Type (12 page)

After about an hour we start climbing rocks. Some kids are sitting on them, eating their packed snacks or just lying on their backs, taking in the warm rays. Others, like Jana, are racing to the top to prove something to who knows who. Emily and I take our time, talking to each other once in a while about whatever enters our minds. Just as I’m about to pass a small cave-like structure, someone calls out.

“Sophie! In here!” I peer in between two giant rocks and see Noah sitting in a kind of cave with his knapsack and an open bottle.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

“Getting sloshed, of course,” he says. He points at his head. “Migraine time.”

“But you’ll get caught!” I whisper. I glance towards Emily, who’s already climbing up about ten feet ahead of me. “You should throw that bottle away before Ms. Williams sees you!”

“No can do, little girl,” he grins, taking a sip.

I’m about to keep moving, when I notice Aaron is suddenly right next to me. I look at him and know he sees everything—me, Noah, and the open bottle of booze. Aaron says nothing, but I can understand everything just by looking at those big green eyes. After a second or two, he shakes his head, sighing.

“Aaron! Wait!” I whisper, but he keeps moving, his chin held high. Seeing him that way makes me so angry I can barely think. I push in between the rocks where Noah is and sit down. “Give me some of that!”

“Sophie?”

“Give me some!” I grab the bottle and take a long slug of from it. The liquid burns going down my throat but then makes my stomach feel warm. I take another big sip.

“Steady, there,” Noah says. “I don’t plan to make a drunk out of a twelve-year-old.”

In answer, I take another sip, then stick out my tongue. “As if fourteen is
so
big and tough!” I laugh. “You were probably still in diapers when I was a baby, so there!”

“That may be true, but it’s not really what I meant.” He reaches over to take the bottle back, but I hold it against myself, then take an even bigger sip. Afterwards, I poke my head out of the cave and call out. “See who’s bad, now, Aaron!”

Noah pulls me back in and then covers my mouth with his hand. I like how it feels, kind of warm against my lips. Part of me wishes he’d keep it there for a while. He quickly takes it away and grabs the bottle from me.

“Party pooper,” I say.

I spend the next hour crouched in the cave-like space, just floating. I don’t exactly know what Noah is to me, but I do know whatever it is in this moment seems important and good. He may not be Aaron, he may not be like anyone I’ve ever known before, but he’s here, right now, with me. Once in a while I grab the bottle and take a sip. The rest of the time I just sit there, my head on his shoulder, feeling heavier than it’s ever felt before.

“Maybe we could live here,” I whisper, after an hour has passed. “Maybe we could get some sleeping bags and one of those little fridges and some books and just live here forever.”

“There could be worse things,” Noah says. He reaches over and tussles my hair and I’m suddenly reminded of my big brother James.
Where is he
?

After a while (I don’t know how long a while), I fall asleep. The only reason I know this has happened is that I’m suddenly woken up by a bright light in my face.

“Sophie Jenkins? And Noah Philips? Hiding in a cave with a bottle of alcohol? Really?” The person holding the flashlight says. “For shame.”

I try and blink my way back to being awake but it’s hard. My head hurts.
It hurts
. Suddenly there are hands, too many hands, roughly grabbing me out of my comfortable little home. Other hands grab at Noah and voices start talking, but talking too loudly at us, their words lost to the wind. I can make out words like
Unacceptable
and
Consequences
and
Dr. Jenkins,
but they make about as much sense to me as Italian would. I start to giggle, but it’s a frightened giggle, the worst kind. The hands half-pull, half-carry me down the hill, back to the buildings and civilization.
So long, cave. So long, pretend house. So long, Noah
.

At some point I’m put into a large leather chair in the Dean’s office, a big mug of milky tea in my hands. Noah is sitting in a chair next to me, but for reasons I don’t understand, he doesn’t have any tea. I want to smile at him, to reassure him that it’ll be okay, but my whole face feels too heavy to move.

“Dr. Jenkins will be here momentarily,” Dr. Witmer says, putting the phone down and turning to us both. “This is a very unfortunate situation, very unfortunate.” He pauses. “Now, if you can tell me what happened before your parents arrive, Sophie, that would be most appreciated.” He glances at Noah. “Did this boy persuade you to drink? Did he force you to join him in his…debauchery? Is that what happened? Please don’t be afraid to tell me if that’s what happened.”

Instead of answering the Dean, I close my eyes and try to bring the mug to my lips without spilling.

gh

Somehow I manage to fall asleep again, because the next thing I know I hear my father’s voice saying my name. Even in my half-drunken state I can’t help but realize that he’s using his Association voice.
This can’t be good
.

“Sophie Marie! You will give us the respect we deserve by at least remaining awake during these proceedings!” he barks.

My eyelids flutter, but eventually I’m able to open them.
Ow.
My head hurts even more than before.
Daddy, I hurt
. Once I’m able to focus, I see that not only my father and Dr. Witmer are in the room, but also my mother and another middle-aged woman who I assume belongs to Noah.

“Now that everyone is present, I would like to let the room know how much I appreciate Dr. Jenkins taking time out of his busy schedule to come to our little school.” Dr. Witmer beams at my father, as if he’s come for a social call or perhaps an afternoon tea. My father nods sternly in return.

“Let’s get on with it, shall we?” my father asks, his arms crossed.

“Yes, yes.” Dr. Witmer nods, resting his hands on his ample stomach. “As I mentioned on the phone to you all, Mr. Philips and Ms. Jenkins were caught engaging in underaged drinking on the rock formation during our day hike. When they were found they were both quite intoxicated and dare I say belligerent. When asked for an explanation, they’ve had nothing to say, nothing whatsoever.”

“I think that the evidence speaks for itself,” Noah says sarcastically.

I glance over at him and can tell his words don’t match how he feels. From his eyes I can see what’s truly going on. That he feels the same way I do.
Lost. Scared.

“The bottle was mine, sir,” I say. “I persuaded Noah to join me. He didn’t want to do it, but I kept begging him. I’m sorry.”

“Yours, Sophie? But that’s not possible! You’re only twelve-years-old!” my father blurts out.

“Oh, honey,” my mother says softly, shaking her head. “What would make you want to drink? Is something wrong?”

“I just wanted to see what alcohol tasted like,” I lie. “That’s all.” I look at my father. “Didn’t Hannah do the same thing once? It wasn’t such a big deal then.”

“Hannah was fifteen years old at the time, not twelve. And it
was
a big deal, a very big deal. But it was a bit more to be expected, given her Type. But for you?” My father pauses and covers his face with his hand for a moment. I suddenly want to get up out of my chair to touch him, but I know that I can’t do it. It would be against the rules.

“If you’ll allow me to interject here,” says Dr. Witmer. “I think the point that Dr. Jenkins is trying so eloquently to make is that this is a highly disconcerting situation. For a twelve-year-old, ISTJ girl who presumably upholds duty and rule following above all else, to be
experimenting
with substances for no apparent reason, and to use peer pressure to draw a boy into the mix? This is highly peculiar, indeed. I can only assume that such behaviour is related to a short-term case of stress and anxiety, perhaps triggered by adjustment problems from starting Secondary. Luckily for everyone, such problems tend to be brief and easily remedied by undergoing the Temporary protocol at Harmony. Give it five weeks, and your daughter will be back at ISTJ as good as new, with much improved self-coping techniques under her belt.”

I hear my mother gasp and I close my eyes against the sound. I can’t look at her now, I just can’t.

“I agree with your suggestion,” my father says in his Association voice. “Going to Temporary is clearly what is called for here, if only to help ground her once again in tools of self-regulation and self-care.”

“But Michael!” my mother calls out, raising herself up in her chair. “Surely we don’t need to use such drastic measures for what is just a bit of teenage rebellion—”

“Teenaged rebellion? From our younger daughter?” My father stares at his wife, as if he has never met her before. “This is Sophie we’re talking about here, Sophie. If this was our little ESFP, I’d agree. Hannah fits every characteristic of her Type, and fits it well. Spontaneous, likes to live in the present moment, excited by new experiences. Yes, if this was Hannah we were discussing, I would agree with your theory of it being
a bit of teenaged rebellion
and would turn to taking away privileges as a punishment.”

“But we can’t treat our daughters so differently!” my mother says. “I suggest that we take Sophie home for a few weeks and talk to her there, teach her some new coping skills within her own home. Sending her off to…that place cannot be what’s best for our daughter!”

My father abruptly turns away from my mother and looks at his colleague. For reasons I don’t quite understand, my father looks embarrassed, as if ashamed of us all. “Clearly my wife is more distraught by what has occurred than I imagined. I think it’s time we went home and she had a rest.”

“Michael! I do
not
need a rest! I need you to stop being a Psychologist for once and to be our child’s father! I need us to do the right thing and to actually care for our daughter. This is Sophie we’re talking about, not one of your
cases!
I will
not
allow what happened to James to also happen to my beloved daughter!” As soon as my mother mentions my brother’s name she begins to cry, covering her face with both hands.
Oh, Mommy
.

My father and Dr. Witmer exchange a look I don’t quite understand but I know isn’t good. My father then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tissue, which he hands to his sobbing wife. “Sophie is not James, sweetheart,” he says gently. “We are merely talking about a five week stay at Temporary to ensure whatever led her to drink is worked through. That’s all. Dr. Witmer could have recommended expulsion, but because he cares about our family and about our daughter, he did not. Sophie is
not
James and never will be.”

I see my mother slump against my father, as if all the fight in her has been drained away. My stomach starts to tighten and it feels like it might even knot against itself.
Mom? Mom?

“I agree,” Dr. Witmer says. He turns to look at Noah and his mother. “Now in terms of you, Mr. Philips, I believe that a week of detention will suffice this time?” Noah’s mother nods vigorously, before standing up and leaving the room when the Dean gestures for her to do so. Dr. Witmer turns to look at Noah to do the same. Noah first reaches over to grab my hand and squeeze it, before standing up and going out the door as well.

Once the door shuts, Dr. Witmer walks over to my father and claps him against the back. “And let me again say how much I appreciate you taking the time to come to ISTJ today. I just wish it was under better circumstances. Would you like to stay while I draw up the paperwork? I’m sure your wife would be comfortable resting in one of our Quiet Rooms—”

“No, no, I trust you to do all the paperwork that’s needed. Just let me know when Sophie has been settled at Temporary, will you?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t do anything less.” Dr. Witmer opens the door, and my parents walk through it, my father gently pushing my mother out in front of him.

“Sophie! It will only be for five weeks, honey!” I hear my mother call out, before the door is shut behind her.

gh

Once I leave the office I see Noah waiting for me in the hallway and the knot in my stomach loosens just a bit.

“Why did you say that?” Noah whispers. “I didn’t want you to take the fall for me!”

I stop and look at him. “I haven’t been to Temporary yet and you have,” I say. “I know it’ll be easier for me.” I look at my feet. “Besides, we’re friends, right?”

“I should have said something!” he says. He sounds angry, as if he wants to punch something or somebody. “I can’t believe I’m such a coward! I just didn’t want my mom to get hurt, you know? She’s already lost my dad and is waiting for something else to happen. If she had to lose me—”

“We’re friends,” I repeat. “So it’s okay.”

“But, Sophie!” His voice sounds frightened. So unlike the Noah I’ve come to know.

“It’ll be okay,” I say again. I try to smile, but it feels like a grimace. “Maybe this way I’ll find out what’s happening with my friend Taylor from Primary or even with my brother James.” I pause. “Just tell Aaron where I am, okay? Tell him…tell him that I had to do this. That this time I’m
not
a bad person!” I reach over to hug Noah, finding comfort in the strength of his hold. He squeezes me so tightly I can feel his heart beating against my chest, the thumping fast but steady.

Noah eventually pulls back and is about to say something else when Ms. Williams walks towards us, my suitcase in her hand. She pushes past him and comes to stand before me. “Are we ready to go?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say, taking my suitcase from her. I follow her down the hall and out the front door of the Administration Building. When I turn back to look at Noah, he’s still standing where I left him, now all alone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Perhaps I am a Postman. No, I think I am a Tram. I’m feeling rather funny and I don’t know what I am…