Page 15 of Dear Mr. Knightley

Dear Mr. Knightley,

Thank you. Thank you. Online registration begins tomorrow at seven a.m. Wish me luck.

I don’t know how hard it is to get classes.

It took me a few semesters to get some at Roosevelt, and I only have four quarters at Medill.

Did you know it’s a fifteen-month program?

I decided to specialize in long feature and magazine writing, so those courses are first on my list. I’ll keep you posted.

I should also tell you I’m moving back to Grace House.

I don’t want to, but I must. I like my little apartment and my sense of freedom, but school will suffer if I work two jobs.

I already learned that lesson. This time I will take Hannah’s advice immediately and move back to Grace House where I can live for free.

Furthermore (the information doesn’t stop, does it?), I gave my notice at Starbucks today. I thought my boss would balk at my short tenure . . . That’s not true, I worried she’d be thrilled to see me go. I’ve been so scared to mess up that I do it daily.

I’m happy to report that she landed nicely in the middle.

She said she was very excited for me, but would miss me.

She called me an “asset to the team.” Never been one of those before.

It felt good. And I’ll miss working there.

Everyone was nice without being nosy. So while the friendships—if you can call them that—weren’t deep, at least they weren’t uncomfortable.

Everything’s falling into place . . . ahhh . . . not everything: I’m safe from becoming too comfortable.

As I left a meeting with Father John today, he asked me to stop by the track and find Kyle.

“Why?”

I want to leave Kyle alone. I haven’t seen him since I moved out in June and thought I’d give him a wide berth once I move back . . . He unsettles me.

“He has an appointment with me, and I suspect he’ll try to skip it. He runs the track after school. Would you pop over and encourage him to return?”

Encourage Kyle? “He won’t listen to me. Send someone else.”

“Give it a try.” Father John’s tone told me this was not a request. He continued, “He’s at that track every day.”

“He’s a good runner. Did he join the cross-country team?”

“No. The coach and I discussed it, but Kyle won’t talk about it. Won’t talk to anyone. He just runs the track after school.” Father John dropped his voice. “I’m worried, Sam.”

“This is not about some appointment. You’re up to something. What do you want from me?”

“I want you to talk to him. You’ve been there, kiddo. And running was your escape. You weren’t so different at fourteen.”

“I’ve tried.”

Father John lifted his eyebrows.

I sighed. “I did. I tried in June. Just let me leave him alone.”

“Don’t be that person, Sam—the one who leaves. I’m asking you to try again. As a favor to me, if not for Kyle.”

Was he pushing this for Kyle or for me? I’m always the first to leave, figuratively if not literally.

“Fine.” I walked out of Father John’s office feeling part put out and part called out.

Kyle was easy to spot. The football team was in the center of the field, but he was the only kid circling the track. I watched him for a few minutes. His face was shuttered. There was no joy, no freedom, in his run.

“Hey,” I called. “I’m not wearing running shoes. Will you walk with me a minute?”

“Why?”

“Father John sent me to find you. He’s worried about you.”

“That old—”

“Don’t denigrate him.”

“Huh?”

“You can hate me, hate anybody, but show Father John respect. He cares about us. Might be the only one who does. And if you are anything like me—which he seems to think you are—he’ll get you out of more scrapes and give you more love than you’ll ever repay. Remember that.”

Kyle said nothing, but he walked with me. As we walked, I realized I didn’t want to leave Kyle alone. Suddenly, faced with him, I wanted to reach out. I can’t explain it, but the connection is real—even if it’s only one-sided.

“I’m moving back to Grace House,” I told him. “Do you want to run more?”

“No.” He kept by my side. Not ahead or behind.

“I’m not leaving, Kyle. I’m moving back for another year and a half.”

“So?” He still didn’t leave.

“I’ll ask you to run every day then. Eventually I hope you’ll say yes.” I stopped and stared at him. His eyes were shiny, unsure. He seemed so small at that moment. Granted, his shoulders are getting broad and his feet are huge, but he’s fourteen and that’s still young.

“Tomorrow I get off at the library at five. I’ll meet you here and we’ll do some speed work.”

“We ain’t friends.”

“Believe whatever you want. Just be here.” I turned and walked away. “And don’t miss your appointment with Father John,” I called over my shoulder.

Kyle’s probably right, Mr. Knightley. We ain’t friends, but I don’t think he hates me, and that’s something.

Sincerely,

Sam