“I’m gonna buy the berry one and put it in my truck, if that’s okay?” I tell her.

“Yeah. Absolutely. Mr. Curtiss can take your money.”

“Do you have something set up for donations too?” I ask.

“He brought a couple of huge jars for that. They’re perfect.”

“Okay, good.”

“The volunteers are starting to arrive,” she says. “I should go give them their directions.” She looks nervous as she bites her lip.

“You want me to go with you?”

She considers it for a moment. “Actually, could you hang around and help people carry stuff to the tables, if they need it?”

“Sure. I can do that.” I pick up the berry pie, along with the ingredients list. “Let me buy this one first.”

“Okay. Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”

She starts to leave when I call out, “I can give you a ride home later. If you want. Since, you know, you don’t have your bike.”

She turns around. Smiles. “You love rubbing that silly bike in my face, don’t you?”

“No. No! I love your bike. It’s a two-for-one, remember? Like this pie. It’ll be delicious and it’s for a good cause. I’m all about the two-for-ones, I promise.”

“Like, you give me a ride home and you get my charming company for ten minutes?”

I nod. Maybe a little too enthusiastically. “Exactly!”

“Okay,” she says. “You’re on.”

I practically skip as I make my way over to pay for the pie. Until I realize that after the bake sale today, we won’t really have an excuse to hang out anymore.

I wonder if she’s a good student? Maybe she could help me with some homework.

Holy double chocolate brownies, Batman.

It’s insane. How much money we raised. How many people came. How empty the tables are now that it’s over.

Benny’s family stopped by and were blown away by what they saw. It felt like the whole town came out to buy baked goods and donate money. Russ bought a big triple-layer chocolate fudge cake and said they’d take it to Benny to celebrate. He was moved to a rehab center in Lansford last week, but Mrs. Lewis said this extra money will allow her to take a leave of absence so they can go to Atlanta for at least a couple of months.

I’m thankful he’ll be going. And yet, when I think of him getting on that plane and leaving here for an unknown length of time, it hurts like hell.

I want him to go.

But, God, I don’t want him to go.

Lauren’s aunt and uncle volunteer to get the money in order and take it to the bank so they can give Benny’s family a big, fat check.

When Lauren gets in my truck, she leans back in the seat, closes her eyes, and says, “Wow.”

“Yeah,” I concur.

She rolls her head toward me and opens her eyes. “It was awesome, huh? I’m so proud of us.”

“Me too.”

“Maybe now people will stop thinking the worst about me,” she says. “About why I’m here, you know?”

“I’m sure they will but try not to worry about what people think.” I swallow hard, trying to get the nerve to do what I want to do next. “Do you, um, have to get home right away? I thought maybe we could make a stop first.”

She shrugs. “Okay. Can I borrow your phone and let my aunt know?”

While she calls, I drive. The clouds have cleared, and it’s pretty nice out. Now that it’s October, I know it won’t be like this much longer. I look over at Lauren, and I think, in more ways than one.

I want to make the most of this. Whatever “this” is.

I pull into the Safeway parking lot. She raises her eyebrows. Before she has time to say anything, I tell her, “I need to run in and get something. You stay here. I’ll be right back.”

I hustle through the store, grabbing what I need, and make it back to the truck in record time.

“Well, that was fun,” she teases. “Probably didn’t need to call my aunt and tell her I’d be late for a stop at Safeway.”

I start up the truck. “Okay, if you want to get technical, we’re making two stops. That was the first one. Now on to the second one.”

She looks at the grocery bag sitting between us. “Can I take a peek?”

“No!” I grab the bag and pull it close to me. “You’ll find out soon enough, since we’ll be there in about two minutes.” I look at her. “Patience, grasshopper. It’s a small town, remember?”

“How could I forget, after I just met almost everyone who lives here at the bake sale? I still can’t believe how many people showed up.”

I look at her after I pull out onto the road. “Yeah, you just witnessed the best of small-town life. We come together and pull for our own, that’s for sure.”

“It’s really great,” she says, staring out the window. “It felt good to be a part of something so important. Even if it wasn’t for very long.”

“That’s why people love football, you know. Why they love coming out to the games and supporting our team.”

She looks at me. Gives my leg a little shove. “But football isn’t that important.”

“Maybe not to you. But to a lot of people, it is.”

“Why? I don’t get it.”

I shrug. “I have a few different theories. Mostly, I think it’s because for a little while every week, folks are able to forget about their dull lives. They have something to believe in. Something to hope for. And it feels good to believe and hope.”

“But, Colby, it’s just a game. Why don’t they find something in their own lives to believe in and hope for?”

I smile. “Because it’s just a game. Putting your hopes on something like a football team rather than yourself is so much easier, right? And if things don’t go the way you want, well, there’s always next year. Always another chance to try again. To hope again. But in life? Sometimes we only get one chance.”

She doesn’t say anything after that.

Not a thing.

And I wonder what that means.