A Step Toward Falling Read online

  At the end of our meal, I ask Simon what he does with his days. He thinks about it for a while and then he shrugs. “Not too much,” he says. “On Wednesdays, I come here.”

  “Oh, Lucas, it’s terrible,” I say in the car ride home. I’m grateful for this topic to discuss so he doesn’t have a chance to tease me about the strangest moment of class—when Chad stood up to leave early and interrupted Mary to make an I’ll call you hand phone, pointing to me. All the women in class spun around to look at me. After class ended, Sheila asked if Chad and I were getting married. “Of course not,” I said, blushing fiercely.

  “Why not?” Sheila asked.

  I saw Lucas staring, which made me even more nervous. “Well, I’m way too young, for one thing.”

  “Not really,” Sheila said. “You’re allowed. You should. Just do it. I’d get married if Justin Bieber asked me.”

  “I would, too,” Lucas said. “If it was Justin? Totally.”

  Sheila didn’t laugh. She just rolled her eyes. I assumed Lucas would spend the ride home making fun of me about Chad, which made me launch off on this topic with particular zeal. “These people need help finding jobs. There need to be some changes.”

  Lucas smiles and fiddles with his brace. “What—are you going to become a social worker now?”

  “No. I’m talking about political activism. Legislative changes. These people need a voice.” I think about the time I’ve spent signing people up for their rice-and-bean Oxfam pledges at school. I should have been going into restaurants with Simon pointing out the moral responsibility we have as a society to find a place for him to work in the community. “Doesn’t it shock you that most of these folks don’t have jobs? They’re all capable of working.”

  “I’m not sure about that.”

  “Most of them are. With support.”

  “Right, but how many bosses want to give them that kind of support? Who can afford it?”

  “So there should be incentives for businesses who hire workers with disabilities. Like they have for people who hire vets. Something!”

  I look over at him and stop. He’s smiling at me in a way that’s sort of confusing. “Maybe that should be your new slogan,” he says. “SOMETHING’S GOTTA BE DONE! You could get people to sign pledges at your lunch table.” He’s never mentioned my YAC work before. I wouldn’t have thought he’d noticed. “Or how about this: I’M GOING TO CHANGE EVERYONE’S LIFE!”

  The first comment was funny. This second one seems mean, especially considering what he wrote on my sheet. Theoretically this is what he likes about me. “I’m not talking about changing everyone’s life. I’m saying this is a vulnerable group that’s being ignored right now. No one’s helping them get what they really need, which are jobs. A sense of productivity. Forget relationships, they need work.”

  “You want to go out and find twenty jobs for those people?”

  “Well, someone should! God, Lucas, you know them as well as I do. They’re capable people. You like them.”

  “I do like them.”

  “Then why aren’t you agreeing with me? I’m just saying there should be laws that make it easier for these people to get jobs.”

  “Okay. I agree. I just don’t think screaming about it in a car to me helps anybody. I’d rather think of something I could do.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. I’m still thinking.”

  “Like volunteering in this class? Do you think that’s helped anyone?”

  “I don’t know.” He thinks for a minute and shakes his head. “Not really.”

  It seems as if we’re getting too close to saying what I’ve really wanted to say, what we’ve both avoided saying since Belinda came back to school. Our crime involved her and our punishment hasn’t done a thing to help her.

  I drive in silence for a while until I pull onto Lucas’s street. “Let me know if you think of something,” I say. It comes off as more sarcastic than I intend it to. I know he does care. He’s a more reliable, better volunteer than Chad. It’s possible Lucas understands what I don’t want to admit: that nothing we’re doing will help Belinda. Or—when you get right down to it—anyone else.

  That night, it comes to me: an idea so simple I’m not sure why I didn’t think of it sooner.

  I wait until the next day, after school, to tell Lucas. I know where he waits by himself for the van that is temporarily driving him home while he’s injured. It’s in the back parking lot behind school where neither one of us has to worry about being seen talking to each other.

  I start by telling him about Belinda back in the Children’s Story Theater days. “She was a good actress,” I tell him. “She was better than good. She was the best one of all of us. At everything: props, costumes, acting, all of it. She had a real gift, and we’ve never seen her once in a high school play, right?”

  Lucas shrugs. “I wouldn’t know.”

  Of course he wouldn’t. Why would a football player have seen every school production the way Richard and I have? “Trust me, she hasn’t been in anything. So what if you and I put on a play starring Belinda?”

  I can’t tell what he’s thinking. There’s a skeptical expression on his face. “I think we should. If we want to do something that would really help her, this would be it. I’m sure of it.”

  I look down at his leg brace; hopefully I don’t have to point out the obvious: Your afternoons are pretty free these days. You can’t really say you don’t have the time.

  “What play would you do?”

  “We. It would have to be both of us. I don’t have enough friends.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “And I do?”

  “Oh, please, Lucas. I have four friends. You have about seventeen times that. Surely there are a few benchwarmers on the cheerleading squad who wouldn’t mind staying after school a few extra days a week to help out.” He shrugs. I’m right, there probably are.

  “What play are you thinking of?”

  “She was really great in Charlotte’s Web.”

  “Are you kidding?” He laughs as if maybe I am. Then he shakes his head. “Wouldn’t someone have to wear a costume and play the pig?”

  I’ve forgotten that ten years have passed since Belinda stole everyone’s heart with her phenomenal Fern portrayal. I’ve forgotten the furry tails and cardboard ears we wore to play barnyard animals. I’ve forgotten that we’re too old now to put on children’s plays.

  Or maybe not.

  “It’s a classic, Lucas. Make fun of it all you want, but it’s not a terrible idea. It was a great play and she was fantastic. I guarantee if you saw her do the part, you’d be amazed.”

  He nods as if he’s considering it. I’ll give him this much: he’s not brushing me off or moving away saying, Yeah, let me get back to you. Instead he smiles. “Wouldn’t someone have to play a spider?”

  “We did that with a puppet. Someone stood behind a set piece saying the lines. It was surprisingly effective.”

  He smiles at me in a funny way, as if he guesses what I’m not telling him. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

  I glance away because suddenly, looking into his green eyes is confusing. “I’m not telling.”

  Now he’s really smiling. “You played Charlotte the spider.”

  “All right, fine, I did. It was the high point of my acting career, if you must know.”

  He really laughs now. “Do you still have the puppet?”

  “Of course not. No one’s allowed to keep props like that afterward, but we could probably borrow everything from Children’s Story Theater if told them what we were doing.”

  I still can’t tell what he thinks. He’s not saying yeah, sure, but he’s also not saying no. “I don’t know,” he says. “We’re not even supposed to talk to her.” He’s backing away.

  “Right, I know, but if we talk to her grandmother? It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

  I don’t know why this is so important to me or why I feel like I’ll cry if Lucas does the easy
thing and says, “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

  But he doesn’t.

  Instead his van pulls up and he crutches over toward it. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Let me think about it.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  BELINDA

  THIS SURPRISES ME A lot. I walk into the nurse’s office this morning and football player number 89 is sitting on one of the beds with an ice pack on his knee. I don’t know number 89’s name so I don’t say anything and I don’t look at him. He was not at the Best Buddies dance and he is not my friend. But sitting here not looking at him makes my heart pound. I feel like I might not be able to breathe pretty soon. I don’t understand this. I’m not supposed to be alone in rooms with people who scare me. That’s why I’m sitting in the nurse’s office, so I don’t have to see people like number 89.

  My armpits are sweating and so is my face.

  I should walk out, but the door is across the room. I’d have to walk past him and I can’t.

  I can’t move at all.

  “Hi, Belinda,” I hear him say. “I’m sorry to be in your space. I’m supposed to ice my knee for twenty minutes before school, but I could sit somewhere else if you’d rather.”

  I’m surprised he knows my name because I don’t know his. Usually it’s the other way around. “It’s okay,” I get my mouth to say.

  “I’m Lucas Kessler,” he says. “We’ve never officially met.”

  My face goes hot again.

  “I know your mom and your grandma didn’t want us talking to you but now that we’re sitting here by ourselves, I just want to say how sorry Emily and I are about what happened to you. We’ve been going to this class—”

  “Oh my goodness! Belinda, you’re here!” Ms. Weintraub, the nurse, is standing in the doorway. She looks nervous because she knows this boy isn’t supposed to be here. “We didn’t expect you for another half hour. Lucas, why don’t you sit out here in the main office.”

  He gets off the bed and limps into the other room, holding the ice to his knee. I’m glad he’s not in the same room anymore but for the rest of the day I wonder what he was about to say when Ms. Weintraub came in. What class are they going to?

  The next morning he’s there again. I’ve gotten to school early enough that Ms. Weintraub isn’t here again. I made Nan drive me early. I wanted to see if he’d be here and he is. He must have gone to the freezer himself and gotten the ice pack. This time I’m not so scared. I sit two chairs away from him because I’ve learned about personal space and I never get closer than a Hula Hoop away from people I don’t know.

  “Hi,” he says when I sit down. It looks like he’s happy to see me, but I don’t know. I’ve learned from Ron that I shouldn’t expect people to be happy to see me.

  I don’t smile but I keep talking so I can ask him a question. “My name is Belinda. You’re Lucas.” I know we already know each other’s names but I’m nervous so I say this.

  “That’s right. Hi, Belinda!”

  “What were you going to tell me yesterday?”

  He looks confused.

  “It was something about you and Emily. Taking a class.”

  “Oh, right! We’ve been helping out in a class at the Lifelong Learning Center—have you ever heard of it?”

  “No,” I say.

  “It has a lot of different classes like Relationships and ballroom dancing. I think anyone can take them but mostly it’s for people with disabilities.”

  I look at his leg. “Do you have a disability?”

  “No. I mean—” He looks down at his leg, too. “Well, sort of.”

  “Do you take ballroom dancing?”

  “No.” He laughs like this is a funny question to ask. “I’m not a very good dancer. I don’t think I could do it.”

  “I like waltzes the best.”

  “Really? So you know how to ballroom dance?”

  “No.” I think of telling him about Pride and Prejudice and the dances I’ve watched them do, but then I remember that I shouldn’t be too friendly. People like Lucas don’t like it when you’re too friendly with them.

  Lucas looks at the door. Someone is turning on lights in the main office. “Look—somebody’s going to tell me to leave pretty soon so maybe I’ll just ask you quickly—Emily had this idea about putting on a play. Only we’d need people to act in it. Is there any chance you might be interested in doing something like that?”

  My heart starts to pound. He must know who I am. He must remember my performances at Children’s Story Theater. He remembers me from when I was famous and people came up to me in grocery stores and said how good I was. “I might be interested,” I say. My stomach has a tingly, exciting feeling. “What play?”

  “We’re not sure yet. But you might be interested?”

  “I don’t know. I’m too old for Story Theater. I’m not allowed to do children’s plays anymore.”

  “Oh, okay. Right.”

  “I’m twenty-one now.”

  He looks surprised. Maybe he doesn’t know that students in my class stay in school longer than other kids. Maybe I sound old to him, I don’t know.

  “What kind of plays do you like to do these days? We haven’t settled on a play yet, so we’re open to suggestions.”

  I can’t believe he’s asking me this. I close my eyes and breathe through my nose so my body stays calm. “I do have a favorite story,” I say.

  “You do?”

  I’m scared to say it out loud. I think about Ron and his friends laughing, and then I force myself to stop remembering that. “Pride and Prejudice,” I say. It’s almost a whisper.

  “Really?” he says. “That movie with Keira Knightly?”

  “Not that one. The real one starring Colin Firth.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s a miniseries. It’s eight hours long.”

  “Huh.”

  “We probably couldn’t do the whole thing.”

  “No, probably not.”

  Now that I’ve said it I feel calmer. I open my eyes and see him looking at me. It’s such a strange expression on his face, like he’s seeing me for the first time.

  “Okay,” he says. “That’s a great idea. Let’s do Pride and Prejudice.”

  Later that morning, Douglas is either absent or else so lazy he won’t help Anthony do their job, so I ask Ms. Weintraub if I can help him.

  She says, “That’s very nice of you, Belinda. Thank you.”

  Anthony isn’t as friendly with me today as he was a few days ago. Maybe he remembers our fight now. It’s hard to tell. Sometimes Anthony never remembers anything and sometimes he does remember things. I say, “I can help you. Ms. Weintraub said so.”

  “Oh,” he says and moves over so I can stand in front of the mailboxes, too. I pull out the mail he’s already sorted to see if he he’s made any mistakes. I’m surprised. He hasn’t.

  He says, “Leave that. I do it fine. You do the new ones.”

  I’m surprised at how annoyed he sounds. He doesn’t sound like himself. He sounds like me when I’m annoyed. “Okay,” I say.

  After we’ve been working for a while, I ask, “Where’s Douglas?”

  “Who cares? I’m sick of Douglas. I hate him.”

  I’ve never heard Anthony say anything like this. He’s two years younger than Douglas but their parents are friends so they’ve known each other their whole lives. I know they do Boy Scouts together and go camping.

  “You don’t hate Douglas,” I say. “Maybe you just hate how annoying he is sometimes.”

  Anthony looks confused. “He’s not annoying.”

  Honestly, yes he is. All Douglas cares about is food and saying “She’s a really hot mama” anytime anyone mentions the name of a girl who will never in a million years go out with him. “He is, Anthony. He only cares about candy and sexy girls. That’s annoying.”

  “He says you’ll never be my girlfriend. He says you’ll never come back to our class because you hate me.”

  A few minutes ago I was so happy abou
t the play and my conversation with Lucas. Now I feel sad. “I don’t hate you,” I say, because I don’t. I hate that he’s doing the job I love. I hate that he’s in tenth grade and thinks it’s okay to ask people who are almost about to graduate to marry him, that’s all.

  “You don’t?” he says.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Why don’t you come back to our class?”

  Now that he’s asked me I’m not sure. I remember our fight and I remember telling Nan I never wanted to see Anthony or Douglas again. Now that I’m seeing them, though, it’s fine. Maybe better than fine. I want to tell Anthony all about this play. I’ve told him about Pride and Prejudice before. He watched it last year when I had to have my hernia operation and missed a week of school. When I got back, he said watching it made him miss me less. He said I reminded him exactly of the girl in it, except he couldn’t remember which girl or anyone’s name.

  “I’ll come back when I have time, Anthony,” I say. “Right now I’m really busy. I have a Pride and Prejudice play I’m going to be in.”

  Anthony blinks like he’s confused the way he always is. “What Pride and Prejudah play?” Anthony can never pronounce long words but it’s okay, I’m used to it.

  “We’re putting on Pride and Prejudice here. You should try out, too, if you want to. I think you’d be a pretty good actor. You just have to pronounce your words carefully so people can understand.”

  He doesn’t say anything for a long time.

  Finally he says, “You really think I should be a actor, Beminda?”

  “Yes, I do. If you don’t get a part, then you can help me keep the props table organized. I usually do that job, plus acting.”

  Just thinking about all this makes me so happy I want to hug Anthony again. I know he’s thinking the same thing because he’s looking at me with his arms open.

  “Okay,” I say. “If you’ll audition with me, I’ll give you a hug, Anthony.”

  “Okay,” he says and I do. And I’m surprised all over again. It’s not bad hugging Anthony. It really isn’t.

  EMILY

  THOUGH OF COURSE THE two things couldn’t be connected, it still makes me wonder: the same week that Belinda returned to school, we lost our first football game. Now she’s been back for three weeks and last Friday, the unthinkable happened: we lost our division play-offs. We’re out of contention for the state championship we all thought we would win.