Hate Mail

by Polak, Monique;

  Chapter Thirteen

  “He’s your cousin?” Tyrone says. We’ve been inside the Cessna 172 (we took turns sitting in the pilot’s seat). Now Mr. Gendron has gone back inside, and a few of us are walking along a runway. The wind is so strong we have to keep our faces down.

  Mark nudges Tyrone. “I can’t believe you didn’t figure that one out. Couldn’t you tell from the hair?”

  Todd is behind me.

  “Yup,” I say, “we’re cousins.” I try to make it sound like it’s no big deal.

  “How come you never said anything?” Tyrone asks me.

  “Just because.”

  A brochure Isobel picked up at the dispatch office flies out of her hand. Tyrone tries catching it, but the wind sweeps up the brochure and sends it hurtling down the runway.

  This sure is some crazy wind. It’s whipping at our coats and howling in our ears. Another giant gust and the runway lights go out.

  “Oh my god,” Isobel squeals, “black out!”

  We huddle closer. Tyrone puts his arm around Isobel.

  Suddenly, there’s a loud crack, and a long thick branch comes flying at us. “Watch out!” Tyrone yells. Only it’s too late. The branch whacks the side of Samantha’s face.

  “Are you okay?”

  She can’t hear me over the wind.

  Samantha isn’t okay. The right side of her face is already swollen. Now I make out an ugly gash on her cheek. It’s bleeding. Samantha touches her cheek. She moans when she feels the blood.

  I take off one of my mitts. Samantha winces when I press it against her face to stop the bleeding. “We need to get her back to the main building,” I tell the others.

  Only the wind is pushing us in the opposite direction.

  “Who’s got a cell?” Isobel has to shout so we can hear her.

  Tyrone whips out his cell. He looks at the screen and then shakes the phone. “Stupid thing isn’t working. Maybe the wind blew out the cell tower.”

  “We can’t just stand here,” I say.

  “Where are we supposed to go?” Tyrone shouts.

  “We can go in there,” Todd says.

  We all turn to look at him. The others are as surprised as I am that Todd has said something.

  “Go in where?” Tyrone asks Todd.

  Todd gestures toward an airplane parked in front of us on the runway. “In there.”

  “It’ll be locked,” Tyrone says.

  Todd shakes his head. “If there’s a crash, people need to be able to open the doors from outside.”

  The little plane is only a couple of hundred feet away, but because of the wind, it takes us a while to reach it. Todd’s right about the doors. They aren’t locked. We pile inside.

  Isobel finds a first-aid kit. There’s antibiotic cream and gauze inside.

  Samantha grimaces when Isobel applies the cream.

  I’m the one who notices the blood in Samantha’s right eye. Then Isobel sees it too. “Oh my god, Sam,” she says. “Your eye—it’s bleeding!”

  “We need to get her to a doctor,” I say.

  “What are you planning to do—phone nine-one-one?” Tyrone asks. “’Cause there’s no cell service.”

  “Does it hurt?” Isobel asks Samantha.

  “Not really.” Samantha squeezes her right eye shut and then opens it again. “I can’t see from that eye,” she says quietly.

  Which is when Isobel starts screaming.

  Todd tenses up. I can’t blame him. The piercing sound of Isobel’s scream fills the small plane.

  Now Todd presses his hands over his ears and starts making this awful sound I’ve never heard before. It’s like a horse whinnying. If it was anybody else, I’d put my hand on his shoulder to calm him down. But I can’t touch Todd.

  At least this makes Isobel stop screaming.

  “Todd,” I say as calmly as I can, “Isobel didn’t mean to scare you. She’s worried. Samantha needs a doctor, and the phone’s not working.” I can feel the others watching us. “Let’s take a few deep breaths.” I’ve seen Aunt Anna do this with Todd.

  Todd and I breathe in and out. We do it a few times.

  Todd drops his hands back to his sides and sighs. “If there’s no phone,” he says, “we can use the ELT.”

  “The ELT? What’s an ELT?” I ask him.

  “The emergency locator transmitter,” Todd says. “Every plane has one. On a small plane like this it’s usually in the cargo compartment.”

  The ELT is exactly where Todd said it would be. “Have you ever used one of these before?” Tyrone asks Todd.

  “No,” Todd says, “but I’ve read about them. An ELT gets activated automatically during a crash. There’s a manual option too.”

  Ten minutes later, Mr. Gendron pulls up in the aviation-school truck. By the time we get to the hangar, the ambulance is already waiting for Samantha.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Todd sleeps over. Mom is impressed when I offer to sleep on the couch so he can have my bed. “He’s a hero,” I say, shrugging my shoulders.

  “Thank goodness he knew about that ELT,” Mom says.

  “I’m a hero,” Todd says when I go upstairs for a pillow.

  “That’s for sure,” I tell him.

  Todd talks to himself before he falls asleep. Even from the living room, I hear him repeating over and over, “I’m a hero. That’s for sure.” I think about going upstairs and complaining. But it probably wouldn’t help. So I put the pillow over my head and fall asleep.

  Aunt Anna has spent the night at the hospital with Uncle Fred. This morning, he is being transferred to the psychiatric ward. “It’s the best place for him now,” Mom explains over breakfast.

  Todd observes his Wheaties floating in the milk.

  “We’ll drop by the hospital this morning. Does that sound okay, Todd?” Mom asks.

  “Okay,” Todd says without looking up.

  Todd and I wait outside the gift shop when Mom goes in to buy a magazine for Aunt Anna. Todd shifts from one foot to the other. He doesn’t look at me when he speaks. “It’s my fault Dad’s sad. Because I have autism.”

  “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” I tell him.

  We have to get buzzed into the psychiatric ward. Uncle Fred’s room feels like a prison cell. Aunt Anna sits on the bed, holding Uncle Fred’s hand. Uncle Fred is snoring lightly, but he stirs when we come in.

  He opens his eyes and looks at Todd, but Uncle Fred is too tired—or maybe too drugged—to speak. His face is stubbly, and he’s wearing a green hospital gown. I want my old uncle back, the one who calls me his favorite nephew. If it’s hard for me, what must this be like for Todd?

  When I turn my head, I’m not surprised to see that Todd is scratching under his arms.

  If stimming worked for me, I’d do it right now too.

  “Fred, did you hear that Todd’s a hero?” Mom says this extra loud, as if she thinks that by raising her voice, Uncle Fred might snap out of his depression. “He helped get a girl medical attention. There was a windstorm. The kids were visiting an aviation school.”

  Uncle Fred tries propping himself up. In a voice not much louder than a whisper, he tells Todd, “I’m proud of you, son.” And then, as if saying that has taken all the energy he had, Uncle Fred slumps back down.

  Mom and Aunt Anna are talking in the hallway. “I’ll need to prepare Todd,” I hear Aunt Anna say.

  At first, I think they’re talking about how long Uncle Fred will be in the hospital, only then Mom adds, “You don’t want him finding out from the newspaper.”

  They’re not talking about Uncle Fred.

  They’re talking about the letter. Aunt Anna must have decided to go public with it after all.

  Uncle Fred needs his rest, and Aunt Anna wants to go home to shower. Mom agrees to drop Todd and me at the Children’s Hospital so we can visit Samantha. She’ll pick us up after she’s taken Aunt Anna home.

  Aunt Anna and Todd sit in the back of the van. I feel sick to my s
tomach when Aunt Anna starts talking about the hate letter. Why couldn’t she wait to do that until the two of them are alone? Then I realize maybe she wants Mom’s support—and mine too.

  “Todd, honey,” Aunt Anna begins, “you know what your dad said—about being proud of you? I’m proud of you too. Not just for helping that girl, but for being you. Look, there’s something important we need to discuss.” She waits for Todd to respond, but when he doesn’t, she continues. “Someone really ignorant wrote a cruel letter—a hateful letter—about you and about people with autism. I wasn’t going to tell you, but I’ve changed my mind. Because you know what, Todd?” Aunt Anna’s voice breaks, “You keep demonstrating how smart and brave you are. I think we need to go public with the letter. Not just for you. For other kids with autism.”

  Mom bites her lip. “Todd,” she says as she watches him in the rearview mirror, “you need to tell your mom if you’re not comfortable with this.”

  “Your Aunt Julie is right. Are you okay with me sending a copy of the letter to the newspaper?”

  Todd doesn’t say yes or no. He just repeats something Aunt Anna said before, “A hateful letter about people with autism.”

  Mom sucks in her breath. “I’m still not sure it’s the right thing to do, Anna.”

  “It’s a pretty bad letter,” I say.

  “How do you know?” Mom and Aunt Anna ask at the same time.

  “I…uh…I saw it. On the computer.”

  “You were reading my email?” Mom asks.

  “It just kinda happened. You really need a lesson about Internet safety.”

  “That’s not what this is about, Jordie.”

  Aunt Anna interrupts. “If Jordie’s read the letter, he’ll be able to support Todd if it goes public.”

  “That’s right. I will.” I have to say that. It’s the only way to end the argument.

  Even with a patch over one eye, Samantha looks good. We find her sitting in the lounge at the Children’s Hospital. Her dad is with her. “I’ve got a vitreous hemorrhage,” Samantha says. “Sitting up helps the blood vessels drain to the bottom of my eye. The good news is I’m not blind.”

  “Phew,” I say.

  Maybe it’s because of the patch that Samantha doesn’t notice right away that Todd’s behind me.

  “Todd!” she says when she sees him. She starts getting up from her chair, but her dad stops her.

  “Samantha! The doctor said absolutely no bouncing around for at least twenty-four hours! Are you Todd?”

  Samantha doesn’t listen to her dad. She goes over to Todd—and kisses him.

  Todd squirms and then wipes at his cheek. Not surprisingly, he’s stimming again.

  I sure wish Samantha would kiss me like that. I wonder if Samantha knows what I’m thinking—because I get the feeling she’s trying not to laugh. “Hey, Jordie,” she says, “I need to thank you too.”

  “Thank me? For what?”

  “For having such a cool cousin.”

  Samantha’s dad reaches out to shake Todd’s hand, but I stop him. “Todd doesn’t like when people touch him. Especially people he’s not used to.”

  “I see,” Samantha’s dad says. “Well, young man, we’re very grateful for what you did.”

  A woman with blond spiky hair is walking toward us. I’m almost sure it’s the woman I heard bad-mouthing kids like Todd at parent-teacher night.

  “Are you guys having a party without me?” Now I recognize the nasal voice.

  “Todd, Jordie,” Samantha says, “I don’t think you’ve met my stepmom.”

  “Oh my god,” Samantha’s stepmom puts her hand over her mouth when she sees Todd. “You’re the kid who saved Samantha? I didn’t realize it was you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  We’re having a family meeting at Aunt Anna’s. We ordered in cheese pizza—it’s the only kind Todd likes. Mom and I are sitting on one side of the table. Aunt Anna and Todd are across from us.

  Aunt Anna’s hands shake when she starts talking about the letter. “I don’t think you need to read it, honey,” she tells Todd. Her eyes are already filled with tears.

  “I don’t need to read it,” Todd says.

  “But I think you need to understand a little more,” Aunt Anna continues. “About the sorts of things that are in it.”

  Mom shakes her head. Aunt Anna leans closer to Todd. I’m facing him. This is going to be torture.

  “The person who wrote it doesn’t know anything about autism,” Aunt Anna says. “The letter is full of misconceptions and prejudice. It says people with autism are…that they…” Aunt Anna is getting really choked up now.

  Mom reaches across the table to pat Aunt Anna’s hand.

  Todd swallows a couple of times. He scratches under his armpits, but only once. “Some people think I’m a freak,” he says. His voice is flat, but his lower lip is trembling.

  I can’t take much more of this. “Maybe we shouldn’t focus on the letter,” I say quietly. “Maybe we should focus on a plan of action instead. A plan Todd’s okay with.”

  “I just want to be sure that Todd understands,” Mom says. “Like your mom said,” she adds, looking at Todd, “the letter is full of misconceptions and prejudice. There are people who don’t know much about autism. And people are afraid of what they don’t know. So they lash out by saying—or writing—cruel things.”

  “I’m not a freak,” Todd whispers.

  “Of course you’re not,” I tell him.

  “But someone wrote that,” Todd says.

  Mom’s eyes flash. “Someone ignorant and cruel wrote that,” she says.

  “Someone cowardly,” Aunt Anna adds. “That’s why they didn’t sign their name.”

  Todd does something unusual now: he looks at me. I can tell he expects me to say something.

  “I don’t think you’re a freak.” And because I don’t know what else to say, I add, “Samantha definitely doesn’t think so.”

  Todd thinks about that for a minute. “I helped save Samantha,” he says. “Samantha understands about autism. A lot of people don’t.”

  “You’re right,” Aunt Anna says. “That’s why I want to tell the newspaper about this hate mail.”

  “Okay,” Todd says. “Tell the newspaper.”

  The story makes the front page of The Gazette. There’s a picture of Aunt Anna holding the letter. Todd is in the picture too, but he’s in the background, reading one of his aviation magazines, and his face is fuzzy. The hate letter is on page three of the paper.

  None of us expected that the article—and the letter—would go viral. By the time I get home from school the day after the article was in the paper, it’s all over Facebook and Twitter. There are a couple of nasty comments, but most are sympathetic. “What can we do to help Todd and kids like him?” one of them asks.

  Uncle Fred has been complaining about the hospital food, so Todd and I bring him a cheeseburger and fries. The nurse who’s giving Uncle Fred his pills smiles when she sees Todd. “I noticed the last name on your dad’s chart,” she says. “You’re Todd, right?”

  Todd is looking at the floor. “I guess you read the article.”

  “I saw it on Facebook. It’s an honor to meet you,” the nurse says. “You’re a brave guy.”

  “He takes after his old man,” Uncle Fred says.

  It’s the first joke Uncle Fred has made in nearly three weeks. I decide it’s a sign that he’s going to make a full recovery.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I think Samantha’s hot,” Todd says.

  “Hotter than a Dash 8?” I ask.

  We are sitting at the donut shop where Samantha works. She sent me a text asking us to meet her here. The air smells sweet and lemony, and I now understand why Samantha always smells so delicious. Her good smell isn’t perfume, it’s donuts.

  Samantha is behind the counter, serving customers. Todd and I munch on our lemon-filled donuts while we wait for her to get her break.

  A guy in a long wool coat w
alks by and taps his knuckles on our table. Todd bristles. It’s that weird guy who lives on his floor. “You know what I heard?” the man says. He sure doesn’t have very good social skills.

  “Uh, hello.” I hope that’ll give him the message.

  It doesn’t.

  “I heard some people say that letter is a hoax. They said you people made it up to get attention. But I told them you wouldn’t do that. I said I was sure it was a real letter.”

  “It’s a real letter,” Todd says.

  Before he shuffles off to his own table, the man looks back at Todd and says, “Listen, kid, I’m sorry if I’ve been unfriendly. I guess I didn’t know much about autism.”

  Samantha catches the end of the conversation. “Hey,” she says to the man, “there’s gonna be a rally on Saturday morning to raise awareness about autism. We’re meeting in front of Riverview High School at ten. You should totally come!”

  The man can’t resist Samantha’s charm any more than Todd or I can. “Ten?” he says. Then he reaches into his pocket, takes out his agenda and a small pencil, and makes a note about the rally.

  Todd is shredding his napkin into tiny pieces. I bet he’s nervous about the rally. There could be a lot of new people there, and they might get closer to him than he’s comfortable with.

  “How does it feel to be a hero?” Samantha asks him when she sits down.

  “Good. I guess.”

  “I was thinking,” I say to both of them, “maybe Todd won’t like being right in the middle of the rally. Maybe we can find a way for him to participate—but still give him his space.”

  Todd has made a neat pile out of the bits of shredded napkin. “I like to have my space,” he says.

  “Well then, we’ll make sure you get plenty of space,” Samantha tells Todd.

  That is when I realize Samantha is not just being nice—she really likes Todd and appreciates his quirkiness. I should be happy for Todd, but instead I feel jealous. “So, do you get to eat all the donuts you want?” I ask Samantha, hoping to get her attention back on me.

  “To be honest, I’m sick of donuts.” Samantha has a pink scar on her cheek where the branch hit her, but her eye looks normal.