Maybe I Will (20 page)

“Thanks, Mom,” I said, “but I think this is something I really need to do myself.”

“All right,” said Mom. “Just let me know as soon as you hang up.”

“I don't even know if she'll answer. I'll probably just get her voice mail.” I went up to my room and tried to collect myself. I prayed that if Cassie did answer, she wouldn't be with Aaron. I dialed the number and tried to relax. Things with Troy had been okay, so maybe Cassie would be ready to listen now, too.

She answered. Her “hello” sounded edgy, icy. I wanted to hang up, but she knew it was me from her caller ID.

“Hey, Cassie,” I said. “It's me, Sandy.”

“Hey yourself,” she said. “Troy told me you'd probably be calling.”

“Oh, good,” I said, trying to act happy about the fact that Troy called her the second he hung up with me. “Did he tell you what's going on?”

“He told me you want us to meet with you and your shrink tomorrow morning at 10:30.”

“Would that be okay with you?” I didn't wait for an answer. “I've been going through a lot lately, and I've really missed you. I need to talk to you and Troy. Mom and Dad have sent me to this counselor, and, well, I just talked with Troy…”

“Is this about Aaron?” Cassie cut me off. “He told me you and Shanika Washington are both crazy. Are you ready to tell the truth now?”

My hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold the phone to my ear. I sat down on the edge of my bed and leaned forward as far as I could. Far enough to keep me from saying a word.

“Are you ready to drop your stupid story about Aaron assaulting you?” Cassie insisted. The way she said it made me think that Aaron was right there with her listening to every word we were saying.

I sat up straight and took a deep breath. “The truth is Aaron sexually assaulted me,” I said, my voice just above a whisper.

No response.

“Cassie?”

“I don't believe it.” Her voice was curt now. “Why are you doing this?”

“Just forget it,” I said.

There was a muffled sound, like Cassie was covering the phone and whispering to someone else.

“See you around,” I said.

“Not if I see you first,” she retorted, and I could hear Aaron laughing in the background as she hung up.

I was giving Mom and Dad the gist of my conversation with Cassie when Troy called me back.

I answered tentatively. “Hello?”

“Hey, Sandy.”

“Hey, Troy.”

“Um, I'm really sorry, but I'm not going to be able to make it tomorrow after all.”

“You could come without Cassie, you know,” I said.

“Don't make me choose between you and Cassie,” Troy pleaded.

“I'm not the one making you choose,” I said. “She is.”

“I want to be there for you, Sandy, but I HAVE to be there for Cassie.”

“What about Aaron?” I asked.

“Aaron won't be around forever,” said Troy. “He doesn't love her.”

“So you're just going to spend your life waiting in the wings?”

“It's not like that,” Troy said. “Think about it. Let's say Cassie's right and you're blowing whatever happened with Aaron all out of proportion. Then it's better that I don't go tomorrow. On the other hand, let's say you're telling the truth, and Aaron is as much of a creep as I think he is. He's going to do a serious number on Cassie, and I need to be there for her when he does. Either way, Cassie needs me to be there for her.”

There was no point in arguing with Troy's logic. Part of me was relieved not to have to face either of them tomorrow, until the reality began setting in that our friendship was really over.

“Sandy? Are you there?”

“I understand,” I said. “Maybe I'll see you around.”

“I hope so, Sandy,” Troy sounded truly torn. “I really hope so.”

I hung up and turned to face Mom and Dad. “Troy's not coming tomorrow either,” I said.

“Oh, Sandy.” My mom came over and gave me a big hug. “I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay,” I lied. “I'm not really surprised.”

“Well, I am,” Dad said. “You three have been best friends your whole life, and when you need them most, they completely abandon you.”

“I guess we may as well call Doc back and cancel the 10:30 appointment,” I said.

Mom and Dad exchanged a glance. “Come and sit with me on the couch for a minute,” Mom said to me. “I want to talk to you about something.”

I didn't have a good feeling about whatever it was Mom wanted to say, but I very reluctantly let her lead me to the couch. “What is it?” I asked.

“I want to talk to you about Shanika,” Mom began.

“What about Shanika?” I was disappointed with Cassie and Troy, but that was nothing compared to the fury I felt when Shanika's name crossed my lips.

“She's called the house every day. She really wants to talk to you. Why don't we call Shanika and see if she'd keep the 10:30 appointment with you?”

“I don't have anything to say to Shanika,” I said. “And anyway, she probably has to teach taekwondo tomorrow.”

Dad came over to where we were sitting. “Well, I think Shanika really wants to talk to you, even if you don't have anything to say to her.” Dad put his hand on my shoulder. “It wouldn't hurt to call her and ask.”

“And we can change the time if we need to,” Mom added.

“Fine,” I said. I stood up. “You call Shanika. You set it up. You drive me there, and we'll just see what happens. I'll be in my room.”

This above all: To thine own self be true.

—Hamlet
, Act I, Scene iii, Line 78

I
SAT ON
my bed and read through the spiral notebook that Mr. Goldman had returned to me. I pulled out the new notebook Dad bought for me and copied my
Better Off Dead
poem into the old one. I wished that I could write another poem to figure out how I was feeling now, but nothing was coming.
Maybe if I had a drink . . .
But I didn't really want a drink, which was good, because I didn't have anything to drink anyway. Plus, my parents would be monitoring that pretty closely.

Maybe there wasn't a word in English that described my feelings.
Maybe no one else has ever felt this way. Maybe I should make up a word that describes this feeling.
I sneaked downstairs and borrowed Dad's Latin Dictionary.
If I'm going to make up a word, best to start with a solid Latin root.

I flipped through the dictionary until the restlessness and futility consumed me. I tossed the book on the bed and ran through my taekwondo forms a couple of times. When I lay back down on the bed, I pulled out the old notebook and opened to a clean page. I
wrote “Friends” on the top left side and “Enemies” on the top right side. I wrote “Aaron” under “Enemies.” I wrote “Luke” under “Friends.” I wondered when Luke would be getting out of the psych ward. I couldn't bring myself to write Troy or Cassie or Shanika on either side. I tore out the page, wadded it up, and threw it in the trash can.

When Mom called me down for dinner, I was very happy to have another nice, home-cooked meal.

“It's supposed to be 60 degrees and sunny tomorrow afternoon,” Dad said. “I thought I'd get the bicycles all tuned up tomorrow morning so we can go for a bike ride later in the day.”

“That sounds good,” Mom said. “Would you like that, Sandy?”

“Sure,” I said. “Let's ride up to the old Coney dog place. I can't remember the last time I had a root beer float.”

Dad smiled. He was swirling a glass of ice water in his hand, the way he would normally swirl a glass of red wine with the meal. It seemed strange to me that my parents were not drinking wine with the meal, but I didn't say anything about it. Doc had suggested at one of our family sessions that they completely remove all alcoholic beverages from the house and not drink in front of me for the time being. She said just seeing or smelling the alcohol could be a trigger for me. I think the real reason they got rid of everything was to make sure I couldn't sneak into it when they were sleeping.

Dad cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows at Mom.

“Sandy, did you have any questions about the things Don was saying when he visited this afternoon?”

“Not really,” I said.
Just because you tell them doesn't mean they'll do anything about it. Shanika's voice.
I thought back to the day we sat in her car and I told her about Aaron. She talked about hazing and she even said something about “the rape.” I remember how funny
I felt when she said “rape.”
Why didn't she tell me about what Aaron did to her right then? Why did she tell me about Hector and the wrestling team, but not about her and Aaron? She thinks I'm just a kid, that's why. I'm only a sophomore, a taekwondo student. I was crazy to think I was her friend.

“Sandy?” Mom touched my arm. “Did you hear me?”

“Sorry, Mom,” I apologized. “What were you saying?”

“I was saying that I'll take you to Doc's tomorrow morning and do some work at my office while you and Shanika talk with Doc. You can call me when you're ready for me to pick you up.”

“So you talked to Shanika?” I asked.

“I did,” Mom said. “She said her Dad would cover her classes tomorrow. She'll be there at 10:30.”

“Did she say anything else?” I asked. I drained my water glass, wiped my mouth, and folded my napkin up beside my plate.

“Just that she's really glad you're home and doing better and how much she really wants to talk to you tomorrow,” Mom said.

“Well, I'm glad it worked out for her to go,” said Dad.

“How are you feeling about seeing Shanika tomorrow?” Mom asked.

“I don't know,” I said.
Angry. Scared. Anxious. Nervous. Excited. Why did Shanika agree to this? Did Mom push her into it?
I blinked several times to clear my eyes and my thoughts. “I'm glad Doc will be there. I don't think I could do it otherwise.” I could feel Mom and Dad both looking at me.

“It'll be fine,” Dad said.

I suddenly wanted out—out of my meeting with Shanika and Doc and out of this conversation. “I think I'd like to get started on the homework assignments you picked up for me.” I carried my plate and glass to the kitchen sink. “I don't want to be too far behind when I go back to school on Monday.” I picked up the stack
of school books sitting on the counter. “Do you mind if I work in my room?”

“Go ahead,” said Dad.

“Come back down if you need a study break or a snack,” Mom called after me. “I baked some brownies, and there's ice cream in the freezer.”

I lumbered up the steps, taking two at a time. When I reached my room I dropped all of the books on my bed. English, Biology, World History . . . lots of reading to do. On top of the stack was a copy of
Anthem
by Ayn Rand. I picked up the assignment sheet. “Hi Sandy, We're reading
Anthem
and discussing the importance of thinking for yourself rather than succumbing to peer pressure. This week we wrote a factual newspaper article about Equality 7-2521's escape from jail, his surprise appearance at the World Council of Scholars, and his flight into the Uncharted Forest. The assignment due next week is to write an opinionated editorial about the same events, written by one of the Scholars. You can turn them both in at the same time.”

Friday night. Cassie is out with Aaron. Troy is probably working on some car in his uncle's garage. Shanika's at the studio teaching taekwondo classes. Am I going to sit at home doing homework? Guess so.
I thought of Luke.
At least I'm not stuck in the psych ward.
So I spent my Friday night reading
Anthem
. It was a really quick read—so weird at first because everything was plural: “we” instead of “I” and “they” instead of “he” or “she.” It's all about some post-apocalypse society where there's no individuality or creativity of any kind allowed. It made me think.

Is it more important to fit in or to be myself?
I pulled out my notebook and wrote the words swirling through my mind:
Conformity. Uniformity. Equality. Individuality. Creativity. Diversity. Unity. Integrity. Responsibility.
So many “ity”-bitty words swirling through my mind. What do any of them really mean?
I thought about my meeting with Doc and Shanika the next morning.
Insanity. Intensity. Complexity. Seniority. I wish I were a senior, too. Maybe then Shanika would want me for a friend.
I searched again in Dad's Latin book for the right words to express what I was feeling about Shanika. I came up with this phrase:
Communicare Complexus. Like it's just too complicated to communicate.
I started writing:

I stopped writing and closed my notebook. I buried my face in my pillow, hoping to smother myself and wondering how many tears you have to cry to actually drown in them.

Mom woke me up at 9:30 Saturday morning. I ate my bagel and drank my orange juice in silence. Part of me wanted to see Shanika more than anything in the world, while another part of me never wanted to see Shanika again.
Which part is really me?

I found myself thinking about this six-word paragraph I read in
Anthem
: “I am. I think. I will.” The words were so powerful, but
they kept turning into questions in my mind.
I am. Who am I? I think. What do I think? I will. I will what? Maybe I will, but maybe I won't. Maybe I will, but maybe I don't. Maybe I don't will anything. Maybe it all happens regardless of my will.