Free The House You Pass on the Way by Jacqueline Woodson Page A

afternoon as she and Trout sat going through old photo albums. “I think he’s the one I’m closest to.”
    “You don’t really like Dotti,” Trout said. “I can tell.”
    Staggerlee looked out over the field. Early each morning, Dotti left on her bike. Some mornings she took Battle with her. Staggerlee knew where she went—into town to sit at the drugstore drinking milk shakes and giggling over boys with her friends.
    “Dotti and me—we’re real different, I guess.”
    She pressed her nose into Trout’s hair. It smelled of coconut oil.
    Trout lifted her head and looked at her.
    “I like the way it smells,” Staggerlee said, smiling.
    Trout ran her hand across Staggerlee’s cheek. “Are we gonna stay close? You think we’ll always be friends?”
    In a week Trout would be leaving. Way too soon.
    “Of course.” Staggerlee moved closer to her.
    “I don’t want you to come to the bus station with me. I think it’d be too hard.”
    Staggerlee nodded.
    “I want to remember you like this, sitting on this porch waving good-bye to me.” Trout smiled. There were tears standing in her eyes. “I want to remember us together—always.”
    “You promised to come back here next summer.”
    “And you promised to write and call.”
    Staggerlee nodded and put her head on Trout’s shoulder. “We still have a week, Trout. Let’s not talk about leaving anymore.”

Chapter Fifteen
    IT RAINED THE MORNING STAGGERLEE SHOWED Trout the barn—a cold late-summer rain that seemed to turn the whole world gray. Staggerlee opened the door slowly, soaking and out of breath. They had run barefoot from the house, and Trout pushed past her out of the rain.
    “You’re shivering,” Staggerlee said. The barn was cold and damp. She found the blue blanket and draped it around Trout’s shoulders. Trout’s teeth chattered, but she was smiling.
    “All summer long you never brought me here. I always wondered what this place was.”
    “My place,” Staggerlee said, climbing underneath the blanket with Trout. They sat huddled into each other watching the rain crash down through the barn’s high window.
    “I come here when I want to be alone. I wanted you to see it, though—so when you go back to Baltimore, you can remember me here, playing music.” Staggerlee took out her harmonica and started playing “Moonlight in Vermont.”
    Trout listened awhile. Then she started singing. And Staggerlee’s mind raced back to that first day, in the back of Daddy’s truck, the first time she’d heard Trout’s voice coming clear and beautiful over her music. They would say good-bye here, Staggerlee knew. In two days, Trout would be gone. In another week, school would start. She pressed closer into Trout. She wanted to remember this moment, remember this feeling, remember Trout.

Chapter Sixteen
    SCHOOL STARTED ON A CLEAR DAY AT THE END OF August, and Staggerlee took to walking the six miles rather than riding the bus on pretty days. She realized, when she saw students from the year before, that she had grown taller over the summer. Some people waved and smiled, and Staggerlee waved back. Something was different at Sweet Gum High. Or maybe she was different. People spoke to her—said, “Hey, Staggerlee, what you know good?” as though they didn’t remember the year before, in middle school, when they had been silent around her. Or maybe it was she who had been silent around them. When Staggerlee found herself smiling at people in the hall, the action felt unfamiliar, and she wondered what her face had been like last year—had she never smiled or said hello? She remembered walking with her head down, watching her feet move one in front of the other, her books clutched to her chest. But she didn’t walk that way anymore—she looked ahead of her now, the way Trout had said she should. Look forward, Trout had said one afternoon. Don’t you want to see what you’re headed for? Staggerlee smiled. Around her, students were making their way