He shrugs and looks to the ground. “I thought if I got through the test, I’d feel better. More confident. That if I made the team, got the scholarship, I’d be worthy, but I’ve done both of those things and then I realized that the fact I let you go like that was weak—so weak.” He rubs his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
The door of the shop creaks open and Jake turns and walks off, heading around the corner of the store. LeeLee and Mom carry two boxes of sweet-smelling cobbler.
“Where’s Jake?” Mom asks, looking around.
“I think he just went to stretch his legs,” I say, keeping my voice even. I’m rattled. I knew Jake suffered with insecurities about his learning disability. I just never knew how far-reaching the pain went. How deep the roots had burrowed.
I sit in the car with my clueless mother and grandmother, eating but not really tasting the sugary dessert. When he gets back in the car, his temperament is even again—a show for my family—maybe for me. As we make the trek west, I feel a different kind of pain in my chest. Not the loss and heartbreak from before. But sorrow for this boy that I love. That struggles so badly beneath the façade of a handsome face and perfect muscles.
I hate that I didn’t help him when I thought I had.
I hate that he’s pushed me away, making it impossible for me to help him anymore.
26
Starlee
Jake and I don’t share another look or word until we roll off the highway in Palo Alto and onto the Stanford campus. I’d only seen it in pictures and on the glossy brochure Mrs. Addison, my counselor, had given me before I applied, but the photos don’t do it justice. Narrow rows of palm trees meet us as we drive down the main entrance, headed toward a magnificent building. Spanish-style buildings, terra-cotta roofs, and surprisingly green grass spread out around the flat campus.
“Your great-grandfather went to Stanford,” LeeLee says suddenly. “Graduated from the engineering school. Did you know his graduating class plotted the football stadium?”
Mom nods, she’s heard this story before, but I haven’t. “He’d always tell us these silly stories like how he was one of the only students on campus to own a car—there were three or something. I think he owned it just to figure out how it worked.” She glances back at Jake—proud. “It’s good to have someone in the family attend again.”
He gives my grandmother a sweet smile.
My heart may just implode if these two don’t stop.
We follow the map to the athletic center where Jake is supposed to check in. Mom parks the car and we all get out, falling in step with the other families and athletes.
While Jake, LeeLee, and Mom make sure he’s checked in, I see the football stadium in the distance. The gates are open and visitors are coming in and out. I step through the stone pillars and out toward a landing, getting a good view of the oval stadium, thousands of red seats filling the stands and a giant painted “S” in the middle of the field. That’s when I realize the enormity of the last few months, the test, the scholarship…everything.
Jake wasn’t just fighting to graduate and go to college. He was fighting to come here. Be a part of this school, this culture and experience. I rest my hands on the railing and take it all in. He’s going to look magnificent on that field.
A shadow blocks the warm sun—a boy so big he can take the light away. I look up and say, ?
?Everything settled?”
His eyes scan the stadium. “Yeah. Those two are a force to be reckoned with when it comes to organization. Thank goodness. I’d be lost, you know?”
“You’re going to do great here,” I tell him. “In school. On the field. You’ve trained and prepped and done everything right.”
His eyebrow raises. “You think so?”
I lay my hand over his, feeling the familiar current of electricity that runs between us. I squeeze tight and stare out at his future. “I know so.”
From the green of the South, to the brown mountains of the Sierras, San Francisco is a different sort of landscape. Houses and buildings cover every inch, each attached or nestled so close there’s no room to breathe. We hit the tourist spots, the parks, the Presidio, the Wharf. LeeLee asks to go to the Japanese tea garden and on the day we try on our dresses, we eat dumplings in Chinatown.
“Well,” I say, walking out of the dressing room. The dress is a pale yellow with tiny flowers stitched onto the bodice—the skirt full and flow-y—almost to my knees.
My mother’s eyes sweep over me, hands clasped at her chest. “Oh, Starlee, it’s perfect.”
She’s wearing her own yellow dress, same fabric but a little more mature. I stand next to her in front of the full-length mirror. Our red hair flames against the shade, our eyes bright. LeeLee smiles at us both, pleased. Yellow is her favorite color.
“I love it,” my grandmother says. “You both look wonderful.”
We shop next for shoes and accessories and I feel a little bit like a princess. I think it’s the fact we’re doing this as a family, which isn’t usual for us. I sense the wounds between my mother and grandmother healing—the same ones between me and my mom. Who knew me running away would bring my family closer?
Maybe it’s that feeling that allows me to let down my guard. We celebrate the successful day with dinner at a sushi place, one that overlooks the bay. I take a deep breath and announce, “I have some news to share.”