Chapter 7
Rachel really seemed to have changed.
On the first day, she gave us a ride to school.
The next day, she picked us up after school and even remembered Ollie had to take his library books on Wednesday.
Ollie was grinning all the way home.
He sat in the back seat, kicking his legs back and forth, and kept pestering, "Mom, are you coming tomorrow too?"
Rachel replied, "Sure, honey."
She glanced at me in the rearview mirror.
On the third morning, Ollie yawned outside the school entrance.
Jenny crouched down and felt his forehead.
She asked, "Didn't sleep well last night?"
Ollie rubbed his eyes and said, "Carter got up in the middle of the night to check the door lock. It kept me awake."
My hand tightened around the strap of my backpack.
"He's talking nonsense," I said.
Jenny looked up at me.
I quickly came up with an excuse and pulled Ollie toward the classroom.
Ollie, still clueless about what he'd said, whispered, "Does your hand hurt?"
Only then did I realize I was gripping his wrist way too hard.
During lunch, Jenny called me over to the bookshelf.
Next to the bookshelf was a row of colorful boxes filled with crayons and scissors. The classroom was noisy—kids laughing, chairs scraping, and someone squeezed a milk carton so it popped.
She handed me a piece of paper.
"This is the application form for the after-school care program," she said.
I hesitated, not taking the paper.
She let the paper drop a little.
"If your mom's busy sometimes, this could help you guys out," she said softly. "Carter, this isn't a punishment."
I shook my head.
She reassured me, "Some things aren't your fault."
I shook my head even harder.
The zipper of my backpack was pressing painfully against my chin. Still, I clung to it.
If she handed me that paper, then everything would be real.
Mom really wasn't home at night.
Heating up pizza for Ollie was real.
Knowing where the fever medicine was placed was real.
But as long as I didn't accept it, nobody would take Ollie away, and Mom wouldn't cry.
I clutched my backpack even tighter, like a puppy guarding its food.
"My mom's home," I said.
My voice came out stiff. It didn't even sound like me.
Jenny looked at me.
She slowly placed the application form on the bookshelf.
"I'll leave this here for now," she said.
I stared at the paper.
It stayed put, but I felt like it kept following me.
When school let out that afternoon, I deliberately hurried ahead.
Ollie called out from behind, "Carter, wait for me!"
I didn't wait for him.
When I reached the end of the hallway, I stopped again.
I was worried Ollie wouldn't be able to keep up with me.
Ollie ran over, his face flushed.
He asked, "What did Ms. Miller hand you?"
"Nothing," I replied.
He pressed, "Then why are you acting like you're about to bite someone?"
I glanced down at my hand.
My fingernails had scratched lines into the backpack strap.
I loosened my grip, and my palm was slick with sweat.
*****
Open House was on Friday.
Our teacher asked everyone to bring a family member so they could check out our crafts and reading logs.
I didn't tell Rachel.
However, Ollie ended up letting it slip.
At dinner, he asked, "Mom, will you be there to see Carter's cardboard soccer field tomorrow?"
Rachel paused for a moment.
I kept my head down to eat, pretending not to hear.
She asked, "What cardboard soccer field?"
I muttered, "Nothing."
"Carter?" she insisted.
I had no choice but to pull out the invitation. The paper was all crumpled from me messing with it.
Rachel stared at it for a long time.
"What time?" she asked.
"2 PM," I said.
"I'll be there," she replied.
*****
The next day, around 1:30 PM, Rachel really started getting ready. She threw on a plain sweater and jeans.
Ollie was sitting on the carpet, staring at my cardboard soccer field, and kept saying, "Carter, the goal's kind of crooked."
"Don't touch it," I said, grabbing it back and carefully tucking it into my backpack.
Just as I was about to zip up my backpack, Rachel's phone rang.
Dylan Brooks' name flashed on the screen.
Rachel glanced at the screen, and her hand paused.
I stared at her.
Instead of declining the call like I thought she would, she picked up the phone and answered.
She turned and walked a couple of steps into the hallway, her voice dropping to a whisper, that tone I knew all too well.
She said, "Hey... No, I can't make it today.
"I know... but I have to go to school.
"Wait, don't be mad."
That was the tone I knew all too well.
Every time she spoke like that, she'd end up putting on her heels and telling me, "Mom's heading out for a little while".
My hand jerked, and I grabbed the zipper on my backpack, trying to zip it up fast.
But it got stuck.
Rachel was still whispering in the hallway.
I pulled at the zipper harder, but it jammed even more.
Ollie whispered, "It's stuck..."
"I know!" I shouted at Ollie.
I jerked the zipper hard.
With a crack, the backpack burst open, my hand slammed into the table, and the cardboard soccer field got yanked halfway out.
The goal, glued together with toothpicks, snapped right off, and the green paper tore with a huge gash.