreamed up a Hollywood movie scenario, the idea that his favorite quarterback was also his dad. But every time Megan tried to correct him, Cory was adamant. Lately she’d stopped trying to convince him. Life would take care of that all too soon.
This was the biggest thing to happen to Cory all year, maybe ever. “Okay.” She smiled at him. “Let’s go.”
They took the stairs, since the elevator was being repaired. Once they were on the street, Cory ran a little ahead, turned around, and waited for her to catch up. “You think he’ll be bigger in person?”
“Derrick Anderson?”
“Yeah. He’s six-two, but I mean”—he patted one of his shoulders—“bigger because of his muscles.”
She stifled a laugh. “I’m sure he’ll be big.”
Cory walked backward, so he could see her. “Yesterday’s paper said Derrick wants more foster kids at the games.”
“I saw that. I’m glad he’s thinking about it.” The sidewalk was busy, full of people getting off work and loosely assembled groups sharing cigarettes and swapping stories outside the row of shops that made up their street. Megan took gentle hold of the boy’s shoulder and turned him forward. “You’re going to back into someone.”
The party was at the Mission Youth Center on Market Street, an eight-block walk uphill from their apartment. They had twenty minutes, and Megan wanted to be there a little early—so they could get a seat close to where Derrick would be set up. Cory wasn’t the only one who wanted a few minutes with Derrick Anderson.
Megan had her own reasons for wanting to meet the man. Ever since he arrived in San Francisco, he’d been passionate about foster kids. In that way, they had much in common. Foster kids were everything to her, and reform in the system was something she dreamed about.
But she was lacking everything it took to make a difference—time, money, and influence. Everything Derrick Anderson had in reserve.
Megan took long strides and thought about her life, the difference she wanted to make for kids like Cory. It was something she dreamed about in the predawn hours when she walked her fifteen-block route delivering the Chronicle, something that played over in her mind between serving plates of scrambled eggs and club sandwiches at Bob’s Diner.
Most of all, she thought about her vision for foster care during the three days a week she volunteered at the center. The state had no money for the program, so the center was kept open largely by volunteers and donations from private citizens. Megan was an after-school coordinator, and in her spare time—at night after Cory was in bed—she worked on a grant proposal, one the director hoped to present to the state legislature.
Cory skipped ahead and then stopped himself and waited for her. “Two more streets!”
Megan pushed herself, the way she always did when she walked the steeper hills. No money for a gym, and no time for an exercise hour, but Megan did more walking in a day than most people did all month. She pressed on, picturing the kids who would be at the party today. Most of the foster kids who hung out at the center were fourteen, fifteen, even sixteen. A few were nearly eighteen.
Which meant that in a few months, on their birthdays, government services for those kids would suddenly stop. A shiver ran down Megan’s arms. The kids could feel the deadline comin
g, and most of them were talking about it. Turn eighteen, and then what? Megan felt the familiar pain in her heart. She’d been there once herself, not that long ago. The answer for many of them lay in the statistics. Half ended up unemployed, a third became homeless, and one in four wound up in jail or prison.
“We’re here!” Cory practically shook, he was so anxious to get inside.
The door was propped open and a chorus of voices spilled out onto the street. Megan stayed behind Cory as they walked inside. Already the place was packed. Many of the faces were familiar, kids who spent more time at the youth center than at their foster homes and group homes. Derrick Anderson had brought out every foster child in the city.
Megan peered at Cory. “Kinda crowded.”
“Not too much.” He stood on his tiptoes and stared past the milling people into the double gymnasium. “Do you see him, huh? Is he in there?”
“Let’s get closer.” Megan took hold of his hand and moved through the crowd. They should’ve come an hour ago. She reached the doorway and scanned the front of the room. It was still quarter to six, so Derrick might not be here yet.
“There he is!” Cory released her hand and ran toward the front of the room.
She saw the quarterback at the same time. He was near the front corner, and already a line of kids stood waiting for a chance to meet him. Cory was right; he was bigger in person. His dark brown skin stood in contrast to his white polo shirt, and even from this far away, the guy’s warmth shone from his eyes. Megan worked her way closer, between the cafeteria tables that had been set up across the gym floor. She found an open spot at a table three rows from the front.
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