Free Over the End Line by Alfred C. Martino Page A

by, Sloan's lips parted like she was going to say something—or maybe I just imagined it.
    "I miss Ruby," I wanted to tell her.
    But my mouth didn't move.
    I don't know why.
    I thought a lot about Ruby. All the time. I had just two photographs in my bedroom. One of my mom and me at Great Adventure on my twelfth birthday; the other, a Polaroid of Ruby the day I left for Denver's airport. I remembered everything about her—her voice, her laugh, her whisper, her scent. They would always be with me.
    I wondered whether I really wanted to let Sloan know how much I missed her cousin, or if it was just something that needed to come from my mouth and be heard by the only person at Millburn who might understand what it meant.
    I looked over my shoulder; she glanced over hers.
    The distance between us increased.
    From an arm's length, to a few yards.
    To the length of the hallway.

A small scratch in the metal shelf marked where I had started.
    I had thumbed through hundreds of books. Thick ones. Thin ones. Tall ones. Short ones. Sometimes I'd turn the pages slowly to make certain. Other times I'd fan the pages quickly because I just didn't care anymore (even though I really did). The rumor was the ladder had been drawn on a sheet of graph paper, then slipped inside a book's front cover. Or tucked inside a back cover. Or hidden somewhere in between.
    One Sunday every month or so, I borrowed my mom's car to drive to the Millburn library. All the librarians knew me. I think they thought I was one of those responsible students spending his time finishing homework for the upcoming week, or diligently researching a term paper. They'd smile when I walked in. I'd say hello, then climb the spiral staircase to the stacks on the second floor.
    I returned another handful of books to the shelf, then sat back. I heard the soft murmur of discussions at the reference desk, but otherwise, the library was quiet. I closed my eyes. So many damn books. Row upon row. Shelf upon shelf. Stacks upon stacks. It seemed like it would never end. There were tens of thousands of pages to thumb through, maybe hundreds of thousands. I wondered if this was all just a ridiculous waste of time. Maybe the ladder wasn't hidden here in the first place. Maybe that was the cruel joke—making our class believe the ladder existed when it never really did.
    But yet, what if it did exist?
    And I found it?
    Would I throw it away?
    That wouldn't fix much; the damage had been done a year and a half earlier. Or maybe it would. Maybe I'd burn the ladder in a ceremonial fire on the high school lawn so that everyone could see. I'd gladly deal with the consequences. Or maybe I'd change the ladder by mixing up the names—putting my own on one of the highest rungs—then make a hundred copies to spread out on the cafeteria tables, tack up in the hallways, and tape to classroom blackboards. I'd bet that would shatter our grade's hierarchy to smithereens.
    I pulled more books from the shelf. I opened the first and flipped through the pages.
    One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven...
    And so on...
    Soon, that book was done and I was on to the next. And the next after that. Until a pile of books sat at my side and a small scratch could be marked farther down the shelf for the next time.

A steady downpour kept the cafeteria crowded. A half-eaten turkey sandwich and a page of quadratic equations sat in front of me. I looked out the window, watching rain spill over the patio's cement tabletops. Our game against New Providence hadn't been called off; the weather was expected to pass. I hated playing on a soaked field. I hated even more watching the game from a wet bench.
    A painted banner stretched across the cafeteria entrance. GO MILLERS! STAY UNDEFEATED! The
Millburn Item
was already making comparisons to the school's best-ever team. To open the season, we crushed Livingston, 5-1, and Dayton, 6-0, then turned a two-goal lead in the first half