The Tragedy Paper (27 page)

I want to tell you about the last key on that key ring. I got that one by sneaking around too, and it wasn’t hard either. It opens the top drawer to Mr. Simon’s desk. He left it sometimes in another drawer. I was able to get it one afternoon and take it into town to have a copy made. I had it back in his drawer before he ever knew it was missing. It was a risk, sure, but not a big one. These are things I will never be able to do again. I’m glad I did them when I did. The drawer you now have access to is where all the best Tragedy Papers are stored. It will give you insight nobody else has ever had before writing the paper. Use it wisely. And if I might, I want to thank you for listening. You deserve to be the senior officer. You do. You were not responsible for anything that happened last year. Not for a single thing. I am. I accept the entire burden. Please let it go. In Mr. Simon’s words, I bid you to go forth and spread beauty and light. It’s too late for me, but it is not too late for you.

They sat that way for as long as it took to get through to the end, then Daisy wanted to go back to the beginning and hear the whole thing, but Duncan said no, they could do that some other time.

“Is this why you’ve been acting so weird?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I mean, I’ve been listening to this since the first day of school, so yes and no. But as he got closer to that night and people started asking about this year’s Game, I guess I freaked. And it is the weirdest thing, because in some ways hearing these CDs made me more open with you; so much of what he talks about is how things didn’t work out with Vanessa, or how he had chances to be with her that he didn’t always take. He didn’t believe in himself. I have to say—with all this tragedy vocabulary going around—that I
can see it so clearly now. His tragic flaw was that he didn’t believe in himself.”

Daisy nodded. Duncan took a deep breath.

“And I was so worried about that, about making the same mistakes he did, about losing my chance to be with you.”

“But you didn’t. We’ve been together.”

“I know, but I’ve been distant lately, and I want to tell you why. I mean, I know why now. I couldn’t stand myself. I knew there was something wrong with Tim. I knew it. I had been watching him that night; he was hard to miss. But even if he hadn’t been, he was the one who gave me the handkerchief. You heard him: he made that decision. When he came up to me that night, I was so startled. I never thought I would be the officer. I knew how that worked. Everyone knew they decided. It wasn’t random, I don’t care what that book of traditions says. I don’t know why, but Patrick never seemed to like me much.

“When Tim came up to me, he could barely see. It was so clear. He almost walked into me, and he seemed almost confused about what to do with the handkerchief. I thought he’d been drinking—that made the most sense. But I wasn’t certain. Then, when I watched him walk away, he was so unsure of his footing. Now I know that he realized his eyes weren’t right. But they must have gotten better, or he stopped caring, because suddenly he was moving with confidence, and I told myself I had been wrong, he
was fine. That’s when I climbed to the top of the hill to start the sledding.”

Duncan was exhausted. He could barely go on. Daisy sat quietly, waiting.

“I have never told this to anyone,” Duncan said. “I think it was part of the reason I didn’t follow through with us last year, or over the summer. I spent so much time thinking about that moment, thinking that I could have stopped the accident.”

“Everyone’s okay now,” Daisy said.

“But Vanessa’s senior year was ruined, and Tim is blind,” Duncan pleaded.

“But that had nothing to do with the accident,” she said. “He was overmedicating himself, he didn’t take care of himself—you had nothing to do with that. Maybe you’re too close to realize, but I just heard him tell you what he thinks of that night and how he clearly doesn’t blame you.”

“I should have done something,” Duncan said quietly.

Daisy shrugged. But the look on her face was patient.

“A wise man once said to me, ‘You did the best you could,’ ” Daisy said. “ ‘Sometimes that is all you can do.’ ”

Duncan looked up, startled. He remembered, he’d said that before their first kiss. He was referring to that girl on Daisy’s floor who overdosed on Xanax. How could he not have made that connection? Maybe he
had
made the connection, without even realizing it; maybe that was what gave him the courage to move forward with Daisy. And then
something else occurred to him: that girl, Amanda, she never came back. She left after the day she took the Xanax. There was some discussion that she just needed a break, but she ended up staying home and finishing her senior year at her local school. So she was the one who didn’t return. That person had already been decided. As sad as it was for Amanda, it took a huge weight off Duncan. He realized at that moment that he had been terrified he would cause someone’s ruin at this year’s Game.

“I always wondered about that night,” Daisy finally said after Duncan was quiet for a while. “There were so many times I wanted to ask you about it, but I didn’t dare. I mean, no one ever mentioned it to you, but I could see you tense up whenever it seemed like someone might.”

Duncan nodded. He was grateful. That might have pushed him away.

“You have to let it go,” Daisy said gently.

Duncan looked up.

“You have to forgive yourself,” she said. “Besides, after hearing Tim talk, I don’t think there would have been a way to stop him. Did you think of that? You could have asked if he was okay, or suggested he shouldn’t sled, but do you think he would have said,
You know what, you’re right
? I don’t think so.”

“But I can still hear that sound of the sled hitting the tree,” Duncan said. “Of Vanessa hitting the tree. She could have been killed.”

“But she wasn’t.”

At that moment, there was a knock at the door. They both froze. Duncan thought of telling Daisy to hide in the closet or under the bed, but that seemed worse if the person outside had heard them talking. When they first started talking, it had been in hushed tones, but they had forgotten about that and had started talking at a normal volume.

“Who is it?” Duncan called out.
Please let it be Tad
, he thought to himself.

“It’s Mr. Simon. I’ve been experimenting with scones, and I wanted to see what you think.”

Duncan glanced at Daisy, mouthed “I’m sorry,” stood, and opened the door. Mr. Simon smiled, held out the plate he was carrying, then looked around him at Daisy sitting on the bed. The expression that crossed his face was full of confusion and disappointment, but it seemed like they all stood frozen for a few minutes before he spoke, as though it took that long for him to switch gears.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, letting the plate drop to his side, no longer offering Duncan the treats.

“We were just talking,” Duncan said. “Please, I know she isn’t supposed to be here but …”

“Miss Pickett, go to your room,” Mr. Simon said. “I will come find you later. Mr. Meade, follow me to my office.”

Duncan couldn’t help it, he started to cry. He felt such a cathartic release from sharing everything with Daisy, and maybe she was right, maybe his tragic flaw was going to be
that he couldn’t let it go. Everyone had a tragic flaw, it seemed. But now he had gotten Daisy in trouble. It was more than he could stand. Mr. Simon and Daisy looked at him for a minute, both surprised by his reaction, and then Mr. Simon turned and started walking toward the stairs.

Duncan grabbed Daisy’s hand and squeezed it; then he followed Mr. Simon down the hall, down the stairs, and into his office, where Mr. Simon closed the door and locked it.

Duncan told Mr. Simon everything. He cried through most of it. Looking back, the crying probably helped, though Duncan couldn’t have planned it or forced it if he had to. His tears were real.

Duncan figured he was in for it, he might even be expelled, so he had nothing to lose. As he talked, he used the words that had been swirling around in his head:
magnitude, tragic flaw, chaos and order, catharsis
. He told Tim’s story and his own; he intertwined them with Vanessa and Daisy. He referred to
Hamlet
and
King Lear
and
Romeo and Juliet
.

When he was finished, he sat back. He had stopped crying. Mr. Simon sat looking at him, a stunned expression on his face. Duncan wondered what Daisy was doing. If she was terrified of what was going to happen to her, if she could lose everything.

Mr. Simon cleared his throat.

“I need some time to process all this,” he finally said.

Duncan hesitated. Again, he felt he had nothing to lose.

“Daisy and I weren’t doing anything,” he blurted out. “It wasn’t like I lured her to my room for sex.”

As soon as he said it, he couldn’t believe he was talking to a teacher that way. But he needed him to know.

“I was young once too” was all Mr. Simon said before he stood, unlocked the door, and waited until Duncan walked out. Duncan heard the door close behind him and the lock turn.

Of course he wanted more than anything to go to Daisy. But he didn’t dare. He didn’t even dare text her in case that could be used as some sort of evidence later. So he sat on a window seat in the round room outside the dining hall and waited. He thought about working on his Tragedy Paper—he could run up and get his laptop—but he decided that would be a waste of his time if he really was going to be expelled.

People walked by and said hello. Duncan said hello back but barely took his eyes off the stairs, hoping to see Daisy. He longed for her.

Finally, finally, Mr. Simon came toward him. At first he made a move to go up the stairs, but he caught sight of Duncan at the last minute.

“Will you come with me, please?” he asked, his voice much kinder than it had been before.

“Sure, where?” Duncan stood up.

“To Mr. Bowersox’s office,” Mr. Simon said.

Uh-oh
.

“What about Daisy?”

“Daisy is fine,” he said nicely.

“Is she in trouble?”

“No,” he said.

Duncan felt such a wave of relief, he thought he might have to sit down again, but he managed to stay on his feet.

“Thank you for telling me that,” he said, following Mr. Simon in the other direction beyond the dining hall to the administrative offices. Mr. Bowersox was there to greet them.

“Hello, Mr. Meade,” he said. His voice too was kind. Duncan couldn’t figure out what was going on.

“Hello, Mr. Bowersox,” he said.

“Please, come in,” the headmaster said.

Duncan waited for Mr. Simon to choose a seat, and then he sat next to him. He felt numb, resigned. As long as Daisy was okay and not in trouble, he could handle anything. It seemed like a long time before anyone talked.

“Mr. Simon has filled me in on everything,” Mr. Bowersox said, looking right at Duncan. Duncan nodded. He was sure that meant that he had snuck Daisy into his room. He had—there was no denying that.

“Mr. Simon is concerned,” he said slowly, in his headmaster sort of way.

Again, Duncan nodded. Of course he was concerned. That made sense to him.

“Mr. Simon, do you want to talk, or should I?” Mr. Bowersox asked.

“I guess you can,” Mr. Simon said. “I’m not sure what to say.”

Now Duncan was getting confused. He would have thought that Mr. Simon would know exactly what to say. Surely he had dealt with this type of situation over the years. Duncan looked at Mr. Bowersox.

“Very well, then,” Mr. Bowersox said. “Mr. Simon is concerned that he pushed the tragedy theme too far.”

Duncan looked from Mr. Bowersox to Mr. Simon, who was sitting with his hands together in front of him and his head slightly down.

“What do you mean?” Duncan asked.

“He told me about your conversation, and, yes, I know there is more to discuss, but his feeling was that this idea of tragedy may have become too ingrained in your thought process.”

Duncan didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t at all how he had expected this conversation to go.

“He told me about your involvement with Tim Macbeth, your relationship with Daisy Pickett, but most disturbing to him was the way you were able to use those words, the ones associated with a tragedy or a tragic happening, so easily, as though you have been really thinking about them, living them. Do you think this has become a problem for you?”

Duncan thought for a minute. It had been Tim who
planted the idea of his story being connected to the idea of tragedy, not Mr. Simon. And it wasn’t the fault of the Tragedy Paper that those things happened last year. He had the strongest urge to speak to Tim; he wished he could ask what he thought. Maybe he could call him. He could track down his parents’ phone number and try to reach him. But he knew that would take too long; he had a hunch that this concern of Mr. Simon’s might dissipate with time, and right now he was getting the feeling he had the upper hand. He liked that.

Besides, he realized he didn’t have to actually talk to Tim. He was pretty sure he knew what he would say.

“This has been a great year and a hard year, and of course the Tragedy Paper has been looming over me, over all of us, since the first day of school,” Duncan said. “But I don’t blame Mr. Simon or the things he taught us for any of the bad stuff that happened. If anything, I think he’s an amazing teacher who helped me sort some of this out, make sense of it.”

Mr. Bowersox smiled. “My sentiments exactly,” he said.

Mr. Simon looked up. “Thank you,” he said. “And, if it is okay with Mr. Bowersox, I would like to accept our conversation as your Tragedy Paper. It was as good as defending a dissertation, in my book.”

Mr. Bowersox nodded.

“So, am I in trouble?” Duncan asked.

“No,” Mr. Simon said. “Don’t ever invite Daisy to your room again, and I don’t want to hear you’ve been to hers,
but we have decided to let that slide in light of everything you’ve been through.”