“You weren’t asking about my records.”
“You wanted to make us look stupid.”
“I wanted you to leave Lily alone.”
“You think you’re better than me because you quit?”
Noah shifted the books in his arms. He was tired of being required to explain a decision that had cost him something.
“No,” he said. “I think you’re good at fighting. I don’t think you’ve been good at deciding when not to.”
Blake stepped closer, his face coloring. A library aide opened the door behind them. The two boys both turned at the sound.
“I’ll see you at the event,” Blake said.
Noah nodded. “Only if you’re there to follow the rules.”
Blake walked away before he said something that would bring school discipline. Noah stood in the cold for a minute, trembling. He did not feel victorious. He felt the old ache of being seen only as an opponent.
Maya found him by the bicycle rack and offered him her spare gloves. He refused, then accepted when she pointed out that his fingers had turned red.
“You’re allowed to be scared,” she told him.
“I know.”
“Do you actually?”
He smiled. “You and my mother have formed a club.”
“Membership is free. Meetings are mandatory.”
She walked beside him to the bus stop. Their shoulders brushed once. Noah noticed, and so did she. Neither moved away.
On the Sunday before the event, Eleanor supervised a rehearsal with neutral volunteers from a neighboring youth center. Noah succeeded in reaching the gate in two attempts and failed in three. In the last, he turned too sharply to protect his shoulder, and a volunteer touched both fabric strips before he took another step.
He stood looking at the floor.
“Again,” he said.
“No,” Eleanor answered. “We’re done for today.”
“I can do better.”
“Certainly. But that isn’t our goal.”
He followed her to the bench, irritated. She handed him a water bottle and waited until he drank.
“What happens if you fail in front of everybody?” she asked.
“They’ll laugh.”
“What happens after they laugh?”
“Nothing. I go home.”
“Good. You’ve learned the most important part.”
Noah looked at the empty gate. For years he had believed that losing control was the beginning of catastrophe. It had taken him two winters, a broken friendship repaired one message at a time, and a little sister with torn gloves to consider that a public failure might simply be a failure.
Still, when he lay awake that night, his heart raced at the thought of standing before Blake and Troy again. He could tell himself he was ready to walk away. He would not know whether he meant it until the moment came.
The morning of February twenty-first began with a light snow that clung to the black branches outside Walt’s bedroom window. By ten, the sky cleared and sunlight flashed on the wet streets. Sarah made scrambled eggs and toast, but Noah could manage only half a plate. Lily wore a yellow sweater under her coat and had tied her hair in two braids. Walt insisted on coming despite the cold, carrying a folding cushion for the gym bleachers as though it were a credential.
“You don’t have to do this,” Sarah said as Noah stood at the back door.
