by Rob Buyea
“Did you want a paper?” I asked her.
“Oh, no thank you.” She sighed. “If I only knew where Mr. Terupt grew up then I could research his past and find more answers.”
“We’re supposed to be writing obituaries for Lincoln and Jackson,” I reminded her.
“Yes, I know,” she said. “I thought I could locate his parents’ obituaries, but I need to know where they lived.”
“I know where he grew up,” I said.
Jessica looked at me now, her eyes big and wide. “You do?”
I nodded. “The answer’s written on the inside cover of Belle Prater’s Boy. I saw it when I was moving his books this summer.”
“Did you read that one?” Jessica asked.
I nodded again.
“I liked that book,” Jessica said. “A boy searching for his disappearing mama, wondering where she could have gone and what possibly could have happened to her. It’s natural to wonder … and want some answers.”
Jessica got up and walked over to the bookshelf. She pulled out Belle Prater’s Boy and opened it. She smiled.
It’s natural to wonder and want some answers. Did Jessica say that to make herself feel better about researching Mr. Terupt, or was she trying to tell me it was okay for me to go after answers about my dad? Maybe you could go after answers if you were prepared for whatever the truth might be. Maybe that was why Mom hadn’t ever told me about my dad. She didn’t think I was ready. If I asked her, she’d let me know if I was ready or not. It was beginning to feel like time.
FADE IN: We see JESSICA sitting at the classroom computer. ANNA is standing by her side, leaning over and reading the screen with JESSICA.
JESSICA
(in a low voice, to Anna)
Here it is.
JESSICA and ANNA lean closer to the computer. CU of the screen.
JESSICA VO
TRAGIC CAR ACCIDENT LEAVES STAR WRESTLER
WITH NO PARENTS
By Faith Rikert
March 26
Saturday, March 24, was supposed to be a night William Terupt would remember forever—and for good reason. After dedicating himself to the sport of wrestling for the past four years, Terupt saw his dreams come true when he won the 152-pound state title in a thrilling finals match, thus capping off his perfect senior season (40–0). This was supposed to be what Terupt remembered about that night, but then he lost something more important than his match.
After the tournament’s conclusion, proud parents Owen Terupt (William’s father) and Natalie Terupt (William’s mother) headed home. Unfortunately, they never made it. Around 11:10 p.m. both Owen and Natalie were killed in a horrific car crash. The cause of the accident remains unclear and under investigation, but the one thing we do know is that William Terupt has been left parentless.
CUT TO: JESSICA turns her head to look back at ANNA, and finds MR. TERUPT standing behind them. Neither girl knows how long he’s been there.
JESSICA
Mr. Terupt.
JESSICA quickly closes out the computer screen.
MR. TERUPT
(to both girls)
It’s okay. I’m not upset. I knew you’d want answers at some point, and I knew you’d find them one way or another when you were ready.
JESSICA
(to Mr. Terupt)
You were an only child—like your parents?
MR. TERUPT nods.
ANNA
That’s why you were all alone at the hospital?
MR. TERUPT
I wasn’t alone. Maybe I didn’t have any relatives or family there, but I had all of you. You don’t have to feel sorry for me. I happen to be a very lucky man.
JESSICA and ANNA remain quiet. They don’t know what to say.
MR. TERUPT
Tell you what. Let’s have this funeral for our lizards. Then we’ll have a class meeting so you can share what you found, and so I can explain to all of you what you’ve taught me.
FADE OUT.
JESSICA VO
After learning about the secret inside Belle Prater’s Boy, I sat down at the computer and refined my search. And voila! I found what I was looking for. Not the obituaries for Mr. Terupt’s parents, but a newspaper article that explained what happened. It answered a lot for me, but then Mr. Terupt said he’d share with all of us what we’d taught him. That left me with more questions. What could we possibly have taught him? After all, he was the one always teaching us.
Part of me couldn’t believe we spent the morning worrying about a funeral for those stupid green lizards. I was like, I’m not going to miss them. But the boys were, and some of the girls. So I think Teach decided to make a big deal out of it to help everyone feel better.
It was actually fun. Peter and Jeffrey made a casket out of a tissue box that they covered in craft sticks and decorated. And after digging a hole beneath a tree near our classroom, Luke put Lincoln and Jackson in their coffin. I couldn’t believe he touched those things! Then we walked outside in silence, Danielle acting as our pallbearer, which means she was the one to carry the casket. She slowly lowered the casket into the ground. Then we formed two lines, one on each side of the burial site, and we took turns reading our obituaries.
“Lincoln was a leader, like our sixteenth president of the United States of America,” Jessica read. “He wasn’t afraid to explore new territory in the tank and he hid from no one. Instead he stayed out in the open, where he could see all of us—boy faces and girl faces, young faces and old faces, pretty faces and ugly faces—”
“Peter,” I said. I couldn’t resist.
“Ha-ha-ha,” he said.
There were a lot of smiles around the grave. It felt good to lighten the mood.
Jessica continued, “Like Abraham Lincoln, our anole Lincoln will be remembered for bringing people together. May he rest in peace.” She paused, then read her speech about Jackson.
“Never was there a better friend than Jackson,” Jessica began. “Much like the way our seventh president of the United States, Andrew Jackson, who looked out for his friends with what became known as the spoils system, Sir Lizard Jackson was always looking out for his friend, Lincoln. President Jackson took care of his friends by giving them jobs, hence spoiling them. Sir Lizard Jackson took care of Lincoln by sharing food with him. One of the best memories we’ll keep is the day we watched them share a cricket for lunch. Lincoln had the cricket’s head in his mouth, and Jackson had the rear end in his mouth. They each pulled at the same time, ripping their lunch in half.”
“Eww!” I said.
The boys laughed, including Teach. I couldn’t help it. Those lizards were disgusting. We finished with a quick moment of silence and then went back into the classroom, everyone smiling—even Luke.
So like, I had no issue with Teach taking time to make Luke and Jeffrey feel better about those gross creatures, ’cause he had done something unbelievable for me, too. No, I’m not talking about getting me from the hangout or helping me get hooked up with the restaurant. I’m actually talking about the book he gave me. I really got that connections thing with Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. It was written by some woman named Judy Blume. I read it twice in one weekend. And I’m reading it again!
What is it that Margaret wants? Her period and boobs! How could I not relate to that? I totally understand what it feels like to want those things. Okay, maybe Margaret’s a bit clueless, and she has this big religion problem going on, which reminded me more of Danielle, but she also stuffs her bra! With cotton balls! I wanted to tell Margaret that toilet paper worked better. I also wished I could tell her how to kiss. How could she know so much about menstruation but not know how to kiss a boy? That wasn’t going to be me! When my time came, I was going to know how to do it. And there’s this bigger, more developed girl in the story named Laura, and that’s who Margaret wishes she could be. That made me think of Lisa. I was just like Margaret.
I wanted to be like Lisa. I wanted to be Danielle. I wanted my period. I wa
nted to be Anna, who at least had a boy who liked her. I had worked with Peter to start adding music to Jeffrey and Jessica’s movie, and when we started going through the video I noticed that Jeffrey’s camera seemed to like Anna the most.
At least our next exchange was coming. I knew how to get the attention of those boys. Things turned out okay for Margaret in the end of her story, so like, that made me brave enough to try again. I was predicting things would turn out okay for me, since I was like Margaret. I hoped.
After the funeral service we had a class meeting.
“This is another one of those meetings where I need to do most of the talking,” Mr. Terupt said. “Jessica and Anna found an article about my parents while researching obituaries, and so I think it’s time I tell all of you about that part of my life. I thought I’d start by sharing one of my favorite connections,” he went on. “It comes from Katherine Paterson’s book Bridge to Terabithia. Just listen to this part about Jesse.”
Mr. Terupt read a few sentences aloud. “He wanted to be the best. Not one of the best. Not second best. But the very best.” He closed the book and looked at us.
“That’s how wrestling was for me. My goal was to be the very best, like Jesse, so I woke up extra early every morning to train. My parents saw my sacrifice and commitment and became my biggest fans. My extreme dedication and tireless pursuit of my goal took me to the state championships my senior year of high school. It was the culmination of all my hard work and I wanted my parents there for it. But there was concern about a possible winter storm that weekend and my parents were debating whether to attend. You can’t miss this one, I told them. I wanted them to see me win.”
Mr. Terupt stopped. Physically, he was sitting right in front of us, but I could tell that mentally, he had gone back in time. We stayed quiet. It reminded me of church, when the minister talked about what he had read from the Bible and a serious quiet followed. There was a serious quiet in our classroom now. This was a reading from Mr. Terupt’s Book of Life.
“My parents saw me win, but I never saw them again after that,” Mr. Terupt continued. “We were walloped by a blizzard that night. One that brought whiteout conditions and fierce winds. Mom and Dad were killed in a car accident on their way home from the tournament.”
Mr. Terupt’s eyes were moist, but he kept going.
“Fortunately, I was headed to college, which was the best place for me. Wrestling saved my life. The challenge it provided kept me going when I could have easily given up. I have no brothers or sisters, or any other extended family, so I was alone after my parents died. You saw that last year at the hospital. But now I have all of you. Sometimes answers come at unexpected times, in unexpected ways and unexpected places. I never wanted to love again after losing my parents, because losing them hurt too much, but you’ve helped me change. And you’ve helped me do something even more difficult than that. Because of all of you, I’ve been able to forgive myself for what happened.”
That was a class meeting that left me with lots to think about. I thought about Mr. Terupt as a boy and all that he suffered, and I thought about what he had said. Sometimes answers come at unexpected times, in unexpected ways and unexpected places. I definitely wasn’t expecting an answer to my yearlong question about the man in our fields when I got it. Following that class meeting we had to pack up because it was the end of the day. I was folding up the newspaper I had used for example obituaries when something on the front page caught my eye. It took my breath away. I stuffed the paper into my backpack and read the article as soon as I got home and was alone in my bedroom.
LAND WARS
Moonsuc Tribe Sues Several Landowners
By Thomas Freed
November 13
Several rural Connecticut farmers have learned that they are being sued by a group of people said to be descendants of the Moonsuc tribe because the Moonsuc claim the land rightfully belongs to them. They believe the farmers’ lands are their tribe’s under a treaty signed in the early 1700s. The treaty was an agreement between the United States government and the Moonsuc tribe, giving ownership of the land to the tribe. However, over fifty years later—and this is where it gets tricky—Connecticut was granted statehood. The Moonsuc argue that the U.S. government never properly bought the land from them, therefore making the land still theirs.
Imagine living and working a piece of land for your whole life, and then suddenly being told it’s not yours anymore. And oh, by the way, you’re being sued. That’s what some rural Connecticut farmers are up against. Good luck finding an easy solution to this one.
The man in our fields must have been an Indian. Excuse me, a Native American. Right now, though, I didn’t give two hoots about that sensitive stuff. I was angry! My grandpa and grandma had been living and working this land for a long, long time. My mom grew up on the farm. My dad had been working it alongside my grandparents since before Charlie was born. And now some Indians were deciding it was really theirs, and we actually had to listen. My family takes pride in keeping their word. A handshake is a solemn promise never to be broken. We didn’t steal their land, so we weren’t giving it back. The Indians needed to fight this treaty thing with somebody else a long time ago. It was too late now. Sorry. I’d pray for them, but I wasn’t giving my land back, and neither was my family.
Dear God,
Thanks for leading me to the article, but I’ll need your support. I’m not going to say anything to my family, because ignorance is bliss. There’s no need for any of them to know I know and then have to worry about me. And they’d worry, especially if they saw me now. I’ll be honest, I’ve been crying all night. I’ve been crying enough as it is, every time I get my period. Add this new Indian lawsuit on top of that and I won’t have a dry eye ever. God, we’ll need a way to solve this land war. Please help us with that. Amen.
The most important project of my school career was still going strong—my work as wedding manager. So far we were under budget because we had figured out many ways to do things ourselves. Jeffrey and his father were making our special class gift for Mr. Terupt and Ms. Newberry, so we didn’t have to buy one. Lexie and her mother and a cook named Vincent were going to prepare the food for the party, so we didn’t need to hire a catering company. And Peter was going to DJ the reception, so we didn’t have to find anyone else. All this kept our expenses down and allowed Mr. Terupt to spend money elsewhere, like on the fancy video camera that Jeffrey used as videographer with Jessica. Overall, our wedding work was going well.
The only thing I was bummed about was Lincoln and Jackson dying. Losing them was a big blow. They didn’t even make it through the year. Yes, I knew they wouldn’t live forever, but I didn’t expect to be the one to bury them. I was very upset, but I wasn’t alone, and I wasn’t the one to discover them dead. That had been Peter and Jeffrey, and they got all worked up over it. Their fight wasn’t like some dumb girl war that you didn’t even know was happening. They took care of it on the spot with a wrestling match in the back of the classroom. I know you’re not supposed to fight in school, but this was way better than those crazy girl tactics. Besides, Jeffrey and Peter got over it and made up in no time. The only thing I still don’t understand is how their rumble led to me and Peter and some other boys in class attending wrestling practice with Jeffrey and Mr. Terupt. I’m not sure whose brilliant idea that was, but I could have told you from the start that it wasn’t a good one.
HYPOTHESIS
If a geek like me participates in a rough and tough
sport such as wrestling, it’s likely he won’t enjoy
it very much.
DATA
I walked into the gym and looked over the sea of mats and was hit with a connection. I felt just like Stanley Yelnats. Stanley is the main character in Louis Sachar’s book Holes. Stanley is sentenced to Camp Green Lake for something he didn’t do, same as I was sentenced to wrestling practice for something I didn’t do. Stanley finds that there is no lake at Camp Green Lake, only sweltering
heat and hard work to be done. It didn’t take long on those wrestling mats before I was hot and sweaty and tired and looking for an escape.
We did some running and stretching and then practiced techniques. I’ve always been a fast learner, getting all As, but I surprised myself when I discovered I could learn wrestling moves just as easily. The new move taught that night was a bar arm. It’s a pinning move from the top position when you flatten your opponent on his belly and then pull his arms back. This creates an opening under his elbow for you to slide your arm through. You should have your fist in the middle of his back and his arm hooked around your forearm if you’ve done it correctly. The guy on the bottom can’t do a thing. Then you’re supposed to push off your feet and try to drive your opponent’s shoulder into his ear. This inflicts pain and causes him to roll over onto his back, where you can pin him. I was good at practicing these moves, but when it came time for scrimmaging, it was a different story.
Coach Terupt matched me up with some kid who was around my size, but unfortunately, he wasn’t another geek. He had the flashy sneakers, the special knee pads, and some fancy headgear. I knew experience was something that counted as a huge advantage. I had none. My opponent had a ton.
The whistle blew, and seconds later this mat rat had ahold of my legs and took me to the ground. I was on my belly with my arms pulled behind me. He rammed my shoulder into my ear and drove me over onto my back. I thought he was going to rip my arms off. By the time the whistle sounded to signal the end of the first period, I was teary-eyed and in pain. My hypothesis had been tested and confirmed—I wasn’t enjoying this. But like all hypotheses, it had to be tested over and over before being accepted as true.
