“Really?” Tears were coming out harder now.

“Of course.” Dad held on to my hand tightly. “And I know she’s looking down on you right now, probably laughing a little, and wishing she could be here with you. She’d want me to treat you to some custard for being strong and standing up for your uncle, and for yourself.”

I pictured Mom as Dad described her, and knew he was right. She’d never tolerated anybody treating Adam differently. One of the things Dad said he loved most about her when they first started dating was that she never babied Adam. She treated his younger brother like everybody else. She certainly wouldn’t have allowed anybody to speak to him, or me, that way.

“Is that a smile I’m seeing?” Dad asked.

I nodded. “You’re right. I know Mom would be proud. She’d be proud of both of us, Dad.” He seemed surprised about my confession, but I wasn’t the only person who’d lost somebody. “Let’s go get some custard.”

I’m so sorry, Macallan. You know how awful I feel about what happened. I should’ve stepped in, I should’ve punched him in the face. I can’t believe I acted like such a wimp. It really is a miracle you ever talked to me again. And I’m grateful that I’ve never had to experience your right hook.

I’m so sorry, I know I shouldn’t joke about that.

I’m such an idiot.

Blimey if I didn’t deserve a punch in the face.

I’m so sorry.

Moving on.

I needed to clear my head.

So I did the only thing I could think of to make me feel better.

Run.

Since football season was over, I didn’t have to worry about running too long and burning off extra calories. Or have to think about keeping my weight up. Or think about anything.

I only had to run.

I’ll admit that catching that ball and hearing the cheering was amazing. I understand how people can get caught up in moments like that. How you want to keep reliving one small fraction of time when you felt invincible.

My dad has this friend who always makes him tell this story about a baseball game from back in high school. Every time the guy’s over, he tells it. And we sit there like we haven’t heard it a million times before. I thought it was pathetic, how you could look back on something so insignificant as one game, one play, and think that was the greatest moment in your life.

But then I totally got it.

I was THE MAN. The hero. The MVP. And all I had to do was catch a ball. One that Jacob threw with precision. Did he get the credit he deserved? Not as much as I did.

There I was on a total ego high when Macallan had to come in and crash the party.

And what did THE MAN, the hero, the MVP do? He stood there terrified and did nothing.

NOTHING.

I had to recount what happened not only to the principal, but to Macallan’s dad. He looked so upset when he arrived at school, then had to listen to me tell him how brave his daughter had been.

While I’d just stood there.

I had to tell him all the awful things Keith had said.

While I’d just stood there.

I’d never felt more like a loser in my life.

Before I really knew where I was running to, I ended up at Riverside Park. I’d been running so hard, I could see my breath come out in short spurts. I walked a bit to cool down, even though the cold weather was already helping with that.

I normally didn’t run that hard when it was early winter, but I needed to get some distance from what had happened the day before.

I’d begun to walk forward to the swings when I noticed someone stretching, out over by the picnic tables. I abruptly stopped when I realized it was Macallan. She had her right leg up on the table and was bending over to stretch out her hamstrings.

Confusion swirled around whether I should approach her or walk away before she saw me.

I stepped forward. It was about time I started acting like the stud I’d been pretending to be for the past week. Or more accurately, past few months.

“Hey!” I called out to her.

She spun around quickly. “Oh, hey.” She paused for a second before continuing to stretch.

“You just starting?”

“Nope, I’m done.”

I knew that. I knew her routine. She was happy running for herself. To help clear her head. She didn’t need the justification of a team or a crowd to do something.

I had no idea what to do. I wanted to make things right between us, but I wasn’t sure at what cost. So I would start with what I should’ve done months ago: apologize.

“Macallan, about —”

She cut me off. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“He’s a jerk,” I offered.

Her lip curled slightly. “He’s your best friend.”

I wanted to say No, he’s not. You are. But I hadn’t been acting like a friend to her, let alone a best friend.

I opened my mouth, trying to think of something to say to mend this tension between us. The words that came out were: “See you at Thanksgiving.”

See you at Thanksgiving? I should’ve asked her to punch me right then and there. Maybe she would’ve knocked some sense into me.

“Yeah.” She began to walk away.

“Hey, Macallan,” I called after her. “Is it okay that we’re still coming?”

She hesitated briefly. “Of course.”

While that pause was only a couple seconds, it was long enough for me to know I’d done some real damage.