“Fine,” I say.

“Think it’s gonna be a good year?” he asks.

“Yeah, I think so,” I reply, mostly because that’s what he wants to hear.

This is how it is for most people here. They ask about football before anything else. Every year, as the sun burns high in the sky, August brings a new batch of hope to our town. Hope for a championship title. It may not come packed in boxes, like auto parts, but it’s there, and everyone feels it.

Especially the players.

For two and a half hours, I unpack parts and get them shelved. When I’m finished, Mr. Weir says that’s all he has for me and I’m free to go.

I punch out, and since I have a little time to kill before practice, I head to Whispering Willow Bookshop down the street.

“Colby,” Mr. McMann says from the counter when I walk

in the front door. “Good to see you. How’s it going? The team looking good so far?”

“You bet,” I say, because there it is again. Hope. Can’t escape it. “I think it’s gonna be a great year.”

“Awesome,” he says. “You here for that book you ordered?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What was the title again?”

“Bridging the World.”

He turns around to a shelf on the wall where orders are stored. He pulls out the book and sets it on the counter.

“This is gorgeous,” he says, rubbing the cover. He gives me a curious look. “You interested in bridges, Colby?”

I feel my cheeks getting warm. “Nah. It’s, um, a gift. For my grandfather.”

Mr. McMann nods. “Ah. I see. That’s nice of you. I’m sure he’s going to love it.”

I get out my wallet and give him some cash. While he rings me up, he says, “Did I tell you I have a niece who’ll be at your school this year?”

“I don’t think so.”

He hands me my change. “Her name’s Lauren. Came here from Seattle. Really nice girl. She’s a little nervous about being the new kid. I keep telling her Willow High is a great school and she’s going to get along just fine there.”

I put my wallet away. “What year is she?”

“Senior. She’s been living with us for a few weeks now.”

I pick up the bag, wondering why she’s living with them. I don’t ask, though. None of my business. “Well, if I see her when school starts, I’ll tell her hello.”

He smiles. “Thanks. That’s real nice of you.” He nods at the book. “I hope your grandpa likes his gift.”

“Thanks a lot.”

There’s a bakery in the far corner of the shop, so I walk over there. Quite a few people are sitting at tables, reading books or magazines. I get in line to order, hoping to avoid being recognized, because I don’t want to talk about football practice or the new coach or how great this season is going to be.

In front of me, two women are talking. Not just any women, but women who walk around like they own the town. One is the wife of the best-known realtor in Willow, Mrs. Landry, and the other is a doctor’s wife, Mrs. Poole. They both serve on the school board. My dad told me he’s been to a couple of meetings and apparently, they are not afraid of speaking their mind.

Even though they’re trying to keep their voices down, I can’t help but overhear their conversation.

“Well, I think it’s strange,” Mrs. Landry says. “You don’t take a teen into your home when you have three small children of your own unless the circumstances are truly dire.”

“What did he say again?” Mrs. Poole asks. “When you asked Josh why the girl is living with them? Word for word. What did he say?”

“He said his niece had a bad situation going on at home. So he and his wife offered to take her in for a time. That’s how he put it. ‘A bad situation.’ ”

“I bet she does drugs,” Mrs. Poole says. “Or worse. Poor man. I bet he’ll end up regretting that decision.”

Mrs. Landry’s about to say something else, but she suddenly gets the bright idea to take a look around to make sure no one’s listening. I want to tell her it’s a little late for that. I quickly turn my eyes toward the floor, but it’s not enough to keep her from seeing me.

“Well, look who it is, Marianne,” Mrs. Landry says. “Colby Pynes. Fancy running into you on the first day of football practice. Getting yourself a little snack, huh? I don’t blame you. I hear they work you boys hard.”

“Hello, Colby,” Mrs. Poole says. “Why, my husband was just talking about the team this morning. Said he feels like this is going to be your year.”

“I hope so,” I tell them.

“Ladies, may I help you?” the clerk calls to them, and they walk up to the counter, saving me from having to say anything more. Thank God.

After they’ve ordered, they tell me it was nice running into me and take their coffees and pastries to a table, where they’ll no doubt come up with a hundred and one more reasons why Mr. McMann’s niece moved in with them. I’d bet money that not a single one of those reasons will be right.

I step up to the counter and order two scones and a bottle of water to go. Once I’m in my truck, I check the clock before I start flipping through my new book. It’s three-twenty, which means I have a little time to enjoy some peace and quiet before the second practice of the day starts at four.

The bridges transport me to a place where there is no small-town talk, and no football to worry about. For a few glorious minutes, anyway.