Breadcrumbs - Anne Ursu [82]
A minivan stopped in the street next to them, and a window rolled down to reveal the face of Tyler’s mom. She called to them and motioned them into the car. “Come on, I’ll drive you home!”
Jack and Hazel exchanged a look, shrugged, and climbed in the backseat.
Tyler was in the front, and he had turned fully around and was gaping at them. Hazel’s hackles instinctively went up, and then she breathed them away. It wasn’t going to be like that anymore. She wouldn’t let it.
“Are you okay?” Tyler whispered to Jack.
Jack nodded slightly.
Hazel’s eyes went to the dashboard of the minivan. It read 7:10.
“Is it still Friday?” she whispered to Tyler.
He nodded, wide-eyed. His eyes were on her face now, like they could not quite take in the magnitude of her scar. Hazel’s hand flew to it and traced it all down the length of her cheek to her jaw.
“Hazel, what happened?” asked Mrs. Freeman, eyes full of alarm. “That looks fresh. Did someone do that to you?”
“Oh,” said Hazel. “I tripped.” What was she going to tell her mom? She had to think of something. She had to get used to the question.
“I see,” said Tyler’s mom, looking dubious. “And what are you doing out without your coats? Jack, I thought you were with your elderly aunt Bernice?”
“What?” Jack said. Hazel elbowed him.
“He came back,” said Hazel.
“Okay . . .”
Tyler’s mom drove them the few blocks to their houses. When Hazel and Jack spilled out, Tyler was silent. His mother noticed. “Aren’t you going to say good-bye to your friends?” Hazel heard her say as the two got out onto the sidewalk.
Tyler rolled down the window and called good-bye. He started to roll the window up and then stopped.
“Hey, Hazel?”
“What?”
“You can hang out with us at recess on Monday if you want.”
And then he rolled up the window and they drove away, leaving Hazel and Jack standing in front of their houses.
“Um, everyone thinks you’re with your aunt Bernice,” Hazel said.
Jack looked at her, brown eyes wide. “I don’t have an aunt Bernice,” he said.
A light went on in Jack’s house behind them. Hazel looked up toward it, and then back at Jack. Jack rubbed his hand against his chest.
His mom appeared on the stoop and Jack straightened. He looked at Hazel. “I should go.”
She nodded.
“Hazel?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for coming to get me.”
“Of course.” She was his best friend.
Jack hesitated still, and Hazel wanted to say something comforting, give him some bright plastic flowers of words, but Jack would see them for what they were. Jack knew how to see things.
Then he put his hand up and squeezed her arm, and then turned toward his house. Hazel stood and watched him disappear inside.
Hazel went to her own front door and walked in, breathing in the smells of home. She called for her mother, but there was no answer. Of course not, her mom had her class. Hazel’s heart sank a little. She would have liked to see her mom.
She thought about going to the kitchen and getting some food, but she couldn’t bear the thought of the extra movements, so she went to her room to lie down on her bed.
Her stuffed animals were still there, sitting against her pillow, and Hazel lay down next to them and put her hand on the bear, then grabbed it and pulled it into her chest. She tucked in a ball on her bed. Her eyes fell on the spot where the Joe Mauer baseball used to be. Maybe she would get Jack another signed ball. It might not be easy, but it had to be easier than this.
Then she noticed the wrapped present on her bed stand. She rolled over to grab it. The gift wrap was familiar—shiny purple paper that her mother had been using for six months. Hazel unwrapped the paper to reveal an old shoe box. She opened up the box and unfolded the tissue paper inside to find a pair of pink ballet shoes.
She blinked and picked up one of the shoes. There was a note in the tissue paper:
Hazel—
A present and a promise.
Love,
Mom
The writing blurred in front of Hazel’s eyes.