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I found all my books and lined them up along the back of my desk like international little soldiers. I arranged my pens, pencils, notebooks, and my new graphing calculator in perfect international order, international crisp and fine. I hung my jacket up. I made my bed. I looked for my running shoes and realized I had no idea where they were. I was staring out the window when the phone rang down the hall. "Alison!" someone yelled. "It's Erik." I just stood there, biting my lip, feeling about six. "I can't see you tonight," I told him when I got to the phone. "What?" said Erik. "Where were you at lunch today?" "I already told you. I had that meeting with Mr. Salvatorre." "Oh, right," he said. "How'd that go? What did you say?" I looked up at the ceiling. "That my dad has cancer." "No way!" "Way." "Did it work?" "Yeah, but I feel like shit about it.
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