died.”
She was trying to smile her way through this, giving Nate a crash course on the famous blind woman from the front booth at Joe’s Pizza.
All Nate heard was this: Abby might be leaving.
“It’s only a semester, Brady,” she said. “Even if I do leave, it’s not as if I’d be leaving you forever.”
“But . . . you’re not blind,” he said.
“Yet.”
“Okay,” he said. “You’re not blind yet .”
“Listen, I know I could wait to start learning the stuff I need to learn,” she said. “But we finally decided, or we’re just about all the way decided, that the stuff I could learn at Perkins while I still can see, what they call ‘life skills’ there”—Abby put air quotes around the words—“would be easier than if I tried to learn them after the lights go out.”
Making it sound like a switch somebody was going to throw. Nate thinking: And I’m worried about making a throw in football.
“Say something, Brady.”
“I’m not smart enough to say the right thing. Or know what the right thing is.”
“It’d be one semester,” Abby said. “Think of it as if I was going off to boarding school and then coming back in time for summer.”
“You make it sound like some kind of vacation,” he said. “But I am smart enough to know it’s not.”
“Okay, it’s not,” she said. “So from now on we’ll think of it as boot camp for blind people.” She brightened then and said, “Hey! Maybe we could get somebody to do one of those TV series about me going to Perkins the way they do those dopey training-camp football shows you make me watch with you. What’s it called?”
“Hard Knocks,” he said.
“Hard Knocks,” she said, “starring Miss Abby McCall. I could end up the new Miley Cyrus, just with ugly glasses.”
“This isn’t funny, Abs,” Nate said, staring down at the table, shaking his head slowly, like he was hearing her just fine, but she wasn’t hearing him. “Even you can’t make it funny or seem like it’s no big deal. I can’t believe you didn’t even tell me you were thinking about doing this.”
She told him then that everything had happened kind of fast, that her parents were in constant contact with her teachers and that as “brilliant” as she was, Abby laughing when she said that part, she was having more and more difficulty keeping up, even with her handy dandy Mobile Reader.
“It’s frustrating,” she said. “And you know me, Brady. Even with these bum headlights, I still want to be perfect.”
In a voice so quiet it was like it was coming from the back of the room, Nate said, “You already are, Abs.”
Abby put her fingers to her lips then, reached across the table and touched Nate’s cheek.
World’s fastest kiss. If you blinked, you missed it.
“When?” Nate said. “When might you possibly, nothing final yet, be leaving?”
Feeling as if he were the one who’d been in the dark.
Abby took a deep breath and said, “This week.”
Nate felt the breath come out of him now, like air coming out of a balloon.
But there was more.
“Actually,” she said, “we leave tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Nate said.
“It’s a trial week,” she said. “My folks arranged it. So I can figure out if I’ll like it there.”
“Tomorrow?” Nate said, louder this time.
Abby said, “I know, I know, it means I gotta miss the game, Brady. But I can’t help it, and besides . . .”
“I don’t care about the stupid game!” he said. Now he was shouting, the words almost as loud as his fist banging on the table.
“Yeah, you do care,” Abby said. “And so do I. But I gotta do this to find out if I want to do this, because it’s pretty expensive.”
As if money had ever mattered to the McCalls the way it did to the Brodies.
“I’ll pay you not to go,” he said.
“No, this is serious,” she said. “It’s really expensive.”
She had overheard her parents the other night, she told Nate. “You know what kind of hearing I’ve
She was trying to smile her way through this, giving Nate a crash course on the famous blind woman from the front booth at Joe’s Pizza.
All Nate heard was this: Abby might be leaving.
“It’s only a semester, Brady,” she said. “Even if I do leave, it’s not as if I’d be leaving you forever.”
“But . . . you’re not blind,” he said.
“Yet.”
“Okay,” he said. “You’re not blind yet .”
“Listen, I know I could wait to start learning the stuff I need to learn,” she said. “But we finally decided, or we’re just about all the way decided, that the stuff I could learn at Perkins while I still can see, what they call ‘life skills’ there”—Abby put air quotes around the words—“would be easier than if I tried to learn them after the lights go out.”
Making it sound like a switch somebody was going to throw. Nate thinking: And I’m worried about making a throw in football.
“Say something, Brady.”
“I’m not smart enough to say the right thing. Or know what the right thing is.”
“It’d be one semester,” Abby said. “Think of it as if I was going off to boarding school and then coming back in time for summer.”
“You make it sound like some kind of vacation,” he said. “But I am smart enough to know it’s not.”
“Okay, it’s not,” she said. “So from now on we’ll think of it as boot camp for blind people.” She brightened then and said, “Hey! Maybe we could get somebody to do one of those TV series about me going to Perkins the way they do those dopey training-camp football shows you make me watch with you. What’s it called?”
“Hard Knocks,” he said.
“Hard Knocks,” she said, “starring Miss Abby McCall. I could end up the new Miley Cyrus, just with ugly glasses.”
“This isn’t funny, Abs,” Nate said, staring down at the table, shaking his head slowly, like he was hearing her just fine, but she wasn’t hearing him. “Even you can’t make it funny or seem like it’s no big deal. I can’t believe you didn’t even tell me you were thinking about doing this.”
She told him then that everything had happened kind of fast, that her parents were in constant contact with her teachers and that as “brilliant” as she was, Abby laughing when she said that part, she was having more and more difficulty keeping up, even with her handy dandy Mobile Reader.
“It’s frustrating,” she said. “And you know me, Brady. Even with these bum headlights, I still want to be perfect.”
In a voice so quiet it was like it was coming from the back of the room, Nate said, “You already are, Abs.”
Abby put her fingers to her lips then, reached across the table and touched Nate’s cheek.
World’s fastest kiss. If you blinked, you missed it.
“When?” Nate said. “When might you possibly, nothing final yet, be leaving?”
Feeling as if he were the one who’d been in the dark.
Abby took a deep breath and said, “This week.”
Nate felt the breath come out of him now, like air coming out of a balloon.
But there was more.
“Actually,” she said, “we leave tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Nate said.
“It’s a trial week,” she said. “My folks arranged it. So I can figure out if I’ll like it there.”
“Tomorrow?” Nate said, louder this time.
Abby said, “I know, I know, it means I gotta miss the game, Brady. But I can’t help it, and besides . . .”
“I don’t care about the stupid game!” he said. Now he was shouting, the words almost as loud as his fist banging on the table.
“Yeah, you do care,” Abby said. “And so do I. But I gotta do this to find out if I want to do this, because it’s pretty expensive.”
As if money had ever mattered to the McCalls the way it did to the Brodies.
“I’ll pay you not to go,” he said.
“No, this is serious,” she said. “It’s really expensive.”
She had overheard her parents the other night, she told Nate. “You know what kind of hearing I’ve
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