The Bridge From Me to You
For Laura and Sarah,
my Texas forever friends
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Part 1
1 Lauren
2 Colby
3 Lauren
4 Colby
5 Lauren
6 Colby
7 Lauren
8 Colby
9 Lauren
10 Colby
11 Lauren
12 Colby
13 Lauren
14 Colby
15 Lauren
16 Colby
17 Lauren
18 Colby
19 Lauren
20 Colby
21 Lauren
22 Colby
23 Lauren
24 Colby
25 Lauren
26 Colby
27 Lauren
28 Colby
29 Lauren
30 Colby
31 Lauren
32 Colby
33 Lauren
34 Colby
35 Lauren
36 Colby
37 Lauren
38 Colby
39 Lauren
40 Colby
Part 2
41 Lauren
42 Colby
43 Lauren
44 Colby
45 Lauren
46 Colby
47 Lauren
48 Colby
49 Lauren
50 Colby
51 Lauren
52 Colby
53 Lauren
54 Colby
55 Lauren
56 Colby
57 Lauren
58 Colby
59 Lauren
60 Colby
61 Lauren
62 Colby
63 Lauren
64 Colby
65 Lauren
66 Colby
67 Lauren
68 Colby
69 Lauren
Part 3
70 Colby
71 Lauren
72 Colby
73 Lauren
74 Colby
75 Lauren
76 Colby
77 Lauren
78 Colby
79 Lauren
80 Colby
81 Lauren
82 Colby
83 Lauren
84 Colby
85 Lauren
86 Colby
87 Lauren
88 Colby
89 Lauren
Part 4
90 Colby
91 Lauren
92 Colby
93 Lauren
94 Colby
95 Lauren
96 Colby
97 Lauren
98 Colby
99 Lauren
100 Colby
101 Lauren
102 Colby
103 Lauren
104 Colby
105 Lauren
106 Colby
107 Lauren
108 Colby
109 Lauren
110 Colby
111 Lauren
112 Colby
113 Lauren
114 Colby
115 Lauren
116 Colby
117 Colby
118 Lauren
119 Colby
120 Lauren
121 Colby
122 Lauren
About the Author
Also by Lisa Schroeder
Copyright
THE HOUSE smells like
apple pie thanks to the
burning candle on the mantel.
Uncle Josh and
my three cousins are outside
throwing the football around.
Apparently this small town
loves football
the way ducks love water.
Once in a while, laughter
drifts in through the open windows,
and I wish I could bottle it up
and carry it with me, letting out
just a little when I need a smile.
It’s a strange, magical place, this house.
Aunt Erica is in the kitchen
making dinner, but every now
and then she pokes her head
into the family room,
where I’m watching a movie,
and says, “Oh, I love this part.”
It’s Pretty Woman, where the hooker
walks around the fancy hotel,
trying to fit in like
the only cat at a dog park.
Where I come from,
there were no scented candles,
no fun family games,
no savory Sunday dinner.
It was a strange, crazy place, my house.
How long ’til they notice
a cat like me doesn’t belong
in a nice dog park like this?
IT’S BENNY and me, tossing the football around in my front yard, like we’ve done at least a thousand times. But this is the first time we’ve done it before the first day of practice our senior year.
This is our last chance.
Our last chance to bring home a high school championship.
I look at my best friend standing across from me, sweat glistening on his muscular black arms, and I know for him, we have to win. Taking state may be the only chance he has at catching a scout’s eye.
It’s been a lot easier for me. How can he not hate me for that?
“You’re so good, you don’t even need to go to practice, do you?” Benny jokes as the football spins toward me. “I bet you just show up so Coach will make the rest of us work harder.”
It’s like he can read my mind. Maybe that’s what happens when you’ve been best friends for what feels like forever.
“You know if there was any way I could skip out on two-a-days, I definitely would,” I say as I take a couple of steps to make the catch.
“Drink lots of water tonight,” he says. “Gotta stay hydrated, man.”
I throw the ball back. “Aw, isn’t that sweet. Big ol’ Benny actually cares about me.”
He walks toward me, half a grin on his face. “Just don’t want you passing out. Remember that one time last year when about half the team went down? That was crazy.”
“Yeah, I think it was about a hundred and ten degrees that day.” I hold out my arms and look up at the clear summer sky. Weather-wise, this is about as perfect as it gets in Willow, Oregon. Not too hot, a light breeze now and then, and no rain for days. “It’ll be all right tomorrow. I got a good feeling.”
“Well, that makes one of us.”
We walk up to the front steps of my house and take a seat. “What are you worried about?” I ask. “You got that guard spot cinched.”
“I’ll tell you what I’m worried about. Two words: Coach Sperry.”
“I think his bark is worse than his bite. Especially right now. He’s just trying to show us who’s boss. You know, establish an order.”
“What other order is there? He’s the coach and we’re the players. The end. We know where we stand. He’s got an amazing team that almost made it to the championships last year. He doesn’t need to do much except keep us on track. Let us do what we’re good at.”
“Colby,” Gram calls. “Dinner’s ready.”
“You staying?” I ask Benny as we get to our feet.
He hands me the football. “Can’t. Ma’s expecting me home. Making my favorite tonight. Ribs and mashed potatoes.”
“Jesus. You make it sound like it’s your last meal or something.”
“We got a new coach, man. Who knows what’s gonna happen tomorrow.”
“Well, aren’t you Little Miss Sunshine.” He shrugs, and I slap him on the back. “It’s gonna be all right
.”
“Yeah. Ma always says when life hands you lemons, you gotta try your best to make lemonade. Nothing’s ever perfect. There’s always gonna be bad stuff to go with the good.”
“Benny, Coach might be a great guy. I mean, maybe he’ll lead us to the best year we’ve ever had. We don’t know yet. We don’t know anything. We just gotta wait and see, right?”
He waves as he walks toward his motorcycle. “Right. See you tomorrow. Bright and early!”
“Yep. You can count on that!”
WHEN THEY come in from outside,
smelling like sunshine,
Andrew, Henry, and Demi
pounce on me.
They are playful puppies
demanding my attention.
“Whatcha watching?”
“Can we watch too?”
“Who’s that pretty lady?”
“What’s she doing?”
I find the remote and change the
channel. SpongeBob is greeted
with more cheers than
a homecoming queen.
I go into the kitchen and ask
Aunt Erica if I can set the table.
“Thanks, sweetie.
I appreciate that.”
She doesn’t know I do it for myself
just as much as I do it for her.
I like setting six places
with her pretty dishes and silverware.
I’ve never been a part of making
something special like that.
Uncle Josh is sitting in his spot,
reading the Sunday paper.
“Two-a-days start tomorrow,” he tells me
as he folds over the sports section.
“What’s that?”
He explains how the football players
practice twice a day to get conditioned.
I remember Mom telling me a long time
ago that Uncle Josh, her brother, used to play.
“The new guy’s supposed to be one hell of a coach,”
he says.
I don’t know what to say,
so I just nod.
“You’re gonna love your new school,” he tells me.
“Just you wait. A great football team.
And a lot of school spirit.”
I want to say school spirit
is the least of my worries.
Instead, I step back and admire
the beautiful table.
Erica calls out, “Lauren, would you mind helping me in here, please?”
In a minute, we’ll sit down in our spots,
pass around the serving dishes, and fill
our plates with food that’s as new
to me as this small town of Willow.
“Coming,” I say.
Josh looks up at me.
“You know, it’s nice having you around.”
I don’t walk into the kitchen.
I float.
“BENNY DIDN’T want to stay?” Gram asks. “He’s more than welcome. We have plenty.”
“No, his mom was expecting him home. Thanks, though. I know he appreciates the offer.”
I take a seat as Dad comes in. “Smells delicious, Mom,” he says.
“Spaghetti with meatballs. Have to make sure the athlete gets lot of protein and carbohydrates for tomorrow.”
We start passing plates around, and I think about how Dad and I used to spend our Sundays. He’d go out and get a bunch of Chinese food. We never ate at the table. Instead, we’d kick back in the family room and eat in front of the television, watching ESPN.
Since Gram and Grandpa moved in a couple of months ago, things have been different. Gram loves to cook, or maybe she just loves seeing us eat, I’m not sure. I have to say, it’s pretty nice having home-cooked meals all the time now.
After my mom died when I was two, Gram and Grandpa begged my dad to let them move across the country and help him. But he didn’t want that. He said he could manage things on his own. I had a nanny until I was twelve, and after that I took care of myself. None of it ever bothered me, it’s just how it was. It was my normal, I guess.
I look at Grandpa, who I haven’t seen much today. “You feeling all right?”
He passes me the salad. “I’m feeling fine, Colby. Thanks for asking.”
He’s got MS, or multiple sclerosis, so some days are better than others. Dad finally invited them to come live with us when Grandpa’s symptoms started getting worse. My gram was so relieved. They used to visit us a few times a year, and each time I could tell by the comments she made that she hated being so far away.
“Can hardly believe it’s finally here,” Dad says as he picks up his glass of wine. “The season we’ve all been waiting for. I can’t wait to hear which college you choose, Colby. You know I’m rooting for Oregon, but of course, it’s up to you. You’ve got three great schools interested, and really, you can’t lose with a single one of them. You about ready to verbally commit?”
“Nope.”
He smiles. “Gonna string ’em along for a while, huh? Make ’em sweat?”
“Nah, I want to get through this season, that’s all. Then I’ll decide. There’s no hurry, right? I mean, signing day is still six months away.”
Last year was pretty intense with college visits and meetings with recruiters. I’m glad the season’s starting, so they’ll be busy and might leave me alone for a while.
“Well, I’m telling you, a verbal commit would be a good thing.”
I move my spaghetti around my plate. “But I’m really not sure yet. I just want to wait, you know?”
I look at him. His smile’s gone. “Fine. Though I don’t know what else you could possibly need to make a decision.”
“More time, okay? I need more time.”
“All right, then. Enjoy it. There’s nothing more exciting than your senior year when you’re a football player. I remember mine like it was yesterday.”
I let out a big sigh. I’m tired of talking about this, and I don’t want to pretend to be excited when I’m not. He’s always just assumed I want to play college ball. He’s never asked me, not once, about my feelings on the subject. Bugs the crap out of me.
“The spaghetti’s really good,” I tell Gram. “Did you do something different?”
“Why, yes, I did. I’m surprised you noticed.”
Yeah, well, just because my dad is clueless a lot of the time, doesn’t mean I am too.
AFTER DINNER, we head out back
for dessert.
Smoke wafts up from
the fire pit in the
middle of the patio,
and it smells really good.
The kids take turns
roasting marshmallows
on their sticks
and squishing them
between graham crackers
with squares of Hershey’s chocolate.
“Do you want a s’more?” seven-year-old Henry asks.
I take the one in his hand,
smiling at the cobweb
of marshmallow covering
his little lips and cheek.
“Thanks,” I say.
After I take a bite, I tell him,
“This is the best s’more I’ve ever had.”
He bounces over
to the table of supplies
and starts the whole process
over again.
“Hey, kids,” Uncle Josh says.
He puts his finger to his lips.
“Shhhh, listen.”
We freeze in our spots.
The fire hisses and pops,
the only noise for a minute.
And then, we hear it.
A soft and eerie
whooo-hoooo
drifts down from the darkness.
“Is that an owl?” four-year-old Demi asks.
“What else would it be?” Andrew asks.
“An elephant?”
Andrew cracks me up.
How can you not love
/>
a sarcastic nine-year-old?
Demi doesn’t find it
quite as funny.
She reaches over and
slaps him on the arm.
Aunt Erica goes to work
making peace while I listen
for more soothing owl sounds.
When I was eight,
I visited my grandma down
in San Jose, California.
Her backyard was a bird
haven, with baths and feeders
in every corner.
She’d sit for hours on the deck
with her fancy camera,
zooming in on her little
feathered friends.
As I watched the birds
come and go, fluttering between
the big, open sky
and the welcoming yard
on sun-tipped wings,
I fell in love.
They were sweet.
They were beautiful.
And they could fly.
Oh, to be a bird, I thought.
To fly away and be free.
IT’S MONDAY morning, a little before seven, and we’re quietly padding up, getting ready to take the field.
“Gather round,” Coach Sperry yells.
We hit the gym with the new coach in June and July, but this will be our first time on the field with him.
Half dressed, we do as he says. Coach walks around, handing each of us a small laminated card. I read the words. They’re the same ones on the new sign hanging on the wall of the locker room.
I believe.
I believe in myself.
I believe in the team.
I believe it’s our time.
A couple of guys chuckle. It does sound kind of corny.
“Come on, now,” the coach says with his southern drawl. “This is serious stuff.”
Benny leans in and whispers in my ear. “What is this shit? Do we look like a bunch of girls with confidence issues?”
Coach looks over at Benny and scowls. “Half the game is played up here,” he says as he points to his head. “Now, you are an incredibly talented team. I know that and you know that. What we have with this team is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It’s not often when the planets align and the right talent shows up at the same time and forms a dynamic team. But that’s what’s happened with y’all. So we have to make the most of it, and not let your mental game be what defeats you.