“But it's not that. You still talk to me at school.”
“Lots of times I see you in the field, playing with P. T., but you don't even come near the door.”
“You're always busy.” He was uncomfortably aware of how much he sounded like Brenda when he said this.
“Well, for spaghetti sauce! You could offer to help, you know.”
It was like all the lights coming back on after an electrical storm. Lord, who was the stupid one?
Still, it took him a few days to feel comfortable around Leslie's father. Part of the problem was he didn't know what to call him.
“Hey,” he'd say, and both Leslie and her father would turn around. “Uh, Mr. Burke?”
“I wish you'd call me Bill, Jess.” “Yeah.” He fumbled around with the name for a couple more days, but it came more easily with practice.
It also helped to know some things that Bill for all his brains and books didn't know.
Jess found he was really useful to him, not a nuisance to be tolerated or set out on the porch like P. T.
“You're amazing,” Bill would say. “Where did you learn that, Jess?”
Jess never quite knew how he knew things, so he'd shrug and let Bill and Leslie praise him to each other—though the work itself was praise enough.
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