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.