The Tragedy Paper (21 page)

The hat moved around the room, and everyone but Patrick got a chance to choose a name. Jake, Celia, Arthur, Henry, Kate, Lily, Abigail, Keith. For some reason, the rules state that the officer doesn’t participate, so the hat came back to me for the last pick. I just shook my head. I couldn’t go through it again. Nobody pushed me. Peter reached in and chose a slip, most likely not the one I would have chosen if I hadn’t refused my turn. I mean, it would have had to be different, right? There was a small chance another hand reaching in would grab the same slip but much more likely it would settle on a different slip altogether.

Peter unfolded the slip. He read out the name: “Janie.”

“Now we vote,” Patrick said.

“Is this how it happened last year?” Kyle asked, like it was finally dawning on him. “I thought the first name was the officer, no questions asked.”

Patrick smirked. “Well, you can vote that way—that is completely within your rights—but no, there is always some wiggle room.”

“So, who was pulled first last year?” Kyle asked, and I got the sense he was pushing something that he should have left alone. Or at least that Patrick thought he should leave alone.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there,” Patrick said, but the look on his face said he did know.

“Fine,” Kyle said, looking away.

Everyone was a bit antsy and kept glancing toward the door. It seemed like nobody really wanted to be there anymore.

“So, let’s vote,” Patrick said. “I’ll read a name, and if you want that person to be the officer, you raise your hand. You can vote only once. After the first round, we’ll see where we are.”

This is where you come in, Duncan. I’m sorry for what you’re about to hear, but I have to be honest—otherwise, what’s the point? So, he started reading the names in the order they were picked. Duncan? Kyle’s hand went up. I didn’t know you, so I had no opinion, but I realized you were the first one picked—you were the rightful winner, if you could call it that—so I raised my hand too. The response in the room was as though nobody had voted for you. Patrick barely even looked up. He went through the rest of the names until he got to Janie—the one I didn’t pick, the one Peter picked for me—when eight hands, including Patrick’s, went up.

“In the end it has to be unanimous,” Patrick said. “So
there are no questions or disputes later.” I detected a hint of annoyance in his voice.

It occurred to me to ask about each of these people: Who were they, what did they have to offer, what were they expected to do anyway? Why weren’t we just going with the first name picked—your name? But my eyes were killing me. My right eye kept going in and out of focus. I started to wonder about a possible stroke. I needed to lie down.

“Let’s do this again,” he said, like he was talking to a five-year-old.

“No, no,” I said. “I can just tell you. I vote for Janie.”

“Great,” Patrick said. He looked at Kyle.

Kyle shook his head. “Fine. I don’t care that much. I change my vote to Janie.”

“Good choice,” Patrick said, and for some reason I hated him more at that moment than I had since I met him. “So, now we just have to get the invitations to these ten, and that’s that. Who wants to distribute them?”

There were no volunteers.

“Everyone take one,” Patrick said.

“Can I have a close one?” I asked. “My eyes are really bothering me.”

Patrick looked at me and shook his head. “You know what, man, you go back to your room. I’ll take yours. They are all in the same building anyway. I can do it. It’ll be easy.”

“Thanks,” I said, wondering just how pathetic I looked to be getting sympathy from such a monster.

But I couldn’t sleep. I tried, I needed it, but I just couldn’t. In so many ways, Mr. Simon’s timing couldn’t have been better. It was like he knew somehow. There are times when I wonder if he did know. But I tell myself there is no way he would have let it go so far if he really knew, so I must be wrong about that. When I was sure everyone was asleep, that Patrick and the other guys were back from distributing the invitations, I got up and walked down to the bookshelf outside the dining hall. Before I opened it, I went to the sick cabinet and got myself a few packets of graham crackers and ginger ale. I unlocked the glass case and read until the sun came up. As I expected, the book confirmed everything I thought and feared.

Duncan walked slowly down the stairs to the senior donut breakfast—one of the best events all year. A local donut maker came in, let the students help prepare the batter and top the donuts themselves. Throughout the dining hall there were huge plastic bowls filled with powdered sugar, cinnamon sugar, cocoa, and glazes like honey, vanilla, and chocolate. The seniors spent the morning there, making donuts, eating, and—best of all—drinking coffee. It was the one time all year the delicious, rich coffee was served to the students in the dining hall. There was a line leading up to the coffee urn, next to which was a chalkboard sign saying it had been roasted in a town across the county called Mamaroneck, and a stack of Irving mugs they were allowed to keep. It was a long-standing tradition and symbolic of their move toward adulthood.

Duncan had been looking forward to it—before. In fact, he had fantasized about it on more than one occasion, to be at the donut breakfast with Daisy by his side and all of his friends there. He had heard that in years past the seniors sometimes spent all day in the dining hall, in their pajamas, playing long games of cards or Monopoly or Scrabble. It was one of those days when anything went, when the seniors could skip class and not get in trouble.

But that morning Duncan didn’t feel so well. Daisy was at the bottom of the stairs, wearing navy-blue sweats with pink and yellow flowers embroidered on them and a yellow bulldog T-shirt. Her hair was swept up in a high ponytail with a yellow gingham ribbon tied tightly around. Duncan had thrown on jeans and a plain gray T-shirt. He could see Daisy’s disappointment immediately.

“Morning,” he mumbled as he got close to her.

“Hi, good morning,” she said, still trying to be upbeat. “Did you sleep well?”

“Not so great,” he said.

“Well, it’s time to make the donuts,” she said.

Duncan could barely manage a smile or a small laugh. He felt rotten.

“Are you okay?” Daisy asked.

For a brief moment, Duncan considered confessing everything—telling her about Tim’s story and what he had just heard. He considered talking through the various scenarios of what might have happened if things hadn’t gone
the way they did, how things might have been different. But he looked at her and saw his carefree girlfriend in her pajamas, and he decided he couldn’t do that to her.

“Yeah,” he said, putting his arm through hers. “Just tired and stressed about my Tragedy Paper.”

“Me too,” she said, sounding relieved. “Who isn’t? But let’s not think about it today. Today is a day off.”

“Okay,” he said, wanting more than anything to go back to bed, to keep listening to Tim’s words and get through the worst of it. He knew where it was going, of course, but there were some details he couldn’t place, some moments only Tim could let him in on, was already starting to let him in on.

The dining hall was amazing. It was set up like a donut shop, with streamers and balloons everywhere. Trays of warm, sweet donuts sat on tables all around, and there was a workstation for those who really wanted to get in on the action. The dining room was theirs today: the other students had been allowed to have breakfast on their halls—small boxes of dry cereal and milk. And then they would have picnic lunches throughout the school for the rest of the day—some in the library, others in classrooms.

Duncan was able to forget for a little while. He had fun playing Uno with Daisy, and the food was delicious. He particularly liked the chocolate-glazed donuts, which Daisy seemed to love to make for him. He was relieved that there were no questions about the senior Game. It
was an unspoken rule to not talk about it openly, and nobody took him aside. But days were slipping by, and he was as stumped as ever. In the time he sat at the table, cards moving back and forth between them, he thought of six different ways to proceed, knowing that choosing the junior officer and extras was at the top of his list of what bothered him. Maybe they could just play a game of Ultimate Frisbee on the quad—out in the open in the middle of the day. What could go wrong there? Or maybe an indoor game of sardines in a can—that could be fun. But that also might involve too much hiding, too many out-of-sight moments. What about another version of the donut day? he wondered to himself. Perhaps a cookie-decoration day or a cake day? He knew that wasn’t the answer. By that time, it was nearly eleven. They had spent hours already making and eating donuts, and nobody seemed to be going anywhere. Duncan couldn’t stand it any longer—he had to get out of there.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Daisy. “I’m really not feeling too hot today. I think I’m going to take advantage of the loose schedule and head back to bed.”

The look in Daisy’s eyes cut through him and made his stomach sink. He wanted to keep it together, he kept telling himself. He didn’t want to ruin everything he had built—everything he had achieved. In the end, what difference would it make, really? He couldn’t change things that had already happened.

“Can I come with you?” Daisy asked, her eyes pleading. It was so unlike her to want to break the rules or miss such a big event that again he was tempted to let her in on everything.

“No,” he said, reaching out and rubbing her arm in an attempt to let her know this truly had nothing to do with her. “I think I just need to be alone. Maybe I’ll come back later.”

She nodded. He could tell she was close to tears.

“Have fun with everyone,” he said.

She nodded again. He had a feeling she was afraid to talk.

He stood up and gave her a quick hug. Then he walked through the big double doors, telling himself he would come back. Maybe an hour was all he needed. But as it turned out, he didn’t come back that day, since Tim took him almost to the end of his story.

I slept for a few hours, and when I woke up, I quickly realized three things: I had missed Mr. Simon’s class. My head didn’t hurt anymore. And my eye wasn’t nearly as red as it had been. I breathed a huge sigh of relief and went to the bathroom to wash up. Because classes had already started, it was peaceful and I enjoyed every minute of washing my face and brushing my teeth and glancing at my eyes and seeing they looked close to normal.

I went back to my room, got dressed, grabbed my books, and headed for the nurse’s office. It was the only way I could get a pass for missing English, and I thought that even though I was feeling much better, a few Advils wouldn’t hurt.

I was surprised to see Vanessa sitting in the waiting room. It was the first time I had seen her since I had been in her room two days before, and she looked great. Her color was
back to normal, her hair was shiny and beautiful, and she was wearing faded jeans and a turquoise bulldog shirt. I had never seen the shirt in that color before and wondered how many versions there were altogether.

“Hey!” I said, walking directly to her and sitting in the seat next to her.

“Hi!” she said with a big smile.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, wanting to get as close to her as I could, wanting to kiss her. But I didn’t. I knew I couldn’t.

“I’m much better,” she said, reaching up to play with a strand of her hair. “All better, really. Nurse Singer just wanted me to come in for a follow-up, so that’s why I’m here.”

We sat quietly for a minute, each of us looking at our feet. Vanessa was wearing turquoise Chuck Taylors. I loved that. I was wearing typical old sneakers that, as I looked at them, became more and more dorky by the minute.

“Why are you here?” Vanessa said suddenly, as though it had just occurred to her that there might be something going on with me.

“I overslept,” I said, which she would understand. She was the one who told me the trick to getting away with oversleeping was a quick trip to the nurse’s office. “And I had a headache,” I added.

“Do you still?” she said, looking at my eyes more closely now. Even though they were so much better, they still weren’t quite right, I knew that.

“What?” I said, distracted.

“Have a headache?” she asked.

I considered it for a minute and realized I did. It was coming back.

“A little,” I said.

Just then Nurse Singer came out to greet us and called Vanessa back with her. I waited in my seat, willing my headache to not get any worse.

It took only a few minutes and they were back, smiling.

“Keep drinking fluids,” the nurse said kindly.

“I will,” Vanessa said. Then she looked at me. “I especially like ginger ale.”

“Perfect,” the nurse said. “And water. You can’t go wrong with water.”

I wanted to add to the banter and say “And ice chips,” but I refrained.

As Vanessa walked by, she reached out and touched my wrist. “Thank you,” she said.

Nurse Singer was just standing there, waiting for me.

“You’re welcome,” I said.

And then Vanessa said the magic words. “I’ll find you later.”

I nodded, probably more seriously than I should have, but what more could I ask for, hope for? She’d find me later. That was better than hearing
You’ll win the lottery later
.

“What’s going on?” the nurse asked once I sat down on the edge of the exam table. At first I thought she was asking
me what was going on with Vanessa. I almost started to tell her, but I realized she was simply asking me why I was there in her office.

“I had a bad headache last night and slept in,” I said. “It’s much better now, but I didn’t want Mr. Simon to be mad, and I could use some Advil, or Tylenol, or whatever you think might help.”