Page 33 of Goodbye Days

Yeah. Oh, and this will cost a bazillion dollars, so my family’s going to end up homeless, too.

If I were there I’d give you a huge hug.

I would gladly accept said hug.

Tomorrow morning. When I come to pick you up.

Deal.

It’s 7:17 a.m. on the first day of school at Nashville Arts. Jesmyn is supposed to be here in three minutes. I’ve been awake since 3:57 a.m. If there’s a hell, I imagine existing there in a perpetual state of having woken up two and a half hours before you need to be somewhere. And that’s even without the anxiety over maybe going to prison and the knowledge that today will be the air on the exposed nerve endings of my loss. I’m going to be reminded more today of Sauce Crew than at any point since the funerals. And I don’t know how I’ll react.

Those are the cons. On the pro side, Jesmyn will be here in three—no, two—minutes. And I’m excited to see her even though (because?) she’s part of the reason I couldn’t sleep.

I sit in my room, finishing the last couple of bites of a Pop-Tart. I brush some crumbs from my bed. Georgia sticks her head in.

“First day of schoooooool,” she says. “Looking sharp.”

I have my normally untucked button-down shirt tucked into my khakis. I’m wearing a blazer. My hair is neatly combed. As neatly as it’ll go, anyway. “I gotta represent on the first day,” I say around a forced smile.

“Oh, you’re reppin’ hard. Doesn’t school start at eight? You better head.”

“Jesmyn is picking me up.”

“I’m happy y’all are hanging out even though I don’t know her.”

“Me too. You’d dig her.”

“It blows about the circumstances, but…”

“Yeah.”

“How you doing this morning?”

“I’ve been up since four.”

Georgia leans against the doorframe. “Holy shit, Carver.”

“I couldn’t stop my brain.”

“You’re the only seventeen-year-old boy on Earth with that problem.”

I shrug. “Well.”

“Couldn’t you even, like, spank it to get back to sleep? That’s a thing dudes do, right?”

“What if I told you I tried that twice and it didn’t work.”

“Ewwwww! You are the grossest.”

“You brought it up. Serves you right.”

Outside, Jesmyn’s battered white pickup pulls up to the curb. I see her bend down as if rearranging things.

I jump up from my bed and grab my bag. Georgia steps away from the doorway to let me pass.

“Come here,” I say. “Come give your little brother a huge hug.”

She recoils and lifts her leg as if to kick me. “Sick, no. Keep your jizzy hands away.”