Unlocked

by Karen Kingsbury

  At first the kid looked like he might yell or throw a fit. He turned away from Ella and stared straight up at the ceiling, then down at the floor. He took a few steps toward the gym, set his backpack against the wall, and then dropped down and began doing push-ups. Perfect, military-style push-ups. Ella stepped into the hall, drawn to the boy. Why was he doing that, and how come he wouldn’t talk?

  “He’s autistic.” The teacher turned to her, her voice quiet. “He does push-ups when he gets overstimulated.”

  Overstimulated? “I think he liked the music.” Ella had heard of autism, and she’d seen an old rerun of Rain Man on television last year. But she’d never known anyone who had it. “Can’t he stay? So he can hear us sing?”

  The woman shook her head. “He needs to be with other special-needs kids.” She took a few steps closer to the guy, still on the floor doing push-ups. So many push-ups Ella was starting to worry about him.

  “Maybe he’d feel better if he stayed.”

  Her expression grew impatient, as if Ella couldn’t possibly understand someone with autism. “Not today.”

  The kid was getting up, his face red and sweaty. He walked a few steps toward the gym, then back their way again, but he wasn’t looking at Ella the way he did before. She closed the distance between them and stopped a few feet from him. “Hi.” She held out her hand. “I’m Ella Reynolds.” In the classroom behind her she could hear Mr. Hawkins starting up again on the piano.

  The special needs kid walked to his backpack, unzipped the top, and pulled out a large deck of flash cards. At least they looked like flash cards. He sifted through them super fast and found whatever he was looking for. Then he held up the card so Ella could see it. The card was a pair of eyes with two words written beneath them: I see.

  “You see? You see me?” Ella looked back at the teacher. Her arms were crossed and she was clearly ready to move along. She turned her eyes to the kid again. “What’s your name?”

  “Holden Harris.” The teacher was clearly out of patience. “His name’s Holden Harris. That’s his favorite card. ‘I see.’ It’s the only way he has to communicate.” She motioned dramatically to the kid. “Come on, Holden. Time to go.”

  “What does it mean?” Ella wanted to know. If the look in Holden’s eyes was any indication, he saw a lot. More than people probably thought.

  “Nothing.” The teacher directed Holden to his backpack. “It’s the card he shows people when he’s upset, when he doesn’t know what’s happening around him.”

  “Ella!” One of the girls from the Beauty cast poked her head out the classroom door. “Hurry up. Break’s over.”

  She was out of time. Holden was placing the card with the eyes on it back into the deck. She didn’t have long. “Bye, Holden.” She ignored his teacher. “Come back again, okay?”

  He looked at her, but only for a few seconds. Then he lifted his backpack over his shoulder and walked quickly toward the gym. His teacher didn’t say anything, just hurried after him, like she was glad to have him back on task.

  Ella watched him go, and then hurried into the room. The kids were back in their seats for the most part, and Mr. Hawkins was at the piano, flipping through the score. She came to his side and lowered her voice. “Mr. Hawkins, what if there’s a student who wants to sit in on our class? Would that be okay?”

  Mr. Hawkins let out a heavy sigh, and ran his hand over his balding head. “Miss Reynolds, why do I think you’re not serious about this production?”

  “Serious?” Ella felt her expression fall. “Of course I’m serious. This has nothing to do with me. I’m talking about a kid from the special-needs group. He wanted to stay, but his teacher wouldn’t let him. So next time, I just thought maybe he could—”

  “Please, Miss Reynolds, you don’t understand what you’re asking.” He shook his head, clearly discouraged. “As beleaguered as our drama department has become, I can’t let it become a babysitting service.” He turned to the music. “Now, if you’d please sit down …” He raised his voice. “From the beginning.”

  Ella wanted to scream. If Holden Harris felt like listening to them sing, what could that hurt? She moved slowly back to her seat and joined her voice with the others around her. Mr. Hawkins could at least give Holden a chance.

  She focused on her solo, but even so she sang it with less passion. Not because she was angry at Mr. Hawkins or because she hadn’t gotten her way, but because she couldn’t stop thinking about Holden. The way he looked in the doorway, taking in the music, swaying to the song. And the words on the card he’d shown her. I see. Maybe he showed that card more often than others because he really could see. More than any of them knew.

  The possibility grew in Ella’s heart, and by the time they finished the first hour of rehearsal, she’d made up her mind. She wasn’t going to give up. If Holden wanted to listen to them sing, he would get his chance.

  IF THE FIRST REHEARSAL WAS ANY INDICATION OF THE SPRING production, Manny Hawkins figured he better start looking for a job. The board had called him in the week before school started and told him the situation.

  “The drama department isn’t bringing in enough money.” Board resident Tom Banks looked like a former basketball player. Good chance Banks had never seen a musical in his life. “We’ve cut your budget. There will be no fall production and no winter review.”

  The only remaining show at Fulton this year would be the spring musical. Banks thought that would give the department a better chance of success. Manny wanted to tell him he’d have a better chance of success playing the lottery.

  Fulton High was about sports, not spring productions. Football, not famous musicals. Manny couldn’t fathom what it would take to hit the mark. Maybe if they brought in teen sensation Justin Bieber as the Beast or Zac Efron as Gaston. Otherwise the kids would rally around the spring production about the same way they rallied around the math lab. The only way they’d make enough on the spring musical was if they held it on the football field and promised a game for the same price.

  The cast was on another break, so Manny looked over his rehearsal schedule. It might seem like they had a lot of rehearsal time, since the play wasn’t until after spring break. But there were no after-school rehearsals until two weeks before the show. And they’d have to work out sets and blocking and the sound system all before then.

  That meant, including breaks for Christmas and holidays, they had about a hundred and twenty hours of rehearsal time until the show opened. Not much. Especially when this was his last chance to pull off a masterpiece. On top of that, Ella Reynolds didn’t seem nearly as excited as he’d hoped she’d be. She was very good, but if she didn’t get passionate about her role, the show would flop for sure.

  He was barely through the schedule when Ella walked up. He knew before she opened her mouth that this was about the autistic kid. He turned to face her and crossed his arms. “Yes?”

  Ella lifted her chin. “I’d like you to reconsider about Holden.” “The boy with autism?”

  “Yes.” She pointed to the doorway. “Didn’t you see him? He loved hearing us sing. Why couldn’t he stay and listen?”

  “I told you why. This play is very serious, Miss Reynolds. The drama department doesn’t have long to prove itself.”

  “Maybe we prove ourselves by being kind to kids like him.” Ella hesitated, as if she didn’t quite understand. “I mean, how does that hurt us?”

  Manny felt the fight leave him. Ella was a pretty girl, blonde hair, green eyes, with an all-American look. She had promised to dye her hair brown for the role the week before they opened. But none of that would serve the character of Belle as much as the passion in her eyes right now. “You feel very strongly about this, don’t you?”

  Ella’s expression softened a little, but her eyes burned bright with intensity. “Yes, sir.”

  He thought about the autistic kid. Ella was right. He couldn’t do much harm. If he became disruptive, he’d have to leave and that would be that. Otherw
ise, what was the difference? Short of a miracle, this was their last show anyway. He waved his hand, trying to hurry Ella on her way. “Fine. He can sit in the back, but any outbursts and he’s done.”

  “Really?” Ella jumped up and clapped her hands. “Thank you, Mr. Hawkins. I have a feeling about this. You won’t be sorry.” She gave Manny a quick smile and flitted back to her desk, her steps lighter than before.

  Manny returned to the script, but he felt a little better about the day. Maybe Ella was right. What harm could it bring, playing for Holden at this stage of rehearsals. The autistic kid was at least interested.

  And come spring they could count on this much —at least one Fulton High student in the audience.

  Six

  THE DRUMBEAT STOPPED, AND THAT WAS JUST AS WELL. HOLDEN was tired of doing push-ups. Also, he didn’t want to throw a ball across the gym with the other kids in his class. He’d already told the teacher that, but she wasn’t listening. That’s why he had to sit in a chair at the corner of the gym and work his numbers.

  That was better than throwing a ball. Numbers made him feel good, and not too long from now he could go home and visit with his mom. He had so much to tell her today. Because it had finally happened! He and Ella had found their way back to each other. She was just the same, her pretty eyes and happy smile. Best of all she could still sing, just like Holden always knew she could.

  Holden was bored of the numbers, finished with them. The music drew him back to the place where Ella was, and he went with it, willingly. She saw him standing at the door the way she saw him before and he went to her. He was really here and this wasn’t a dream. He felt dizzy and full and happy. So happy. The edges were a little blurry and the colors weren’t crisp like in therapy. But he was pretty sure what was happening was real.

  He walked up to Ella. Remember when we were kids? We laughed and played and sang all day long.

  She smiled and took his hand. Those were the best times, Holden. And now you’re here again!

  Holden looked around, but he and Ella weren’t in the classroom anymore, they were on a stage and the stage was long with pretty trees and fields of green grass blowing in the breeze. Dance with me, Ella? He was still holding her hand, and he nodded to a bare spot on the stage.

  Ella laughed, like she laughed in the movie. And they danced to the music, the way they had danced all those years ago. Holden twirled her and spun her in pretty circles and Ella sang along with the words. In the distance he could hear people clapping. Louder and longer they clapped, because this was the most beautiful thing any of them had ever seen. Ella and Holden dancing together, singing a song of the angels.

  He’d spent all his life looking for her, his friend, Ella. And now she was here. Do you know why I told you I could see you earlier? He smiled straight into her heart. Smiling at her that way was easy. Ella’s heart was wide open.

  Why, Holden? She kept dancing, and her words were right to the music.

  Because I could always see you. Even when you weren’t here with me. I never stopped seeing you. Your soul stayed.

  She did another twirl. Your soul stayed with mine too. Because friends are like that, and you’re my friend.

  Holden loved this, talking with Ella after so much silence. Now that he’d found her, they could be best friends again and he would tell her everything, how he’d been feeling and how the music played all the time and how beautiful life was. He would tell her how much he loved Fulton High and how he prayed all the time for the kids around him. Because some of the kids had sad eyes or angry voices. Most of them didn’t hear the music.

  But you hear the music, Ella. You always did. Just like Michael.

  Ella smiled like she must’ve known Michael. He didn’t have a lot of friends, but Holden was going to help him find some. Maybe Ella would help him too. Michael needs our help, okay?

  Sure, Holden. They were dancing through the grass now, and the applause was quieter. Whatever you want, that’s what I’ll do.

  Holden felt a tapping on his shoulder. It started light, but then it got harder and harder and he jerked away from the pain. Slicing, burning so much pain. He turned and there was Mrs. Bristowe, his teacher.

  “Holden, you’re supposed to be doing your math. Remember?”

  His math? He was dancing with Ella across a field of pretty flowers and breezy grass. I already did my math. Now it’s time to dance with Ella.

  Mrs. Bristowe looked unhappy. “See this?” She held up the math paper. “You’ve been sitting here most of the hour and you’ve only done three problems. Either you need to get out there and play ball with the other kids, or you need to do your math, Holden. You can’t just sit here staring out the window and —”

  Mrs. Bristowe, I’m not staring out the window. I’m dancing with Ella, because I just found her again. She’s my friend from the movies, back when we were younger. We have a lot to talk about, like the kids at this school and how come some of them seem sad. And we need to talk about Michael, because Michael needs friends. Good friends like me and Ella.

  “… if you came over with the other kids and tossed a ball you might feel better about the day and —”

  I feel better when I’m with Ella, because I can see her. She can see me. It’s always been that way with Ella. Also maybe Michael should be here, because the jerks weren’t very nice to him. Their feet sound like drumbeats. Very loud drumbeats.

  “… can hear me, Holden. You need to follow instructions. Remember? That’s part of your therapy and —”

  The sunshine was happy and warm. Holden looked out the window and he could see Ella again. She was waiting for him outside, wanting to dance with him and talk to him and hold his hand. He’d been asking God to find Ella since she left, and now she was here! I have to find Ella!

  Mrs. Bristowe was saying something, but the music grew louder, more intense. He couldn’t hear the teacher above the song, and maybe that was just as well. Clearly, something was wrong with her, because no matter what he said, she didn’t respond. Holden had a feeling she couldn’t hear him at all.

  His teacher looked a little angry now, and Holden closed his eyes. The drumbeats were going to start any minute, he could feel them coming. And sure enough they started right at that moment … Boomdity, Boom … Boomdity, Boom … BOOM,

  BOOM, BOOM.

  Pounding drums, screaming, screeching. The noise was too much, and in another heartbeat Holden was on the ground, his muscles flexing, pushing through the noise. Too much noise. This wasn’t pretty like the music in his heart. Ten push-ups, fifteen. BOOM, BOOM, Boomdity, boomdity, BOOM BOOM. Twenty push-ups, twenty-five. When he reached thirty, the sound of the drums grew softer and faded away. Holden stood up, breathing hard.

  Where is she? The song was softer now, but Mrs. Bristowe wouldn’t answer him. Where did Ella go, and why can’t I go be with her?

  “Holden Harris, you’re trying my patience and —” What did I do wrong? Why did Mrs. Bristowe have to get mad? He would finish his math later. He and his mom could sit at the table like they always did and talk about his day and he would work out his math.

  He needed to pray, that’s what the wall at church said. Pray on all occasions. He could pray for Mrs. Bristowe and for Ella and for time away from math so he could dance and run through the green fields.

  Dear Jesus, it’s me, Holden. Why are people so angry? They have sad eyes and they don’t want to hear the music ever. But right now I only want to dance with Ella. So please, Lord, could You make that happen? Please bring Ella back here so we can dance. I know You can hear me, because You let me find her. Thank You for that. Now if we could please dance again, I would really appreciate it. I know You love me. Your friend, Holden.

  The green fields were calling to him, and Ella was waiting. Today was beautiful, more beautiful than the other days. His heart was full and the sun was shining bright white and soft edges. All because he’d found Ella Reynolds.

  He already explained this to Mrs. Bristowe, but
she wouldn’t listen. Or maybe she couldn’t listen. Right now he didn’t want to throw a ball or work out his math or do another push-up. He didn’t want to be buried under the noise. He only wanted what he’d wanted since he was in the movies, the same thing he wanted every day when he remembered her or when he came to Fulton High.

  He wanted his friend Ella.

  Seven

  ONCE A MONTH BEFORE SCHOOL LET OUT FOR THE DAY, TRACY met with Holden’s lead teacher, Beth Bristowe. During the talk, Holden would sit in the classroom, lost in his own world, working his math problems the way he liked to do. Once he was settled, Tracy and Mrs. Bristowe would sit at her desk twenty feet away and they’d talk about Holden, how he was doing and the progress he was making.

  Tracy used to look forward to the meetings, because when Holden was a freshman they introduced PECS cards to him. Back then every month seemed to show another level of progress and advancement. Another step closer to opening the doors that so firmly held her son.

  The PECS cards stayed, but midway through his sophomore year, Holden hit a plateau. His therapists hoped that the PECS cards would eventually lead to verbal communication, and —for the lucky few—a return to at least a fraction of normalcy. It was what Tracy prayed for every day. But today was her first meeting with Mrs. Bristowe this school year, and Tracy had a feeling the news wouldn’t be good.

  At home Holden still kept his cards to himself, not trusting her to hold them. And whereas sometimes in the past she would catch a glimmer of eye contact from him, now he made none at all. He was more agitated about going to therapy, too. The only time he seemed happy and right with the world was during his movie, sitting in front of the television screen watching himself run across an open field with his father or roll on the floor laughing alongside Ella Reynolds.

  Tracy could only figure he was regressing—always a possibility with autistic kids. If Mrs. Bristowe confirmed that possibility today, Tracy wasn’t sure how she’d handle the news. She parked her small car amidst the Suburbans and Navigators and BMWs and headed toward the south entrance of the school. The wing for the special-needs kids.