Free What They Always Tell Us by Martin Wilson Page B

the misplaced toys of some giant. No one is there to witness his moment of glory. But it’s okay. He doesn’t need an audience. He’s almost embarrassed about how good he feels.
    “Take the night off, and we’ll go running tomorrow, and this weekend if you want,” Nathen says, finally pulling away and stationing himself in front of Alex.
    “Sounds awesome,” he says. “Thanks, you know, for all this. For making this happen.”
    Nathen just smiles and gives a thumbs-up sign and walks off. It’s as if he’s shy, too, all of a sudden.

    At home, Alex waits in his car before going inside to face James, who is probably expecting bad news, and his father and mother, who have no idea he’s just made the cross-country team, have no idea that Alex is even a decent runner. He wants to savor the moment, alone, for a few more minutes.
    It’s been so long since he has felt, well, happy. Or this happy.
    He’s not foolish—he knows it won’t last, this euphoria. It will be replaced by the realities of the hard training on top of the daily grind of school and homework. And he can still fail, can’t he? He’s on the team, but what if, after all this, he really
isn’t
a good runner? He could go on and on with these negative thoughts, but he shuts them out through sheer will. Because it’s not even the jogging or making the team that is making him feel so ecstatic. It’s the charge he feels with Nathen. The charge of having a friend again.
    He finally gets out of the car and heads toward the side door. That’s when he sees Henry across the street, sitting on his porch with his dictionary.
    Henry waves, like he’s been waiting for Alex to notice him. It’s a wave that Alex can’t just brush off with a wave of his own, even if he wants to. He drops his bags in the driveway and crosses the street.
    “Learn any new words today?” Alex says. He sits next to Henry on the brick stairs.
    “Not really. So many of them are stupid words no one ever uses.” Henry’s tone sounds down, like he’s pouting about something.
    “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Alex says.
    “But I guess we need them sometimes, to describe stuff.”
    “I guess so.”
    “This kid at school called me a ‘redheaded bastard’ today.”
    “That’s horrible,” Alex says.
    “I didn’t really know what ‘bastard’ meant, not really. But now I do. Most kids just ignore me. I don’t care, either. I just listen to the teachers. They’re the ones who are nice to me. But this kid, he won’t stop calling me stuff.”
    “What a creep.” It dawns on Alex that Henry is sort of a younger version of himself—an outcast, a misfit. A weirdo. And he’s not even in middle school yet.
    “Yeah, I guess so. Mom says just ignore him. She said, ‘Sticks and stones may break your bones, but words can never hurt you.’”
    “Yeah, that’s what they always tell us.”
    “But it’s not really true, is it?”
    “Not really. Lots of things they tell us aren’t true. A lot of what they tell us is garbage.”
    “Then why do they tell us stuff like that?”
    Alex says, “I don’t know.” Maybe he could think of a few reasons, but he still feels wrapped in his little bubble of happiness, and none of the ugly things can get to him now. He feels happy and light, as if at any moment the cool breeze of this November night will lift him high into the air.

James
    I t is the Wednesday before Thanksgiving holiday, and James doesn’t see much point in practicing, but that’s what Coach Whitley makes them do for the last school hour before the four-day reprieve. Coach is not usually such a hard-ass, but he’s in a grumpy mood for some reason and seems to be taking it out on the team. The girls’ team members got to sneak home early, because their coach, Ms. Bettany, is cool. They all honked their horns as they drove off, rubbing it in.
    “Well, they’re not defending regional tennis champs,” Coach Whitley says, before pairing the boys up in six groups of