A Step Toward Falling (11 page)

Here's the awful truth: she remembers exactly who I am because she shakes her head slowly, turns around, and walks away.

I
REMEMBER THIS GIRL.
S
HE
played Princess Number Four in
Princess for a Day
and Hunter's Henchman Number Two in
Little Red Riding Hood
. She also played a fox in
Bremen Town Musicians
, but that's not the main thing I remember about her. The main thing I remember happened three years ago was when I was a different person.
I used to be a person who liked hugging and could sometimes be too friendly when I saw people from Children's Story Theater. Usually I was so happy to see them I hugged them and jumped up and down. Then I saw Emily and hugged her and she got mad. She said, “YOU CAN'T DO THAT! YOU CAN'T JUST HUG PEOPLE LIKE THAT!” That's the first time I learned there are rules around hugging and people should not go around expecting hugs all the time.

Now I don't do that anymore.

In fact, I don't like hugs at all, and if someone in my old classroom like Anthony or Douglas asks for a hug, I say, “No, thank you, you can't do that, you can't just hug people like that.” I remember what she said because it sounded like a rule, so I made it one.

I also remember her from the football game which makes my heart speed up. I feel like there's something in my throat because I can't say anything. I don't want to cry in front of her or fall down. I feel like those things could happen. Like I won't be able to breathe unless she walks away which she doesn't.

So I do something smart. I walk away myself.

Once she's not in front of me anymore, I feel better.

Maybe this is a good reason I'm not going back to my old classroom and for now I'll spend my school days sitting in the nurse's office. This way, if I see people who make me have no-breathing panic attacks, I won't have to go to the nurse's office, I'll already be there.

I
T WAS MY FIRST
day of high school and my first realization that friend groups are important and I had none. No one to compare my class schedule with. No one to meet at lunch. No one to help me open my locker, which I'd tried twice with no success. It was almost disorienting, like walking outside your own body, to feel so alone while standing in a crowded hallway. Now I remember it all too well. That whole morning, the only person who'd said hello to me was Belinda Montgomery.

I was terrified. I thought,
Everyone is watching us. They'll remember this forever.

I was wrong, of course. A month after it took place, even I didn't remember that terrible exchange, when I snapped at her and told her to never do that again.

By the time this horrible exchange is over, Richard has disappeared. Strangely, the first person I see when I walk outside is Lucas again, standing alone beside the parking lot, as if he's waiting for someone to pick him up. Because no one's with him, it feels okay to talk to him. “Belinda's back. Have you seen her?” My voice sounds shaky.

He closes his eyes. It's the first time either one of us has said her name out loud. I don't know if this will feel like a big deal to him. In light of his other problems, maybe it won't. Then he surprises me: “Does she look okay?”

“No, she looks terrible,” I say. “Like she's lost a lot of weight.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“I tried to but she walked away.”

He blows out, like he needs a minute to process all this. “Ms. Sadiq said we can arrange to have a counseling session with Belinda if we want to.”

“She
did
? When?”

“I went to talk to her about it. I figured Belinda was going to come back sooner or later, and I wanted to know what to do.”

I'm genuinely surprised. This whole time I've assumed Lucas is putting in his time in our Boundaries and Relationships class because the disciplinary committee decreed it. “What else did she say?”

“We should give Belinda the opportunity to accept our apology, but if she doesn't want to talk, we shouldn't push the issue. She wasn't sure, though. She wanted to talk to her mother and grandmother first.”

Now I'm really stunned. He's given this possibility way more consideration than I have. He pulls out his phone and checks his messages. “Yep,” he says. “Here's a message from her. She says we can stop by her office anytime after sixth period if we want to.”

Because neither one of us has anywhere else to be, we walk back into the building and the main office. There's none of that joking around that we were doing two hours ago. In her office, Ms. Sadiq thanks us for coming in and thanks Lucas especially for asking for her help. “I'm very impressed that you came in of your own volition and asked me how to approach this issue. It's a much better
idea than going up to Belinda on your own and starting a conversation.”

I don't look at Lucas or at her. I wonder if she knows that I
did
go up to Belinda and try to start a conversation.

“So I've talked to her mother and her grandmother. They feel Belinda is still suffering from post-traumatic stress. She's been extremely withdrawn and very fearful and has, until now, refused to go to school. She also hasn't been able to be left alone. Her grandmother brought her to the grocery store once, where she had a panic attack when she saw a boy from school. She's on some medication now that's helping with anxiety, but for the time being, they want to take this as slowly as possible. She's not returning to her old classroom. She'll spend the bulk of her day in the nurse's office, where someone can keep an eye on her.”

Wait a minute. In the nurse's office?

I think about Belinda when I knew her from Children's Story Theater. She is three years older than me, which was a lot back then. I was in second grade when I started and didn't even realize she had special needs. Why would I? She played Red Riding Hood and I was one of twelve hunters who ran onstage at the end to cut open the wolf's stomach. She took charge of the prop table and before our big entrance, she stood backstage in her red cape, passing out knives. The next year she played a wizard who cast spells by clapping her hands, loudly, next to someone's face. This was her own invented bit of comedy. She had only two scenes, but everyone agreed, she stole the show.

My last year with the group, our big play was
Charlotte's
Web
, and when Belinda got cast as Fern, we wondered if she could handle the pressure. By then we'd figured out that she was different from the rest of us. She might have been able to memorize lines but she had a hard time reading them. She also talked too loudly on our rehearsal breaks, often to herself. When the other girls complained, the director was firm—Belinda was the hardest worker and the most qualified for the role. She'd earned it and it was hers. Then, in the first scene on opening night, we all got confused. The curtain went up and before she said any lines, she started crying. We assumed she was having some terrible meltdown. I imagined an adult going onstage to help her off. And then, in a moment I still remember perfectly, she wiped both sides of her face with the back of her hand and began reciting her lines. That's when we realized: she'd been acting the whole time and was more than good. She was the Meryl Streep of our group.

It's sad to remember all of this now and think about her rushing up and hugging me to welcome me to high school. The Belinda I remember was a social, happy person. She shouldn't be sitting in a nurse's office all day long. “What if someone helps her a little? Maybe if we go with her to class or something like that?”

“Her grandmother thinks it's best if she isn't pushed too hard.”

“But—” I want to suggest something else, and then I remember the way she looked at me just now and walked away. How can I suggest anything when I'm so clearly part of the problem?

“Belinda's mother and grandmother want to ease her back into this as gently as possible. She'll just come to school for a few hours a day at first. They feel it's best not to push her into any social situations. For instance, they don't want me to set up a meeting where you two might apologize to Belinda. They appreciate the offer, but for now they feel Belinda is not ready for any discussion about the incident at the football game.”

I can't get over this. “They don't want us to say
anything at all
? Even if we see her in the hallway?”

“Yes. That's what they say.”

“We should
ignore
her? And not even say we're sorry?”

“Not yet. They appreciate the offer but . . . not yet.”

I wonder if I should be honest and say, it's too late, I already
have
talked to her.

“Unfortunately, I have another meeting now, but we should keep in touch over the next couple weeks. We'll check in with each other and I'll let you know how she's doing.”

Outside her office, I walk with Lucas back out toward the parking lot.

I flash on another memory of Belinda, one Lucas might share. “Do you remember middle school chorus concerts?” I say. Chorus was a hugely popular class back then. Though we weren't all in class at the same time, about a hundred and fifty kids performed in the concerts. Lucas was probably there—all the popular kids took chorus so they could go on the field trip to Boston at the end of the year.

Lucas looks at me uncertainly. “Yeah?”

“Do you remember Belinda after those concerts?” It's a memory I can't get out of my head—how ecstatic she was; the way she hugged people and said, “I was great!” It made us all laugh and, for a few minutes at least, think about how much we liked her. Then we'd get caught up in who was going out for ice cream with whom. I wonder if it occurred to any of us—even once—to invite Belinda along. I'm guessing no.

“Yeah, I remember,” Lucas says. He's not looking at me, he's squinting at something in the distance, but I can tell by his face: he
does
remember.

F
ROM MY SPECIAL DESK
in the corner of the nurse's office, it's easy for me to look out into the main office and see that Anthony and Douglas are not doing a good job with mail delivery. Anthony can't read very well. He knows letters and usually guesses the word by the letter it starts with. In cooking class, any time he sees T in a recipe, he thinks it means tablespoon, even though it might be teaspoon and there's a big difference. He also thinks a half cup in a recipe means anything between one and two cups depending on your mood. We have made some terrible muffins because Anthony was in the mood to use two cups of butter instead of a half cup. That shouldn't have made me cry, I know, but it did the day it happened.

I cry too easily, I know. Especially at school which is where I should be working my hardest not to cry. Holding it together means doing yoga breathing and trying not cry even if you feel like it.

Another thing about Anthony is he likes to hug too
much. He hugs people so much the teachers at school have to make rules about hugging and put them up on the wall near Anthony's seat. They're supposed to be for everyone but mostly they're for Anthony:

        
RULES FOR HUGGING

        
—No hugs during lesson times.

        
—Always ask the other person first if you can hug them.

        
—No full-body hugs

        
—Only three-second hugs (count one, two, three)

There's a few of us who don't like hugs. I'm one of them. I used to like hugs until Emily Maxwell told me no, people don't like them, and they're not allowed. Now I don't like them because they mess up my clothes. Plus not to be mean but a lot of the time Anthony has food on his shirt and I don't want his breakfast touching my shirt.

I said, “No, thank you,” to Anthony's hugs for so long that they put up another list next to the RULES FOR HUGGING list. This one was for me I think.

        
WAYS TO BE FRIENDLY WITHOUT HUGGING

        
—Give a high five!

        
—Bump fists

        
—Smile and say, “I'm happy to see you, but no hugs, please.”

        
—Say, “Would you like to play a game with me instead?”

This year I got nicer. Before our fight, I didn't always say no when Anthony asked for hugs. Sometimes I said, “If you finish all your work, Anthony, then yes, I'll give you one hug.” The teachers liked this because it gave Anthony a motivator to work for. We all have motivators. I earn computer time where I'm allowed to visit Colin Firth websites and read about his life which I can't do at home because we don't have internet. From these sites I have learned that in real life Mr. Firth has three children and is married to a woman who designs green dresses for a living. I don't understand this or why she doesn't pick other colors, too. Anthony's motivators are almost always hugs. He doesn't care about anything else, including food, which is a surprise because that's what all the other boys work for. For Anthony—just hugs.

So this year I didn't mind hugging him too much.

Maybe that started the bigger problem, though. The problem where he started saying he loved me and wanted to marry me. At first I pretended I didn't hear him. Then I told him, “No, Anthony, don't be stupid. You don't love me.”

That got me in trouble for saying stupid. So I tried again. “I'm older than you, Anthony. Boys aren't allowed to love a girl who is older. It's against the law.”

It turns out that's not true. Cara, one of our teachers, said no, there's no law about that.

“There should be,” I said.

“I don't know, Belinda. I don't think I agree with you.”

“The girl should never be older than the boy! Never!”

She smiled. “Well, sometimes they are. My mom is five years older than my dad and they're very happily married.”

I don't like hearing teachers say things like “my mom” and “my dad” because it makes them sound like children, not like teachers, and that's not right. I hate that. It makes me feel flustered. I have to walk away and yoga breathe.

Another reason Anthony shouldn't love me is that Anthony is shorter than me and the boy should never be shorter than the girl. I told him that once and he grew out his curly, puffy hair on top. Now his hair is as tall as I am but I don't know if that counts. I don't know who to ask about that.

Anthony doesn't look handsome like anyone in movies or on TV but he has nice brown eyes that are a little droopy like a basset hound. He also wears braces. I think he'll talk better when he gets his braces off. When he first came to our classroom I could hardly understand anything he said. Now I understand most of what he says, unless he's talking with food in his mouth which he's not supposed to do anyway.

From my desk in the nurse's office, I watch Anthony sort the mail and it seems like he's doing everything wrong. It looks like he's reading the first letter of the last name and putting the mail in the first box he sees with the same letter. In our school there are four teachers whose last name starts with R; six start with S. It's hard for me to think about how many mistakes he's making. Probably ten mistakes. At least.

Douglas can read okay but he is very stubborn and very
lazy. Today he's so lazy he sits down in a chair with a bunch of envelopes in his hand. He flips through them, reading the outside like they're all addressed to him and he's deciding which one to open first. One thing I know for sure—they are NOT addressed to Douglas and he should NOT open them. “Douglas, stand up!” I whisper from the nurse's office, but he doesn't hear me. I tell myself if I see him open one of those envelopes that isn't addressed to him, I'll break the rules and walk out of the nurse's office to stop him.

So far I haven't seen him do that.

The only thing I've seen is both of them doing a terrible job. After they're done mixing up everyone's mail, they push the recycling cart like it's a game to see how many people and desks they can hit with it. “Sorry!” Anthony says every time but I see him smile, like he's earning points for every dent he leaves on a piece of furniture.

“BE CAREFUL!” I scream from my desk in the nurse's office. It's hard for me to watch, but I can't look away.

I guess Anthony didn't know I was here because he looks up and smiles like he's really surprised to see me. “BEMINDA!” he says. “You're back!”

It's like he's forgotten all about the fight we got in before the football game. I can't forget it, but I guess he can. He smiles his big dopey smile at me, then he comes over to stand in the doorway of the nurse's office. “I'm so glad you're back,” he says. “You look beautiful.”

If Anthony's not careful, Douglas will wander away and fall asleep on a sofa. “Yeah, hi, Anthony,” I say. “You
should probably get back to work.”

Typical Anthony, he doesn't listen. “Why were you gone so long?”

“Just never
mind
that, Anthony. You should do your work.”

“But we
missed
you. Cara said Beminda's sick.”

“Yeah, I'm not sick anymore.”

He looks confused. “Why are you in the nurse's office?”

“I'm here because I can't go back—” I almost say go back to the classroom with you and Douglas, but then I remember people have feelings, even Anthony and Douglas. I might hate them for doing my job but I don't want to hurt their feelings. “I'm trying something new,” I say softly, so no one hears. “I'm working here now.”

Anthony's eyes get big. “In the nurse office?” He pronounces nurse like “yerse.”

I don't tell him that I don't really have a job, just a table in the corner where someone has put paper and a box of colored markers like I'm in preschool. “Yes,” I say. “I'm a nurse's assistant.” Right away I know this is a mistake. Lying makes me blush. I feel my face go hot.

“What do you do?”

“Never mind that. You should go back and finish your job. If you don't keep after him, Douglas will wander away and fall asleep.”

Just thinking about this makes me mad, but Anthony laughs like I've made a good joke. “You're right! He will!”

“That Douglas doesn't
deserve
a job.” I sound mean, like Nan talking about one of the neighbors she hates.

“I wish you could do this job with me,” Anthony says. “That would be great!”

“Why would I do it with you when I used to do it all by myself?” I don't want to sound mean, so I say, “Nothing against you, Anthony. I'd be happy to do it if they asked me to.”

He smiles and claps his hands the way he does, bouncing up and down a little. “Let's ask! They might say yes if we ask!”

This is one of Anthony's big problems. He is nice to everyone and he thinks everyone will be nice back to him. He used to think that if he asked, we could make cupcakes every morning and eat them for lunch every afternoon. Every single morning he clapped his hands and bounced up and down and suggested making cupcakes. Every morning the teachers would say, “Not today, Anthony.”

“You go ahead and ask, Anthony. For now I should probably get back to my job here in the nurse's office.” I point to my table and hope he doesn't look at what's on there.

“Okay, Beminda! I'm happy you're back! I see you soon!”

“Yeah, okay, Anthony.”

He bounces closer to me and asks if he can have a hug. I nod okay because what else can I say? A few minutes ago, I was watching Anthony and Douglas mess up the mail job and I hated them. Now Anthony's hugging me and I'm patting him on the back so he doesn't start to cry or something like that.

“
I
S EVERYTHING OKAY
?”
I
ask Lucas.

I'm driving Lucas to class again and he's been quiet for most of the ride. When I picked him up he was standing on the sidewalk in front of his house with his father. He got in the car quickly, even though his father was still talking. After he was in, he rolled down the window. “I don't really have a
choice
, do I, Dad? I have to go.”

He rolled the window back up. “Just go. It's fine. I'll talk to him when I get back.”

For most of the drive, he's said nothing, though surprisingly it hasn't been too awkward. He turned up a song on one of my mix CDs, which made me feel good. It was one of my favorites, “Long Ride Home” by Patty Griffin, not something I would have expected him to know. I almost asked,
Do you like Patty Griffin?
and then I thought, Stop acting surprised every time he doesn't act like a football player.

“Is everything okay, Lucas?” I ask again.

“Yeah, sure. My dad thinks I shouldn't have to keep coming to this class, because of my leg. I'm supposed to be on restricted movement.”

“If you have a doctor's note, you probably
could
skip a class or two.”

“But why would I do that? It's not like we move around
a lot in class. I'm walking around school okay. I'd just be using it as an excuse. It would feel shitty.”

Earlier today, Chad texted me that he was going to miss class tonight. I wasn't sure why he was telling me since we haven't talked once since our lunch date, until he added,
Will you tell Mary
, making it clear: He didn't want to tell her himself.

“He's letting me go to a party this weekend so why shouldn't I do this?”

In these drives together, I've noticed that Lucas hardly ever talks about his friends. If he mentions anyone at school, it's usually his girlfriend, Debbie, and then he says something like, “My girlfriend hates these pants.” Or what he says now: “I don't even want to go to the party—my girlfriend says I have to.”

He sounds so unenthusiastic about the prospect that I laugh. “She
makes
you go to parties? I thought everyone loves parties.”

“Not really.” He snorts a laugh. “I'm not a big drinker, I guess.”

“Well, technically, if you drink anything, you are a big drinker because, look at you, Lucas. You're huge.”

He laughs again. I'm starting to think Lucas might have the same sense of humor as Richard and me. “I know why
I
hate parties.”

He peeks at me. “Why?”

“Because the only party I've ever been to I got nervous and drank so much I threw up on myself. After I got cleaned up, my friend Richard had to walk around the party telling everyone to be careful about the sink in
the bathroom, it sprays water all over people.” Halfway through this story, I'm not sure why I'm telling it to him. “I was so embarrassed to go to school the next week, and then I realized no one even remembered us being there.”

“Yeah, they're pretty much all like that. People only notice if you're
not
there.”

I don't know if I should correct him:
People notice if
you're
not there, Lucas. Me, not so much.
I doubt the line, “Wait, where's Emily Maxwell?” has ever been uttered in a party setting. I don't say this, though. Instead, I ask something I've always been curious about: “What do people even
talk
about at those parties?” Maybe I'm thinking about Chad and our terrible non-conversation. It hasn't ever felt like that with Lucas. I'm curious if his friends are different. “Does anyone ever admit they're gay or worried about the environment or something like that?”

“Not really. Mostly we watch TV and if someone gets up from the couch, someone else says, ‘Bring me a beer from the kitchen, would you?'”