Page 293 of Across His Line

I don’t know what. It’s small. A thread on a sleeve. She’s asking good questions. The right ones. She’s been happy for me all day, so happy she cried.

It’s just that every question has you in it.

When would you leave. Where would you go. How far is that from your parents.

You. You. You.

I don’t look at it very hard. I’m tired, and I got drafted, and there’s a logo on my chest.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand. An email from the woman with the binder. Development Camp — Reporting Information.

A schedule. A hotel. A rink address. A paragraph in bold about the medical. A paragraph in bold about arriving on time. And a date at the top.

Ten days.

Shit. It’s happening.

She’s still at the mirror with the cotton pad in her hand.

“Tess,” I say.

She looks up.

“Camp’s July sixth.”

41

Don’t Throw My Toothbrush Away

Tessa

July 6 is written on the calendar over my blue desk in my handwriting. We came back from the draft on the twenty-seventh, and I put my carry-on on the bed, but before I unpacked anything, I took the pen out of the cup on the desk and wrote it in the little box.

July 6.

No words after it. Just the date in a box in blue pen on a free calendar from the pharmacy with a picture of a lighthouse on it.

It’s the third.

The fan is going in the window, pushing hot air around, because the room on Wren Street has a slanted ceiling and no air conditioning. The heat comes up through the house and sits in here all afternoon. I’m at the desk printing labels. Twelve of them. The printer makes its grinding noise and spits them out one at a time, warm, curling at the edges.

Three days.

I don’t sit around counting. I’m not like that. It’s just there, the way the calendar’s there, over the desk, every time I look up. Three days. Then two.

June was good.

I added it up on the thirtieth on the bed with the fan on high. Two thousand five hundred and sixty dollars. Higher than May. Higher than April. Higher than if I were to be working at the coffee shop for minimum wage around the corner. My video views are increasing. I finished the checklist Before You Buy It in the hotel room the night after the draft at two in the morning while Rafe slept in the jersey he wouldn’t take off. One page front and back. Every question in my head in order. I gave it away free for five days, a link at the bottom of every video, and four thousand people downloaded it, which I still don’t understand.

And then, on the twenty-ninth, a woman in the comments asked if I had a proper course. It’s weird to see people ask for the thing that’s in your head. I didn’t expect it to matter as much as it does. Then I think about what Rafe’s mom said to me over that Christmas break. She said that people will invest in wealth, health, and relationships, and then entertainment. Thrifting with Tess is a side hustle people are interested in, and I could genuinely help people figure it out. I’ve even tapped into Facebook Marketplace for items. I’ve been able to flip two pieces of small furniture; a nightstand and a small stool made of real wood.

I sat on my bed and typed out a page length response to the people asking for more, thought better of it, and wrote two words back and decided I’ll just do it.

I put it up for nine dollars.

It’s twenty-two pages. Everything in my notebook from January to now. The questions, the fees worked out for every platform, how to find sold comps, what different fabrics are worth, how to tell a real label from a reissue, and when to walk away. A whole chapter on walking away. I called it Worth It or Not: The Before You Buy Guide, which Paige said was too long. It probably is, but I can’t cut it.

By last night, sixty-three people had bought it.