Breaking Walls (18 page)

“Not possible,” she said, throwing back an equally fake smile. “I’ve been so busy winning the competition that I haven’t had a moment to spare.”

I looked back to Fletcher, and his eyes widened with curiosity. I waved my hand as if to say
I’ll tell you later
, but I no intention of doing so at all.

We continued to wait in silence, all of us still wondering what in the world could’ve made Lashell and Mr. Davies keep us waiting for so long. Neither of them had ever been late for any of our meetings, let alone after they made a point to stress the
mandatory
issue of the matter.

“I say we wait five more minutes and
, if no one shows, we just leave,” senior Katie Merlot said. “This is ridiculous.
What is taking them so long
?”

“We just need to be patient, guys,” Carla said. “Maybe that’s all this is: a test of our patience. I’m not going anywhere until we’re specifically told we can leave.”

“Me neither.”

“Same,” I said, echoing Fletcher. “They’ll show up. They wouldn’t leave us waiting for nothing.”

“No one asked for your opinion, Parker,” Carla mumbled under her breath, and yet half the group turned to look at her as they’d heard her clear as day.

The doors snapped open.

“So sorry to keep you waiting,” Lashell said, pushing through the set of doors that connected the gym to the school’s main hallway. She was soon followed by Gabe and Mr. Davies—none of the three looking the slightest bit pleased.

“I’m sure you’re all wondering what you’re doing here,” Mr. Davies said as the three team leaders stopped just a few feet away from where most of us sat in the first row. “We’ll make this as fast as we can, and we promise not to keep you long.”

“Yes, we debated on whether or not to call the meeting on such short notice,” Lashell said. “But we feared that if we didn’t get this out of the way now, then there was a good chance that we could run out of time.”

“
Not—to—mention
,” Gabe said, his voice commanding the room, “I’m not going to let another second go by before we address this problem.”  His eyes swept over the group, a seething anger etched in his stare. Oh, he was
not
happy.

“Problem?”
I asked, looking between the three leaders. My gaze stopped on Gabe, and for a moment, he watched me. And in that look, just for a second, I saw it happen; the anger receded. For that one, small moment, anger turned to remorse. And then his eyes shifted to the floor. “What happened? What’s going on?”

“The program
comes to an end in only two short weeks,” Lashell said, her maternal instincts kicking in as her hand fell gently on Gabe’s back. He shook it off immediately, and I couldn’t help but smirk. His reaction reminded me of the way Bailey and I squirmed when Dad used to drop us off at school: a kiss every morning until we reached the eighth grade, right in front of our friends. It was so humiliating. Still, the same way Dad ignored our pleas to stop, Lashell ignored Gabe’s evident hint to cease the public display of affection. This time, she wrapped her arm around his waist. “The eighteenth is just around the corner, and our final day will end with Mandy’s fundraiser.”

“
Actually,” Carla raised her hand, “Mandy gave up the dance. She passed it over to me two weeks ago, so I’ve been doing all of the heavy lifting.”

“So nice of you to point out,” Gabe said stoically. He glared at her before turning back to the rest of us.

“We’ve talked about how we want to approach this. There are too many avenues to consider,” Lashell continued, “so it’s best to just jump in and say what needs to be said. No sugar-coating necessary.”

“It should come as no surprise to any of you that Sugar Creek has a zero
tolerance policy against bullying,” Mr. Davies interrupted. “Apparently there are some students in this school who need a refresher course. Big time.”

“It’s the foundation’s mission to positively impact every community we are a part of,” Lashell said. “And that doesn’t mean we’re limited to what we can achieve environmentally or financially. We’re here to make a difference however we can, so we don’t feel that we’re overstepping our mission as a foundation by calling this meeting today.”

“It’s been brought to our attention that there’s been some serious bullying happening right here amongst the eleven of you,” Mr. Davies added. “We won’t stand for that.”

I caught a few heads turn to Carla from the corner of my eye, but I kept staring straightforward.

I didn’t know what Gabe, Lashell, or Mr. Davies knew, but I was certain that whatever it was had something to do with her. After the way she’d treated me over the last two weeks, I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that she’d been pushing everyone else around, too. Maybe someone else didn’t appreciate the taunting. Maybe someone else actually had the nerve to speak up. Maybe someone else wasn’t as much a coward as me . . .

“This project may mean something different to each one of you,” Lashell said. “But in the end, there’s one thing you must all remember: this is about collaboration and teamwork. It’s about supporting one another, about building each other up—”

“Not
tearing them down,” Gabe stepped in to add. Lashell tried to speak up again, but Gabe didn’t give her even a slight chance to interrupt. “Every single one of you has played an intricate part of this district’s success over the last month. You’re right where you need to be to pull this out, but make no mistake when I tell you that I will have
no
problem pulling the plug on Sugar Creek if the attitudes in this room don’t change.”

“Well,” Lashell said, easing back in
, “I think what Gabe means is that—”

“I mean
t what I said,” he said louder, shooting a look to her. He slowly turned his gaze back to us. “If you can’t come together and work as a team—every single one of you—then you’re done. Understood?”

The room grew silent, and both Mr. Davies and Lashell looked as surprised as the rest of us. Obviously Gabe’s decision wasn’t something they’d discussed and agreed on in the privacy of the classroom before coming in to speak to us. I sensed that they might’ve agreed on sitting us down, talking to us, encouraging better behavior, but Gabe’s decision to cut the district from the program shocked the other two adults as much as it shocked the eleven students.

“I’m not the least bit thrilled that I had to drive all the way down here today to tell you to act civilized to one another,” he continued, and there wasn’t an eye in the room that wasn’t staring straight at him. “You want to be part of this group? You want to prove you care about something? Great. Start caring about each other, because at this point, if you don’t, you’re done. Okay?”

When no one said anything or moved even a muscle, Mr. Davies turned to look at us one last time. “If you guys don’t have anything to say or add, then
. . . you’re dismissed?”

Gabe nodded.

“Thank you for your time and attention,” Lashell said, almost apologetically. “We’re truly sorry for any disruptions this impromptu meeting may have caused in your schedules.”

“Just
. . . try to work together, guys,” Mr. Davies added as everyone gathered their things to leave. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Chapter
Fourteen

It was all so strange. I couldn’t get the vision of Gabe’s odd behavior out of my head. Was it my fault? Was he acting so strangely at the meeting because of how horribly I’d treated him on Friday? He’d never responded to my apology text, so I had no way of knowing whether or not his anger had anything or everything to do with how we’d left things. Was he mad that I hadn’t treated him better? I wouldn’t blame him if he was.

Obviously Lashell knew what was going on. She was trying to keep him in check, but his frustration—whatever it stemmed from—dominated his senses.

Regardless, I accepted that I might never know. After the mandatory meeting in the gym I knew the time had come. Tomorrow was the day. I needed to put the finishing touches on my speech and prepare exactly what I was going to say when I faced my RI leaders. While I felt good about the points I’d made in favor of my decision, I still was uncertain about one, major thing: I didn’t know who to talk to. I hadn’t gotten to know Mr. Davies too well, and speaking to Gabe wasn’t an option. Lashell, I knew for a fact, would probably argue that it wasn’t my best idea.

But it was. I just had to fight to make them see it.

I finished my shift at the bakery at eight, and then I swung over to my favorite diner for a late-night sundae pick-me-up. I sent a text to Dad to let him know I’d be late, and then I dug my notebook out of my backpack and got to work. I needed to focus on every possible angle. What would they want to know?

Who, what, when, where, why? How will it impact the school? The team? The community? Why should Lashell, Gabe, and Mr. Davies agree that this is the best possible course of action?

I wasn’t going to let them dismiss it so easily. After an hour of working, the hazy answers started to become a little clearer.

The waitresses and bussers started wiping down the tables and flipping off the kitchen lights just after ten, and it wasn’t until then that I realized I’d overstayed my welcome. I mumbled a quick apology, gathered up my things, left some money on the table, and vacated the building. I slid out the door, only to hear the deadbolt lock swiftly behind me as I hit the sidewalk.

I’d gotten so caught up in my thoughts that I hadn’t even realized the diner had cleared out. Time had gotten away from me.

Out on the dark sidewalk, I glanced down each side of the street, looking for the car, only to remember that I hadn’t driven.
Right.
Georgia had hung around and dropped me off at work after the RI meeting, and I walked over to the diner after my shift. I’d fated myself to walk the couple of blocks home in the pitch dark.

I let go of a heavy sigh.

If I had to walk home, and I
had
to do so in the dark, then I knew there was only one thing that was going to comfort me. It wasn’t a flash light or even a can of pepper spray—I didn’t have either of those on hand. But what I had buried beneath my wallet was so much more valuable, so much more comforting than a light source or a weapon.

I dipped into my purse and dug out the small digital recorder and headphones. Slipping the buds into my ears, I hit the play button, trying to date myself back to that one preserved moment of time I had with Gabe—back when things weren’t so hostile, so complicated, so confusing.

“You never answered my question back at the diner,”
he said, his recorded voice buzzing through my ears. I closed my eyes for only a second and savored the sweetness in his friendly tone.

“And what question was that?”

“What’s with the—”

“Chip on my shoulder?”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause, and again, I was thinking.
I was there again, back in that moment with him.

“Mandy?”

That was new.

I looked down to the recorder.

“Mandy, wait up.”

I stopped at the curb, lifted the recorder, and examined it
closely. It was definitely Gabe’s voice, but it wasn’t coming from the headphones.

A hand landed on my shoulder, and I jerked back, jumping into the empty street. The buds ripped from my ears, and the recorder crashed to the ground.
Smashed. To pieces.

My hand fell to my chest as I gasped to catch my breath. I looked back to Gabe, and then my gaze
fell to the ground.

“No,” I whimpered, and it was only then that he noticed what
lay at our feet.

“Oh, Mandy, I’m sorry,” he said, bending down to pick up the recorder.
It was gone
, that one little memento I had of our time together.
Gone
. He knelt to the ground and plucked the tiny pieces from the pavement. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to…I’ll buy you a new one.”

“But…it was…,” I
stared at the busted pieces in his palm. “It was kind of…irreplaceable.” And I knew as soon as I said it, I’d chosen the wrong words. Gabe’s expression only grew grimmer. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . It’s okay. It was just a
thing
. It’s…it’s not a big deal.”

He stood up, holding my gaze. He didn’t believe me. He
knew, whatever it was that I’d just lost, was a very big deal.

“Do you mind?” he asked, opening his
hand to show me the pieces. “I can try to fix it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. It was a lost cause. “You can just toss it.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said, dumping the pieces into his coat pocket. “I’ll do that.”

I couldn’t bring myself to meet his stare, so I looked around the quiet, dark streets of Sugar Creek instead. Every shop was closed, every door was locked. It was well after ten o’clock, and blinds were drawn on the windows of most all of the houses and businesses on Main Street. And yet there he stood.

“What are you doing out here?” I asked, glancing around the faintly-lit street again.