The Tragedy Paper (23 page)

I couldn’t get it out of my head—the image of that little albino kid peeking up from behind the art table. That poor kid, having to go through life with everyone staring at him, wondering what’s wrong with him. And he was so young, he had so many years of that ahead of him. I knew I should have befriended him, but I simply didn’t have the energy to do it.

On Wednesday night, Patrick knocked on my door after lights-out. I had been lying in bed, in boxers and my first bulldog T-shirt—I chose black—trying to will away my headache. It had turned into a low-grade nuisance, no longer a sharp pain, but it came back exactly four hours after I had taken the painkillers from the nurse.

“Is everything okay?” I asked as he slipped into my room.

“Yeah,” he said casually. “I just wanted to fill you in. I was out at the site.”

“The site?”

“You know, the site for the outing. The big hill,” he said a bit impatiently.

“Right,” I said, nodding, wishing I had pretended I was asleep.

“I need about six, seven guys to help me, and I want you to be one of them,” he said. “I already talked to Kyle and Peter.”

“What sort of help?” I asked, stalling. But really, I was getting used to being in his inner circle. Who wouldn’t like that?

“Are you in?” he asked, looking so huge in my room.

“I didn’t say that yet. I want to know what sort of help you need before I decide,” I said. “Do you want to take your coat off and sit down?”

“Sure,” he said, doing both. He sat cross-legged on the floor in front of my bed. And then he looked around like he couldn’t quite remember what he was doing there.

“You need help?” I prompted him.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “The thing is, I can’t let you in on the details unless I have your word that you’re in. It’s too risky.”

“Why is it risky?” I asked.

“Are you in or not?” Patrick asked. His voice was still kind, but I got the feeling I shouldn’t push that anymore. I knew I was going to say I was in, but there was a part of me that worried I wouldn’t be able to do what he asked of me—literally. At this point, I was starting to be concerned about basic things like walking to class and participating in gym.

“In,” I said.

“Great, good,” he said, moving an inch closer to me. “You know how we need sleds?”

I nodded.

“And we need them to be there when everyone arrives. I thought about having people drag them in that night, but there is no way that will work. First of all, where would we store them in the meantime? And second of all, it will make way too much commotion and noise. So they have to be there, at the top of the hill, waiting. I’m thinking we’ll need at least ten.”

“Why can’t you just have them waiting at the entrance to the path and as everyone comes by, they can pick one up?” I asked.

“I thought about that,” he said, running his hand through his hair, messy from the hood he had just had on. “But there is too good a chance they will be found. Teachers jog on that path; kids walk there even though they aren’t supposed to. You know how it is. And,” he said, gearing up like he was going to tell me something really great, “the best news is that I was in town this afternoon and I talked to a guy at the toy store. He actually graduated from the Irving School—in, like, 1979 or something—and I told him about the outing. Turns out he was second-in-command for his class Game—I guess they did it a bit differently then—and, get this, their Game was musical chairs! Apparently, they thought they were being really cutting-edge when they took all the chairs
out of the Hall and set them up on the quad. Then they brought out big speakers and played musical chairs. He seems like a sad sack wanting to relive his high school glory, but I think that’s going to work in our favor. When I told him that I was this year’s senior officer and about the plan we came up with, he was blown away with excitement. He offered to do whatever he could to help us. So he’s going to drop off the sleds at the entrance to the path on the far side of campus, you know where I mean? If you walk through the woods?”

Again, I nodded.

“He’s going to drop them all off there on Monday night—two days before the event. Hey, did you hear—there’s supposed to be a big storm over the weekend?”

“Cool,” I said. “So what do you need me to do?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, smacking his forehead with his palm like he was an idiot. “I need you to help me lug the sleds in from the road.”

He said it like he was saying
I need you to grab an extra burger for me at lunch
. Like it was no big deal. I could have—I should have—said no, I wasn’t feeling great. I know I keep saying this, but it is important so you understand why I did some of the things I did: for the first time in my life, I was a part of something, The Event. And I wanted to be. As stupid or shortsighted as that sounds, I didn’t want to say no. Also, I figured, the busier I was, the less time I would have to think about Vanessa.

“Sure,” I said.

“So, Monday night after lights-out, we’ll walk to the road and pull the sleds to the top of the hill.”

“Great,” I said, thinking that at least it would be dark, so I wouldn’t have to worry about the sun hurting my eyes.

“Sleep well,” he said, opening the door quietly and peeking out before he made his getaway. He pulled my door shut without a sound, and I was left there, wide-awake, wishing I, instead of he, could be with Vanessa.

It did snow that weekend. We woke up on Saturday to a few inches that had already fallen. It was beautiful and I felt hopeful. For a very brief moment, it made me think I wasn’t being fair to Vanessa when it came to that little albino kid. Maybe I should give her a chance to explain, or maybe I could just loosen up a tiny bit. I told myself I would try. I would try anything for Vanessa.

I planned on using the entire weekend to work on my Tragedy Paper. I had done some research, and thought a lot about what made something a tragedy. I had no idea if I was on the same wavelength as Mr. Simon, but I was beginning to think it didn’t really matter all that much as long as I was on some wavelength. I could hear lots of noise in the hall, so I pulled on jeans, left on the T-shirt I had slept in, and walked out.

“There’s an omelet bar!” Patrick yelled down the hall to me. Omelet bars were special, apparently. “Come on!”

The dining room was already way busier than a usual
weekend day, when it’s open from eight to ten and people trickle in when they wake up. The snow really had everyone excited.

Before we entered the craziness, Patrick stopped walking and pulled me over to the window.

“What’s up?” I asked. I started to wish I had at least washed my face and brushed my teeth. When he leaned in and starting talking quietly, I closed my mouth and tried not to breathe. But I was feeling good. I had decided to take my pain management into my own hands. I had come up with a plan, and I was going to be ready to help Patrick with those sleds.

“I’ve decided to change the outing to tonight,” he said. “With this snow, it’s too good to miss.”

“What? Are you kidding? All that planning and now you’re going to change it? How will you let everyone know? How will you get the sleds in time?”

“I have most of that covered,” he said. “Right now Kyle and Peter are telling each and every member of our class, and then they’ll move on to the ten juniors. But I still need your help with the sleds. I called into town, and just as I thought, the guy is happy to work with us. He said he can have the sleds here by about two. Look at it out there, man. This is so freakin’ awesome.”

The word
magnitude
popped into my head, and for the very first time, I think I understood it. Well, to be perfectly honest, I don’t think I fully understood it until everything
was over. But still, I kept thinking, this decision had more magnitude than Patrick realized. I just felt it. But isn’t that always the case? Or at least often the case? Sometimes it’s hard—impossible, even—to know how much magnitude a choice holds until it is all over.

“Okay. Great,” I said. “Whatever you need.”

“Meet me on the quad at about one-thirty, and we’ll head out.”

“It’s snowing really hard,” I said, looking out the window in the round room. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he said, turning. I followed him into the dining hall. There were three omelet bars with a person behind each one dressed in a chef’s coat and hat. They looked just like the ones I’ve seen in hotels, with lots of choices for fillings. I could see cheddar cheese, mushrooms, peppers, onions—all grown or made locally, no doubt. But my appetite was gone, so I grabbed a bagel and took it back to my room.

I gathered my books and went to the Hall, which was completely empty despite the deadlines racing toward us, and I tried to write. My mind was blank. All I could think about was magnitude. So I made a list of all the things I thought had magnitude. I wrote a big number one, and after that I wrote: “That I was born albino.” And then I was stuck. It seemed like everything for me was based on that—it was certainly the biggest defining thing in my life—but I had a feeling I was missing the point. As much
as I would like to change that, I knew that being an albino was not a tragedy. A tragedy was something else. I could almost feel it, but I couldn’t get it down on paper.

I gave up and headed back to my room to get ready, noticing that the wind was blowing and it must have snowed at least another six inches since we woke up. I dug into the back of my closet and pulled out my glasses. I knew I had been pushing my luck, and I hoped I’d be so covered up anyway that nobody would notice. I stuck them in my pocket and trudged downstairs, marveling at how good my head and eyes felt, patting myself on the back for having taken care of that problem.

Man, it was amazing out there. There were kids everywhere, and I wondered where all the teachers were. You know how there were always a few adults milling around wherever we were? But on that day I didn’t see any, I think. The entire campus was covered with thick, bright snow. The treetops were blanketed in white. And the tiny flakes were still coming down, swirling around. It was like the night at the airport, the night Vanessa and I built our igloo together.

There were so many people on the quad, throwing snowballs and making snow angels, that it took me a minute to realize Patrick was already there. I walked over to him.

“Hey,” I said.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” he said.

He turned and started waving people toward him. Kyle was there, and Peter. It was mostly the guys from the meeting
in Patrick’s room plus two or three more. Everyone nodded and smiled at each other, and I felt, all covered up as I was, that I belonged. I would have done pretty much anything to hold on to that feeling.

My glasses were still in my pocket as we turned and walked across the quad, but my eyes felt so good I just left them there. I stayed in the back of the group. It was slow going, and by the time we reached the science building and the path into the woods, there was so much wind and icy snow that I decided to pull them out and put them on anyway. They shielded me from the wind and the pelting flakes.

“Onward,” Patrick said, and I hoped he wouldn’t make us stop and talk because I knew I would feel compelled to take my glasses off. We all looked behind us as we entered the woods, surprised that nobody was following us or asking where we were going. I’m sure everyone had the same thought I did: this seemed way too easy.

I tried to remember where I had been with Vanessa that day when she asked me to jog with her, and kept my eye out for our rock, though I never found it in all that snow. I started thinking I had been wrong all along. No, maybe that wasn’t what I was thinking. Maybe it was more that I should put aside my silly convictions for the day and enjoy it and everyone here, including Vanessa. Maybe if I wasn’t such a monomaniac—I was the one obsessed with being an albino—maybe things could be different. If I could let it go,
even for one day, maybe I could be happy. I could slip in another kiss. The thought of that and my clear, pain-free head made me feel like Superman walking through those woods.

About halfway along the path, Kyle started to slow down noticeably. At first, I thought he was adjusting the zipper on his coat or something, but then he leaned against a tree and started moaning.

“I hate this.” He said it to himself, but I heard him anyway.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He looked up, startled. He must have thought he was last in line. For a minute his face looked almost normal, but then he leaned behind the tree and puked. The rest of the group was about twenty feet ahead, maybe more, trudging through the snow.

“You guys coming?” Patrick called back, annoyance in his voice. “We have to keep going.”

Kyle started to move forward, then he turned to the side and threw up again.

“I think I must have eaten a rotten egg.”

I put my hand on his shoulder. After what I’d been through with Vanessa, Kyle’s vomit didn’t bother me in the least.

“Kyle’s sick,” I yelled ahead to Patrick. “Do you have any water or anything?”

Patrick wasn’t much of a leader, I have to say. He just stood there for a minute and then shook his head.

“You’ll feel better if you keep walking,” he said. “Try not to think about it.”

That was all the support he offered before continuing on. A few guys lingered and muttered things, but they seemed afraid to be left behind, so they followed Patrick. I stood next to Kyle in the snow and waited. My eyes were feeling better than they had in days. I know I keep saying this too, but the feeling was amazing. My glasses gave me a sense of protection, and I was sorry I had so fully rejected them, though I did know this was far different from wearing them in the bright sun with no hat or bulky coat.

“I know the path,” I said gently. “We’re closer to the road than if we headed back the way we came.”

Kyle didn’t respond.