change your mind about that ride, Cody, just give us a call. It’s no problem.”
“Thanks, but like I said, my mom is driving me.”
After they drove away, Cody hurried to the crosswalk, only to be held up by the dorky lady with her dorky sign and even dorkier orange vest. She acted like they were still in kindergarten. Finally, she walked out into the street, held up the stop sign, and waved him and the other kids across. He took off at a sprint.
Even though his house was only seven blocks from the school, his mom had never let him walk home alone before this year. She kept saying he was too young. No matter how many times he told her he wasn’t a baby, she just ignored him and made sure Parker’s mom or one of his other friends’ mom gave him a ride. But at the start of this school year, Dad said since he was in eighth grade, he was old enough to walk home by himself. Cody couldn’t believe it when Mom finally said okay. But every day one of the moms still offered him a ride.
By the time he reached Fircrest, he was out of breath. He slowed to a walk. Maybe he should have stopped off at his locker, gotten rid of some of the junk in his backpack. But he hadn’t wanted to waste the time. Using his arm, he pushed at his backpack. A stupid book kept jabbing into his back.
A fat raindrop hit his white sleeve. He looked up and saw dark clouds rolling across the sky. Scowling, he started to run again. A few minutes later, he turned onto his street. When he hit his driveway, he slowed and headed to the side door, digging his key out of his backpack’s front pocket.
He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, like he did every time he saw the keychain. It was so retarded. Retarded and huge. Like his mom thought if she didn’t buy him the biggest one possible, he’d lose it. And if the ginormous plastic house wasn’t bad enough, she’d written his name and phone number on the back. If he lost it and a burglar found it, they’d know exactly which house to break into. Cody rolled his eyes again. Sometimes his mom was so weird.
He kicked the door shut behind him and immediately pulled off his tie. Attending Saint Charles with their stupid uniforms and stupider rules could have been social suicide; the only thing that saved him was that his buddies also went there.
He dumped his backpack in the laundry room, went into the kitchen, and picked up the phone.
“Dr. Adams’s office. How may I help you?”
“It’s Cody.”
“Hi, Cody,” his mom’s receptionist said just like she did every school day. “You made it home okay?”
Duh. “Yeah. Can you tell Mom I’m home?” He didn’t even bother to ask to speak to her, knowing she’d be busy. She was always busy.
“I sure will.”
“Thanks.”
He headed for his room. The house was quiet, like it always was on Marie’s afternoons off. In his bedroom he found his baseball uniform washed, folded, and waiting for him on the corner of his bed. On top of the uniform, Marie had left a note wishing him good luck at the game.
Knowing he only had a half hour until his mom got home, he quickly changed.
Back downstairs, he found another note on the kitchen table, this one telling him to have an apple and some cheese for snack. And a glass of milk.
Riiight. He left the note where it was (just in case his mom wondered what he’d had for a snack), and, instead, dug around in the pantry until he found the box of Pop Tarts buried in the back.
His stomach growled as he put two in the toaster. He hadn’t eaten his lunch today. He knew his friends thought it was because of today’s game. And yeah, that was part of it, but the real reason he was so psyched was because his mom was going to be there. Neither of his parents had been to a game all season. He knew his dad wouldn’t make a game because he was off to some country Cody couldn’t even find on a map. Doctors Without Borders. Cody wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but when he’d tried asking his dad and mom about it, they gave him some vague answer that probably only made sense to people with brains as big as