This Is How I Find Her by Sara Polsky Page B

for?”
    Oh.
    It must be one of Leila’s friends, in trouble for something. I roll my eyes out the window so Leila won’t be able to see, watching my own pupils move up and over in my reflection. Then I pretend to be staring intently at my phone while I turn the ringer off for school.
    Leila makes soft mhmm and oh and I’m sorry noises into the phone as she drives. I spend the time wondering who’s on the other end and why Leila is the one she calls when she needs to talk first thing in the morning.
    â€œI’ll give you a ride home after school,” Leila says, like she’s answering a question, and then silence. She must’ve ended the call. When I look over, Leila’s hand is already hovering over the radio dial, ready to turn it up again, the phone back in its usual spot in the cup holder. I’m convinced I could have opened my door and gotten out at the last light without her even noticing.
    Until Leila glances at me and starts to talk.
    â€œThat was Liz,” she says, as if I know and care who Liz is. “She got in trouble with her parents and her punishment is not being allowed to practice with us for three weeks.”
    Liz must be someone in James and Leila’s band. I want to roll my eyes out the window again. Why do I care?
    I think suddenly of one evening the summer before sixth grade, when Leila called me just before bed the way she always did. This time she had something different to tell me: that she had a crush on one of our classmates, a boy named Steven who had been at the park all summer when we were there with my mother.
    â€œWill you talk to him for me?” she asked.
    I said okay, but I wasn’t really sure what she meant. “What do I say?”
    â€œJust ask him if he likes me too. I’ll talk to someone for you! Who do you like?”
    I lowered my voice in case my mom could hear from the kitchen, but I didn’t hesitate before telling Leila the name. “James,” I whispered, my face turning red even though Leila couldn’t see me. I twisted the phone cord in my fingers, nervous about what she would say. He was her friend too, so was it okay for me to like him not just as our friend?
    â€œReally?” Leila had started to whisper too. Then she giggled a little, and I knew she didn’t mind. “Okay, I’ll talk to him for you.”
    It was so easy to tell her anything then. But now, here in the car, I have no idea what to say to her. I don’t even know who Liz is. Between my mother and Leila and James and Aunt Cynthia and Uncle John and school and work, I can’t find space in my head for anyone else. So I just lean my head against the cold window and stay silent until the car pulls in at school.
    â€”
    In English, Mr. Jackson, Room 210 , Mr. Jackson has forgotten that I wasn’t there for the first few days of class, and he’s stopped interrupting himself to tell me about assignments he already explained to everyone else. I sit in my corner seat with my notebook open, scribbling something every few minutes so it looks like I’m paying attention. But really I’m just filling the margins with doodles, my hand weaving randomly down the page.
    I did the reading for class yesterday while sitting by my mother’s bed. But I kept losing my place, hearing the nurses’ shoes squeak down the hall or a patient making noise in another room, and I barely remember anything I read. So while Mr. Jackson asks questions about character and symbolism, I just sit there, not raising my hand, not looking up, only half listening. I tune out completely once someone in front of me starts reading aloud from the book. I don’t know the boy’s name, he sounds bored, and I can’t concentrate on his voice. When I let my eyes wander around the classroom, I catch James’s gaze once. His mouth moves like maybe he’s trying to talk to me, but I can’t understand what he’s saying, so I just