Take Me There

by Susane Colasanti

  The answer to that last one is easy. They couldn’t prove anything. And in New York City the rules about punishing students are really tight. Mr. Pearlman knows that if he disqualified Danny without any proof, Danny’s parents would be up his butt so fast he’d wish he kept Vaseline in his desk drawer. They only manage to nail kids whose parents don’t care. If Mr. Pearlman accused Danny and suspended him or whatever, Mr. Pearlman would probably be the one to get in trouble.

  Example. I remember the best teacher from seventh grade, Mr. Leto. It was the beginning of the year and some kid wasn’t doing the Do Now, which is this short assignment you’re supposed to do right away. So Mr. Leto goes over to him, and he’s like, “Jose! Do the Do Now!” And he tapped his gradebook really lightly against Jose’s head. According to Jose, Mr. Leto pounded him over the head with a brick. He ran out of the room yelling, “Mr. Leto hit me!” And the principal came in and Jose was crying. Then Mr. Leto didn’t show up for a whole month.

  Mr. Pearlman knows that’s his reality if he does anything without absolute proof. Works for me.

  I take in the scene. Rhiannon by the drinks, talking to Nicole. Tony doing that lame dance he always does. The way the girls standing on the side are trying to look like they don’t care that no one’s asking them to dance. The boys pretending not to notice them, even the ones they like. It’s all such a game. And for some reason, I’m over playing it.

  I’m trying to avoid looking at the lead singer’s breasts, but it’s really hard. She’s this cute chick with a tiny shirt cut so low it doesn’t take much effort to imagine her naked. But I don’t want Rhiannon to think I’m interested. I’m just looking. Kind of like admiring fine art at the Guggenheim.

  Ripping my eyes away and forcing myself to notice other stuff, I check out the bar and see that The Breakfast Club is playing on TV. The TV is set up with couches and a coffee table around it to look like someone’s living room. Actually, the whole place looks like someone’s living room.

  I point to the TV and yell over to Rhiannon, “Check it out!”

  She yells back, “Yeah! I saw!”

  “Nice!”

  “Totally!”

  We watch the band some more. Or, Rhiannon watches and I try to focus on the keyboard. And then she goes, “Are you wearing cologne?”

  I’m like, “What?” Even though I heard her.

  “Are you wearing cologne?!”

  The correct answer is yes. But now I feel like a nimrod because I kind of put it on for her. And if I admit that I’m wearing it she’ll probably figure that out, because I’ve never really worn cologne before. So I pretend that I still can’t hear her.

  When we’re out on the street after and all talking about how sick the band was and how hot the bar is, I’m trying to think of a polite way for Rhiannon and me to ditch Danny and Nicole. This was a blast and all, but I could use some downtime.

  Danny’s got his own agenda. Eventually he says, “Peace out,” and leaves with Nicole.

  “Do you feel like going somewhere?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” Rhiannon says. “I’m not even tired.”

  “Me neither.”

  So we get a cab. And then we walk. We end up at the pier. Which we have entirely to ourselves.

  Someone’s home in the apartment tower across the street. You can see right in, since the tower is mostly glass. It was designed by Richard Meier, this rad architect we studied in mechanical drawing. The people in there are so lucky. Their view is amazing. I wonder how many of them really appreciate what an incredible home they have.

  I listen to the water. All this quiet is righteous.

  I’m all, “Nice how I reserved the whole pier, huh?”

  “It’s sweet.”

  “Yeah. I’m sweet like that.”

  I think about my new playlist. And the iPod in my pocket.

  I’d only known Rhiannon for like a month when we were doing homework at my house and I put a Jet CD on. She said she didn’t know who they were. I told her it was total Rhiannon music. I was right. And I haven’t been wrong since. So I made a playlist of Rhiannon music.

  Then I get that anxious pang again. And I’m still not sure why. But I’m starting to get the picture.

  “What’s wrong?” she says.

  Busted.

  “Nothing. Well . . . I guess there is something. Since you’re asking and all.”

  “What?”

  “There’s no light show.”

  “What?”

  I point to the building across the river. Its slanted top is all dark.

  “Oh.” Rhiannon looks. “Maybe it’ll start later.”

  “It better.” I wipe my hands on my jeans. I should have brought mints.

  There are some flowers on the grass. Rhiannon watches them bending in the breeze. She says, “I like those flowers.”

  “They’re nice.”

  “Those pink ones are so pretty.”

  “Well, they’re not as good as the ones in your locker, but . . .”

  She gives me a weird look. “How do you know about that?”

  “About what?”

  “Did I . . . I didn’t tell you about the flowers, did I?”

  “What flowers?”

  “Those . . . flowers Steve left in my locker?”

  “I don’t know anything about those flowers. I only know about the flowers I left in your locker.”

  “No way! That was you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But how did you know . . . ?”

  “Remember when we were walking past that house on Charles Street and they had all those flowers outside? And you said how they were—”

  “—so pretty.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I totally forgot about that.”

  “Yeah, well. I didn’t.”

  She just looks at me for a while. Then she goes, “Do you want to sit?”

  There’s that pang again.

  “Um . . . I was thinking of . . . not sitting.”

  “And doing what? You want to walk more?”

  “Not exactly.” I take out my iPod. I separate the earbuds. I put one in her ear. “I’d rather do this.” I put the other one in my ear. I select the first song on the playlist. It’s “Look What You’ve Done.”

  And then we’re dancing. I just made it up. iPod dancing. I’m not exactly the most romantic guy, so this is kind of extreme for me.

  There’s this feeling I get when we’re together like this. It feels calm. All the noise in my head is quiet. And it feels like I’ve finally found where I’m supposed to be.

  So when I kiss her, it’s like nothing else exists but this.

  But then her cell chimes. It’s the worst timing ever.

  She says, “Let me turn this off.”

  “It’s a text?”

  “Yeah. Sorry.” She checks the screen. “It’s from Nicole.” And then she’s like, “Oh my god.”

  “What?”

  “It says, ‘Help me.’”

  “That’s all it says?”

  “Hang on.” Rhiannon types back. I move next to her so I can see the screen. She types: where r u? and sends it.

  A few seconds later, the screen says: 211 W 80.

  That’s all I need to know. I remember when he told her he lives in her neighborhood. So it’s pretty obvious where Nicole is.

  “Is that between Broadway and Amsterdam?” Rhiannon says.

  “Yeah. I know where it is.”

  “Let’s go.” She types in: don’t move. we’re coming.

  On the cab ride over, I tell Rhiannon about overhearing Mr. Farrell and Nicole. And how he said he lived in Nicole’s neighborhood, so maybe she’s at his place.

  “Why do you think she texted instead of calling?” Rhiannon says.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I hope she’s not, like, trapped inside.”

  “I’m sure she’s okay,” I tell her. But images of what could be going down keep harassing me. Maybe I should have said something befor
e.

  By the time we’re running down West 80th Street, we’re both freaking out.

  If he did anything to her . . .

  We find her across the street. Sitting on the curb. Crying.

  “Nicole!” Rhiannon runs over to her. She collapses on the curb and hugs Nicole. “What happened?”

  But Nicole is crying too hard to answer. Every time it seems like she’s about to tell us, she just keeps taking these big gasping breaths. All she can get out is, “I—I—” It’s like she can’t get enough air.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I say. I put my hand on Nicole’s shoulder. She’s shaking really hard. And crying even harder.

  She’s having a major meltdown.

  We get Nicole to her place. Her mom’s asleep, so we try to be quiet and sneak Nicole back to her room. Rhiannon gets her into bed and piles blankets on top of her. I pace around, furious at myself. How could I have let this happen?

  After Rhiannon brings Nicole some water and the crying slows down, Nicole starts talking. But she’s not making any sense.

  “She . . . she knew. Maybe not at first. But she knew eventually.”

  Rhiannon gives me a look like, Who’s she talking about?

  I shrug. The only thing I want to do right now is ask Nicole if Mr. Farrell hurt her. But when I step forward and go, “Did he—?” Rhiannon shakes her head at me. But I have to know. “Did he . . . do anything to you in there?”

  But Nicole says, “No. I never went in.”

  Then we just listen.

  “There was this one night when she came home early. From her bridge game. And I heard her coming upstairs. And then . . . that’s when he left my room. So she saw him. She saw him leaving my room.”

  “Who?” Rhiannon asks.

  But it’s like Nicole didn’t even hear her. She just keeps talking.

  “Maybe she knew for a while. Like on some subconscious level. But she didn’t want to admit it.”

  She can’t be talking about Mr. Farrell. If Nicole’s mom caught him in her place, she would have gone ballistic. Everyone would know.

  “After she found out . . . that’s when we moved here.”

  “I thought you moved here because your parents got divorced,” Rhiannon says.

  Nicole focuses on Rhiannon. She pushes the blankets off. She’s not shaking anymore.

  And she says, “That’s why they got divorced. My dad abused me.”

  I can’t believe it. None of us knew.

  “I think I want to talk about it,” Nicole tells us.

  “Okay,” Rhiannon says. “We’re here.”

  So she begins.

  EPILOGUE

  Excerpt from a screenplay by Nicole Nelson:

  INT. THERAPIST’S OFFICE-DAY

  CAMERA zooms in on DR. RIBISI and NICOLE near a big window. DR. RIBISI is sitting in an armchair. She is writing something on a notepad. NICOLE is sitting on a couch, with her feet up.

  DR. RIBISI

  Let’s go back to that Friday night. You were at Mr. Farrell’s door, but you didn’t ring his bell.

  NICOLE

  I really wanted to.

  DR. RIBISI

  What stopped you?

  NICOLE

  (A pause) Reality. I just realized . . . I mean, I was still in love with Danny. But I didn’t want to deal with how serious we were getting, so I pretended I wasn’t. But then at the dance, it was obvious that we should be together.

  DR. RIBISI

  So it was your feelings for Danny that stopped you?

  NICOLE

  It was more like . . . I saw myself inside and what would happen if Mr. Farrell really liked me. And it reminded me of my dad. All I could see was this older guy with a way younger girl, even though that’s what I wanted. I guess I stopped wanting it. Or with Danny, I knew it was real. And with Mr. Farrell, it was probably just a fantasy.

  DR. RIBISI

  You mentioned that you saw a similarity between your situation with Mr. Farrell and what happened with your father.

  NICOLE

  It’s weird how stuff keeps repeating. And how you don’t even know it when you’re in the middle of it.

  DR. RIBISI

  Why do you think that is?

  NICOLE

  About the repeating? Or the not knowing?

  DR. RIBISI

  Either one.

  NICOLE

  Well . . . I guess if you’re not aware that something in your life is repeating, the cycles keep continuing until you realize what you’re doing.

  DR. RIBISI

  This is a good place to pick up next time.

  NICOLE

  It’s time already?

  DR. RIBISI

  (Smiles) Time flies when you’re having fun.

  EXT. SIDEWALK IN FRONT OF OFFICE BUILDING-DAY NICOLE leaves the building. She takes out her cell phone and dials.

  NICOLE

  Hey, Danny. I’m having an epiphany. Where are you?

  CAMERA zooms out.NICOLE walks to the corner. Just as she gets there, the streetlight turns green. She crosses the street.

  Entry in Rhiannon’s journal:

  Copy of a note found on multiple lockers:

  Letter to James Worther from Edith Schaffer, delivered after her death:

  My Dearest James,

  Well, I bet you’re surprised that an old lady like me had so much money in the bank, huh? Especially after the way I clipped all those coupons and checked the sales before I made my grocery lists. But you’d be surprised what saving a little money here and there can do after so many years. I’ve been saving all my life, and now I have this gift to give you. It’s my way of saying thank you for all those kind things you did for me.

  I’ve heard that sometimes old people know when they’re going to die. They have a feeling a little while before they pass away. And now I’m the one having that feeling. I don’t know how much time I have left, but I know it’s not long. So I’m writing you this letter, and my lawyer will give it to you after I’m gone.

  Now I want to make sure you understand something. This must seem like a lot of money to you. Believe me—I know! You may be tempted to spend it on fun things you don’t need. But this money is meant for college. You’re only allowed to spend it on that. I know what it’s like to grow up always doing without. It’s time for you to stop worrying yourself so much.

  You’re probably wondering how I’ll know what you spend it on, being dead and all. I don’t know what happens to us after we die, but I have my theories. Maybe there’s a way for me to find out what’s going on down there. Who knows? Maybe I’ll make new friends and not be so lonely anymore.

  People sometimes ask me what the secret of life is. I should know this? Looking back on everything now and knowing my time left on this earth is short, I will say this: Enjoy every day of your life. Appreciate everything your life gives you. You’ll be surprised how fast it all goes by.

  You’re a good kid, James. Stay that way. Keep working hard and you will achieve your dreams. Take good care of you.

  Remember me to your mom. And carry me in your heart, my dear.

  Love,

  Mrs. Schaffer

  1

  The best thing about summer camp is the last day. Because that’s the day you get to go home and live like a normal person again.

  Don’t get me wrong. Camp was freaking awesome. I spent the entire summer in Maine at a special camp for the arts. My dad gave me his old Nikon camera and taught me how to develop photos last year, and ever since then photography has been my passion. There’s something about vintage film that captures the Now in a way digital can’t. It just makes everything look softer somehow. And the whole old-school method of developing your own photos exactly how you want them is really cool.

  So yeah, I learned a lot more about photography at camp and had a ton of practice. I’ve also been playing the violin since seventh grade, so I had violin lessons there, too. We even had a concert last night.

  I’ve only been home fo
r like three hours but I’ve already participated in the following critical post-camp activities:• Took a real shower. With water pressure. That actually got me clean.

  • Remembered what air-conditioning felt like. Did a little happy dance at the supermarket.

  • Put on clothes that didn’t smell like mildew. They also did not feel permanently damp.

  • Sat on the couch and watched TV.

  • Got a cold drink from the refrigerator. Ice rules.

  The only thing left on my list is to get together with Sterling for the first time since June, so I’m majorly stoked. I can’t wait to see her. Not just because she’s my best friend, but because school starts in a week and we’re getting psyched for it.

  I love the beginning of the year. It’s all about renewal and rein-venting yourself, becoming the person you’ve always wanted to be. You can go back to school as a whole new person and have a totally different time. Every year I get all excited about how everything’s going to be different, but it never really is. I’m tired of always being disappointed. This has to be our year.

  It feels good to knock on Sterling’s door with “Wheel” playing in my head. Like I’ve come full circle after a long journey, even though I’ve only been at sleep-away camp for two months. But this is such a “Wheel” moment. That song rocks. The best part is where John Mayer says how our connections are permanent, how if you drift apart from someone there’s always a chance you can be part of their life again. How everything comes back around again. I have a theory that the answers to all of life’s major questions can be found in a John Mayer song.

  Sterling flings the door open. Her hair isn’t brown anymore. Now it’s blonde.