Out of the Ashes by Valerie Sherrard

by his own emotions. Mom told me how that can happen. Something about commitment phobia.”
    â€œCommitment phobia,” Betts repeated slowly. She sniffed again. “But what do I do about it? If he’s scared to like me, he’s never going to go out with me again.”
    â€œNot necessarily.” I tried to remember the details of some of the talks Mom and I had had about relationships. “I think that if you handle it right, he’ll end up being more interested in you in the long run.”
    â€œHow?”
    â€œUh, let me see. Don’t call him, don’t go out of your way to talk to him, pretend you couldn’t care less. And never let him see that you’re sad or upset.”
    She looked doubtful, but at least she wasn’t crying anymore. “I’ll try it,” she said, lifting her chin. Then she added, “You’re lucky, you know.”
    â€œHow come?”
    â€œâ€˜Cause your mom talks to you about stuff like this. My mother hardly ever has time to talk about anything. She’s always too busy.”
    I felt good about that. After Betts left I went to look for Mom to tell her I was going to Greg’s for a while. I thought I might like to give her a hug too.
    I checked through the house and found her just coming out of her darkroom. I told her about my plans for the day, and then noticed that she had just hung some new pictures up. They looked pretty good.
    â€œCan I see these?” I asked, pointing to the wall where clips held them in place.
    â€œSure. I was getting some nature shots the other day, but I don’t think I quite captured what I wanted to.”
    I stepped into the room and peered at the glossy black and white pictures. There was one of a squirrel sitting on a branch, its eyes bright and alert.
    â€œThis one’s really good,” I commented as my eyes travelled along the others. My gaze stopped suddenly as I spied a picture of myself walking away from the school.
    â€œHey! That’s me.” “
    Goodness, how did that happen? I must have mistaken you for a raccoon or something.”
    â€œMom!” Her jokes were pretty dumb sometimes, but I’d usually laugh anyway because of the way she’d giggle when she told one.
    â€œI have quite a few pictures of you that you didn’t know were being taken. I like them a lot because they’re so natural.”
    â€œCan I see the rest of them?” I was surprised and naturally curious.
    â€œThey’re here, in this folder.” She hauled open a filing cabinet drawer and pulled out one of the pale yellowfolders nestled inside, passing it to me. “Be sure to put them all back when you’re through.”
    Then she headed toward the stairs, calling over her shoulder, “I’m off to Ethel’s place now. I told her I’d be there by two o’clock, but it never hurts to be early.”
    Ethel is a neighbor of ours who has multiple sclerosis. Mom helps her with her housework once a week, just out of kindness. That’s what my mom is like.
    I opened the folder and was about to start looking through it when something in what she’d just said jogged in my brain.
    It never hurts to be early.
    What if I showed up at Greg’s place at two instead of three? I could pretend I’d gotten the times mixed up and then just ask his dad if I could look at more of the books while I waited for him. It was perfect.
    I stuck the file back into place and hurried to my room to get ready. If I walked quickly, I could be there well before Greg got home.
    It was five minutes after two when I reached their house. I figured that still gave me enough time to at least get a quick look at the scrapbooks, since it would take Greg twenty minutes to walk home from Broderick’s. But when I knocked on the door, there was no answer. I went around the back of the house, just in case Mr. Taylor was outside, but there was no sign of him.
    That was when I