A Step Toward Falling Page 8

  “I should go,” he says, inching forward. “It takes me twenty minutes to get anywhere.”

  “Sure,” I say. “I’ll see you Wednesday night.”

  When I look back up the hall to where I left Richard, he’s talking to a tall guy I’ve smiled at a few times but didn’t think I knew until I realize—it’s Hugh Weston. He’s much taller these days, like over six feet, and dresses better than he used to. Richard is staring at him, wearing an expression I’ve never seen before, like he’s getting ready to laugh hard at whatever Hugh says. It’s sweet, actually. Hugh looks nice. I don’t want Richard to think I don’t support him. I walk over with a friendly hand raised in a wave. “Hi, you guys. Hi, Hugh.”

  Hugh looks so surprised at my remembering his name, he blushes and looks down at his feet. “Hi,” he whispers. He clears his throat. “Emily, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Mr. Hartung, ninth grade?” He smiles.

  Even though I remember this, too, I’m surprised he does.

  “Yeah,” I say and laugh. “So I should get going—I’ll see you in calc, okay, Richard?”

  “Yeah, okay,” he says. Though he could have used this as an excuse to leave his conversation with Hugh, he doesn’t. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  When Richard gets to class late—with a teacher who counts tardies—I feel bad enough to write him a note: Hugh seems really nice. Everything OK?

  Ten minutes later, I get back: Very OK. We’re seeing a movie on Saturday.

  Okay, wait a minute. He and I usually do something on Saturdays.

  “So you asked him out?” I ask as soon as we’re alone in the hall after class.

  “Yes. It’s a movie we both want to see. He said great, he’d love to go.”

  “Does he know it’s a date?”

  Obviously I’ve only annoyed Richard all over again. “We didn’t use that word specifically, but it’s a movie on a Saturday night. It seems self-evident, doesn’t it?”

  I don’t know anymore. Suddenly it seems like everything is changing in ways I don’t understand. “Okay,” I say.

  BELINDA

  I THINK MR. FIRTH WANTS me to go back to school. It’s a feeling I get during some of the boring scenes with Lizzy traveling to see her friend Charlotte. He’s not even on screen and it’s like he’s whispering in my ear, You shouldn’t stay home forever either.

  Then I hear him actually say it. I really do.

  Nan says I have an overactive imagination. She used to worry about me when I played in rooms by myself and used different voices for all the different characters in the stories I was acting out. She and Mom used to fight about it. “She needs to interact with people more!” Nan would say. “She shouldn’t be alone all the time!”

  And Mom would say, “She is who she is. Why can’t we just let her be happy?”

  Nan liked to remind Mom that I have a lot of potential. When I was a baby, I had lots of seizures and no one knew how I would turn out. One doctor said I would probably never learn to read. He turned out to be very wrong because I can read. I can also type and alphabetize and sort mail which has been my job for two years at school. I thought this would be my job forever, until Ms. Kretzer told me no, that I’ll only do it until the end of this year because she has to give other kids a chance to do it, too.

  She didn’t even have to tell me, I know which other kids she means. Anthony and Douglas. They are in my class. They both have Down syndrome which is much different than what I have and we are nothing at all alike. It made me so upset to imagine Anthony or Douglas doing my job that I went home that day and cried for a long time. Anthony wears thick glasses and always has food on his face or his shirt. It’s hard to imagine how he would sort mail without getting food on it. Douglas is very silly and not at all focused. They’ll mix recycling bins or not sort the white paper from the colored. They’ll talk while they deliver mail which I never do. I know that people are very busy at work and shouldn’t be disturbed.

  The night after she told me, I wrote a letter to Ms. Kretzer explaining why I should get to keep my job forever.

  Anthony and Douglas canNOT alphabetize. They are also stubborn. If they aren’t in the mood to do something, they don’t do it. I’m not saying this to be mean but just so you know—they don’t strive hard.

  I wrote her letters like this every day until finally she told me I had to stop writing her letters. She was sorry, she said, but she had no choice. This was school, not the real world, and even if I could do a better job than them, she had to think about other students, not just me.

  “You’ll only be in school for the rest of this year, Belinda. They’ve got three more years,” she told me.

  That’s when I got a little scared. It was the first time I realized that when I don’t go to school, I won’t have anything else to do either. I have been trying to find a job but everyone says the same thing: it’s hard for everyone, not just me. Nan has put my name on waiting lists at three different employment agencies. I tell them I can alphabetize and sort mail and they say they only have a few jobs like that and many applicants for them. They say if I want to wipe tables and sweep a school cafeteria, they might be able to find something like that. Nan says no that’s janitorial work and that’s beneath me. “She should be in an office doing mail delivery,” Nan told the agency lady. “That’s what she loves.”

  The woman looked a little annoyed at Nan. “I have to tell you, for every nice office job like that, we have a wait list of about two hundred people with disabilities who want that job.”

  I tried to picture two hundred people waiting to do my mail delivery job. I hadn’t realized how lucky I was. This summer, Nan didn’t give up easily. She kept making calls, trying to get me a summer internship in an office where I wouldn’t get paid any money but everyone could see what a good worker I am and how nice I am, too. She never found anything. Eventually she had to give up.

  “After you graduate we’ll keep our ears and eyes open,” Nan said over the summer. “We’ll find something for you, sweetheart. You’re a good worker. You deserve to have a job.”

  Now she doesn’t say this anymore.

  Now she thinks I should stay home forever where I can sit on her sofa and be safe and never go back to school or anywhere else. “What was school doing for her anyway?” Nan says to Mom. “All they did was make her work for free at a job she wasn’t going to be able to keep.”

  I don’t like hearing Nan say that, but she’s also right. I never did get paid.

  Now I watch a close-up of Mr. Firth looking out over his moors. His lips don’t move, but I hear him say, You should go back. Finish school and finish your job.

  I’m sure he’s saying it. I hear it perfectly.

  “NAN!” I scream. “HE’S TALKING TO ME!”

  Nan gets scared and runs in, all red in the face. “What is it, baby??”

  “Mr. Firth is talking to me!” Right after I say it, I know I shouldn’t have. I remember everything she’s said about how he can’t see me and how he might not even read my letters even though he answered that one. I know I’ve made a mistake. Nan will get worried. She might say I should go back to the hospital. I don’t want to do that, I really don’t.

  “Nothing,” I say, staring at the TV set like it said the thing about Mr. Firth.

  “Who was talking to you, Belinda?”

  For an old person, Nan’s hearing is still pretty good. “No one was. I don’t know why I said that. Let’s just forget it, okay?”

  Nan squints at me like she’s not going to forget it, which I know is true. She’s got her eye on me. After she leaves the room, I close my eyes to see if he’ll talk to me again. I want to hear him say it again. You should go back. Finish school and your job.

  I don’t hear him say it again but that’s okay.

  That night for dinner, it’s rotisserie chicken, broccoli, and rice. Salt is my favorite spice; I put it on everything. Before I take a bite I tell Nan and Mom that I want to go back t
o school.

  “Really?” Mom says. She looks so surprised that she sits up straighter.

  “Absolutely not,” Nan says. “We’ve already decided this.” She looks at Mom. “We’ve had this conversation, Lauren.”

  “I didn’t,” I say. “I never had this conversation.”

  “Your mother and I feel very strongly about this. You were not safe at school; they were not able to protect you.”

  Mom looks down at her plate. I wish she would say something but she doesn’t so I say, “I was safe except for that one time!”

  Nan shuts her eyes and breathes through her nose.

  “I have to go back. I have a job to do!”

  “It’s not a real job, Belinda. You know that.”

  “It is too! I know I can’t keep it, but it’s a real job.”

  I see Mom peek at me. She wants me to stand up to Nan. Just because she won’t do it doesn’t mean I can’t. “They need me! Mr. Johnson said so! He said, I don’t know what we’ll do without you next year, Belinda. He said that!”

  “He was being nice, sweetheart. Everyone loves you very much, but that doesn’t mean things have changed at school. I’m not just talking about the one incident. They never accommodated you in one of their plays. You were never included in any regular classes. You weren’t safe because none of the other kids knew you well enough to be your friend. They couldn’t look out for you or protect you. I know that boy isn’t there anymore, but the problems still are.”

  I hate Nan for saying this. It makes me want to cry.

  “Nothing will have changed, Belinda. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Maybe she’s right, I think. This was my last year to be in a play and I still didn’t get cast. Mr. Bergman said he was really sorry this time, that he wanted it to work out before I graduated, but there were more budget cuts and he just didn’t have the money. That won’t change.

  People looking at me in the hallway won’t change either. Maybe they’ll know what happened with Mitchell Breski and stare at me more. That would be terrible.

  I don’t have many friends at school. The ones I have are mostly adults. Usually I’m okay if adults are around, but if they’re not, I might have a panic attack walking down the hallway. I haven’t had one in a long time but I did the first year I got to high school. I had to sit down in the middle of the hallway because I didn’t know where I was going. That was the first time I talked to Mr. Johnson. I thought he was a janitor because he had a walkie-talkie on his belt. Then he asked if I’d like to come to his office with him and it turned out he was the principal.

  That could happen again, only this time I’d know Mr. Johnson, of course.

  Still, Nan’s right. Nothing big will have changed. Mr. Johnson might like me but that doesn’t mean I can act in a play. Then I see something surprising: Mom is looking right at me. Her eyes aren’t glazed over or red from crying. She’s telling me something with them. She’s shaking her head. She’s trying to say: Don’t listen to Nan.

  Later, after I’m in bed and my lights are out, Mom comes into my room and sits on my bed. When I was little, I couldn’t fall asleep unless someone lay down with me in bed. She and Nan used to take turns, but she did it more. “It’s the only thing I can do,” she used to say to Nan.

  Now it’s been so long that it feels funny at first and then I remember how much I like it. One of her arms lies across my stomach. She nuzzles into my shoulder so I can feel her breath.

  “You should go back to school if you want to,” she whispers. “Is that what you want?”

  “Yes,” I say. I squeeze my eyes shut so I don’t accidentally cry.

  “You’re so much braver than I was. I’m so proud of you for that.”

  “I’m not that brave,” I say, because I’m not. I don’t feel brave.

  “Yes, you are. You’re braver than I ever was. By the time I got to your age, I was scared of everybody.”

  I don’t know the whole story of what happened to Mom when she had me. I just know it was hard and she never finished high school.

  “I’m not brave,” I say. “I just don’t want to miss my only chance to do a job.” I don’t open my eyes because there are tears behind them and I don’t want Mom to see that. I don’t think she knows what the employment agencies said this summer. Sometimes Nan and I don’t tell her bad news because we don’t want her to feel sadder than she already does.

  “I was always so scared of what everyone else might think of me. I was scared of what they’d think when I got pregnant, and then I was scared of what they’d think when my baby had problems. I don’t want you to be scared like I was. I want you to go back to school and show everyone how strong you are.”

  Now that she’s said it, I like the idea. Maybe people will look at me and think I’m strong. “Will you come with me?” I say and then I remember I probably shouldn’t ask her. Nan says you shouldn’t ask people to do things they can’t do. Like for years I tried to learn how to make change, but I never could. Dimes don’t seem like they’re worth more nickels. And nickels look like quarters to me. I always make mistakes. Finally Nan said, “It’s okay if you never work a cash register. You shouldn’t be asked to do what you can’t do. No one should.”

  Mom doesn’t like to leave the house which is why she’s never worked except at home. Nan can’t open jars which means Mom and I do it for her. If you can’t do something, it’s not your fault and no one should force you. That’s how it’s always been for us, except now I’ve made a mistake and asked Mom to do something she can’t do.

  I feel terrible. I don’t want Mom to cry or think everything is her fault. It’s not her fault what happened with Mitchell Breski. It’s not her fault that I can’t make change and I have bad eyes. Then she surprises me. She squeezes my hand and sits up in bed.

  “Yes,” she says. “If you want to go back to school, I’ll go with you.”

  Now she’s so nervous and excited she stands up in the dark and walks around my room. “I will,” she says again and squeezes my arm. “I’ll come with you.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  EMILY

  I SPEND MOST OF SUNDAY wanting to call Richard and find out how his night with Hugh went, but I don’t. If it was a disaster, I don’t want to force him to talk about it. If it was great, I assume he would have called me early to go over the details, but then I remember we’re in new territory. He’s never been on a date before so I really don’t know what he would do. I don’t know if he’ll become one of those people who gets into a relationship and drops all his friends. It scares me a little, especially when I go the whole day without hearing from him. Finally, before bed, I send him a text: So? How was it?

  I get ready for the worst and think about the speech I’ve planned: “Even if it was a disaster, it’s still good that you tried. You were brave, which is the most important part.”

  Then he answers: Great. We spent most of today together, too. He needed new dress pants for a band concert coming up. He’s a terrible shopper so I went to the mall with him.

  Richard hates shopping. He always says he’d do it more if it didn’t involve looking in mirrors or trying on clothes. “I wish we could just walk around with our outfits on hangers dangling from our necks,” he usually says.

  Where’d you go? I ask.

  5 stores. Couldn’t find pants but still had a gr8 time. Have done NO hmwrk. I shld go.

  I feel like I’m no longer talking to Richard. He doesn’t shorten words in texts. We make fun of people who do that, like vowels are such hard work to type out. Plus, Richard is, at heart, a nervous grade grubber. Most Friday afternoons, he goes home and does all his homework so he doesn’t have to spend the next two days “worrying” about it. Now he’s spent three days without it crossing his mind?

  OK. Bye. C U 2morrow.

  Hopefully he’ll understand what I’m really saying with this text: You don’t sound like yourself. In fact, you sound a little stupid.

  Apparently he doesn’t, though, bec
ause the next day I don’t even talk to him until right before lunch, when he tells me he won’t be eating with us today because he’s going out with Hugh. “He wants to keep looking for pants. I said I’d go with him. Don’t be mad.”

  “I’m not mad,” I say, sounding mad. “So, what, he has a car?” I don’t know why this annoys me, but it does. I’m still picturing Hugh being as short as he used to be. I imagine him sitting on phone books to see over the dashboard.

  “Yeah, Em. A lot of people have cars.”

  “Right, I know.” I’m just the only one of our friends who does.

  Richard loves to point out that he might be gay, but he’s not that gay. He hates Lady Gaga, for instance, and has never seen a Judy Garland movie except for The Wizard of Oz, which doesn’t count, according to him. He doesn’t worry excessively about his clothes or his hair, he never watches reality TV shows, including Runway, which (according to him) was designed to appeal exclusively to gay teens. I’m thinking about all this because it underscores how strange Richard sounds the next day at lunch, describing in elaborate detail the pants they finally bought for Hugh. “They’ve got a bias cut, which makes them hang beautifully. I almost bought a pair for myself but I don’t have occasions for black dress pants. I wish I did.”

  “Excuse me,” I say, unwrapping my sandwich, “but who are you and what have you done with my friend Richard?” This is an old joke Richard used to make the first year we were friends any time I talked about my flag-team days.

  Now he sinks a little, like I’ve just shot him in the chest. “Come on. Don’t be like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Be happy for me.”

  I tell him I would be happy for him if all this pants shopping meant he found out whether Hugh was gay or not. He’s already told me they didn’t talk about it. Maybe I’m in an overly negative mood, but it seems entirely possible to me that Hugh is very happy to have Richard as an enthusiastic new friend and Hugh is as straight as I am.

  Richard shakes his head. “I mean, maybe you’re right, but I don’t think so.”