Lisa Schroeder - The Bridge from You to Me

“Oh, yeah. I love potato bugs. The way you pick them up and they roll into a ball? So awesome.”

“Yeah.”

She looks at me. “So, is that a yes?”

I shrug. “Sure. Why not? Benny’d probably give me hell for it, but whatever. I guess he doesn’t have to know. For now.”

“How’s he doing, anyway?” she asks, like a friend does.

“Okay, I guess. I saw him yesterday. Sometime soon, they’re going to move him to a rehabilitation center. The one they want to get him into is in Atlanta, but it’s going to take a lot to make that happen. Financially, I mean. I wish there was something I could do to help them.”

“Then let’s help him,” she says. “You and me. We could do a fund-raiser, right? I bet people here at school would get behind it. I think everybody’s dying to do something to help, they just don’t know how.”

“What kind of fund-raiser? Like a car wash or going door-to-door . . . ?”

Her eyes are big and bright. “I know. We’ll have a gigantic bake sale. Like, the biggest bake sale ever. I can ask Mr. Curtiss to donate some doughnuts from the shop. And we could make stuff, and ask a bunch of other people to make stuff.”

I hold my hands up. “Whoa, hold on. The only thing I’ve ever baked was an angel food cake where all we had to do was

add water to the mix. I don’t think you want me making something I’d probably have to pay people to eat.”

She shakes her head. “Colby Pynes, are you serious? You’ve never baked cupcakes or chocolate chip cookies or brownies?”

I shrug. “No.”

“That is so sad.”

“Well, when you don’t have a mom around most of your life . . . But you know, I could ask my grandma to make something. And I can help you with other stuff. Advertising. Setting up. Whatever.”

“We’ll need to do all of that, of course, but we will make something. It’ll be more fun than playing with potato bugs, I promise.”

“Wait, I know,” I say. “We could put potato bugs in whatever we’re making. Now that would be fun.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Gross. You’re such a . . . boy.”

I hold my hands up. “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to be friends with me, remember?”

“I remember,” she says as she grabs a notebook and a pen from her backpack, opens it up, and starts writing.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Making a list. We have a lot to do.” She looks up and must see panic in my eyes. “Don’t worry. Football comes first for you. I get it.”

“Just so you know,” I say as I look down at the field, “I wish it didn’t.”

I gotta admit, she is pretty easy to talk to.

Now if she wasn’t so easy to look at, this being friends thing would be a piece of cake.

She thinks we can do it. Be friends.

Maybe we can. I’m thinking it’s not going to be easy, but I didn’t want to say no. I mean, it seems like something is better than nothing.

And she’s right. I could use a friend right about now. Lately, my teammates don’t seem to know how to be around me off the field. It’s like Benny is there, between us, and they’re afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing.

With Lauren, I feel comfortable. I think she knows there are two versions of me: the real me and the one everyone thinks is me.

And she doesn’t care.

For whatever reason, she understands.

TUESDAY

“Hi, Lauren.”

“Hi.”

“How are you?”

“I’m all right. Busy.”

“Oh? What’s going on?”

“I’m organizing a big bake sale to help raise money for Benny and his family.”

She smiles. “That’s wonderful. When is it?”

“A week from Saturday. I have a flyer, if you’re interested.” I reach into my backpack and pull one out. She gets up from her chair and takes it from me.

“I’ll definitely try to stop by,” she says as she looks it over.

“That’d be great. Thanks.”

“Are you going to bake something?”

“Yeah. Not sure what.”

“Did you and your mom ever bake things together?”

I give a little grunt of indignation. I would have liked to, but I don’t say that. There was one time, in fourth grade, when the school had a bake sale to raise money for new instru-ments for the music room. I asked my mom if we could make something, and she said no. She didn’t have time. She said that a lot. She did give me a few dollars so I could buy something at the sale, though. I bought cupcakes and shared them with my babysitter, Mrs. Neely.

“No,” I tell her. “My mom wasn’t really the baking type.

My aunt Erica bakes a lot, though.”

“How’s it going, living with them? Everything all right?”

“Yes. They’re great. I just wish they’d trust me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I heard them talking one day. They don’t trust me to watch my cousins. After what happened. Or, well, what supposedly happened.”

“Hmm. Well, give it time.”

“I know. It’s okay. They’re good people, I know that. And I can’t really blame them, I guess.”

“You know, Lauren, I’d love to hear your side of the story. You’ve been so close to telling me a couple of times and then you stop. How come?”

I stare at the window. “I don’t know.”

It’s true. I don’t. At first, it was because I didn’t think it would do any good. Like, what’s the point, rehashing it all? But now, if she thinks it might help, how do I know for sure that it won’t?

“Are you afraid? Whatever you tell me is between us. You are safe here.”

I stare at the tree outside the window. I wish I were there, hidden in the branches, the sky waiting for me. I imagine what that feels like — to open your wings and let the wind take you up and away.

It must take a lot of trust.

I take a deep breath. “It was late. The baby, my half brother, wouldn’t stop crying. I thought he was sick. He felt warm, like he had a fever. I kept telling her we needed to get some infant Tylenol to help him feel better.”

“By ‘her,’ you mean, your mom?” she asks.

“Right. She said Matthew would be fine, if she could just get him to sleep. But she was drinking that night, and the more he cried, the angrier she got. She started shaking him and shaking him, yelling at him to stop.”

I look at Dr. Springer. “I was so scared. I’d never been as scared as I was that night. I tried to take him from her, but she wouldn’t let me. She locked herself in her bedroom with him. I really thought she was going to hurt him.” I gulp. “So I called 911 and asked them to send the police, because a baby was in danger. I gave our address, and then I hung up.