Lisa Schroeder - The Bridge from You to Me

She laughs. “Colby, you’re going to state! That’s a good reason to be happy, isn’t it? Or did I miss the part where you broke your leg and can’t play?”

It makes me think of Benny, hurt and unable to play. And as soon as she’s said it, I know she thinks of him too. “Sorry,” she says. “I was trying to be funny. I didn’t mean —”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re absolutely right. I should be happy.”

“So how come you’re not?”

I turn down another back road and go in a different direction, toward the tree farm Dad and I visit every year to cut down our Christmas tree.

“I don’t know,” I finally reply. “It’s not that I’m unhappy we’re going to state. There’s just . . . a lot going on right now.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What do you want out of life right now? I mean, what do you really want?”

“Bugles sound good, actually. Got any on you?”

She lightly slaps my arm. “Come on. Be serious. I want to know.”

I slow down and turn into Wicker’s Christmas Tree Farm. It’s set back from the road a ways with a gravel parking lot and then behind it, acres and acres of Noble and Douglas firs. I park in a spot that isn’t too visible from the main road. I turn the engine off but keep the radio and headlights on.

“It’s a complicated question. Too hard to think about and drive at the same time,” I explain as I turn the volume down on the stereo.

“Do you get your tree here?” she asks, looking out the front window at shadows of trees that go on for miles.

“We do. My dad says my mom always insisted on a fresh-cut tree. I don’t think my dad really cares where the tree comes from. But I get the feeling we come out here as a way to honor her memory at Christmastime.”

“That’s sweet. He must have really loved her.”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Maybe that’s what you want. Maybe you want your mom here right now, to help you sort stuff out.”

“Maybe.” I pause. “Is that what you want?”

“Maybe.”

“Is this one of those games where maybe means yes and no means yes, but yes means no?” I ask.

“No.”

I smile. “Is that a yes, then?”

My lame attempt to change the subject doesn’t work.

“Here’s what I think,” she says, settling back into the seat, curling one of her legs up onto the seat with her. “I think we both want the same thing. Deep down, the same exact thing.”

“What?”

“For our families to accept us, just as we are.”

“Is that why you moved here?” I ask.

She chews on a thumbnail. “If you want to know the truth, my mom got really pissed at me.”

“So, coming here was your punishment?”

“Kind of.” She pauses. “She basically kicked me out. Helped me find somewhere else to go, and then she made me

leave.”

“Jesus, Lauren. I’m sorry.”

“Now she’s moving across the country, and I’m not sure what’s going to happen to me.”

“You’ll stay where you are, right?”

“I don’t know. I’m pretty sure when Josh and Erica said I could stay with them, they didn’t intend for me to become, like, their fourth child.”

We’re both quiet for a minute. Then she says, “But we weren’t talking about me. We were talking about you. You never really answered my question. What do you want?”

I scratch my head. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

“All right, let’s break it down. Do you want to win state?”

“Yes. For Benny. And for my team, I want to win state. But . . .”

“But what?”

“If we win state, I think that means I have to play college ball. The pressure will be on like nobody’s business. Everyone will expect me to play.”

“And you’re sure you don’t want to play?”

“Positive.”

“But you want to go to college?” she asks.

“Yeah. I want to study civil engineering.” I look at her.

“And you’re going to go to become a whatever it is that stud-

ies birds, right?”

“I don’t know now. With my living situation up in the air, how does that work? For financial aid, I mean. I bet my mom is still claiming me as a dependent, which means I need her to help me fill out the financial aid forms. And that’s never gonna happen.”

“Maybe your aunt and uncle can write a letter and explain the situation.”

She sighs. “Like they don’t have enough going on with their jobs and family and everything else.”

“I think you should talk to them,” I tell her. “I don’t know your aunt very well, but your uncle is a super-nice guy. Let them help you figure it out.”

“So, do you go to the bookstore a lot?”

I shrug. “Maybe. Okay, yes, I do. So?”

She smiles. “A football player who reads. Man, that is . . .”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“Tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” I reach over and start tickling her side. “Tell me. It’s what?”

She laughs and tries to push me away, but I hold her with one hand and continue to tickle with the other. “Okay, okay, it’s hot!” she gasps.

I stop and lean back. “Is that really what you were going to say?”

She straightens her shirt. “Maybe.”

I reach for her again and she squeals, pushing herself back toward the door. “Yes, yes, okay? Geez, don’t let it go to your head.”

Before I have a chance to change my mind, I tell her, “Well, you’re not bad yourself.”

“Thanks,” she says softly.

I’m about to start up the truck and get the hell out of here because it has gone from zero to a hundred on the uncomfortable scale, when she scoots over next to me.

She’s right there. Looking at me. And it’s pretty obvious what’s coming next. The thing is, I want that too. I’ve wanted it for weeks. But at the same time, I don’t want to ruin what we have. Besides, my focus on the field has been good. Really good. I’m doing what I need to do.

“I don’t want to mess anything up,” I tell her before I realize that probably doesn’t make any sense to her.

“I know,” she says, like she completely understands. “And I promise you won’t.”

And then she touches my cheek, leans in, and kisses me.

Holy shit.

It finally happened.

And what do you know, I let myself kiss her and managed to ignore the alarms going off in my head: Danger! Danger! Step away from the girl! Step AWAY from the girl!