Free Maybe a Fox by Kathi Appelt Page B

had told Mr. Simon not to stop at the Sherman driveway. So on the day Jules went back to school, after she managed to sort of brush her hair and to stuff the homework mountain into her backpack, Dad took her to school in his pickup truck. She was wearing Sylvie’s Flo-Jo T-shirt underneath her hoodie.
    â€œI’ll call the school office to make sure you can ride the bus home,” Dad said, while she pulled her seat belt across her chest.
    Jules stared out the passenger window as they drove the seven miles along Sumac Lane, the single-lane road that led into Hobbston and school.
    Right before they crossed the bridge that spanned the Whippoorwill, from the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of red zip across her vision. Fox? She twisted around to look out the back window, but the flash was gone. The woods were full of foxes, but they usually kept themselves well hidden. Jules kept looking back over her shoulder, hoping for another glimmer—foxes meant luck, and she could use some luck today—but there was no sign of movement. The fox was gone.
    Jules leaned hard against the truck’s cloth seat. The little snow fox she had made just before Sylvie died popped into her mind. Sylvie would have loved it. She loved all the snow animals that Jules used to make for their miniature snow people, but the fox—that one would have been her favorite.
    â€œLuck,” said Dad.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œA fox. I saw it too.” He gave her a small smile. She wished she could hold on to that smile all day. But too soon, the doorways of the school loomed in front of them.
    â€œAll right, Jules,” Dad said. “All right.”
    It was as if he was talking to himself. As if this was as hard on him as it was on her. She wished fiercely that they could just go home. Make some popcorn and sit on the couch with Dad’s arm around her and watch a movie. Dad was getting out of his side of the truck and coming around to her side. But before she could put her hand on the door handle, someone else opened it.
    Sam.
    â€œHey,” he said. Then he reached behind her and grabbed her stuffed-with-undone-assignments backpack and slung it over his shoulder. Jules watched him as he raised his chin to Dad and smiled. She felt so bad for yelling at him the other day. But if Sam was still upset about it, he didn’t show it.
    Dad had already climbed back into the truck. She peered into the window, panic filling her chest. He looked back at her and winked, as if he knew how she felt. I’ll see you this afternoon, he mouthed. The motor roared as he turned the key in the ignition. She reached for the door handle, but Sam pulled her away.
    â€œCome on,” he said, and it was her turn to nod.
    â€œI’m okay,” she said, even though she was pretty sure that wasn’t true.
    â€œI saw a fox this morning,” he told her.
    â€œI saw one too! Right before the bridge!”
    â€œProbably the same one,” Sam said, and for the first time in a long time he held out his fist and she bumped it with her own.
    Okay. The fox was a small, good thing. Jules took a deep breath, and together she and Sam walked through the front doors of the school. The lockers along the hallways, the posters tacked up on the walls announcing the school play, announcing tryouts for Little League. Nothing had changed. It was all the same.
    Until.
    There, at the end of the hallway, was a huge poster of Sylvie at track practice, fingers brushing the ground in her sprinter’s crouch, wearing the very same Flo-Jo T-shirt that Jules was wearing right now under her hoodie. Sylvie’s beaming face, surrounded with signatures of their friends, with messages, looked directly at her.
    Miss you.
    Love you.
    You were the best.
    Jules felt the punch of it as it hit her full force, slammed her against the wall, and pinned her there.
    â€œHey,” said Sam. He grabbed her arm and shook it. “Jules.”
    â€œI can’t do