A Step Toward Falling (4 page)

“Maybe I
should
be suspended,” I said when he brought it up for the second time.

“Emily, please. I don't see why the school should create more victims from this one dreadful incident. This is your whole future here.”

“But what about
Belinda's
future? Why should mine matter more than hers?”

“Belinda will have a different kind of future than you.”

“What's
that
supposed to mean?”

“She'll have supports in place. She'll be taken care of. It's different for you. You'll be independent. You'll need a college education to get a job.”

“What if that's what she wants too?” I knew Belinda well enough to know this wasn't very likely—she spent most of her school day in the Life Skills room with a dozen other students with disabilities. I had no idea what Belinda wanted, I was only making the argument because I didn't
like the way my parents had spent three days thinking only about me and my defense. I was guilty too. I
should
be punished.

Then we got to the office and I saw in the way Lucas looked at me and then looked away. He thought the same thing—that if anyone was guilty,
I
was. Certainly not him. Not a football player with the responsibility of being part of an undefeated team. Not a guy who had a job that night. He said all this without any words. He said it in the way his arms were folded across his chest. In the way his feet were stuck out and crossed. Like if we weren't called in soon, he might use this time to take a nap. That he had no parent with him only underscored his point: he'd done nothing wrong and had nothing to worry about.

Only someone worried about her own guilt would come to a DC meeting costumed in her mother's clothes, hauling her parents along with her. (It hadn't occurred to my parents not to come. With so much on the line? Did his not feel the same? Did he somehow reassure them,
No need to worry, I didn't do anything wrong. It was the girl's fault.
)

He didn't say anything when I said hello. He wouldn't even look at me.

It made me mad. Here I'd been lying awake every night for a week, measuring the magnitude of what had happened, composing ways to express my sense of responsibility and remorse to the committee, and here was this guy—dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, looking more resentful than anything else.

Thankfully we were interviewed separately by the
committee. I went first and made one point clearly: Lucas and I were equally responsible for failing to act on Belinda's behalf. We saw the same thing; we both failed to act. I didn't want him to be treated differently because he was on the football team. We might have had different reasons, but our crime was the same. We panicked and failed to help. I told them it's something I'll have to live with forever and I don't know if I'll ever understand why my instincts failed to do what my brain knew was right. I shook my head and told them I'd be haunted by it forever.

My mother nodded the whole time I spoke, then squeezed my hand as if to say,
That's wonderful, sweetheart, but no need to go overboard. Make your point and move on.

What
was
my point?

“I
am
guilty,” I said to the committee. “But so is Lucas Kessler. We should get punished equally.”

Beside me, my father leaned forward. “What she means here isn't an admission of guilt, it's a
feeling
she has. I hardly think when a minor witnesses a violent crime, they should be held liable for actions that took place under duress.”

“Dad—” I stopped him. “It's better for me if I take responsibility for this. But Lucas should, too. That's all I'm saying.”

My heart quickened a bit at my own insistence. I hardly knew Lucas at all. What if he found out what I'd just told the committee? Ms. Sadiq, the guidance counselor, said, “I'll reassure all three of you that we've given this a great deal of thought and it helps Emily's case to hear her speak about taking responsibility.”

Lucas and I didn't learn our punishment until the end of the day, when we were both asked to return to the guidance counselor's office after school. By then I had changed out of what Richard called my 1980s librarian look. The wool skirt was balled up in the bottom of my backpack along with the sweater. I wore my usual school attire: long-sleeve T-shirt and a denim skirt.

This time around, Lucas looked more nervous. He sat alone, chewing a thumbnail. He stared at me for a long time. “What, did you
change
?” he finally said.

I felt stupid at first and then mad all over again. “It's not that weird to dress up for a meeting with the disciplinary committee. Most people do.”

“So shouldn't you still be dressed up now? Isn't changing like admitting, I'm not really Ms.
Skirt
?”

What a jerk,
I thought. “I don't think it matters now. They've decided our punishment.” I sounded snappy and the words came out wrong. Like my outfit
had
been just for show and now the show was over.

He shook his head as the door opened behind him. Ms. Sadiq leaned out. “Emily and Lucas, why don't you come in together this time?”

As we got to the door, Lucas stepped back to make a
ladies first
gesture with his hand.
And he's accusing me of putting on a show for the committee,
I thought. Then I wondered why I'd spent so much time insisting that we were both equally guilty, which might set us up to get the same punishment. What if we got after-school detentions in the same empty classroom?

Ms. Sadiq started by saying that the committee was impressed by the sense of remorse both of us showed. “Their feeling is that you are both good, trustworthy kids who demonstrated a momentary but unfortunate lack of judgment. In ordinary circumstances, that wouldn't necessitate a punishment on our part, but as you both know, this was not, in any way, a normal circumstance. A young woman was brutally attacked on school grounds. A uniquely vulnerable young woman whose life—if she recovers—will never be the same.”

We didn't dare look at each other.
If she recovers?
I knew Belinda hadn't come to school this week, but did that mean she was in the hospital? No one had told us this. She might not
survive
?
I felt the contents of my stomach crawl into my throat. I couldn't speak for fear I might throw up in my lap. Instead I concentrated on swallowing.

“She might
die
?” Lucas said.

I turned and looked at him. This close, his face looked ashy and terrible. He'd shaved badly so there were patches of hair and a zit was blooming on the side of his nose. I wondered if maybe this had affected him more than I realized.

“No, Lucas, but she's been badly traumatized. Her grandmother says she's hardly spoken since it happened. She's also not eating much.”

I kept swallowing. I breathed through my nose and concentrated on not throwing up.

“Since you had such trouble helping someone as vulnerable as Belinda, we've decided that your punishment
should include some education in working with people like her. We're going to ask that both of you put in forty hours of community service at the Lifelong Learning Center, which runs classes for young adults with disabilities. I've contacted the program director there. I've told her you would both be in touch.”

I nodded, relieved there was no suspension. Maybe this wouldn't go on my transcript. But then I thought about Belinda and felt terrible. Her transcript wouldn't show it either and she'd be living with it for the rest of her life.

“What about—” Lucas leaned forward. He looked as if he didn't want to ask this in front of me. “My place on the team?”

“Yes.” Ms. Sadiq nodded. “We've met with Coach Anderson. You may continue practicing with the team on a regular schedule, but you'll be benched for the next three games.”

I looked at Lucas. His eyes closed as he took this in. Three games was a lot for a senior, even I knew this. These were the games college recruiters were coming to see. Lucas wasn't one of the star players that everyone talked about and I didn't know if he had a shot at a scholarship, but if he did, he was probably out of contention now.

I wondered if he was fighting an urge to argue with her. Impossible to tell. Finally he opened his eyes. “Okay,” he said. “That's fine.”

I almost felt sorry for him. I
did
feel sorry for him. I thought:
I still have college applications this won't show up on. For him, it's different
.

After we walked out of her office, we stood for a minute in the waiting room outside, gathering up our jackets and backpacks. “I'm sorry,” I finally said. “About the game suspension.” I wanted to say more—that it wasn't really fair, he was getting punished more than me when he hadn't done anything worse than I had. I had wanted to make sure he didn't get special treatment because he was on the team, but I hadn't meant for this to happen. “I wish—”

He didn't let me finish. “You want to know what it is?” he said, stepping around me to get to the door. “It's really fucking unfair.”

The next day I saw him in the cafeteria, eating with the rest of the team, including two of the biggest stars, Wayne Cartwright and Ron Moody. Wayne was the quarterback but Ron Moody was the division leader in pass rushing. A lot of people said he was the reason our team was undefeated, not Wayne, who was so cute everyone called him the next Tom Brady. Ron had red hair and wasn't as good-looking, so people didn't talk about him as much.

I watched Lucas for a while to see if he was talking about his game suspension. If anyone spoke to him, he smiled and nodded. Twice, he laughed hard. No one seemed to treat him differently, like someone who'd been suspended from three games. Maybe he hadn't said anything. It was hard to tell. Presumably, they were all one another's best friends. At least that's the impression the rest of us had. They took the same classes; they sat on the hoods
of one another's cars; they wore the same letter jackets and sneakers. What else could they be besides best friends? But it was strange watching Lucas sitting among them, nodding and laughing.

I wondered if he'd told them anything at all.

N
AN
'
S HOUSE HAS THREE
bedrooms which is perfect, one for each of us. It also has a room off Nan's bedroom that's supposed to be for babies but we don't have any babies, so now it has her sewing supplies and leftover bags of yarn and things from craft projects we've started and haven't finished.

We love doing craft projects. We used to go to Michaels Arts and Crafts all the time to buy supplies like plastic fruit or Styrofoam balls. If Nan had all the money in the world, she'd change her decorations with every season. But she doesn't, so we don't. Plus, a lot of things we make don't turn out the way we wanted, so we put them away in Nan's sewing room and don't think about them too much.

In our house, Mom and I have the upstairs bedrooms and Nan's is downstairs because even though she says she's fit as a fiddle, she doesn't love stairs all that much.

Nan's days are always pretty much the same. In the
morning she watches the Weather Channel and the news and she screams at the people who tell her things she doesn't want to hear, like snow likely or two to three inches of rain overnight.

“Oh, be quiet,” she'll say. “Enough rain already.”

Every Tuesday Nan goes to her meeting with the women's club where I think they're supposed to talk about doing volunteer work for hospitals but mostly they talk about how expensive groceries are getting. Sometimes they also talk about the price of gas.

The other place she goes every week is the hairdresser. She says nobody gets a set and a comb-out anymore, but she does because otherwise she doesn't feel right and she might as well wear a hat around all the time. Nan doesn't look good in hats so she goes to the beauty parlor every Thursday for a set and a comb-out.

With Mom every day is different. Some days she's awake in the morning before I go to school. She asks me what I want for lunch, even though I always eat the same thing, which is spaghetti noodles, butter, and Parmesan cheese. I used to think this was a healthy lunch because I used to think spaghetti was a vegetable but it turns out it's not. That's okay, though, I still eat it every day because I'm used to it now. On good days, Mom gets dressed and goes for a long walk before she starts her job at home which is data entry. I don't know what this means exactly but she does it on her computer in the corner of the living room. Sometimes she has a lot of work and sometimes she doesn't have any. She takes walks in the morning because that way
she can be outside but won't run into anyone she knows from her past. Mom doesn't like having to talk to people she hasn't seen in a long time. She thinks everyone acts phony and pretends to be more successful than they are. Or else everyone wants to tell her they're married now with lots of perfect kids. “Everyone's got a ten-year-old playing soccer these days,” she says.

Mom doesn't have a ten-year-old playing soccer. Mom did things out of order and had me when she was still in high school so even though her friends have ten-year-olds, she has me and I'm twenty-one. “That's fine with me, Bee. You're not the problem, they are,” she says.

That makes me feel better. Sometimes I wish my mom wasn't so shy and scared about seeing people she used to know in high school. I think maybe there
were
mean people, but maybe there were also nice people, too. She doesn't talk to anyone except for Nan and me and the people on the phone who send her data entry work every week.

Some people feel sorry for us because we are three women in a house without any man. A boy in my class once told me it's not a family if there's no dad. I told him it is too a family. It's not our fault my grandfather died of a heart attack when my mom was seventeen.

Nan says we are better than a regular family because we're happy to be together. “Every single day I wake up, Belinda, I'm happy to have you here with me, helping out with your mom. I don't know what I would have done without you.”

She still says this even though Mom is much better now
than she used to be. It used to be she didn't get dressed a lot of days. Now she comes out of her room most mornings dressed like she's ready to go. She still doesn't go anywhere mostly, but the important part is, she
could
.

Nan still gets nervous. She says things like, “Maybe your mom is better but we need to be careful. Upbeat but careful.” Upbeat means thinking about happy things and not crying about little things like buying a carton of eggs and finding one broken when you get home. That happened one time to Mom and she couldn't even eat the dinner she got so sad. So Nan and I ate the dinner and said, “These eggs sure taste good and it doesn't matter that one of them broke.”

Upbeat means not talking about what happened at the football game.

I'm not supposed to ever talk about that. Nan says I shouldn't think about it either. “What's done is done, sweetheart. The important thing is you're home now and you're safe. You never have to go back to that school or see those people again as far as I'm concerned.”

Nan used to say that school has done a great job because even though I can't see very well, I can read and alphabetize and type twenty-three words a minute which is better than anyone else in my class. In our classroom, I'm considered one of the smartest and definitely the best typist. No one else comes close to me in typing.

I used to love my teachers at school like Cynthia and Clover and Rhonda who is my speech therapist even though I talk fine and everyone can understand what I
say. A lot of other kids in my class need help with pronunciation. She makes them blow feathers across the table so their mouths will get stronger and work better. Supposedly that will help them talk better, but I'm not sure it works. It seems like they're all better at blowing things, but they talk the same as they always did.

With me, Rhonda says we can just talk which is what we mostly do. She says we're working on social skills which is what you need to have when you're talking to people who don't know you very well. You have to know things like: don't spend the whole time talking about yourself. I used to have a little problem with this because silence makes me nervous and I fill it with whatever is in my head which is sometimes lines from movies other people haven't seen. Rhonda explained that if someone hasn't seen the movie, they won't understand what I'm saying. She had a different suggestion: “Try asking the other person a question about their life.”

It turns out people are mostly happy to fill nervous silences with answers to questions. Sometimes they even look relieved and they make a long list of their favorite foods or TV shows or whatever question they're answering.

Even though Rhonda was a big help on some things, she wasn't that much help on Ron. She kept saying I should be careful. I thought she was being sisterly the way Lizzy was with Jane in
Pride and Prejudice
. Like I should be careful with my heart which is what people tell someone before they fall in love.

I haven't talked to Rhonda since the football game
or told her what happened. “Oh, they know,” Nan says. “Believe me, they know.”

Rhonda sent me a letter that said, “I hope I see you soon.”

Cynthia baked cupcakes with some of the students and sent those.

Actually, she brought them, but I was in my room. Mom came up and asked if I wanted to come down and say hi and I shook my head no. I wasn't sure what to say and I didn't want to have a nervous silence so I stayed in my room.

O
UR SECOND WEEK OF
Boundaries and Relationships, there's a new volunteer in class. He's wearing shorts and flip-flops and a macrame necklace with a little wooden bead. He looks like Ryan Harding, a skater I had a crush on in middle school because he was both very smart and very laid-back. He got all As in our honors classes even though he never seemed to carry a backpack or any books, for that matter.

This guy has the same flop of curly brown hair and the same blue eyes as Ryan. It's an almost eerie similarity except for this big difference: in the two years I had a crush on Ryan, he never spoke to me once. When I walk past this guy's chair, he looks up and smiles. “Hi. You must be one
of the new volunteers. I'm Chad.”

Class hasn't started yet, so theoretically there's no need to whisper, but we do anyway. “I'm Emily,” I say and hold out my hand, taking the chair next to him. Usually I don't do things like this. It's weird—with this group, I feel more confident than I do at school.

“How'd your first day go?” he says, turning to face me.

“Great!” I say, hoping no one sitting around us overhears this and contradicts me.

He leans closer and whispers. “I was really nervous the first day I volunteered, and then you get to know these guys and they really grow on you. I don't even
have
to volunteer anymore and I signed up anyway. I knew I'd miss it if I didn't.”

I can't mask my surprise. “You
had
to volunteer?” It's hard to imagine admitting this so easily:
I'm here as a punishment for something terrible I did.
It's hard to imagine admitting this at all.

“For a leadership class in high school. Community service credit. Everyone had to.”

Oh, right. “Where do you go to high school?”

“Did. Garvey High. I graduated last year. Now I'm at Fairfield Community.”

“All right, let's get started, everyone!” Mary says, dragging a chair over so we're in a circle. “You all remember Chad,” Mary says. “He volunteered with us last spring. He hasn't been here yet this fall because he's getting settled into his new college classes but he called me this week and asked if he could come back because he
missed volunteering with you.”

“Thas
nice
,” Francine says loudly.

“It
is
nice,” Mary says. “We're happy to have you back, Chad.”

Just then the door opens and Lucas comes in. “Sorry I'm late,” he mumbles as he sits down in the only empty seat left.

“We start class on time,” Mary says, sounding surprisingly curt. “If you're more than ten minutes late, you shouldn't bother coming, Lucas. We'll just add a session at the end for whatever you miss.”

I wonder if everyone understands what she means by
we'll add a session at the end.
That we might be called volunteers, but we aren't here voluntarily? Surely Chad hasn't missed it, but maybe he assumes we're here like he was, for class credit, nothing more.

Thankfully Mary moves quickly on to the activity, a game called “Relationship
Jeopardy!
,” which apparently is played like the TV show. She pulls out a whiteboard with categories on it: Good Communication; Okay/Not Okay Touching; Hygiene; Classy/Not Classy.

Simon, who has thick glasses that make his eyes look bigger than they are, goes first. “Okay/Not Okay Touching for one hundred points, please,” he says. He has his hands folded on the table in front of him, like a contestant on the show. Mary reads the question. “If a waitress is nice and brings you extra barbecue sauce, it's okay to touch her butt as you thank her. True or false.”

Simon thinks for a while. Finally, he shakes his head.
“No, no. That's not right.”

“You have to say true or false, Simon.”

“Touch her butt? No. I don't think so.”

“Do you want to say false?”

“Definitely false.”

“That's correct!”

Francine is up next. Technically we're not supposed to know what our classmates' disabilities are because we should get to know them as people, not disabilities, Mary told us in our training session. With Francine, though, it's pretty obvious she has Down syndrome. Her face is round, her eyes narrow. She takes “good communication” for 400 points. Apparently, to win more points, she has to role-play a scene. “We'll need two volunteers to help Francine with this one,” Mary says, reading her slip of paper. “How about Emily and . . .” She takes a moment to decide between Lucas and Chad. “Okay, Lucas, how about you?”

My hands start to sweat as we walk up to the front of the room. It's been years since I've stood in front of an audience and even longer since I've tried to improvise a scene. I can't help but think about Chad watching.

“Here's the scenario,” Mary says. “Emily and Lucas are your parents and they have said you're not allowed to date, Francine. You've met a young man at work who seems nice and has asked you out. How do you get your parents to change their minds?”

Francine nods and closes her eyes as if she's a real actress, taking a moment to get into character. Lucas and I wait, not looking at each other. “Are you ready?” Mary
says. Francine nods. “Okay. And—scene!”

Francine starts the scene by dropping to her knees. “PLEEEEEEEASE,” she pleads. It's very funny and everyone laughs. Then she says something else that's impossible to understand.

I look at Lucas, who obviously isn't going to be much help. “We're sorry, honey,” I say. “But your dad and I have to make rules.”

“O-hay,” Francine says. It's like her tongue is too big for her mouth. She says something else I don't get.

“Can you repeat that? We didn't understand,” Lucas says. At the last minute, he adds, “Honey?” which gets a laugh from the group.

It sounds like she's saying something about Winnie the Pooh but that can't be right. Lucas looks at Mary for help. I have to admit, I'm stuck, too.

Mary says, “Francine is wondering when the rules will change, Dad? She's twenty-two years old now.”

Lucas looks at me, stumped. Dimly I remember a rule I learned from my old acting class days: every scene builds on conflict. One character wants something, the other says no. “The answer is no, Francine,” I say. “Your father and I agree on this.”