Drew’s face turned red, then purple. “He got his warning, and here’s yours: if you don’t want people to call you a switch-hitter, maybe you should dress a little nicer.”
Several of the students snickered or laughed outright at the comment, and my face burned so hot I feared passing out again. I’d never considered hitting another human being in my life, but my hands balled into fists at my side, and I had to grind my teeth in order to restrain the terrifying flash of rage pushing up from my core.
“Now hit the shower,” Drew ordered us. “All of you.”
The others made a break for the locker rooms, but I stood, feet cemented to the floor, until Kelsey and Nikki flanked me on either side and pushed me toward the locker room. I let them lead me blindly, shuffling through a red haze of hurt and anger.
I sat on the bench and kicked off my shoes, then pulled off my shirt, all fear of high-school locker rooms gone. I couldn’t see anything but red, anyway.
“Are you okay?” Nikki asked.
“I don’t know.” I pulled on my khakis. “I guess. What about Kelsey?”
“I’m fine,” she said from behind me. I turned to see her dressing quickly, her head down and her hair covering her face.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry I got you in trouble.”
“You didn’t.” I jumped up and grabbed her by the shoulders. “That wasn’t your fault.”
She lifted her chin and shook her dark locks from her eyes. The pain and embarrassment I saw there were more terrifying than Michael’s wrath. She looked haunted or, worse, dead. I dropped my hands to my sides, fear turning the embers of my fury to ice.
“Hey.” Nikki nudged us both. “Everybody’s okay. It’s not that bad.”
I stared at her in disbelief, and she shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other.
“Really,” she continued nervously, “I’m sure he didn’t mean it. Besides, he’s a jerk and no one likes him anyway.”
Some of the girls around us nodded. Others looked away nervously. Nikki plastered a fake smile on her face. “Everything’s all right. Just let it go and get to class, okay?”
Kelsey nodded, and I did the same, even though I knew neither of us would be able to let it go. We’d carry the trauma of those words with us for the rest of our lives, no matter how long or short they might be.
*
I stumbled more than walked into Jody’s classroom, and her eyes darkened immediately. She scanned me up and down, then looked past me to Kelsey, who slumped into her chair and put her head down. Jody joined us immediately and crouched between our desks. “What’s the matter, you two? What happened?”
“Nothing,” Kelsey said into her hands
I inhaled sharply at the low monotone of her voice, catching the scent of Jody, so close, so comforting. We couldn’t do this on our own. I wasn’t strong enough, and neither was Kelsey. The words spilled out of me. “Michael Redly called Kelsey the n-word, and he called me a dyke.”
Jody gasped. “That’s it. We’re going to the office right now.”
“No! Please, no,” Kelsey pleaded.
“We have to. That’s harassment—it’s abuse. It can’t be tolerated.”
“It already has been,” I said. “Mr. Phillips heard him say it and didn’t do anything.”
She eyed me seriously, silently asking for the rest of the story. “And he told me if I didn’t want people to think I was a switch-hitter, I needed to dress nicer.”
Her blue eyes turned dark and stormy, and her face flamed red. She pounded her fist on her own leg. “Unacceptable. I’ll go over his head.”
“Don’t do something to make it worse,” Kelsey said in a trembling voice.
Jody glanced at her and froze. Maybe she saw the extent of her pain or her own fear mirrored in Kelsey’s eyes, but her expression softened drastically.
She took a deep breath before smiling at Kelsey, then back at me, all hints of her anger fading under a mask of compassion. “Okay, you’re in control of this situation. I know it may not feel like it at the moment, but you aren’t alone.”
Kelsey nodded, and her chin quivered before she flipped her hair back into her face.
“Stevie, you can sit out your monologue today if you need to.”
I couldn’t collapse. I had to stay strong for her, for Kelsey, maybe even for myself. “I think I can do it.”
Jody smiled sadly and squeezed my shoulder. “Okay, the floor is yours.”
I stood on weakened legs and took a few tentative steps to the front of the room. “This is the subtext from Zubaida Ula’s monologue from, um…” I closed my eyes and composed myself. “It’s from The Laramie Project.
“I was at a memorial service for Mathew Shepard, and it made me feel better to know I wasn’t the only one who felt terrible. I’d thought maybe I didn’t have a right to be so upset because it hadn’t happened to me. Then someone said, ‘We have to show the world we’re not the kind of people who do stuff like this.’”
I snorted bitterly, a rusty taste like blood coating my tongue at the memory of Michael’s words and Nikki’s attempt to whitewash them away.
“It’s a lie. We are the kind of people who do bad things because we let them continue. How can we pretend we’re not? We already let it happen. What kind of backward thinking are you deluding yourself with to be at the place where bad things happen, where you see them with your own eyes, and hear them with your own ears, and then you say, we’re not really like that?”
My voice picked up and so did my pulse. I was moving away from the script, away from the subtext, away from acting. I looked from Kelsey to our classmates, then to Jody, pleading with them all to give me some answers. “We have to address this, we have to admit we’re part of it. We can’t look the other way or sweep it under the rug. We need to take responsibility for our own part in all this hurt and pain. We have to admit part of it is our fault. It is our fault.”
My voice echoed loudly through my ears and rattled into my chest. “It is our fault.”
I didn’t wait for their reaction. I didn’t look at their faces or listen to their delayed applause. I took three steps and collapsed into the nearest empty desk. Jody was on her feet in an instant standing beside me.
“Thank you, Stevie,” she said, looking intensely into my eyes. “Thank you, very much. I know you’re supposed to run the discussion, but I’d like to say a few things first, okay?”
“Okay,” I croaked gratefully.
“A teacher has to think about so many things, and they’re all important. At any given moment, I’m worried about each one of you. Will you understand the reading? Did I challenge you enough? Will you pass the state tests? Have I prepared you for college? Will I make it through all the course material in time? Did I remember to take attendance?” She sighed, then smiled. “It’s so easy to get overwhelmed that sometimes I forget the most important things we can learn will never show up in a textbook or on a test or on a college syllabus.”
She walked around the room as she spoke, making eye contact with each student she passed. “Our responsibility as human beings far outweighs our responsibility as students or teachers, and Stevie’s monologue reminded me that each time we fail in those human responsibilities, we hurt not just ourselves, but everyone around us.”
She pulled up a student desk and turned it to face us all. “Let’s circle up and talk for a while.”
The students looked nervously at each other before moving their desks into a circle. “We’re not going to do the rest of our monologues?” one of them asked.
“We’ll have time for monologues later. Let’s focus on creating a dialogue,” Jody explained gently. “I want to hear your thoughts on bullying.”
The room was dead silent, and everyone struggled to avoid eye contact by staring at their shoes.
“I understand it’s not an easy topic,” Jody said. “I was bullied pretty badly through middle school and high school. I even considered killing m
yself for a while.”
I expelled a breath of air like I’d been punched in the stomach, and Kelsey looked up with wide eyes and rapt attention.
“I complained to the administration, but they were too busy to listen or too overwhelmed to care, and bullies are smart. They learn early what they can get away with and when and where.” Jody continued, her complexion pale without the flush of anger that had marred her skin earlier. “I used to wonder why no one ever stopped them, why otherwise good people let the taunting and harassment continue, but then I realized they were being bullied too.”
Jody’s eyes grew piercingly bright, and as she talked her natural coloring also returned. I watched, transfixed as she came more fully alive than I’d ever seen her. “You see, a bully doesn’t have to actively terrorize everyone. They just have to make one person so miserable no one else would dare cross them for fear of becoming a target themselves. All those other students who stood by and watched me drown were just as scared as I was. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
One of the students raised her hand, and Jody acknowledged her with a gracious smile.
“I just, I wanted to say sorry to Kelsey.” The girl stared down at her desk, as her voice grew thick with emotion. “I don’t agree with what Michael said, but I didn’t know what to do.”
Kelsey’s tan skin lightened with a pink tint as she mumbled, “It’s okay.”
“It’s not really,” the girl said. “I just didn’t want it to happen to me, and then when he unloaded on Stevie, I got even more scared.”
“That’s important to admit,” Jody said, getting up and moving over to stand beside the student.
A boy near her raised his hand, then said, “I didn’t hear it. I only learned what happened on the way to this class. I’ve been sitting here telling myself I would’ve said something, but that’s probably not true. I’m fighting to keep my grades up and stay on the baseball team. I don’t have the energy to fight other people too. And I feel guilty about that.”
Jody regarded him with nothing but compassion as he struggled to find more words. She’d opened up to them, so naturally they couldn’t help but respond. She hadn’t pressured them. She’d merely met each student where they were and gracefully led them to a better place. I’d never seen her so at ease with her role or with herself. Not even when she’d surrendered to my kiss.
Especially not then.
“But we’ve all got our own problems, and if I don’t stand up for what’s right, how can I ask anyone else to?” the boy asked.
“I think this is where I need to remind you all you aren’t alone,” Jody said, taking the floor again. “Bullies thrive by isolating people, but you don’t have to face them by yourself. You have friends, you have parents, you have teachers.”
One of the students scoffed. “The teachers don’t help.”
“Some won’t, you’re right,” she admitted sadly. “But some will, and you know who they are. You have coaches and pastors and school counselors and the nurse too. You may have to try more than one option, but you have to keep trying.”
Why didn’t she just tell them to come to her? They clearly wanted to. I saw it in their eyes—even Kelsey’s. They were pulling strength from her the way she’d always hoped they would. She’d just done exactly what she became a teacher to do. Why not embrace that final step? Why not encourage them to lean on her?
Then her words rushed back to me. “I’ve made some big decisions.”
She’d decided to leave with me. She refused to tell the students she’d be there for them because she wouldn’t. I should’ve been thrilled. I should’ve jumped over my desk and pulled her into my arms. I should’ve wanted to carry her out the door.
Instead, the weight of guilt pinned me to my chair. It held me down and choked out my voice. It clogged my ears and drowned out the remainder of the conversation. She’d just found her purpose. I’d watched her transform from a girl into the woman I’d already known she’d become. In setting aside her own needs to meet those of her students, she’d actually become a more full version of herself. A better version than I’d ever inspired her to be.
I couldn’t let her quit.
I couldn’t let her leave these kids behind.
I couldn’t let her settle for me when she could have something so much more meaningful.
*
The bell must have rung because everyone else packed up their things and left, but I never heard it. I didn’t move either. Not even when Kelsey said she was headed out. I should’ve gone with her, but I couldn’t.
When Kelsey was gone, Jody closed the door. She turned to me looking tired and conflicted, but smiling. “You were magnificent today, Stevie.”
“No.” I shook my head. “You were. I’m so impressed with how you stood up for those students. How you guided them through those emotions. I’m so sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”
“See what?”
I stared at her for as long as I dared, trying to memorize her features one last time, to pack away one more happy moment. I let my eyes caress the slender curve of her hip and trace the arch of her neck. I ran my gaze along her jawline and lingered at the corner of the lips I’d kissed. Then I glanced up and met the deep blues that called to me across time. “You belong here.”
“What?”
“You’re where you’re supposed to be. These students need you.”
She looked at me with wide, wounded eyes as if I’d betrayed her. “What about what I need?”
“You need them too. They’re part of you.” My voice cracked, raw and broken, an outward sign of how my heart felt. “I was selfish to tell you otherwise. I wanted you for my own. I thought I could give you a better life, make you happier, but I saw the way you connected with them today. I can’t give you anything better than that.”
“I’m not asking you to give me anything. I’m offering myself. I’m ready to walk away.” She glided her hands through her light hair and shook them out. “I’ve written my letter of resignation. I’m giving it to my advisor tonight.”
“No.” I jumped up. “Jody, you can’t. Where would you go? Think about your future.”
Her eyes were frantic, like a wounded animal’s. “I did. I wanted you to be a part of it. And I can’t have a relationship with a student. I won’t be that person, but I won’t be without you either. I thought you wanted me too.”
“I do. God, I do…but there’s no way. Maybe someday, but not now. Do you have any idea how much trouble we’d get in if someone caught us? It’d be worse if they found out you resigned for me.” I paced around the room, trying to make her see the consequences of following me down the path I’d advocated days ago. “You’d never teach again. We’d be in the papers. We’d never get out from under a scandal like that.”
“All I’m hearing is you talking about what everyone else needs or wants or will do.” She came closer, dangerously close, so close I broke into a sweat at the physical battle to keep myself from falling into her arms. “What about your monologue? What about taking responsibility for what you want, for what you know is right?”
“I don’t know what’s right any more.”
She froze, then, looking heavenward, shook her head. “I can’t believe this. You’re a liar.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. You’re a liar and a coward. You’re so afraid of making a scene, of taking a stand you’re even lying to yourself.”
The words stung.
“I thought you were different. I thought you’d changed. Then when you kissed me…” She covered her face and stifled a scream into her hands. “I let you kiss me. Damn it, I can’t undo that, Stevie. I have to resign now.”
“You don’t. No one will ever know.”
“I will know!” She staggered, and I reached out to steady her, but she pushed me away. “I will know, and I’ve made my peace with that. It wasn’t easy, but for you I did. I believed you would do the same for me.”
“I’d do anything for you, if
I could. Please believe me.” I begged frantically for her to understand me. “If I knew of any way out of this situation, any legitimate option or alternate reality, I’d take it.”
“Alternate reality? This one isn’t real enough for you?” Her shoulders sagged, and she leaned against the wall to support herself, or maybe to bear her disappointment in me.
“What do you want me to do?” I pleaded.
“Create your own reality.”
“I can’t.”
Jody hung her head, then looked back up, her eyes meeting mine before she said, “Fine. I can’t make you take responsibility for your own story, but if you want to be a writer, you’d better learn to craft better endings than this.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come, and it didn’t matter anyway. Jody had stopped listening. She turned her back to me and stared out the windows of her classroom. I wanted to go to her, to touch her, to comfort her. Instead, I ran.
*
I tore through the hallway and down the stairs, intending to blow past my locker. Everything had backfired. Lancing, piercing pain tore at my chest and burned my lungs. The first time I’d done something for the right reason, or at least for selfless reasons, I’d ended up feeling worse than ever. My breath rasped in harsh gusts, raw against my throat and shaking all the way to my stomach. I’d destroyed Jody. I’d wrecked her dream, then failed to provide her with a new one, and in doing so I’d cut off my one refuge in this endless nightmare. I saw no relief, no solace, no hope left anywhere on the horizon, no future for either of us. No future at all, only the constant downward spiral of the past.
Blinded by tears, I careened around the corner only to draw up short a few feet from a group of students. Michael and Deelia led the horde, and I took a step back. What where they still doing here? It didn’t matter. I was already running.
Then I heard Kelsey’s voice, small and scared, over the pounding of my own heartbeat.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“Sorry’s not good enough when my girlfriend has a sprained wrist.” Michael sneered.
Timeless Page 20
