Chapter 15

The little pizza place where we decided to meet isn’t fancy, but I still bounce my leg up and down while I wait for Mr. Alvarado. I play with the napkin holder, bopping it back and forth, second-guessing if I should have agreed to this.

A bell over the door chimes, and I turn my head in its direction, like I’ve done each time it’s sounded. But he’s finally arrived, in a salmon-colored polo shirt and jeans. He’s younger than I expected, with dark, tanned skin and a touch of salt-and-pepper by his temples. He greets me with a grin and open arms. “Cassandra, it’s so nice to see you.”

I hug him limply as he pounds my back like we’re old buddies.

“I wasn’t sure if I should reach out or not, but I’m glad I did. We all really miss RJ at school.” He utters the last bit like a prayer, his lips losing their affable curl.

“I miss him too,” I say, moving to sit down.

Mr. Alvarado stops me with a gesture to the glass case with pizza behind it. “Let’s grab something to eat first, huh?”

I follow him to the counter and order one slice of plain along with his two mushroom and pepperoni. “I love this place,” he says. “We order from here when we have faculty meetings or parties at school.” He pays and accepts our slices with a “Thanks, Joe,” then leads me back to a booth.

Mr. Alvarado is so in control, it’s hard not to let him lead me, and I’m grateful when he speaks, even if he is a little overeager. There aren’t any awkward silences I need to fill up. He talks about how my brother’s students are dealing with his death and how they’re still getting used to his replacement. He tells me a story about a boy named Sam. “Miss Hale, the teacher we brought into his classroom, started to take down RJ’s posters, and Sam lost it. Absolutely lost it. He started arguing with her, yelling at her that she couldn’t touch his stuff, and the other kids got into it too. It was a bit of a mess, but it shows you how much his students loved him.”

I rip my leftover crust into pieces. “Yeah,” I agree. “He was a good guy.”

“So,” Mr. Alvarado says, “what did you have in mind for the benefit?”

“Um. I was thinking maybe a baseball game, but I’m not sure how to go about setting it all up.”

“A baseball game would be great. I’m sure so many people would love to participate. I’d assume his baseball players would want to play. A ton of our faculty would want to get in on this, obviously.” He goes on about some pep rally they had at the school and how my brother would usually be the MC, but this year, another teacher did it and something about a mascot, but I can’t be sure because my mind wanders.

Ever since I told Mr. Alvarado I’d do this, I’ve been feeling knots in my stomach. It’s been a few months since my brother passed away, and I’ve gotten to a place where I don’t think about him every minute—down to a few dozen times a day—but agreeing to do this, he’s back in front of me. Every step, every sentence, every thought revolves around the memory of my brother. Or the legend, for how Mr. Alvarado talks about him.

“Anyway, have you thought about what the money would go toward?” he asks, and when I don’t have an answer, he toggles his head back and forth. “Our computer lab could use some new computers.”

He steamrolls me, and it’s hard to say no. “Oh? Yeah, okay, we’ll buy some new computers for the school.”

He claps once, and his excitement builds as he goes on about ticket sales and concessions. He tells me he’ll help advertise the event. “I’ve got forty teachers to help spread the word. You let me know what you need, and I’ll be there.”

“That’s great. Thank you.”

“Anything. Anything you need. RJ’s death was a big loss for a lot of people, you know. We’re all trying to find a way out of this.”

His words take my breath away, and my throat closes. It’s true. I’m lost, trying to find my way out. He gives me a goodbye hug, but I stay for a while after he leaves, taking out my phone to Google How to run a benefit baseball game.

It brings up a ton of websites for baseball teams and fundraisers and benefits, and my brain swirls. I buy the book Fundraising for Dummies, hoping it’s a good place to start. The knot in my gut pulls tighter. Having an event where people could come together to celebrate Raymond, have fun in his name, would be a perfect tribute, but it’s a lot of work. More stress, more grief, most likely more pain.

But in the end, though, it’s not about me. It’s about my brother, and his students, that Sam kid. It’s for his coworkers, his baseball players, his friends. It’s for Mom and Dad, and hopefully a jump start to a different future, and our family of three.