Once I’ve transferred him back into the box we all head out, leaving Leo to fend for himself. He lifts a coffee mug in farewell, looking pretty happy to be staying home, and I don’t blame him. I was about to volunteer for puppy duty myself, but now that I’ve settled on Northwestern I’m desperate to tell Teddy. It feels strange to have made such a huge decision without him, and I’m eager to share the news.
All morning, I look for him in the halls. But it’s not until physics, when I sit down behind his empty desk, that I realize for sure he’s not here today. Again. This is the fourth time in the past couple of weeks he’s skipped school. Teddy’s never exactly gotten awards for perfect attendance, but still, it’s a bit odd, and I’m disappointed not to see him.
As I walk out of class, I scroll through the unanswered texts I’ve sent him over the past few days, realizing there are twelve in all, messages likeWhere are you?andPick up your phone!andAre you okay?andSeriously, where the hell are you?
Now I type out a thirteenth:I miss you.
But I can’t bring myself to send it.
After school I’m eager to go home and see the puppy, but I’ve got a reading session with Caleb, so I head off to the library instead. Yesterday his foster mom emailed to tell me they’d finishedCharlotte’s Web,which means it’s time to pick out a new book. This is always my favorite part: wandering the stacks, pulling out books by their spines, watching as Caleb examines the covers and weighs his options.
Today, he lingers onThe BFG,which I already know will be a hit. As we walk back to our seats, he’s so busy flipping through the pages that I have to steer him through the shelves. When we turn the corner of the mystery section, I see that our usual table has been taken. And not just byanyone.
It’s been taken by Teddy.
Caleb continues to walk over, still lost in the illustrations, but I remain standing there, unable to do anything but stare. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Teddy in a library before—not even our school library—and it’s a strange and unexpected sight.
When he looks up, he seems less surprised to see me.
“Hi,” he says, leaning back in the too-small chair as we walk over. His backpack is propped beside his foot and it’s half-unzipped, revealing several books and binders. On the table there’s a notepad and a pencil, as if he’s just settled in to do some work.
“Um, hi,” I say, frowning at him.
Caleb slips into the other chair, setting his book on the table and gazing admiringly at the cartoon giant on the cover. Teddy leans forward to examine it.
“That’s a good one,” he says. “Who’s your favorite character?”
“Wilbur,” Caleb says automatically.
“Is that the giant?”
He looks at Teddy as if he might be slow. “No, he’s a pig.”
“The giant is a pig?”
“Wilburis a pig.”
“Oh,” Teddy says with a knowing nod. “So the pig is a giant?”
Caleb giggles at this. “No, the pig is a pig and the giant is a giant.”
Teddy grins at him. “Then who’s Wilbur?”
Because this could easily go on forever, I clear my throat, and they both look up at me. “Can I borrow you for a minute?” I ask Teddy, who grabs his backpack, then holds out a fist for Caleb to tap his knuckles against.
“See you later, man.”
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Caleb as I half-drag Teddy out into the hallway, where he leans against a poster of Harriet the Spy, his hands in the pockets of his fleece vest. “What are youdoinghere?”
“Working,” he says with a shrug.
“In the children’s section?”
“I like the ambience.”
I frown at him. “I assume you’re not doing something for school.”
“That’s true.”
