Cover

Dedication

FOR CHRIS

Epigraph

There is a crack in everything.

That’s how the light gets in.

—Leonard Cohen

The Last Day

The heavy doors of the school swung open, and we all burst out into the heat, scattering across the lawn. It was like something had exploded inside the building and hurled us into summer. Kids shouted and laughed and shoved each other. Kids flooded the sidewalk. Kids spilled into the bright sunlight of late May in Atlanta and squinted. They threw things—wads of paper and hot Cheetos and candy wrappers. Someone screamed. Someone was singing. Someone hopped on a bike and tore off down Emerson. But mostly everyone hung around.

This is the last day of school, I thought to myself.

This is kids having fun on the last day of school.

If you’re in a mood to laugh and shout, it’s a good time. If you’re not, it’s really weird to just stand there, in the middle of all that noise, watching and listening.

This is me, on the last day of school.

“Heads up, Leah!” Someone yelled my name, and I turned as a Frisbee flew straight at my head. I ducked, and it just missed me, sailed on, and banged into a tree. I turned back around.

The other three girls standing near me had been talking all at once, really fast and happy since we stepped outside, but I hadn’t been paying attention. It’s funny how, when there’s enough noise, you can sort of tune it all out, so that it blurs into a hum of sounds. But now Tess looked over and set a hand gently on my arm. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. “It’s just . . .” I didn’t know what to say. I never seemed to know anymore. “I guess I’m ready for vacation.”

“I know, right?” she said, smiling. “We were all just talking about that.” She looked at Lane and Minnah. They nodded.

“You’re coming to Morelli’s, yeah?” Minnah asked me. “For ice cream?”

“Of course she is!” said Tess, throwing an arm over my shoulder. “It’s the last day of school, after all.”

“Good!” said Lane. “It wouldn’t feel right without Leah.”

Then they all started talking again, and I tuned back out.

It was a tradition. The tradition of Tess and Leah and Lane and Minnah. The group of us walked home together after school every day, with a bunch of boys straggling behind us. Sometimes we talked to the boys and sometimes we didn’t. And on the last day of school, every year, we shared a banana split at Morelli’s.

Everything was a tradition in Ormewood Park.

The tradition of Friday-night neighborhood parties, with parents wandering loosely from house to house, beers in hand, and kids playing in the front yards.

The tradition of five-alarm Halloween chili at the Minkewicz place.