Trapped (20 page)

“And lose everything? Just throw it all away? Everything we've worked for? Just toss it aside?”

“What other choice do we have?” Mom asks.

“I don't know.” He runs a hand through his hair. “But it seems like there should be a solution. What if we offered the little thug money? Could we pay him off?”

“Oh, Dan!” Mom looks exasperated. “You'd stoop to his level?”

“To save GraceAnn's reputation? Her college career?” He shakes his fist again. “You bet I would.”

“I know you're saying that because you love me,” I gently tell him. “But really, I'm okay with this.”

“You're okay watching your future being flushed down the toilet?”

“Sort of.” I shrug. “Last night I decided that I'd rather put my pride to death and still have God than the other way around.”

“Huh?” Dad looks confused.

So I tell him about what Miss Julia told me a couple weeks ago. “I didn't really get it then. But I do now. I can see that my pride was all wrapped up in those stupid decisions. It was my pride — not wanting anyone to see me failing a class — that made me resort to cheating. It was my pride that got me into this mess. And to get out of it, I have to surrender my pride to God. If that means my future gets flushed down the toilet, as you say, I'll just have to live with it.”

Dad just looks at me, slowly shaking his head like he thinks I'm hopeless. “I'm sorry, that might sound good and noble to you, but I think it's a bunch of poppycock.”

“I don't,” Mom tells him. “In fact, I can respect that.”

“But what about her future?”

“My future is in God's hands,” I tell him. “Where it should've been all along.”

“And if your future is slinging burgers and living in a single-wide?” Dad challenges me.

“As long as God's with me, I'll be fine.”

He just rolls his eyes.

“Go finish getting dressed,” Mom tells him. “You're not making this any better.”

He mutters something as he heads back to their room.

“I'm sorry, Dad,” I call out. “I hope you'll forgive me someday.”

But the only answer I get is the loud bang of the door closing.

“He'll get over it,” Mom says as she goes to the kitchen and pours her untouched coffee down the sink. “Just give him some time.”

I pour my cold coffee out too. “I wish it didn't have to be so painful for you guys. I mean, it's only fair that I should suffer. But it kills me to see how it hurts you.”

She puts an arm around my shoulders. “Maybe our pride needs to be put to death too, GraceAnn. Did you ever think about that?”

“But shouldn't that be between you and God? I mean, I shouldn't be the one who forces you to deal with your pride, should I?”

She shrugs. “God works in mysterious ways.”

The ride home is even quieter than last week's ride to Big Bear. Only this time it's a lot more uncomfortable. It's like everyone's thoughts are floating around the interior of the car, like it's so thick that it's hard to breathe or think. Dad is really stewing. Like I did before I gave in to God. Dad is probably going through all the mental aerobics, playing out possible escape routes in his head, trying to find some magical way to cover this nasty mess up. But I know, in time, he'll figure out that there's only one way out. For now, I just let him stew.

. . . [CHAPTER 18]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I
didn't know it was possible to feel good and bad simultaneously, but that is exactly what I'm experiencing today. On one hand, because I came clean with God and am able to pray again, I feel relatively freed up and relieved. On the other hand, this heavy black cloud is still hanging over my head, and it's overwhelming to think of how much is left to deal with.

We got home last night, and after picking up Rory, my dad, without saying a word to me, went straight to bed. And it was only eight. Mom said he was worn out from the trip, but I'm pretty sure he was worn out from me.

By the time I get up this morning, my parents have already gone to work. Since the sun is shining, I decide to take Rory for a walk. I can tell he's really missed me, and it's the least I can do to make up for his time at the kennel. Besides, walking might help me figure things out.

But this weird schizophrenic sensation continues as I let Rory off the leash in the dog park. I watch him take off running with abandon, enjoying this freedom, and I can totally relate to him. I feel incredibly euphoric … but a couple minutes pass and suddenly I'm overwhelmed with sadness and a sense of dread. This thing is so far from over.

For starters, I still have Dirk the Dirtbag to straighten out. I don't even know exactly how I'll do it, and I'm sure not looking forward to seeing him tomorrow. Although I do plan to go to work at the pharmacy. But I definitely have no plans to get him his stupid pills. But besides the Dirtbag, there's the school to deal with. I know I have to make a full confession … and take the consequences. That sure won't be easy. But nearly as unsettling as facing teachers and the dean will be confessing to my friends. Mary Beth and her mom won't be home until Sunday night, and I'd really like to have this conversation with Mary Beth in person.

As Rory and I are walking back home, Bryant calls and asks how I'm doing — in such a tender way that it makes me want to cry. And then I remember that although he knows a part of the story, he hasn't heard the whole thing yet. Perhaps he's a good one to begin with. Hopefully he'll understand. Or if he doesn't, at least I will have that out of the way. As pathetic as it sounds, I'm totally prepared to end up friendless after this whole thing plays out.

“I, uh, I'd like to talk to you. I mean, if you have the time.”

“Sure,” he says with enthusiasm. “Want me to come over?”

So we agree to meet back at my house in about an hour. Time enough for me to take a shower and get my head together. Oh, I know he's not going to freak out like Dad did, but I should expect the unexpected.

When Bryant shows up, I try to act calm and collected and I even thank him for his Christmas present, but inside I feel shaky. After we sit down in the sunroom, I initiate the conversation. “You remember what I told you about cheating,” I say slowly. “Well, there was a little more to the story than what I told you.” I go through the series of events and how I bought two sets of answers and how Dirk is now trying to blackmail me. “But I confessed the whole thing to my parents yesterday, and now I want to come clean with everyone.”

Bryant doesn't look very surprised … or disappointed. But he doesn't say anything, and that makes me continue talking.

“So I just thought you should know the whole story. And even though it will be humiliating, I do plan to tell the school too.”

“Because Dirk is blackmailing you?”

I shake my head. “No. Because it's the right thing to do.” I decide to take this one step further, and I tell him about my breakthrough with God on New Year's Eve. “And even though it's really hard, I know God is going to help me through it.”

He nods slowly, like he's absorbing this.

“Anyway, I'll understand if you think less of me. I know I think a lot less of myself now.” I feel that familiar lump growing in my throat. But I really don't want to cry.

“No, I don't think less of you, GraceAnn. In fact, it's almost the opposite. You seem more human now. And I'm impressed that you're willing to risk everything by telling the truth. What about Stanford?”

I shrug. “I'm just taking this one step at a time. I have to trust God to work out the details. If I lose Stanford, I'll figure out something else.”

“Wow …” He looks truly stunned. “That sure doesn't sound like the old GraceAnn.”

So I tell him about Miss Julia and what she said about killing my pride a couple weeks ago. “I didn't really get it then, but I get it now.” I let out a shaky smile. “And even though it's hard, I feel a lot better about myself.” I force a laugh. “Although my dad's not speaking to me. And he's sure that I've thrown my life away.” I sigh. “I think God might be dealing with him about his pride too.”

“So what are you going to do about Dirk?”

I grimace. “I'm not sure. I'm not looking forward to it. I mean, I'll definitely tell him to forget about getting the OxyContin. But I know what he'll say to that — he'll take me down.”

“How can he take you down if you're already taking yourself down?”

“Good point. But I really wish I could make my confession before he does whatever it is he's going to do to ruin me. Sort of like damage control, you know? But the soonest I can get in to talk to someone will be Monday morning. And I plan to do that first thing. But what if Dirk beats me to it? I mean, I can just imagine going in to see Mr. Peterson and he already knows. He'll probably think the only reason I'm confessing is because I know it's too late to do anything else.” I hold up my hands. “But maybe that's just how it's meant to be, and I should get over it.”

“Hey, isn't there some kind of anonymous informers' hotline?” he says. “I remember hearing about it a couple years ago — a way for students to report things like bullying or illegal drugs or cheating.”

“That's right!”

“I'll bet it's listed on the school's website.” Bryant already has his iPhone out and is searching for it. “Yeah, there's a phone number and an e-mail address.” He points to it. “You could turn yourself in before Dirk has a chance.”

“That's what I'm going to do.” I stand now. “I'll write a confession letter and e-mail it.”

“Maybe you should make a hard copy to take to school with you too,” Bryant suggests. “Just in case.”

“Good idea.”

“Well, maybe I should let you get to it.” He stands now too.

“Hey, I almost forgot to ask how your grandpa's doing.” I walk him to the door.

“He came home from the hospital a few days ago. He's doing good.”

“I'm glad to hear that.”

Bryant bends down to rub Rory's ears, then looks up and grins. “Anytime you need to talk, GraceAnn, I'm here for you.”

I smile at him. “Thanks. I really appreciate it. I know this thing is far from over. It will help to have a friend.”

He stands and nods. “You got it.”

As soon as he's out the door, I race to my room, open my laptop, and begin constructing my confession letter. I write and rewrite and go over it again and again. I want to be completely honest and own up to my responsibility and my bad choice. But I also want to make it clear why I felt so pressured to cheat. I want the administration to understand that other kids cheating hurts the students who are trying to do things right. I am also careful not to mention any names. This is my confession. Not Kelsey's or even Dirk's.

When I think it's as good as it's going to get, I print out a copy and then paste it into the e-mail and hit Send. And just like that, it's done. My fate is sealed. Everyone at school will know what I've done in a few days. Again, it's that bittersweet feeling: painful, but good.

Mom gets home before Dad, and as I help her put away groceries, I tell her about what I did. She hugs me and tells me she's proud of how I'm handling this, but I can still see that hurt in her eyes.

“I'm really sorry, Mom. I know I've already said it a lot and I'll probably have to say it a lot more, but I am really sorry.”

“I know you are.” She nods as she places a milk carton in the fridge.

“Do you think Dad will ever forgive me?”

“Of course. But it might take him a while to get over it. He had such high expectations for you, GraceAnn.” She folds a shopping bag and sighs. “We both did.”

“I know,” I mutter.

“I'm sorry,” she says quickly. “I wasn't trying to make you feel worse. This is hard enough on you … on all of us. I guess it'll just take time.”

“When I was writing my letter today, I got an idea.” I put a carton of cereal in the pantry.

“An idea?”

“I wondered what would happen if I wrote a letter to Stanford, to the dean of admissions, telling him about what I did and what I learned and how I'll never do it again and how sorry I am. Do you think they might consider forgiving me?”

She studies me with a curious expression. “I think it's worth a try.”

“Okay.” I nod eagerly. “I'm going to go do it right now.”

“And at the very least, you'll have laid it all out for them. They should appreciate that.”

My second letter is similar to the first one, but it feels good — almost therapeutic — to write it. Then I realize I owe my teachers an apology too. So I write confessional letters to both Mr. VanDorssen and Ms. Bannister, telling them exactly when and how I cheated and asking for their forgiveness. I put all these letters into white business envelopes, address them, and tuck them into my bag. Ready for Monday.

By the time my dad comes home, I'm feeling slightly hopeful. But when we sit down to dinner, he is still frosty cold. Even when I tell him about what I'm doing, how I'm attempting to do damage control, he barely looks at me. And once again, he turns in early. I know he's not really going to bed because I can hear the television on in their master suite. I know he's just trying to escape being around me. Will he ever come to terms with this?

The next morning, I get up and dress for work, and before my parents are up, I go to the pharmacy. To my dismay, Uncle Russ is working today. I had really hoped it would be my aunt, because I suspect that she, like Mom, might be more understanding. And I know I have to confess what I've done to them as well. Even the part about the OxyContin, which I'm fairly sure will cost me this job.

It's midafternoon and there's a lull in business. With no customers in the store, Uncle Russ is making small talk with me as I wipe down the countertop around the pharmacy. This is my opportunity.