“Want a ride home?” Kylee asked.
“No, thanks.”
“You taking the bus?”
“No.” It was Rae’s last week of freedom before Driver’s Ed. started. “I’m going to volunteer.”
“Oh my gosh.” Kylee rolled her eyes. “Not that again.”
“What?”
Her friend stopped walking and faced her. “You’re already a shoo-in for a scholarship to any college you want.”
“There’s no such thing as a shoo-in at Columbia. And that’s not why I volunteer.”
Kylee gave her a look.
“Okay, it’s not the only reason I volunteer.”
“Then why?”
Rae tucked her thumbs under the straps of her backpack. “I like to help people. It makes me happy.”
“You’re already happy. All. The. Time.”
She smiled.
Kylee scoffed. “See?”
“You should come with me.” Rae pointed across the street. “I’m going to check out that Community Hope thing.”
“No way. I need a nap.”
“Okay.” Rae shrugged. “Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Fine. Bye.” Kylee trudged off to find her car in the jumbled mass of vehicles parked helter-skelter around the school.
Rae watched her go for a minute. Many people had remarked over the years how strange it was that she and Kylee could be such good friends when they were so different. So mismatched. But their friendship had been forged in the loneliness of two sibling-less homes and the fact that neither of them really fit in anywhere else, except with each other. Rae didn’t always understand Kylee, but she never doubted Kylee would be there for her.
She dodged careless teen drivers and weary school-bus drivers and crossed the street. She’d always found it paradoxical the high school was located on Fallow Drive. No one else ever appreciated the irony.
She studied the unassuming brown building as she approached it. Greenville Community Church. All Are Welcome Here, a white sign with black letters said. Her family had attended a church across town a couple of times when she was younger, but they hadn’t been there in years. Dad said he was too busy. Mom said she wouldn’t go without Dad.
The same Community Hope poster she’d seen on the bulletin board at school was taped to the glass front door. At the bottom, someone had written Room F in black Sharpie. She entered the building and looked around. While she couldn’t see Room F, the low din of voices pointed the way.
The door to Room F was propped open, and she paused in the hall to peer inside. At least two dozen kids filled the space, along with three adults. One man and two women.
The man spotted her and waved. “Come on in.”
A couple of kids glanced at her as she walked in, but most of them paid her no mind. A basket of snacks sat at the end of one table next to a cooler of bottled water and Gatorade.
The man walked over to her with a smile, a clipboard in hand. He was one of those hipster types with skinny jeans and a beard, and he was obviously the guy in charge. “Welcome. I’m Mark. What’s your name?”
“Rae Walters.”
He checked the list on his clipboard. “I don’t see your name here, Rae. Were you referred by one of your teachers?”
“No.” She slid her backpack off and dug around inside it. “I want to volunteer.”
She pulled the Volunteer Information Sheet she’d printed off the internet from her bag and held it out.
“Cool. We need all the help we can get.” Mark took the paper from her hand and skimmed it over. “Looks like you filled everything out. This is impressive.”
She lifted one shoulder. The sheet had all the standard questions on it—name, address, birth date, and school information—but it also had questions about previous volunteer experience and why the applicant was interested in the Community Hope program. She’d felt a little weird listing all the random places she’d helped out before, like she was trying to show off or something.
Mark added her paper to the pile on his clipboard. “You’ve got a lot of volunteer hours racked up already. You going for an award at school or something?”
She raised an eyebrow at his red flannel shirt. “You going for the lumberjack look or something?”
He gave her a dimpled grin. “I have just the job for you.”
RAE TAPPED THE open math book with her pencil. “You still have five more problems, Taylor. Come on, you’re running out of time.”
The petite girl with mousy brown hair wrinkled her nose. “I don’t care.”
“You’ll care when you fail math and have to repeat seventh grade.”
Taylor scoffed. “That doesn’t really happen.”
“Yes it does.” Rae scooted her chair closer. “Now, let’s go. Number seventeen. Write it down.”
“Fine.” Taylor gave an exaggerated sigh. “But only so you’ll shut up.”
She looked like an ordinary shy middle schooler on the outside, but Rae had discovered in the past hour that Taylor was unlike anyone she’d ever met. She reminded Rae of a woman she used to know at the nursing home named Betty who would cheat at cards and then blame Rae.
Before introducing them, Mark had hinted that Taylor’s family life was less than ideal. Based on the language she’d heard from the thirteen-year-old’s mouth, Rae could only imagine what that meant.
Taylor scrunched her lips to one side as she concentrated, and Rae glanced around the room. More kids had arrived after her, but none were volunteers. As far as she could tell, only the three adults, Rae, and one other student she knew was a senior at her school were there to help the kids referred by teachers for extra help. It wasn’t near enough to give everyone the attention they needed.
A kid about her age sat as far into the corner as possible with his back to the room. His stringy black hair fell in his face as he hunched over his work. Something about his posture, about the way he focused on whatever was in front of him as if it were the cure for
