Chapter 31

"We're changing songs."

"What? We can't do that. The show's tonight," I complained.

"Then you better get busy and learn the new song."

"I..." I was arguing with Robbie. I should know better. The only time I ever won was on the baseball field, and we weren't on the field now. "Why?"

"I had a chance to check out the judges. The other song wasn't gonna work."

"So? It's not like we care about winning. It's just one of the requirements for vocals."

Robbie gave me one of her looks. The kind you'd give your grandmother with Alzheimer's who couldn't remember her own name. "It's always about winning."

I sighed. "Let's see the music."

The year was winding down. Two days left of school, and Tuesday was just a half-day.

Baseball was done, at least school baseball. There was still Babe Ruth League to look forward to. The team had done pretty good. We went twelve and one, losing our last game because the damn shortstop, who shall remain nameless, bobbled the ball in extra innings and let the runner from Wingate score.

Mr. Hallowell turned out to be a pretty good student. He listened when I explained why I did certain things and asked questions when he wasn't sure. He might not be the best coach next year, but he'd be a coach.

Tests were done and final papers handed in. All that was left was final grades. Mine should be pretty good. Somehow I didn't have any incompletes during my little vacation.

Mr. Reed and I had some good talks about respect, baseball, and the Vietnam War. He turned out to be a pretty good guy. I wished I'd gotten to know him sooner and under better circumstances.

All that left was the eighth grade talent show. Tonight.

Robbie and I practiced at her house most of the morning. She'd already figured out the staging, so all I had to do was learn the words and music.

The stage was dark as Robbie and I took our positions. We were each sitting on a tall stool sitting at an angle so that our backs were mostly to each other but we faced most of the audience. Jerry Stilton sat a little further behind us with his guitar and Jenny Morton with her keyboard. She started in on the Reba McEntyre standard, and after a few bars, he joined in. A violin would have been nice, but we didn't know anyone who played except Mr. McCoy, who seemed to play everything.

Then a single spot focused on Robbie, with just a wide enough focus that I was apparent in the shadows. She lifted her microphone to her face, and looking above the audience, sang:

"If you see him, tell him I wish him well.

How'm I doing? Well, sometimes it's hard to tell.

I still miss him more than ever. But please don't say a word.

If you see him.

Oh, if you see him."

She had a real plaintive quality in her voice. You could hear the heartache of someone who missed someone else. It was funny, but I hadn't really listened to the words, I'd been so busy learning them.

Her spot died out slowly on her last words and mine came up:

"If you see her, tell her I'm doing fine.

And if you want to, say that I think of her, from time to time.

Ask her if she ever wonders where we both went wrong.

If you see her.

If you see her."

Both spots as I sang, holding the note on the I: