Free Walking Backward by Catherine Austen

daughter immediately fell in love with Sammy. They’ve never played together before— Sam never plays with girls because he’s scared of them—but apparently Sam’s insanity makes him more exciting than normal boys. They walked backward down the hallway about thirty-seven times, giggling. All three of them—Sammy and the girl and the Power Ranger.
    Her name is Chloe. I told her that was almost the same as our cat’s name, Cleo. She said, “My name’s Chloe, not Cleo.” Her dad laid his hand on my shoulder and said very politely, “It’s not quite the same name.” As if I were mentally retarded and needed to have that pointed out. He looked like he was about to explain the differences in vowel order, so I stepped away and asked if he had any cats. He seems like the kind of guy who’d own the big cat that scares Charlie and pees on our porch. But he said, “No, we don’t have any pets.” I find that suspicious.
    He knew all about Mom dying. The first thing he said when he opened the door was, “Oh, boys, I’m so sorry about your mother.” We’ve never spoken to the guy before in our lives. Maybe it’s the kind of thing people talk about when they take out the garbage. “Did you hear? That nice lady across the street freaked out and drove into a tree.”
    I asked him if Sammy could join his soccer team. He laughed as if it were a joke, because registration was in April and there are only two games left in the season. The championship games are on Labor Day weekend, and we’ll be away camping. We go to the same campsite every year—Mom books it in advance. I was honest about that. I told the coach that Sam would have to miss the tournament, which would only leave two games for him to play. He laughed and looked around like maybe he was on Prank Patrol . Then Sammy said, “Mommy likes soccer and she’ll be proud of me when I score some goals.” And the coach said, “Sure, you can join.” Just like that.
    He said he hopes the team welcomes Sammy. I don’t think there’ll be a problem. I’ve seen five-year-olds play soccer. Half of them look for worms in the dirt and the other half do handstands. They won’t even notice Sammy joining the team. They’ll probably think he played all season.
    The coach said they play Tuesday evenings— which is tomorrow—but there are no more uniforms. Sammy was way disappointed at that, like it didn’t count if he didn’t have a uniform. So the coach said he’d find Sam a shirt with a number on it. Chloe said, “You better not give him my shirt.” Her dad gave her a mean look and said, “It’s the coach’s decision.” She said, “Then I won’t have a shirt!” He said, “You have a mother.” And that was the end of that conversation.
    Sammy thought that was fair, that he should get the shirt since Chloe gets to have her mother. He was so happy he jumped up and down and hugged the coach, whose name is Carl Simpson, and who is not the sort of person you jump up and hug. I told him my best friend’s first name was Simpson. He smiled politely and said, “Simpson is my last name.” Like I might not know the difference between first names and last names because I’m mentally retarded. I just said “thanks” and left.
    Sammy hugged Chloe good-bye, but then he practically had to break her fingers to get his Power Ranger back. After that, they waved and smiled like they just loved each other. Little kids are so weird.
    After that, we interviewed the neighbors about Mom. When I told Karen’s mom we were making a scrapbook, she went into her house and brought out a box full of colored paper and stencils. Some of the papers are plain, but most have stripes or flowers or patterns on them. Karen’s mom said we could use them for our scrapbook. She said she took classes on scrapbooking—it’s an actual class you can take—and if we cut borders and titles out of different colored paper, our book would look more exciting.
    I told her I never took classes in