We sit in silence for a few minutes, the muffled canned laughter from the TV the only noise in the room. “Where has he been for the past three years?” I ask.

Birdie shakes her head next to me. “Elijah will tell you in his own good time.”

I wonder what Birdie would think if she knew I was the one who got Elijah in trouble in the first place. Even though we were friends. Even though at some point we were probably on our way to being much more than friends, right before he broke that window.

“He left without even saying goodbye to me,” I say, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. I don’t want to admit that even three years without him can’t dull the hurt I feel now when I see him. As painful as it was the day I realized he was gone.

“He’ll only be living with us for a short time. Maybe it’ll do Elijah some good to spend time with you again,” she says, her face softening into a smile. She squeezes my shoulder. “You’re a good boy, Julian.”

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, shake a couple of ibuprofen into my mouth, and head back to my room. I take a long look at the guest room door. No light shines from underneath, so I’m guessing Elijah has gone to sleep.

I crawl into bed and pull the blanket up to my ears.

· six ·

ELIJAH

I’ve got bats in my stomach when I wake up on Tuesday morning. Maybe worse than bats. Maybe barn owls or vultures.

Ms. Birdie puts a plate of pancakes in front of me with fresh fruit on the side. “Going to need a little energy for your first day back,” she says. “This isn’t an everyday breakfast, but I thought you could use a little comfort food this morning.” She winks.

“Thanks,” I mumble, trying to swallow a bite or two.

“You’ve got nothing to be nervous about, you know,” she says, sitting down across from me. “That old Coach Marcus is going to let you on the team. Don’t let him fill your head with that ‘unofficial tryout’ business. You’re tougher than a pine knot, Elijah.”

“I haven’t played in three years,” I admit to her, dragging a piece of pancake through the warm syrup. “Coley and Frankie needed me at home.”

“I firmly believe football is like riding a bike. Once you lace those pads up, you’re going to be fine. Muscle memory. Don’t you get yourself all worked up before you even get your cleats in the grass. You’ll be okay,” she says, rubbing her palm across my back.

“What about Julian?” I ask. “Does he know?”

“Not yet,” she says.