Gotcha

by Shelley Hrdlitschka

  Paige’s phone rings four times. I know they have call display, so I expect Paige has seen who is phoning them and is ignoring my call. I’m just about to hang up when her mom picks up.

  “Hi, Katie,” she says, clearly happy to hear from me. “Long time no see. How are you?”

  There’s something about her tone and her cheerfulness that makes me think she doesn’t know anything about the situation between Paige and me.

  “It has been a while,” I agree. “I don’t know if Paige told you, but I’ve injured my ankle and I’m on crutches.”

  “Oh no! Paige has been...very quiet, not telling me much about anything. What happened?”

  “Just a little accident. No big deal. But I was wondering how she is getting to school. I’ve been stuck home all week...”

  “Do you want a ride?” she asks. “That silly bead game has got Paige terrified, so I’ve been driving her each day. I’d be happy to pick you up too.”

  This is too easy. I don’t even have to talk to Paige.

  “That would be so great. How soon are you leaving?”

  “We’ll pick you up at eight thirty.”

  I hang up and smile to myself, but the moment passes quickly. Paige is going to be majorly ticked that I wangled myself a ride, and she’ll let me have it...though she might pretend everything is okay in front of her mom. It should be an interesting six-minute journey.

  I see them pull in to my driveway at exactly 8:30. Paige gets out of the car and jogs up the walkway, glancing over her shoulder. I open the door and force myself to look directly into her face. Her eyes are flat, almost hard. There’s no hint of friendliness or even forgiveness there. Where is my old friend Paige? What has happened to her?

  “Nice trick, Katie.”

  “I just need to get to school and...”

  “Whatever. My mom doesn’t have a clue about what’s been going on, so don’t say a word.”

  “I won’t.” I start clomping down the path behind her. “I don’t suppose you want to swap apologies?” I say to her back, just before we get to the car.

  She turns to glare at me. “I haven’t done anything to apologize for.”

  “Well I’m willing to apologize,” I tell her. “And I’ll try to forget what happened at Tyson’s.”

  “We’ll talk later,” she mumbles and opens the back door for me. I slide across the seat and pull my crutches in behind me.

  I’d forgotten how much alike Paige and her mother are—or used to be, before Gotcha started. Paige’s mom babbles nonstop, unaware of Paige’s black mood. When we get to the school, Paige waits while I climb out of the car and she watches her mom drive away. Then she turns and glares at me. “Our friendship can never be the same, Katie,” she says, her voice dripping with bitterness. “You called me needy and attention-seeking. From now on, anytime I ever do anything, I’ll wonder if you’re thinking I’m seeking attention again. I can’t live with that.” She turns and starts marching toward the school.

  My initial reaction is shock. I’ve always been honest with her. Why is she being so oversensitive this time? “Hey, Paige,” I yell at her back. She swings around and stares at me. I ignore the steady stream of students who are emerging from their parents’ cars and walking past us to the school.

  “I never called you needy,” I yell to her. “But I will say you’re prone to exaggeration.”

  She stomps back to me, glancing nervously at anyone who may have heard my outburst.

  “You could try a little harder to keep our conversation private,” she says, her face right up to mine.

  “Hey, you walked away without giving me a chance to speak,” I say.

  She looks around and crosses her arms. “Katie, best friends take each other just as they are and don’t label them. I could call you a few unpleasant names too, you know.”

  “Go for it,” I challenge her.

  She thinks about that. “Okay. Let’s start with know-it-all. Stuck-up. And frigid.”

  “That’s the best you can do?” I ask, trying hard not to react to her words.

  “Yeah, that’s about it. But it stings, doesn’t it?”

  I nod. “Yeah, a little,” I admit. “But not enough to give up on years of friendship.”

  “Then maybe I feel things deeper than you,” she says.

  “Maybe you do.” Or maybe she’s the ultimate drama queen. Or has an icy heart.

  “So I can’t be friends with you anymore,” she reiterates.

  “Okay.” I shrug. “Although I find this very strange. I’ve always been honest with you, even when it hurts. But if that’s the way it’s got to be...”

  She nods, not making eye contact with me.

  “You know, there are other labels I could give you too, the ones that made me enjoy being your friend, even when you were attention-seeking.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Like what?”

  “You used to be loveable. And funny. And spontaneous.”

  She glares at me.

  “And at one time I would have called you loyal, too, but now I’m not so sure. Especially since Tyson’s party.”

  The buzzer sounds for the start of first class.

  “Goodbye, Katie,” she says and walks off.

  I sit through my classes, but I can’t focus. Paige’s labels for me are running through my mind, especially one. Frigid. Am I? Is that how Joel sees me?

  I doodle in the back of my notebook while I examine my feelings. Being dumped by her has left me agitated but also relieved in some strange way. Being Paige’s best friend was a lot of work, I realize. She’s a bundle of insecurities, and I’ve always had to be strong for her and listen to her constant babble of unrelated thoughts. It was exhausting. I’ve seen her toss away other friends over the years, but I never thought she’d do it to me. There’s something very odd about this. I was her anchor. She felt secure with me. She’d share her thoughts, sort out her feelings, realizing, all the while, that I knew she was simply “trying on” new ideas, and I wouldn’t hold her to anything. And yet, did she do that for me?

  I snap shut my notebook. Paige has always needed me more than I need her, and if she doesn’t want to be friends, it’s her loss.

  At lunch break I hobble into the cafeteria and spot Paige sitting with Tanysha and Mariah at our usual table. Where will I sit? Just as I’m beginning to wish I’d stayed home again today, I feel a set of arms wrap around me from behind.

  “You’re here!” Joel says.

  A warm glow spreads over me, yet I’m acutely aware that the noise in the cafeteria has dimmed, and I suspect that we’re the cause of it. People aren’t used to seeing me enclosed in a guy’s arms. As nonchalantly as possible, I gently loosen his arms and turn to face him. The cafeteria chatter resumes. New relationships are always hot topics.

  “It’s so great to have you back at school,” Joel says. He glances about, probably wondering why I’m red-faced. His gaze lingers on Paige’s table, and he turns and regards me. “Problems?”

  “Sort of.”

  While Joel considers the situation, I think about what it means that he hugged me in front of everyone. The nagging suspicion I still had that he was using me to get to Paige disappears. He’s got to be for real.

  “Do you want to get out of here?” he asks.

  I nod and glance at Paige’s table. All three of them are still staring at us. I turn and follow Joel back out of the cafeteria.

  Just as we get through the doors, I hear my name being called. I swing around and find Mariah chasing after us.

  “Hey,” she says.

  “Hey,” I say back.

  She nods back to the cafeteria. “Sorry about that. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “That’s okay. I understand.”

  “Jefferson’s not here today...so I sat with them...”

  “I’m serious, ‘Riah. It’s okay.”

  She shoves a folder of paper in my hand. “The Tlingit report,” she says.

  “Oh. Great,” I say, taking it f
rom her. “I’ll finish it up on the weekend.”

  She just nods, but she’s looking at me intently, like she really wants to say something.

  “It’s okay, Mariah. I understand. I really do.”

  I see her eyes well up just before she reaches out and pulls me into a hug. Then she turns and heads back to the cafeteria.

  “Where’s your lunch?” Joel asks when we’re settled on the grass at the front of the school.

  “It’s too hard to make a sandwich while balancing on crutches,” I tell him. “So I didn’t bother today. But I’m okay.”

  “No you’re not,” he says. “Take this.” He hands me half of his.

  I want to refuse, but it looks so good, stacked high with ham, cheese and lettuce, that I take it. “Thanks.”

  “So,” I say, after swallowing a large mouthful. “Paige officially dumped me as her friend this morning.”

  “Really?” Joel passes me his can of juice. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I am.” I take a swig of his orange juice and pass it back. “I’m surprised, that’s all. She always seemed to need me more than I needed her.”

  Joel nods.

  “And I don’t know where I stand with Tanysha. Mariah’s cool. But I guess Tanysha and I were never all that close anyway. She’s like a Paige groupie.”

  Joel rubs my back sympathetically. I wish he’d never stop. “You know what they say, Katie. When one door closes, another one always opens.”

  “Well aren’t you the wise one,” I tease. I look around the front yard of the school. “Funny, I don’t see any doors opening.”

  Joel smiles. “Then you must be blind, Katie. A door has already swung wide open for you.”

  “It has? Where?”

  “You’re looking right at it,” he says. He leans toward me and brushes his lips against mine. I wish he wouldn’t stop.

  “You’re a door?”

  He laughs, and a shivery rush of goose bumps breaks out on my arms. “I’m your new friend!” he tells me. “One walks out and another walks in.”

  “Oh, I get it.”

  He bumps his shoulder against mine. I lean into him and marvel at how easy he is to be with. So unlike Paige.

  “I should warn you, Joel. Paige says I’m a know-it-all and stuck-up.” I decide not to tell him she also called me frigid. No point putting notions in his head. “Maybe you should think about that before you get too friendly with me.”

  Joels taps his cheek with his finger. His eyes are narrowed, as if he is thinking really hard. “She’s right,” he says. “You are those things.”

  I push him away. “You’re a bum.”

  He scoots back over. “I’m kidding!”

  “Right.”

  Smiling, Joel passes me the juice can again, and when I hand it back, he takes the last sip, walks over to the school and tosses it in a recycling bin. He smacks hands with a friend, and I enjoy watching his easy gait as he returns to our spot on the lawn. Then he takes my hand in his.

  “Thanks for not just tossing that can away,” I say.

  He looks at me, puzzled.

  “That’s what my old friend would have done, so I was always picking up after her.” Now, I realize, she’s tossed me away too.

  “Sounds like you two were never the best match.”

  “No,” I agree. “I guess we really weren’t.”

  His hand squeezes mine.

  “And I guess if Paige is no longer my friend, I’m free to help you get her bead.”

  Joel studies my face. “Are you okay with this?”

  “Yeah, I am.” I nod. And I’m going to enjoy seeing it happen, too.

  Ten

  Mr. Fetterly raises his hand, and the noise in the gym slowly subsides.

  “Thank you all for coming today,” he says. “We have a serious matter to discuss, but before we do, there are some pictures I’d like you to see.”

  There’s a computer sitting on a table near the podium. Mr. Fetterly walks over to it and presses a button. Someone dims the gym lights. On the wall a photo appears of a vaguely familiar-looking guy with his arm in a sling. Using a remote controller, Mr. Fetterly advances the presentation to the next photo, which is of a house with a smashed-in front window, and then the close-up of a girl’s face covered in lacerations and bruising. The most pathetic part of this photo is that the girl has tried to hide some of the damage by applying gobs of makeup, but it only creates the appearance of a gruesome Halloween mask. Next we see a guy lying in a hospital bed with a leg suspended in traction. He’s hamming it up for the photographer: his tongue is lolling out of the side of his mouth and he’s cross-eyed. A murmur of laughter ripples through the gym.

  The next photo sobers the gym full of students again. This time it’s of a car wreck, and it’s clear that the vehicle involved is totaled. If the driver survived this crash, it would have been a miracle. Apparently it was.

  The lights come back up and Mr. Fetterly shuts off the computer. “I’m sure you realize that the common denominator in all those photos was the game you call Gotcha. Those are the results of just a few of the incidents that have happened in past years, ones that I thought to capture on film.

  “I have also brought a guest speaker to Slippery Rock to speak to you today.”

  We watch as Mr. Fetterly walks over to the door. He pushes it open, and we see a guy in an electric wheelchair roll himself into the gym. There is a woman with him, who remains standing by the door. The guy’s face is pale and he has dark smudges under his eyes, but other than that he’s every bit as gorgeous as Warren, and he appears to be about our age. Mr. Fetterly directs him over to the podium, where he’s handed a mike.

  “My name is Stephen Stewart,” he says in a shaky voice. He glances shyly at Mr. Fetterly, who nods, encouraging him to carry on. “I live in Twin Falls, a couple of hours away by car. I graduated from high school last June.” Stephen clears his throat. “Your principal asked me to come here today to talk about why I’m in a wheelchair.” He sits quietly for a moment, staring at his hands, and then he looks up. “Some of the grads in my school played a game called Bang Bang You’re Dead, which is a lot like your Gotcha game, but we shoot our victims with water guns.”

  There’s a murmur of voices and I suddenly remember the story that was all over the news a year ago.

  “I was doing really well,” he says softly, “and I was one of the final dozen survivors. It was getting hard because everyone was being so cautious.

  “One night I decided to hide under my victim’s car while he was at soccer practice. I thought it would be easy enough to roll out just as he was getting into his car, and I could get him.”

  There’s a long pause. The gym is completely still. Stephen nods slightly. He raises the mike to his mouth, then drops it into his lap again. We can see him inhale deeply as he composes himself. Finally he clears his throat and continues. “It didn’t work out as planned. The car ran over me before I could get out.”

  We wait, in pained silence. I wonder if he’s finished, but eventually he carries on. “I’ll never walk again, but I’m lucky to be alive.” He doesn’t look like he feels lucky at all.

  I remember being horrified when I read Stephen’s story in the newspaper, but seeing him in person, and hearing him speak...I have to blink back tears.

  Mr. Fetterly takes the mike from him. “Thank you, Stephen, for coming to Slippery Rock today and sharing your story. You are a brave young man, and I hope your story will help our students realize the potential danger in the game that they’re playing. With any luck, you’ll have convinced them that it’s time to stop once and for all.”

  Stephen just nods, turns and steers his wheelchair back toward the woman at the door, probably his mother. We sit in numb silence. I wonder if we should be applauding, but what would our applause be for? The fact that he survived? The woman holds the door open for him and he wheels away. As soon as he’s gone, the quiet in the gym is disturbed by murmuring as grads discuss the incident. Joel,
seated beside me, squeezes my hand.

  “I brought Stephen here today, and showed you the photos,” Mr. Fetterly says, “to remind you why the administration at Slippery Rock decided to ban the game of Gotcha this year. We had hoped that the strong leaders in your grade would enforce our decision, but as you know, that did not happen.”

  That hurts. I recall hearing this same slam on the class leaders from Mr. Bell.

  “There have been complaints from parents about this year’s game. To my knowledge, nothing too serious has happened, with the exception of some hurt feelings, but I feel compelled to ensure that nothing does happen. For that reason, I’ve decided to suspend from school any student who continues to play the game. As well, students who break this rule will not be allowed to attend grad ceremonies, not the valedictory ceremony or the dinner dance.”

  The quiet is again disturbed by muttering among the students. The sentiment is clear: Suspension is one thing, but taking away grad?

  “Everyone’s money is to be returned to them,” Mr. Fetterly announces over the noise, “and the game is officially over.”

  Uh-oh.

  Over the noise, a voice hollers out. “I thought you said we were here to discuss a serious matter.” Tyson has risen to his feet and is confronting Mr. Fetterly. The gym goes quiet again. “I haven’t yet heard any discussion.”

  “I guess ‘discuss’ was the wrong choice of words, Tyson, but I have made my decision, and I intend to stick by it. I’m sorry if you’re unhappy with that decision.”

  “Unhappy is an understatement,” Tyson says. “And besides, I don’t know how you can suspend someone for doing something that has nothing to do with school. The game isn’t a school activity. We’re not playing it on school property. So what gives you the right to interfere with it?”

  We all stare at Tyson, shocked at his disrespect, and then our heads swing back to Mr. Fetterly, who is managing to maintain his composure.

  “Student safety is my business, Tyson. You’ve seen the pictures. You know what’s happened. That’s what gives me the right.”

  I see a note being passed down the row of students toward Joel and me. When it reaches me, I’m surprised to see my name on the front. I open it and read the signature first. It’s from Warren. Glancing back down the row, I see him at the far end. We make eye contact, and he nods. I read the note. Emergency grad council meeting, right after school, in the computer lab. I look back at Warren and return the nod. He smiles and winks. I feel Joel glance at me. I just shrug and shake my head. No point trying to explain the weirdness between Warren and me. And it’s only going to get weirder now.