A Step Toward Falling (28 page)

“Is it a secret?”

“Sort of. Yes, it's a secret.” Anthony looks like he might cry. I should have remembered he hates secrets. “It's not a
secret
secret. It's an unpleasant topic. I don't like talking about it so I don't want to do it in front of you.” I'm trying to whisper but my whisper voice isn't very good. I'm pretty sure Emily and Lucas can hear what we're saying.

Anthony looks up at me like all of the sudden he's thought of something. “Is it about what happened to you at the football game?”

I feel like an invisible hand just punched me in the stomach.
“No,”
I say.

Anthony isn't supposed to know anything about this. But he keeps going: “With that boy under the bleachers?”

For a long time I don't know what to say. I have no idea how Anthony knows about this or who could have told him. I think it must be Douglas and I want to kill Douglas or whoever else it was. I want to say,
No, it is not about that
because that never happened. Whoever told you that is a terrible liar and shouldn't be your friend.

But I can't say it because it isn't true.

Anthony knows what happened with Mitchell Breski. I thought it was my secret but it's not. I thought only Lucas and Emily knew and they hadn't said anything because they were being polite. Now I don't know what to think.

I wonder if everyone knows.

I can't help it, I start crying.

“Don't cry, Beminda,” Anthony says. He scoots his chair closer and puts his arm around me. “It wasn't your fault.”

“Yes it
was.
It was my fault because I thought I was like everyone else and could go to a football game but I'm not and I can't. That's why I can't do this play either. Because bad things happen when I think I'm like everyone else.”

I can't look up, but I hear Emily and Lucas scrape their chairs closer. “No,” Emily says. “Bad things happen when people don't help each other. That's what really happened, Belinda. Lucas and I were there and we didn't help you.”

Lucas has both hands over his face. He's shaking his head.

Emily keeps going: “Ms. Sadiq told us we could do this play with you but we weren't supposed to bring it up. She said your grandmother didn't want anyone talking to you about it.”

“That's because she doesn't like talking about sad things. Sometimes my mom gets too sad, so we make rules about it.”

“Do you want to talk about it now?”

Now I'm confused. I don't know what I want to talk about.

Lucas takes his hands down from his face and stops shaking his head. “It's okay, Belinda. You brought it up so I think we
should
talk about it.” His voice is low but it isn't scary. Sometimes low voices scare me, but his doesn't. “Emily and I have wanted to tell you how sorry we are. That's why we suggested doing this play. We wanted to do something you would like, so people could get to know you. So
we
could get to know you.”

Now I'm really confused. “You don't like
Pride and Prejudice
?”

“Yes, of course we do, but maybe we wouldn't have chosen it as a play. We wanted to do something you'd like.”

Anthony is rocking back and forth in his chair. I can tell Anthony wants to have this conversation be over. “They did it for you, Beminda! That's nice!”

It is nice but I still don't understand. “Why didn't you help me back then? That would have been easier than putting on a play.”

They're both quiet. Emily answers first. “Sometimes people get scared of things like speaking up, Belinda. I'm not sure why. I wish I could explain it better and I can't.”

I don't understand what she's saying.

Lucas says, “We were both having bad days and we were both thinking about ourselves. Sometimes that happens. I don't think either one of us realized what was really going on.”

I understand this better. I've had bad days, too. “Okay,” I say.

I don't know if this will help me sleep better or not, but I'm glad we talked about it. “Maybe we should just rehearse now,” I say.

Anthony claps and hugs me and even though I didn't want him to know any of this, now that I know he does, I'm happy it's over and I don't have to worry about him finding out.

T
HOUGH
I'
VE BEEN SITTING
across from him talking for about ten minutes, it's not clear how much Mr. Johnson, our principal, is hearing.

“We're asking for a policy change to ensure that all students with disabilities are allowed to participate in any after-school activities they want to.”

He shuffles through some papers on his desk that have nothing to do with what I'm saying because I haven't given him anything to read.

“The law states that students with disabilities must have equal access to the same education as their peers. After-school activities are part of that education. If they need help doing it, Richard and I and the Youth Action Coalition are willing to organize a peer helper program.”

I'm grateful to have Richard sitting next to me. Last night I showed him my research and told him what I wanted to say. He helped me shape my argument and
offered to do the talking, but I told him I knew the points I wanted to make and the examples I wanted to use. It's the first time I've ever taken the lead and done the talking. Since Mr. Johnson still hasn't said anything, I keep going: “We believe that if Belinda Montgomery had been allowed to participate in theater throughout her high school career, she wouldn't have been as vulnerable as she was at the football game.”

Saying her name gets Mr. Johnson to stop shuffling his papers and look up.

“I think she would have developed more skills interacting with the wider school population, which would have made her safer. She would have known not to follow the team under the bleachers; she wouldn't have tried to talk to them in the middle of a game.”

This is a speculative argument, Richard pointed out last night, but it's also a pretty reasonable one. I can see Mr. Johnson is listening now.

“These aren't students who need
protection
from the real world, they need
experience
in it. Clubs and activities will offer them a chance to get that experience. When Belinda went to that football game, it was the first nighttime school activity she'd ever been to. She was overwhelmed and unsafe because she had no practice being in a situation like that and protecting herself. She needs that exposure. They all do. Let's give them the chance.”

I look over at Richard and can tell by his expression that I'm doing okay. Maybe even better than okay.

Finally Mr. Johnson says, “I have to admit I haven't
thought about the issue quite this way. You know we all love Belinda and the other kids in her classroom. We want to do the right thing for them but we also have a responsibility to protect them. The more you put them out in the general school population, the more chance there is that they'll get bullied or hurt. That's what I have to consider. Do you want me to be taking that kind of risk?”

“If you're worried about their safety and you don't think peer helpers can ensure that, you could always hire more staff to stay after school.” Richard has a way of saying things nicely, even when it's clear what he really means:
Just do it, buddy. Part with the money and pay staff to stay.

“I'd like to, of course.” Now Mr. Johnson seems nervous. He starts the paper-shuffling again. “The problem is, I hear a lot of good ideas. I have people from every after-school activity coming to me every week, telling me what I should pay for with a very small allocation of funds I have. I have to say no to a lot of people with a lot of good ideas.”

“The thing is, sir—” I lean forward as I speak to make my point perfectly clear. “This isn't just a good idea. It's actually the law.”

By lunchtime, four periods later, I'm still soaring from our success. Mr. Johnson agreed with the bulk of our request and we've already scheduled another meeting to make sure there's follow-through: a policy change written into the handbook, communication with teachers so everyone knows. “We'd like to make sure this is an enforceable change,” Richard said at the end. I loved that he said “we.”
That because he's my friend, this has become his issue, too.

When I get to our lunch table, Richard is already there, telling everyone the story about our meeting with Mr. Johnson, which is nice to hear, but it makes me think there's something else I haven't done. I keep thinking about the way Belinda finally brought up the football game at our last rehearsal. She might have thought she didn't want Anthony to know about what happened, but the relief on her face when she realized he did made it clear: love isn't about looking perfect to the other person. It's about being able to show your imperfections. Belinda was brave in a way that prompted me to set up this meeting with Mr. Johnson, but it also reminded me: I've never been honest with my friends about my failure at the football game. I've also never told them about Lucas.

I've told myself it's because I like Lucas so much I don't want to jinx it. We're not an obvious couple to anyone who knows me well. I'm worried they'll make jokes and I won't be able to laugh. I'll stammer my explanations, which will involve telling them who I really I am and what really happened at the game.

Belinda didn't want to do it and I don't either.

And then I watched her afterward and the way Anthony hugged her around the neck and kissed the top of her head and patted her shoulders. They didn't look like two children playing at being “in love.” They looked like two people who'd taken a big step toward knowing each other better. That's what I want from my friends, but who knows if I'll get it. I imagine all the things they might say
if I tell them Lucas and I might start dating soon: Candace rolling her eyes and asking, “Does his girlfriend know?” Barry and Weilin screwing up their faces in worry: “Is this a phase like your flag-team days?” Richard shaking his head: “I just don't see it, Em. I'm sorry but I don't.”

I wish I could explain it to them in a way that doesn't sound defensive. Instead I sit down at our lunch table and start the conversation with this: “I want you all to come see this show we're doing tomorrow night. It will be the strangest, least coherent rendition of
Pride and Prejudice
you've ever seen and I still want you to come.”

Everyone stares at me.

“Do you mean tomorrow like the same night
Walking Dead
is on?” Candace says. She's serious. She never misses an episode. She's even written papers in AP English analyzing the complexity of the zombie apocalypse, which she always gets As on.

“Yes, Candace. It directly conflicts but I still want you to come. It'll be worth it. Actually, I can't absolutely guarantee it'll be worth it, but I think it will.”

Weilin sets down her fork. “But you're doing it at the center for disabled people, right?” I nod. “So why would you want us there?”

I know what she's trying not to say:
Won't it be a little embarrassing?

The answer is, yes, it might be. The other answer is, “I want people at our school to see Belinda the way Lucas and I have started to see her. She's different, but she's also brave in ways that I wish I was. That I wish all of us were.
Including Hugh.” I add this at the end because Richard hasn't said anything so far.

Now he looks up.
“Lucas and I?”
Richard says. “That's kind of interesting.”

“He's a nice person, Richard. I'm sorry about the mean things I said before about him. He didn't deserve it. I wasn't—” I hesitate because now I've got everyone's attention. “I wasn't completely honest about what happened at that football game. Lucas and I were equally to blame for not helping Belinda.”

Though I'm not looking at anyone and can't see their response, it feels good to say this. Almost instantly, I feel my chest lighten up.

And then Candace slaps her hand on the table. “
Hello?
Except that he weighs a hundred pounds more than you and should have taken that guy
out.
”

Weilin leans toward me. “Candace is right, Em. You shouldn't take blame for something just because he turned out to be an okay guy.”

I shake my head and close my eyes. “That's not what happened. I was there first. I should have called someone right away and I didn't. I panicked and I froze. I can't explain it any better. Lucas came out after I ran away. He assumed I was running to get help.”

I open my eyes. Everyone is staring at me.

“That's kind of a different story than you told us,” Richard says.

“I know. That's why I'm telling you the truth now. You guys are my best friends and I lied about what
happened because I couldn't admit it to you. I failed. I freaked out.”

For a long time, no one says anything.

Finally Weilin says, “I wish I could come, Emily. If you'd told us earlier, maybe we could have arranged it, but Barry and I have a rehearsal tomorrow night.”

“That's right,” Barry says.

I turn to Candace. “All right, I'm not just saying this because it's
Walking Dead
tomorrow night—I seriously can't. I have a lab due that I'm way behind on.”

I steel myself and turn to Richard—my oldest, truest friend. The only boy I've ever said I love you to. He'll look at me and understand what I'm saying, I think. He'll see how important this is to me.

But he doesn't. “You should have told us earlier, Em. I have plans with Hugh.”

I gather all my courage and plead, “You could bring him along.”

Why do I care so much? Why do I feel like I'm going to cry if my friends won't do this for me?

“Yeah, I don't think so,” Richard says. “We're having a hard enough time communicating these days. I don't want to ask him for a favor on top of it.”

I know I shouldn't feel as hurt as I do. I shouldn't have made this a test, because we're already too stressed about tests in every other area of our lives.

Still, I can't help feeling, if this
had
been a test, they all failed.

I
T
'
S FUNNY, EVER SINCE
my talk about what happened at the football game, I'm not so nervous about the play anymore. I'm more nervous about what will happen afterward. I told Anthony I'll be his girlfriend after the play is over, which means tonight I'll have to start being his girlfriend. I don't know exactly how we do this, but I'm pretty sure he'll say we have to kiss.

One thing I'm glad about: Mitchell Breski never kissed me. Or he kissed my neck which doesn't count, so I don't have to remember that when I kiss Anthony. Also, Anthony won't smell bad and not know my name.

It won't be the same but I'm still nervous because I don't know how to kiss.

I've seen people do it in
Pride and Prejudice
and other movies, but watching it isn't the same thing as doing it. There might be rules everyone knows but I don't. Like what do you do with your hands when you kiss? And do you keep breathing or do you hold your breath the whole time? I think you hold your breath, but I'm not sure.

I can't ask Anthony because I don't want him to know I'm nervous about all this. I want him to think I'll still be a good girlfriend for him even though I don't know. If I can do this, I don't think I'll worry about Mitchell Breski and Ron and those other boys so much because I'll have other things to keep me busy like being Anthony's girlfriend which will take up a lot of time.

In the afternoon before the show, while I'm at home putting on my costume, I start to get more nervous. Mom comes into my room and reminds me that they aren't going to come see the play because Nan gets out of breath if she takes more than ten steps. Mom is going to drive me there and pick me up afterward. She isn't going to stay because she's worried about leaving Nan home alone for that much time. They will watch it on cable, she says, which means it has to be on TV. I don't have a choice, even if it scares me.

The whole car ride there I don't say anything. I'm glad for my bonnet because my face is sweating and I don't want Mom to see. I don't know if I'm more nervous about the play or about kissing Anthony. I think it's both.

“Are you going to be okay?” Mom says when we get there.

The Lifelong Learning Center looks big and brightly lit inside. There are glass doors with a sign that spells out WELCOME so big even I can read it from the parking lot.

We are here an hour early but I can see through the glass windows that there are people in the lobby. Some of them look dressed up like maybe they're going to be in another play I haven't heard about. Then I remember the ballroom dance class.

When Emily told us about the ballroom dance class coming to our show, the first thing I thought was,
I wonder if I can take that class.
Ballroom dance school used to be called cotillion which I know because that's where Nan met my grandfather. He didn't like dance classes, but he liked her so he kept going. The rule was the boys had to
bow every time they asked a girl to dance. “I loved it!” Nan said when she told me about it. “After a while I was the only girl he asked and he bowed every single time!”

Mom always says she's sorry I didn't know her dad because he was a nice man. I would have loved him and he would have loved me. Nan says they waltz danced once a year on their anniversary every year they were married. She says she never looked for another man after he died because there was only one man for her and she'd already married him. That was that.

I think if I ever waltz dance with someone I will feel that way. That will be that.

The problem is I'm scared to go inside now because I am wearing my costume which makes me look like Elizabeth Bennett, but also makes me look silly if I am standing in a lobby full of people who don't know I'm wearing a costume. Suddenly I get so nervous I want to hide like I felt when I had Coke on my skirt and popcorn in my hair. It's the same feeling.