Heft - By Liz Moore Page 0,52

building, which really looks like a castle at night. They light it with spotlights and the stone glows beneath them. At school I am generally happy and relaxed. At school I have friends and I am respected. I have friends.

Charlie Rasco says Eli Manning is maturing as a leader.

I take out my phone and call the radio station which I used to do at night when I was a boy but have not done in years. When I was a boy I loved Charlie Rasco.

Someone who isn’t Charlie answers the phone and says ESPN Radio.

I’m calling to talk to Charlie, I say.

About what, says the operator, who’s eating. I can hear him eating something.

—Well, I’d like to talk to him about Eli Manning.

What about, he says again.

I have to disagree with him, I say. About Eli. I think if his last name wasn’t Manning he’d be a backup in San Diego right now.

—What’s your name?

Kel, I say.

—Cal?

—Yeah.

OK, says the operator. Hold please.

The radio is still on. Charlie is still talking but I can’t really understand him anymore. I’m having trouble paying attention. Then a voice in my ear and a voice on the radio says, Cal’s on the line with us now. Cal, what’s up?

But my voice is gone again.

Cal? says Charlie. Looks like we lost him.

•

It’s only now that I remember that I still have my mother’s letter folded into my back pocket. I take it out and look at it.

There is her handwriting. Kelly, she wrote.

A trembling inside me. A rush. I put it down on the seat next to me. I can’t read it yet, because of what it will mean if I do.

I sit perfectly still for a long time. I do not turn the radio off. When I start to get very cold I think of the places I could go, ruling out my house because it’s not my house anymore. It’s no one’s house.

I think of driving to Dee Marshall’s. He probably saw my call. But he hasn’t called me back.

I think of driving to Lindsay Harper’s, but the embarrassment of that, of waking her family, her two baby sisters, is too much for me.

Finally I decide on Trevor’s house, because his parents already know me very well, and I have always had this feeling that they pride themselves on Trevor’s friendship with someone like me, and that they feel that having me in their house makes them well and truly part of the world.

• • •

On Tuesday morning I wake up in the Cohens’ house, in one of their dozen beds, in one of their many rooms. I know where I am right away. There is no moment of recalling: I know everything. I have been dreaming about it.

Last night I got to Trevor’s house and I sat in the car in their circular driveway for about ten minutes. There was Mr. Cohen’s Audi and there was Mrs. Cohen’s BMW. I got scared to go up to their door. It was after midnight. I tried calling Trevor’s phone but he did not answer. Finally I summoned all of my courage and walked up to the door and before I could ring the bell the motion detector light went on. I started shaking actually shaking and I stood there for a minute deciding whether I was going to leave.

Before I could the door flew open. Mr. Cohen stood there in his bathrobe squinting at me. He is a stocky man with a lot of gray hair and round glasses. I could tell he didn’t recognize me at first. Then from behind him I heard his wife say Kel!

Hi, I said. I didn’t know what to say so I said hi.

Are you OK, sweetheart? asked Mrs. Cohen. She came forward into the light and I could see she was wearing a fancy silk robe that looked like it was from Japan or China. Pink with birds on it. She is very very thin and I could see all the bones in her chest and all the veins in her bare feet.

Fine! I said.

—Are you . . . here to see Trevor?

I heard in her voice the fear that Trevor had turned into a bad kid overnight. That I had turned him into a bad kid who got visitors at midnight.

Well, I said. OK. My mom’s in the hospital.

Oh no, said Mrs. Cohen. Oh, no. Come in, darling.

Trevor came downstairs then and kind of looked at me blankly. We were all still standing in their hallway.

Hey