Amalee

by Dar Williams

  The nurse was already there. “She’s right, lie down,” she said. “Is this the only place you hit your head?”

  “Yes,” said Lenore. “She pushed me.”

  “It was an accident,” I said.

  Lenore looked me straight in the eye and said, “I’m going to sue you for all you’re worth!”

  “Okay, okay,” the nurse interrupted, “we’re calling an ambulance, and if you promise to lie very still, maybe I’ll call your lawyer.” She shook her head and shined a flash-light in Lenore’s eyes. “Take the other staircase!” she yelled up to all the kids. “Everything’s fine. We had an accident. The buses are waiting. I mean it!”

  The crowd scattered.

  “You go, too,” she told me. “She’ll be fine.”

  I didn’t think I should go. “Go!” the nurse ordered.

  I snuck out the side door, hid behind the school, then cut home through the woods, watching the ambulance lights bounce off the trees. The loud voices on the walkie-talkies followed me all the way home.

  I walked through the front door and immediately heard my dad’s voice. “Hey there!” he tried to call out.

  I rushed to his room, so he wouldn’t hurt his throat. He was sitting up with a small bowl in his hand. “Who made this soup?” he asked.

  “John did.”

  “That’s not what he told me,” Dad proclaimed, smiling proudly. “He just left. He said you made all this stuff with him. It’s excellent, Honey. John certainly has more bounce in his step these days. Have you noticed? I told you he wasn’t angry at you.”

  It was no good. Sure, I helped John with the soup. Sure, he wasn’t angry at me. But soon we’d get a call from a lawyer, saying we’d have to sell the house. For all I knew, Lenore was dead, and my father was next. This would kill him.

  My father saw that I was unhappy.

  “Hey, guess what? I feel better! I really do!” I thought about Lenore’s mom. How did she find out about Dad? She worked at the bank. I could just imagine Joyce and John talking about it within earshot of Mrs. Nielson. And now, if one person in school knew, everyone knew.

  “That’s great that you’re feeling better, Dad,” I said. “I’m just thinking about all the things I have to do.”

  “Oh, of course. Well, could you get me that book over there before you go? Phyllis brought it for me. It’s about the Congo. You know what’s amazing?”

  “No, what?”

  “Gorillas. I can’t get enough of them!”

  I knew why Phyllis had gotten him that book. She was helping him on one of his paths to recovery. He was seven years old again when he looked at these books. Dad’s friends had done amazing things, and I was about to undo everything.

  I hid in my room and couldn’t do any homework. Later that night I brought more food to my dad. “Hey, Amalee, do you want to eat together?” he asked. It would be the first time since he got sick. I turned away as I started to cry. I wanted to give him, and me, the gift of one whole, almost normal dinner together.

  But I couldn’t eat. I said I’d already had dinner, and he looked disappointed.

  I lay in bed that night, thinking of all the things I should have done.

  Why couldn’t I just say, “Lenore, you’re right. I lied. I just didn’t want to stay at your house”? Why did I push her? I knew better. Why didn’t I talk to her?

  I woke up around three in the morning. Had somebody tied me down? My arms were stuck to my sides, and my stomach was so clenched up it hurt. I could barely breathe, let alone move. I wasn’t a good kid who had done a terrible thing. I was terribleness itself, trapped and frozen in this thing that I couldn’t take back.

  Everything I loved was about to disappear, and it was my fault.

  I didn’t go to school the next day. I kept on freezing up again in the morning. I still couldn’t eat. I told my dad I’d come down with something.

  “Well, I’m a little sleepy,” said Dad, “so you can borrow the gorilla book if you want.”

  That was a generous act for a seven-year-old.

  I skimmed through the big pictures and wished I were a gorilla. I felt every minute of the school day. It was slower than school.

  At around two-thirty, Phyllis came over. She had two big books for my dad, one about Madagascar and one about iguanas. “Stay here, Amalee. I’ll be right back.” She brought the books in to my father who thanked her enthusiastically.

  Then Phyllis came out and sat down at the kitchen table. “Sit down,” she said. “You’re in trouble, Amalee.”

  I sat and looked out the window. Now I’d lost Phyllis. She had heard the news. She didn’t like me anymore. None of my dad’s friends would after this. Even Dr. Nurstrom would be angry. “I’m sorry, Phyllis,” I started.

  “You’re not in trouble with me,” she said, surprising me. “You’re in enough trouble at school. I want you to tell me why you did what you did, but no matter what, I want to help. I don’t want your father to find out. Have you told him yet?”

  “Of course not,” I whispered.

  She pulled some papers out of an envelope. “Rumor has it that the school wants to suspend you for a week and give you detentions until the end of the year. Lenore came to school in a neck brace today, and I’ve heard she wants to sue you, or your dad, of course.” She stared at me. “There’s got to be another side of this story, Amalee. You have to tell me what happened.”

  “I deserve it,” I said. There was silence, broken only by my dad turning an oversize page in his room.

  “Amalee, you could have killed her!” Phyllis exclaimed. “Please tell me it was an accident.”

  “It was,” was all I could say.

  John liked to say, “Merciful God,” but right now, I was grateful to Merciful Phyllis. She relaxed a little, as if I’d given her enough information, when I knew she wanted more of an explanation.

  “How can I keep this from Dad?” I asked.

  Phyllis shuffled the papers back into the envelope. “Here it is. I came up with a plan. I called him from the office today. He’s going to sign a form saying that I can give you permission to do things. Dr. Nurstrom will sign it, too. Your dad thinks this is about permission slips to go to the city with your class and stuff like that. You can stay with Carolyn while you’re being suspended. She’s at home applying for jobs next week.”

  “What jobs?” I asked.

  “Haven’t you heard? Carolyn wants to work at a gardening store. I don’t know what happened here last Friday, but she got very excited about planting things and landscaping and medicinal herbs. She keeps on saying she knows this will make people happy.”

  I couldn’t help smiling a little.

  “I can drive you home after detention most days of the week,” Phyllis continued. “Usually, I stay late at school anyway.”

  “That’s really nice of you, Phyllis.”

  “I’m more worried about this legal thing,” she said. My stomach sank. “But you know what? Here’s the good news, kiddo. I met with the nurse today, and she gave me some information. She said she overheard you saying it was an accident, and she confirmed that Lenore didn’t even have a concussion. Things could be worse. Also, I met Lenore’s mom once. She brought in a late permission slip. She was perfectly nice.”

  After what she’d said about my dad? Yeah, right. I wished I could ask Phyllis about how Mrs. Nielson found out, but then I’d have to tell her everything.

  “You really have to tell me what happened,” Phyllis repeated.

  What was there to tell? I pushed, and she fell.

  I had to finish the week at school. I would fail if I missed two whole weeks.

  If it got really bad, I’d hide backstage and listen to the gym classes killing each other at dodgeball.

  I almost left after English. Lenore’s neck brace was attaching her head to her body, or at least that’s how it looked. When she first saw me, she seemed frightened, pointing at me with a trembling finger.

  “I’m really sorry, Lenore,”
I said.

  “My lawyer said you’d say that,” she pouted.

  “I brought you some cake and lemonade, with a straw.” I put them on her desk. “Do you need anything? Pen or pencil?”

  This is what I knew: Don’t make a bad situation worse. I’d prepared myself in the morning, bringing extra things for Lenore.

  “It’ll be hard to eat cake,” said Lenore, obviously wanting some. “Where do you eat your lunch, anyway?”

  I hated to lie again, but there was no way she could find out my hiding place, especially now that the secret was out about my dad. “We don’t eat at the same time, remember? A few of the A-team kids eat with the C kids because we’re all in the same music class.”

  Lenore watched as if all the words were buzzing out of my mouth. She was clearly confused. “That’s right,” she murmured.

  I looked around and saw Ellen and Hally staring at me with disgust. “Don’t talk to me, okay?” said Ellen.

  I looked away. Their April Fool’s Day joke was so cruel. But they hadn’t pushed anyone down the stairs.

  I just told myself to keep surviving.

  I was prepared for the kids, but not for Ms. Severance. She wouldn’t look at me, even when she handed out some photocopies.

  I said, “Thank you,” but she said nothing.

  I had an unusual thought then. It was a thought that was sticking up for me.

  If Ms. Severance read about me in a book, she would have sympathy for me. We’d already read about a person who shot his best friend, and about an evil king, and a woman who locked her child in a closet. After the class was through saying that each of them should die a terrible death, she’d always smile, hold up a finger, and say, “Now, put yourself in this person’s shoes.”

  I had used her words with people inside and outside of books. Ellen had dyslexia. She was always embarrassed when the tutor took her out of class. I knew that was part of the reason she’d stolen my books. She liked to watch other people squirm the way she did. When I put myself in her shoes, I wasn’t as angry at her. I felt sorrier for her.

  Lenore had started wearing a bra in the fourth grade. I knew she felt like a freak. Her mother always made her wear thin white blouses, too, so everyone could see her bras. Everyone could snap her bra strap and run away. She wasn’t the only one this happened to, but she didn’t seem to notice this. She thought she had to force people to be friends with her. She never let people choose to be her friend, because she was sure they wouldn’t.

  Was I worse than everyone else? Was I so atrocious that even Ms. Severance refused to walk in my shoes?

  I lifted up my chin and looked at Ms. Severance. She caught my eye, and I didn’t look away. She lost her place in a sentence. Good, I thought, if you have a place in your heart for killers and haters, I have to believe you have a place for someone as awful as me.

  People yelled things at me in the hall, but no one spoke to me all day, except Mrs. Donaldson, who said, “Amalee, I have a note here that says you should go to the principal at lunchtime.” The whole class turned and looked at me.

  Someone said, “Good.” I felt all the hatred in the room focused on me.

  Mrs. Donaldson looked like she couldn’t care less about the note. She was a gorilla who had lived in the jungle for a long, long time. I stared straight ahead as she started multiplying fractions on the board.

  The principal, Mr. Shapiro, told me what Phyllis had already said.

  Suspension, detention. He didn’t look up. Unlike Phyllis, he didn’t want to hear my side of the story, even if I’d had one. He just shook his head and said, “What are things coming to, little girls beating up little girls?” I guess he understood it when little boys fought. Weren’t they supposed to punch each other in the jaws and break each other’s arms? Actually, I didn’t know any boys who had. I was more violent than a boy! Now, who was the freak of nature?

  I left Mr. Shapiro, an old, white-haired man, bent over his notes like Father Time recording the long sad history of little girls turning bad.

  I didn’t see Sarah. Did she go backstage during lunch again? Did she think I didn’t want to see her? Maybe she didn’t care.

  In science, somebody left a note on my desk that said, “You are a mennis to sosiety.” Despite the really bad spelling, I cried a little, but I straightened up before anyone noticed.

  Finally, there was social studies. I got there in time. Ms. Severance handed back my test. Something stood out. With a red felt-tip pen she’d written the score, 88. But then in red ballpoint pen, she’d written, “This is very good work, especially without your notes.” I knew it. I could just tell.

  She’d gone back this morning and written something nice on my test. She’d put herself in my shoes.

  The next day, I wondered if things would start getting better. I saw Hally in the morning.

  I said, “Hi,”

  She said, “Hi,” and rushed away.

  I stood near Ellen at the lockers. All she said was, “I can’t believe what you did,” and shook her head, as if she had been my friend once, but not now that I’d betrayed her.

  “I’m sorry about it,” I said. “I really am.”

  She shook her head again. “I just hope the judge believes you.” She sighed before walking away.

  Lenore came in before class. I’d brought her more cake, but she said, “My lawyer says I can’t talk to you.”

  Ms. Severance said she’d had a migraine headache last night, and she was still feeling “woozy.” So the day was not off to a good start.

  Lenore walked down the hall with Hally and Ellen, which almost made me laugh. Ellen was so desperate to make me feel bad that she was being nice to the girl who annoyed her the most. Then I thought of Lenore telling them about my dad, and I felt clenched up again.

  Some boys were behind me. Otherwise, the hall was empty. The girls had gone downstairs. Was it my imagination, or were the boys talking about me?

  “Amalee can’t go to jail, but her dad can.”

  “What about her mom?”

  “Her mom ran away. They can’t find her.”

  I didn’t want their sympathy, but I turned and said, “My mother passed away.”

  “What, did you push her down the stairs?” asked Jimmy Whitman. The other guys looked a little surprised.

  “No,” I said, so shocked that I couldn’t think of anything else to say. We were getting close to the stairway.

  “Maybe I’ll push you down the stairs, just so you know what it feels like.” Jimmy kept on going. The three boys were close behind me.

  Tommy Fallon said, “C’mon, Jimmy….”

  “C’mon what?” Jimmy turned on Tommy. Then, as I got to the top of the stairs, he nudged my shoulder. I almost lost my footing.

  “You’re a psycho!” Jimmy shouted, racing ahead of me down the stairs with the other boys. “Loser!”

  I just froze. I didn’t care if I made it to math. I wasn’t sure I could ever leave this spot.

  I heard a voice behind me. “Are you okay?” It was Sarah Smythe.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “He’s awful,” she said. “He’s in my art class. I saw the whole thing.”

  When I was silent, she said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell him to stop.”

  I felt the beginning of tears. Was she afraid of me? Could I ask if she wanted to eat lunch backstage again?

  “That’s okay,” I said. “He’s scary. Scary for both of us.”

  “Yeah.” She looked uncomfortable, and then she said, “We’d better go to class.”

  I felt like I had a remote control in my hand, and I was trying to find the button that would make my legs walk. I started down the stairs, slowly. “Yeah, let’s go.” I agreed, trying to sound casual.

  “Guess what? I’m going to be in a play,” she said. “I got in.”

  “Bye Bye Birdie?”

  “Yeah, I’m Kim,” she told me. “It’s the lead.”

  “Wow! That’s great. Congratulations
.”

  “I thought of you when I was auditioning on the stage. I hope it means you can still eat back there. You know, in the backstage.”

  She talked about me eating backstage, not us. So I guessed that was her answer.

  “Oh, don’t worry about me!” I assured her.

  Every time I sat down and stood up, I had to remember how to make my legs work, how to keep moving through this day. I tried not to think about my dad or kids talking to me about him.

  In social studies, I hoped Ms. Severance would smile at me, but she didn’t.

  And with that, I decided the day had been a complete failure.

  I was surprised when I got home. Carolyn, Joyce, Phyllis, and John were all sitting at the kitchen table.

  “What the hell is going on?” Carolyn wanted to know.

  If it were just Carolyn, I might have told her. She was always ready for anything.

  “Carolyn!” John moaned. “She’s just a kid! Don’t ask questions like that! Here, Honey, I made you some orrecchiette with pesto, and I heated up some eggplant Parmesan.” I guess John forgot I was a kid, considering his menu choice, but then he pushed a plate toward me. “Or do you want to skip right to the cookies?”

  “I’ll skip to the cookies,” Phyllis said.

  I couldn’t eat. “You’re not eating,” Joyce observed. “Amalee, when you can’t eat, it usually means that you’re ashamed of something, like you feel you don’t deserve to eat.”

  John said, “Joyce, if you start crying, I might start, too.”

  “I can’t help it,” she sobbed, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “This poor kid. What terrible thing could she have done that she doesn’t think she deserves to eat? I’m sorry.” She got up. “I’ve got to get back to the office anyway. You hang in there, Amalee.” She rushed out to her car.

  John got me some pasta, and he, Phyllis, and Carolyn all started picking at it with forks.

  After a few minutes of silence, John said, “Well, Ama, far be it for me to pry something out of you. I’m sure whatever you did is not as bad as you think it is.” He got up to go to work and added, “You know, Phyllis and your dad had the same principal as you when they were in middle school. She says your principal is an idiot.”