The Bridge From Me to You by Lisa Schroeder

The Bridge From Me to You by Lisa Schroeder

Author:Lisa Schroeder
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2014-03-03T16:00:00+00:00


Dear Colby,

I need to talk to you. Will you meet

me at lunch? On the football bleachers?

Please. It’s important.

Lauren

I TELL myself I won’t go. Because that’s the easiest thing to do.

I read the note Monday morning, after Stasia passes it to me in the hallway like we’re fourth graders. I crumple it up, toss it into my locker, and tell myself to forget about it. Whatever she has to say, it won’t change anything.

But as the day goes on, and lunchtime draws closer and closer, my resolve softens. And when the bell rings, and kids stream toward the cafeteria, I realize there’s no way I’ll be able to stay away.

First of all, I’m curious. And second of all, I like her. Damn it — I really like her.

It’s gray and cloudy, but no rain. I head toward the field and see Lauren walking a ways ahead of me. At least I think it’s Lauren; she’s got the hood up on her pink sweatshirt, like she wants to be incognito for this meeting.

I almost turn around and go back inside. No, I tell myself, I need to face her. Get it over with.

I follow her through the parking lot and onto the field. She starts climbing the bleachers, and I watch as she goes all the way to the top.

When she finally turns and sits down, dropping her backpack beside her, I wave and then take the stairs up, slowly. I went for a long run yesterday, after talking to Benny, hoping it’d clear my head. My body probably could have used a day of rest, now that I think about it.

“You look like you’re in pain,” she says when I reach her.

I stand there, looking down at her. Her eyes are warm. Kind. She seems concerned. “Nah. I’m okay.” I push her backpack down to the step below and take a seat.

She unzips one of the pockets on her bag and pulls out a sandwich. “You want half? It’s turkey and cheese.”

“No. You eat it. I’ll grab something from a machine on my way to class.”

“You can’t have lunch out of a vending machine,” she says.

I smile. “Says the girl who practically lives on Bugles.”

She tries to hand me the sandwich. “But you’re an athlete. You need real food.” My hands stay in my lap. She raises her eyebrows and asks in the sweetest voice, “Please?”

I take it and say thanks. While I inhale my half in about three bites, she gets a bottle of water and two apples out of her bag.

“Wow,” I say, picking up the water. “You thought of everything. It’s like a picnic or something.”

She hands me one of the apples and sets the other one in her lap. “I really wanted to talk to you and figured lunch would be the best time.”

I stare at the apple because it’s easier that way. “Look, Lauren, I know I said it before, but I really am sorry. About Saturday. It’s just —”

“Please don’t. Colby, I know. I know what happened.



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