September

Wesley—Fourteen Years Old

The last bell finally rings, and I hustle to my locker. I was afraid John joining the soccer team would mean I wouldn’t get to go over to their house after school anymore. I’d just as soon stay at the school library before spending more time at the Andersons’ house. I didn’t have to worry though because Mrs. Bellamy said she’d be by to pick me up after she got Anna. North Middle School and North High are only a few minutes apart.

I slam my locker shut, spin the lock, throw my book bag over my shoulder, and make my way to the parking lot. There’s a lane for parents picking up their kids, and I see a familiar black SUV with my two favorite faces smiling inside.

My smile is wide and immediate. I can’t help it. The first day of high school was stressful, and seeing the two people who make me feel normal makes me happy.

“Hi, Wes!” Anna’s smile is so big, her braces reflect the sunlight. She’s finally less self-conscious of them. At first, she didn’t smile for a whole week.

“Hey, Angel.”

It became my nickname for her since I saw her make a snow angel. She was so pretty that night, lying on the snow, nose pink from the cold, snowflakes glittering in her hair. Like an angel. It suits her. She complained at first, but a small smile tugs at her lips when I use the nickname. It’s certainly better than Anna Banana.

I slide into the backseat and buckle my seat belt. “Hi, Mrs. Bellamy. Thanks for picking me up.”

“No problem, honey. How was your day?”

I shrug. “It was all right. I’ve had worse first days, I guess.”

Anna looks worried. “No fights today though, right?”

I shake my head. “No fights today.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I’m not there to defend you this year.”

I chuckle, thinking about how brave she was the first time we met. “What will I do without you?”

She shifts, looking away, and I catch a sad look on her face before she covers it with her hair. Concern squeezes my chest. Her first day without John in the same school must have been tough for her.

“How was your day?” I ask her. “Is seventh grade all that you thought it would be?”

“Meh. I missed you and John. Why did you guys have to move on to high school? Couldn’t you have failed, so you could stay with me?”

My stomach does that weird flip again at the thought that she missed me, too.

“You’re right; I should have failed.”

She finally meets my eyes, trying but failing to hide her smile. My chest squeezes at the sight, making me feel lighter than I have all day.

Once at their house, the aroma of chocolate chip cookies greets us, and Anna and I sit on the barstools at the kitchen island. We get out our homework as Mrs. Bellamy puts cookies in front of us.

“Do you guys have a lot of homework?” she asks us.

“No, not yet,” I tell her, eating the cookie in two bites.

“I don’t have a lot either.”

“Okay, dinner will be ready at six,” Mrs. Bellamy reminds us.

I almost roll my eyes. Dinner is served every night at six p.m. sharp. Mr. Bellamy gets off work at five thirty p.m., and he’ll pick John up from soccer on the way home. Everyone sits together for dinner at this house—no electronics allowed at the table. And, despite the occasional grumble from John or Anna, it’s one of my favorite times of the day. I get to pretend like this family is mine, and I feel like I belong somewhere.

“Oh, shoot!” The utensil drawer slips out of Mrs. Bellamy’s hand, and silverware spills onto the floor, making a loud clatter. I jump up to help her. “That drawer needs to be replaced. I’ll have to call someone to get this fixed.”

I pick up the empty drawer and study the track. I guide it back into place, pushing and pulling a couple of times to see what the problem is. “I think I can fix it. All we need is a new track on this side. The hardware store should have a replacement. That’d be a lot cheaper than replacing the whole drawer.”

She looks skeptical. “Oh, honey, that’s okay. We have a great handyman, Randall. He fixes all kinds of things around here.”

My shoulders sag a bit. The thought of fixing this up for her makes me feel so useful. The solution is in my brain, and I know I can do it.

“Mom, why don’t you let Wes try to fix it? If he can’t fix it, you can call Randall then,” Anna suggests. It’s like she knows how much this means to me and is always on my side.

I send a grateful look her way.

Mrs. Bellamy studies me for a second, her skepticism morphing into awareness. “Okay, that’s fair enough. Want to stop at the hardware store after you’re done with your homework?”

My smile is hard to hold back. “Sounds good.”

“You did it!” Anna beams at me, her eyes shining with pride.

I know I didn’t do anything major. I didn’t cure cancer. Or perform brain surgery. I fixed a drawer.

But my chest swells with pride just the same.

I liked disassembling the track and seeing how it worked. I liked putting the new one on and sliding it back into place. Even more, I liked having Anna at my side, handing me the tools like a surgical assistant.

I grin at her. “We did it.”

She tackles me with a bear hug, and I catch her.

“Oof.”

“Mom, Wesley fixed it!” she shouts.

Mrs. Bellamy comes to inspect the drawer and smiles wide. “Nice work!”

I flush with her praise. “It was easy.” I shrug, not meeting her eyes.

She waits me out, as usual, until I finally meet her gaze. “You know…” She hesitates, carefully choosing her words. “They have woodshop in high school. You ever think of taking that class? You’d make an excellent handyman.”

I haven’t thought of that before. I skimmed over the electives and just picked the ones that sounded easiest. But, now that she’s planted this seed, I immediately know I want to. I love the idea of fixing things. Of making something out of wood with my own hands that becomes useful to someone else.

I nod slowly as my imagination runs away with possibilities. “I think I will.”