Free Why the Devil Chose New England for His Work by Jason Brown

looped her arm around mine and smiled at Henry who stood out on the field and paid no attention to us.
    That afternoon I walked home with them through the Vaughn Woods. Much of the way the trail was wide enough for us to walk side-by-side, but it narrowed after the stone bridge over the stream, and I had to follow behind them listening to Henry talk about a test he had taken that day in chemistry. I stopped walking and listened as his voice trailed off and melded with the sound of the stream. They vanished around a bend, and though I wanted to catch up to them, I couldnot move. Michele’s words played through my head and I wanted her to take it back.
    Late in the fall of his senior year Henry pitched three consecutive no-hitters. It was the first time a team from Vaughn had ever won the state championship. The coach and my father started talking scholarship or minor league after a college scout showed up during one of the final games to clock his pitches. The scout spent most of his time outside the fence, watching each pitch, making occasional notes in a black book. He spoke only briefly to Henry.
    I watched the last game from my perch up in a tree off the third-base line. Henry’s expression never changed, his concentration never broke, and every time he rose over the pitcher’s mound, I shut my eyes, and every time a batter struck out, I didn’t think he could possibly throw another perfect pitch. Henry never flinched, though, and after the last batter struck out, the entire team rushed onto the field and lifted him into the air. They carried him over to the bleachers where the parents and most of the town were gathered.
    Walking through Vaughn Woods on Monday morning, Henry and I relived every moment of the last inning, and when we pushed through the front doors of the school, kids rushed up to us, patting me on the back as well as him. That afternoon during a ceremony in the gymnasium, Henry walked across the floor to receive an achievement award sent from the governorhimself, and I was reminded once again of how our paths in life would diverge. There had never been any question of Henry staying with us for long in Vaughn. Everyone, especially my father, had always spoken of him in terms of where he would go and how far he would rise. When the whole school stood and clapped, my father, on stage with the other teachers, buried his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor. At first I thought he was afraid someone would see pride in his face, but when he finally looked up, I saw the same fear that I had seen at my basketball game.
    After the award ceremony, I waited for Henry outside the school. It took a long time for him to make his way through the crowd, and then he talked for a while with Michele and members of the team. I had seen Michele’s mother, so I knew Henry wouldn’t walk home with her. Even so, I knew I should have just gone on home alone—people had been coming up to Henry all day, and he looked tired. I wanted desperately to be alone with him, though, and to hear his voice talk about the different moments of the game—when the kid from Monmouth hit a foul that was almost a homer, when he almost walked their shortstop. I let him pass me and then I fell in behind him. With Michele and the others still watching, he turned around and yelled, “Will you for once stop following me around!”
    He rushed around the corner of the school, and I followed him to the parking lot, empty now except forone car in the corner. Rod and Denny stepped out, careful not to slam their car doors, and followed Henry into the woods. I started to run—I knew a side path I could take to rush ahead and warn Henry—but then I stopped and let them go.
    Rod and Denny dressed in jean jackets and cutoff T-shirts; they smoked in the parking lot and drove cars without mufflers. My father described them as just the kind of students who gave up on him without giving the class a chance, but