himself he would have been willing to die in his father’s place—he would have done anything to save his father! And maybe if he had gone downstairs last night instead of going back to sleep, maybe he could have done something.
Why was he trying so hard to stop crying when he knew there was nothing wrong with crying, when the wrong thing would have been for him not to cry, and anyway there was no one to see? What did it say about him that he had an overwhelming desire to masturbate and that he did not think he was going to be able to resist?
They were on a motorcycle, it was nighttime, and Cole was very tired—too tired to hold on tight to his father’s waist. He kept falling asleep. His father had to keep reaching back with one arm to catch him, and each time he did this the bike veered and wobbled and they nearly crashed, until they did crash, and Cole sat up with a splitting head and a shout loud enough to wake his mother.
It was completely up to him, she said. If he didn’t want her to go, she’d stay home.
“I know it must seem weird to you that I’d want to be with a bunch of strangers right now, but my sitting around here crying isn’t going to help anyone. And you know the best thing for me is to keep my hands busy. But you still come first, Cole. You just have to tell me if you don’t want to be alone, even for a couple of hours.”
She asked him if he was feeling okay and he lied and said yes, hoping she wouldn’t feel his forehead. If she knew the truth, she’d never leave.
She made him promise to keep the door locked and not let anyone in. “Even if they tell you Jesus sent them.”
“There’s still some raisin bread and some peanut butter, I think, though unfortunately not much else. I’ll try to bring some food back with me. My god.” She shook her head rapidly back and forth, as if to throw off her own unbearable thoughts. “It’s like we’re in a movie, isn’t it? Or some crazy survival show. Oh, Cole, do you absolutely swear to me you’ll be okay?”
He nodded, and she went to hug him. He twisted awkwardly in her embrace, hating himself when she pulled away and he saw her eyes brim.
It was hard, but he said it. “Bye, Mom. Love you.”
“I love you, too,” she said with a look she might have given someone who’d just saved her from drowning.
He wanted to ask her something, but he couldn’t. He wanted to ask if sleeping in his father’s sheets could have given him the flu. He hadn’t thought about it yesterday when he crawled into bed. It had struck him only after he woke up, and he’d left the room in a hurry so his mother wouldn’t find him there. He thought of the story about the American pioneers who gave blankets infested with smallpox to the Indians in the hope of killing them all off. The idea that he might have caught the flu from his father and that he, too, might soon be dead was both thrilling and terrifying.
If it was true—if he really was infected—he wanted to keep it from his mother as long as possible. But now he saw that this could not be very long: his mother was hardly gone from the house when he started coughing.
PART TWO
He had missed so much school, he figured he was going to have to repeat seventh grade. But since this had to be true for so many other kids as well, it didn’t really bother him. He was even feeling a little excited about being back in school again. Then Pastor Wyatt told him to get ready for something different.
“I know the idea of homeschooling probably scares you somewhat. I’ll bet you’ve heard all kinds of nonsense on the subject, but you’ve just got to give it a chance. And anyhow, the nearest school still open round here is so far away you’d have to spend a couple hours just getting there and back each day. And I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t like that, now, would you, son.”
Back when he was still in school, in Little Leap—and before that, in Chicago—Cole had been aware of kids who were taught at home by their parents, even though their parents weren’t real teachers. But he’d never