A Step Toward Falling Read online

  DEDICATION

  For everyone who has ever worked at Whole Children/Milestones, and for every family who has come through the door and found a home.

  And especially for Carrie,

  who started it all. . . .

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Acknowledgments

  Back Ad

  About the Author

  Books by Cammie McGovern

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  CHAPTER ONE

  EMILY

  AT OUR FIRST MEETING with the director of the Lifelong Learning Center, Lucas doesn’t speak to me once. Elaine, the director, thanks us for “volunteering our time” even though she knows we aren’t here voluntarily. We all know this.

  “You have a choice,” she says. “You can come in Saturday mornings and do office work or you can come Wednesday evenings for a class called Boundaries and Relationships that goes over basic rules about socializing and dating for young adults with developmental disabilities. Even though you’re a few years younger, you’ll provide examples of a typical peer’s approach to friendships and dating. They’ll be interested in what you do on dates and how you go about making new friends, that kind of thing.”

  I can just imagine what my friend Richard will say when I tell him this: “Wait, they’re looking at you as a dating role model?”

  I turn and look at Lucas. I expect him to say, “I’ll take the office work, please.” All things considered, the idea of sitting with a group of young adults with disabilities looking for dates seems like—well, like more than either one of us bargained on. Except here’s the surprise: I want to do the class. I’m terrible at office work. Plus, I’m curious.

  Then, before I can say anything, Lucas announces: “Yeah, I’ll do the class.” He doesn’t even look at me. He seems to be pretending I’m not in the room.

  “I will, too,” I say. I’m not going to do office work just because sitting in the same room with Lucas will be super awkward. Forget that.

  The following Wednesday, we come in an hour before class starts to meet with Mary, who teaches the class, and go over what she expects from us. Apparently not too much, at least in the beginning. She says we’ll mostly do the activities along with the group. “We do a few role-plays every class and I may ask you to join some of those. Do either one of you have acting experience?”

  I glance at Lucas, who still refuses to look at me. “No,” he says.

  “Some,” I say. “When I was younger. Not for a while.”

  Mary smiles at me like she can tell that I’ll probably be better at this than Lucas. Lucas plays football at our school, meaning he’s huge and—not to be mean—a little scary-looking.

  “Wonderful, Emily,” Mary says now. “Do you have any improv experience?”

  “A little,” I say. “I was in a comedy troupe once, except we weren’t very funny.” In middle school, the drama club tried to start an improv group. We lasted one semester and then gave up.

  Mary laughs. “Oh, I know all about that. Don’t worry, we’re not playing for laughs here, thank heavens.”

  We finish up with twenty minutes before class starts, so Mary tells us to wait in the lobby until the other students arrive. It’s awkward, of course, as sitting in every waiting room with Lucas has been for the last two weeks. He pulls out his phone as he always does. I pull out a book as I always do. After five minutes, I can’t stand it anymore and lean toward him.

  “I’m Emily, by the way. I know you’re Lucas, but maybe you don’t know my name, so there you have it. Emily.”

  He looks up. “I know your name.”

  Richard always warns me not to get too sarcastic with people who have no visible sense of humor. “They don’t take it well,” he tells me. “They think you’re making fun of them. Because usually you are.” But I can’t help it.

  “Oh, okay. Well, as long as we’re doing this together for the rest of the semester, I just thought I’d make sure. We don’t need to be friends or anything, but maybe the odd hello wouldn’t kill us.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Lucas says, twisting around in his chair. “This may kill us. We’ll have to see.”

  I can hear Richard’s voice in the back of my head: You shouldn’t go around telling stupid people what you think all the time. First of all, they won’t understand what you’re saying because they’re stupid. Secondly, they’ll hate you.

  I want to, though. I want to say, Look, Lucas, why don’t we try and do this thing right? Why don’t we acknowledge the guilt we both feel about Belinda by doing a decent job here? Maybe for Lucas I should say it differently: Why don’t you stop being such a jerk about this?

  Mary comes out before I can say anything more: “Hello again! This group usually comes in the back door so they’re all here, ready to meet you guys.”

  We stand up and suddenly I’m more nervous than I expected to be. I don’t know any people with disabilities. I’m not sure why I thought this would be a good idea.

  Mary walks us up the hallway and opens the door to a brightly painted room with about a dozen people sitting in a circle. It’s pretty obvious they’re all disabled. Though no one’s in a wheelchair, they all look a little different. One woman is wearing a bright lime-colored sweater, sweat pants, and flip-flops. Another man is wearing a wool hat and gloves on his hands though it isn’t cold in the room, or outside for that matter.

  “Okay, everyone, I want to introduce Emily and Lucas. They’ll be our new volunteers for this session. They’re both in high school, which means they’re a little younger than you folks, so you remember what that means?” She smiles as if they have an inside joke about high schoolers.

  Apparently they do, because a ripple of laughter travels through the group.

  Mary keeps going: “It means you’re not going to say anything too shocking, especially not on their first day, right, Simon? Right, Thomas?” Everyone laughs again. “Okay, what do we do when new folks join our class?”

  Two hands go up. The woman in the green sweater says, “Ast the kesah.”

  Lucas and I almost look at each other, then don’t. It’s impossible to understand what she’s saying.

  “That’s right, Francine,” Mary says. “Everyone gets to ask them one question each. Who would like to go first?”

  Six hands shoot up. Mary laughs. “Remember, they have to be appropriate questions.” Two hands go down. Mary laughs again. “Okay. Sheila, why don’t you start?”

  A tall woman with curly brown hair stands up and twirls around in a circle so her skirt flies out a little. “This is a question for the girl. Do you know my friend Susan?”

  I look at Mary. Am I supposed to know Susan? “I don’t think so. Is she in this class?”

  “No, but I could introduce you! Do you want to meet Susan?”

  “That’s two questions, Sheila,” a man with thick glasses seated beside her says. He looks like he probably has Down syndrome. “Mary said one question each.”

  Mary nods. “I did say that, Sheila. I’m sorry. You can ask Emily your second question at break. Thomas, do you have a question for Lucas or Emily?
”

  “Yes.” The man sitting next to Sheila stands and looks at the ceiling as he speaks. “This is for the boy. Do you have any favorite movies or TV shows or activities?” He sits back down.

  “Um, let me think—” Lucas says. His voice sounds strange, almost breathy. I wonder if Lucas is as nervous as I am. I don’t know what I was expecting, but now that I’m here, these people suddenly seem—well, really disabled. One is blind, judging by the cane he has laid sideways across his lap. Another is paying more attention to picking his nose than to anything we’re saying.

  “I play football so I practice most afternoons,” Lucas continues, and I’m surprised. He is nervous. I can tell by the way he’s wiping the palms of his hands on his shirtfront. “So I don’t get to watch a lot of movies or TV shows.”

  Another hand goes up. “What team do you play for?”

  “Westchester High,” he says. In any other crowd, hearing this would produce a few whistles, or some applause, because we are currently the undefeated leaders of our division, headed toward the first state championship our school has ever had. By “we” of course I mean the football team, which I have no friends on and no relationship to. Still, you can’t walk down the same locker-lined halls and not know the stats. Everyone’s a little starry-eyed around our football players this year.

  Everyone except this crowd, apparently, because no one says anything.

  After this, the questions get more random. Have we ever been to the Grand Canyon? Do we know how to make lasagna? Did we know that one person in the class won a gold medal in the Special Olympics?

  At this, Lucas raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Really?” he says, sounding genuinely impressed. “Who?”

  A short woman with a bowl haircut raises her hand. “It was Winter Olympics for bowling.” She sighs heavily, as if she’s a little tired of talking about it.

  Lucas laughs. It’s the first time I’ve ever him seen do this. I’m not sure if I’m imagining this, but it seems like talking about football, then getting off the topic of football, has put him in a better mood. “A gold medal!” he says. “That’s really great.”

  After everyone has asked their question, Mary tells us there’s a second tradition for new volunteers. While the rest of the class works on another activity, Lucas and I will each be paired with one class member who will interview us so we can be introduced in a fuller way at the end of class.

  “Great!” I say too loudly because I don’t want her to see how nervous this makes me. I don’t know if Mary realizes about half these people are almost impossible to understand. We only got through their questions because she was here, translating. Luckily, I get paired with Harrison, the blind one, who is easy to understand.

  Mary points to two desk chairs in the corner and says, “Emily will show you where you’re going, Harrison.” She puts his hand on my elbow and he stands up. I’m surprised at what a relief this feels like, leading him across the room. I can do this, I think. I can be a decent helper. Then we sit down in two desks facing each other and for a long time, neither one of us, it seems, can think of anything to say. After a fairly excruciating silence, he says, “Okay, so do you like Wiffle ball?”

  “Um. I don’t think I’ve ever played it.”

  He nods. “Okay.”

  There’s another long silence, as if, as far as Harrison’s concerned, we’re now done with the interview. Finally I lean forward and whisper, “Do you want to ask me something else?”

  “No,” he says. “It’s your turn.”

  “Oh.” I look over at Lucas and his partner and realize he’s right. Apparently we’re meant to be interviewing each other, because Lucas is asking his partner a question. “What do you like to do?”

  Harrison shrugs. “I don’t know. Eat, I guess.”

  “Okay. Do you have any hobbies?”

  “It’s my turn.”

  “Oh, right, sorry.”

  “Do you have any hobbies?”

  Now that he’s asking me, I realize it’s a hard question. I’m a high school senior taking three AP courses with college applications hovering over me like a black cloud. I co-chair our school’s Youth Action Coalition with my friend Richard, which I feel very committed to but don’t think of as a hobby really. I start to explain all this, but Harrison stops me. “Okay, that’s enough. Your turn to ask a question.” Of course that’s enough. He’s blind and has no way to write anything down.

  I look over at Lucas to see if he’s faring better with his partner. It seems like he is, but he got Francine, the bowling gold medalist, who is friendly and easy to talk to.

  “How long have you been taking this class?” I ask. Mary had told us most students have been in this class for at least a year, so they know one another pretty well.

  “Six years,” Harrison says. “Technically, six years and fourteen weeks.”

  “So you like it?”

  “I like some parts of it. Some parts I don’t like. My turn to ask a question.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  “How long have you been taking this class?”

  “Well—” Now I’m desperate. I look over at Lucas, who seems to be sharing a great joke with Francine. He’s laughing and pointing to her piece of paper. “Just write it,” he’s saying.

  “This is my first day!” I say with a fake laugh so it will look like Harrison and I are having fun, too. “I’m new, remember?”

  He pulls his earlobe. “That’s right. I forgot.”

  I don’t know if he’s mad about me laughing but he falls silent as if he is. “Do you want to ask me anything else?” I finally say. I feel terrible. I thought I would be good at this—or better than Lucas Kessler, at least—but apparently I’m wrong. I’m awkward and self-conscious and I have terrible instincts. I wonder what Harrison will say when he introduces me. In this group, there seems to be a tendency toward honesty that worries me.

  “I only have one more question.”

  “Okay!” I say hopefully. Maybe this will be a breakthrough—he’ll ask about school or what I’d like to do in the future.

  “Why are you volunteering in this class?”

  My face goes red. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that someone might ask this. Obviously I should have an answer prepared, but I don’t. I can’t get any words to come out of my mouth.

  Harrison nods as if he understands. He may be blind but he’s seen all he needs to of me.

  Mary waits until the end of class to have our partners introduce us. She asks Lucas’s partner, Francine, to go first. “Lucas is eighteen years old and is pretty good-looking even though he’s very, very humongous. He likes cats, some TV show I never heard of, and football. He also plays football, but not for the Patriots. He plays for some school but I can’t remember the name. His favorite food is . . .” She squints down at the paper. “I don’t know. I can’t read what I wrote.”

  He leans across his chair-desk and whispers in her ear.

  “Really?” she says. Everyone laughs. “Meatloaf, I guess. But I don’t know why.”

  Everyone claps. Francine smiles and takes a bow.

  “Thank you for doing a wonderful job with that, Francine,” Mary says. “Harrison, your turn to introduce Emily.” My heart races as he stands up. I wonder if he’ll say, Emily seems like she feels very uncomfortable being here.

  But he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “The week Emily was born in 1996, the number-one hit song on the Billboard charts was ‘Because You Loved Me,’ by Celine Dion.”

  I’m stunned. As we finished our interview, he asked for my birthday with the year, but could this possibly be right? Everyone laughs and claps as if this is another inside joke. Harrison smiles, bows, and sits back down. Mary asks what my birthday is and goes over to her desk in the corner to check on an iPad. “You’re right, Harrison! Well done, sir!”

  Everyone claps again, this time with a few whistles.

  I’m not sure what just happened. Apparently Harrison isn’t just blind, he has a
savant’s ability to memorize the entire history of Billboard number-one songs and their dates. It wasn’t about me, but it also wasn’t terrible. We’ve gotten through it fine, or at least everyone has overlooked the awful job I just did my first day in this class.

  BELINDA

  LATELY I’VE BEEN WATCHING Pride and Prejudice a lot. Not the new version starring Keira Knightly, but the old one that takes longer to watch and stars Colin Firth. It’s the only boxed DVD set that Nan owns but she says that’s okay, it’s the only DVD set she needs. Nan loves Mr. Darcy who is also Colin Firth and so do I.

  Lately I’ve been watching it all day long instead of going to school.

  I go to Westchester High School but this is my last year, which means I am supposed to be having a great time. My first day of school this year Mom played a song called “Anticipation,” because she wanted to make me feel less nervous. The singer kept saying, “Stay right here ’cause these are the good old days,” which made me think maybe I should stay right there at home and not get on the school bus because sometimes at school, I do not feel like these are the good old days.

  I got on the bus, though. Then I sat where I always sit, in the first seat behind the driver. Some years the driver changes and instead of a man named Carl, we have a woman named Sue. Even if this happens, though, I never change where I sit, which is right behind the driver. Behind the driver means no bus jerks can make fun of me or do their jokes where they pretend to be my friend and then give me candy that’s been on the dirty bus floor. Behind the driver means I usually sit near seventh graders who are scared, too.

  I’ve been going to school so long it shouldn’t scare me anymore but sometimes it does. Before the first day of school, Nan reminds me of the things I love about school, like my job in the main office, which is sorting paper for recycling and delivering mail. Nan also makes a list of all the teachers I love like Rhonda, Carla, and Ms. Culpepper. By then, I usually remember other things I love like the mandarin oranges from the cafeteria, the art display cases, and listening to band practice. Nan helps me remember those things better than Mom, who tries but sometimes forgets stuff.