By the time we made the last big, sweeping turn into the hill that leads to the end of the route, I was in a great mood. The sun was shining, the breeze was great, and I felt like I had really done something important and visible to support Tad. My legs weren’t even hurting anymore; I almost felt like I could go around again if I wanted to. I cranked through the gears, and really poured on the speed as the end came into sight.
I looked around to see whether anyone was waiting for me. At first, I could just make out our minivan in the shade of a tree. Then I saw the outline of my mother, leaning against the driver’s-side door. I think she saw me just as I saw her, because she stood up straight, stepped out of the shadows, and started walking over to the finish line.
Maybe twenty feet before I crossed the line, I realized she was crying.
Well, for what it’s worth, I’m here. I never knew it was possible to feel so numb on such a big day. I’m sitting in my hot, sticky gown, trying to keep my big, stupid-looking square hat from tilting and sliding off my head completely. It doesn’t help that the metal folding chair I’m on has been baking in the sun for hours. I stare at the sweat-drenched neck pimples of the kid in front of me, but really I’m not looking at anything.
More specifically, I’m not looking around for Lindsey, who’s only about seven seats away to my right. I’d be willing to bet a million dollars that she’s looking at me, hoping I will glance over there so she can attempt to make me smile. I’m also not looking around for my mom and dad. They’re somewhere in the bleachers of the football field, and I know they’re reasonably proud of me.
While I’m at it, I’m not looking around for Steven. If I really wanted to find him, I could just turn around and look for Annette’s frizzy hair. He’s the guy right next to her, holding her hand. But he’s probably giving me the concerned big-brother look, and I don’t want him to get sick of consoling me and hop on another airplane. If I were feeling anything at all, I’d be glad he’s here. He came home a couple of weeks early. Luckily, Mom had wasted no time in getting his dark suit to the cleaners. Suddenly, that thing has been getting a lot of use.
Speaking of which, I’m not looking around for Tad. His parents are here, and so is Yvonne. Yesterday my mother made me stop over at their house with a platter of sandwiches. While I was there, Mrs. Ibsen sat me down at the kitchen table and asked me to do something special for Tad today. I said I would do it. She hugged me and cried.
You’re probably wondering what happened with the testing and everything, right? It’s pretty ironic, actually. I passed both the English and the math, but the test scores aren’t going to count for anything. It turns out that the answer key to the English was all messed up, and when the state auditors started investigating, they found “significant irregularities” in the way the scorers were trained, too. The news channels were all over the story, and the local station even ran a whole story about Tad’s role in stirring up public awareness of what the anchorman referred to as “testing run amok.” In the words of the editorial that ran in yesterday’s paper, “How can the powers that be use this deeply flawed instrument to decide the fate of our children?”
Interestingly, Miss Palma told our class that at least one blogger is saying that the governor’s girlfriend is on the board of the company that administered the exams. If that’s true, she said that heads will really roll when the state senate has its next session in September.
Big whoop. Tad would have loved this whole scandal, but it’s not like he’s around to see it. The day after his transplant, just as I started my big ride, Tad went into sudden liver failure — his mom said it must have been something called “acute graft-versus-host disease.” She told me the doctors hooked him up to every machine in the place, but it was no use. My best friend’s heart stopped at 10:32 AM, probably while I was stopping halfway through my ride to grab a hot dog.
It wasn’t even a good hot dog.
The kid next to me grabs my arm and yanks upward. Oh, geez. Our whole row is standing. It seems I’ve missed all of the speeches, and it’s time to walk across the stage. One by one, our names are called.
Mr. Laurenzano is reading the names, and his voice sounds a little bit funny as he clears his throat and says, “And now, accepting both his own diploma and the one earned by our departed friend, Thaddeus Ibsen: Jeffrey Alper.”
“Our departed friend?” If he’d heard that one, Tad would have been rolling on the floor. But I’m not. I force my feet to start moving. As I limp up the aisle, I notice that the entire stadium is eerily silent. My heart is pounding, and my lame foot feels like it has three bricks strapped to it, but I make it to the steps at the edge of the stage. I concentrate on lifting each foot as high as I can on the stairs. This would be a bad time for a face-plant.
I glance to my left and almost trip: Every single person — student, parent, teacher — in sight is standing up. And they’re all looking right at me. I stop. I can’t do this. It’s only a few more feet to where the assistant principal is standing, waiting to hand me the diplomas and shake my hand. But I’m paralyzed.
Tad is gone.
Tad is gone.
And then Miss Palma steps forward from the teachers’ line. She walks to me, puts one hand on my shoulder, and whispers, “This is your beau geste, Jeffrey. You can do it.” And, very gently, she pushes me forward. My feet start moving again. With each step, I raise my knee high and put some glide into my stride. I force my shoulders back. I keep my chin up. I can almost hear Tad say, Put on your big-boy pants, D.A.
I have to keep moving. After all, I’m walking for two.
I’m sitting in the grass, talking with my best friend, Tad. It’s the morning before the first day of high school, and I have a lot to tell him. I’ve been riding my bike out here every week this summer because even though I can talk to Tad anywhere, this is the one place where I can always hear his voice answering me. My parents have been really, really worried about me. So has Steven. So has Lindsey. Who am I kidding? So has everybody.
I sneeze. Yvonne likes to leave wildflowers right at the base of the headstone. Apparently, I am allergic to wildflowers. There is just so much about this that Tad would find amusing. I’ve been trying really hard to laugh at the things that would have made him laugh. Sometimes, just in the last week or two, I can even smile without doing it on purpose.
“So, Brother Thaddeus, we meet again.”
Hey, have a seat. Make yourself at home. I know it ain’t fancy, but you can’t beat the view. At least, from the upstairs level.
“You’re not going to believe what I saw in the paper today. The state senate proposed a new law: ‘No school shall use a standardized test as the sole criterion for the promotion or retention of individual students.’ Isn’t that amazing? Dad says he thinks this bill might get passed. Mom says you really kicked … well, you know. She even used the word. I almost had a heart attack and died. Oh, God, that sounds horrible.”
Meh. You want horrible, you should hear the old guy on my left when he snores.
“And another thing. I got my schedule in the mail, and they put me in grade-level regular math. I’ve never been in grade-level regular math before.”
Yeah, we’ve all been going through some changes lately.
“My dad is thrilled. I told him it’s because of the question he helped me with on the night before the statewides. But he said, ‘No, buddy, we have your friend Tad to thank.’ I swear, since your funeral, he’s been practically displaying emotion.”
I’m a miracle worker. No offense, but your dad could have found out how great I am a lot sooner if he had just asked your mom.
“And Steven, too. I got into it with him one night two weeks ago because I told him everything was pointless. He asked me what I was talking about, and I went completely ballistic. I told him your death was stupid and pointless. He said, ‘But it wasn’t. Tad helped you get to high school. And he made tons of people all across New Jersey stop and think.’”
Well, that was a
first. I still can’t believe I managed to get people in New Jersey to think.
I snort. “I told him that it was pointless of him to go to Africa and desert everybody if he was just going to come back anyway. He said, ‘No, Jeff, it would have been pointless if I hadn’t come back. But I did.’ I said, ‘So why’d you go?’ He gave me this whole lecture about that girl Samantha who died when I was in the hospital. I never knew this, but she made him swear he’d always take care of me. I think the exact words were, Stay with your brother, Steven. I said, ‘So that’s why you left for Africa — because a dead girl told you not to? Very nice!’ He looked away for a while, and then said, ‘No, Jeff, I left for Africa because I stopped listening to her. Now I’m listening again. Dork!’ And then he put his arm around me.”
Gakk.
“I know, I know.” I notice then that tears are dripping down my face and onto the front of my John Lennon shirt. Tad loved John Lennon. “Sorry I’m getting all emotional. Ever since … uh … May, I’ve been kind of a wuss.”
Kind of a wuss? Kind of a wuss? Dude, you are, like, the Duke of Wussendorf. The Earl of Wussheim. In fact, wherever wusses meet and mingle, your name is whispered in hushed, reverent tones. Now, wipe your nose on Mr. Lennon. Go ahead, I know for a fact he won’t feel it.
I wipe my nose. Then I just sit there and breathe in the allergy-inducing wildflower air for a while. When I feel calm again, I say, “I’ve been going over to your house and playing with, um, the E.R.C.”
Yvonne.
“Right. Yvonne. You wouldn’t believe how much she misses you. But you know what? She’s a cool little kid. I’m teaching her to ride a two-wheeler. She wants to do the cancer ride with me next year. Hey, did you know when she smiles really big, her eyes look like yours?”
Oh, barf. But, Jeff? Thanks.
“No problem.”
I sit some more. There’s just so much flowing through me. It happens every time I come here, just after I’ve filled myself up on Tad’s biting comments, and just before my butt finishes getting permanently numb. As corny as it might sound, I think about the meaning of life. I felt lost a lot of the time this summer, but at the end of these visits, I know that Dr. Galley is right, that a big part of why we’re here is to support the people around us. I know that Steven is right, that journeys aren’t pointless if they come with a round-trip ticket. And I know that, even through all of the horrible things that happened to Tad in his three bouts with cancer, Tad’s life wasn’t pointless.
I know I’ll forget all of this later, or it sometimes won’t seem as perfectly real and true as it does right now. But then I’ll come back. Tad isn’t going anywhere. He’s right with me in this clearing on the edge of a little town by the Delaware River. And he’s right with me in the center of my chest.
So, on this last morning before high school, I think it through one more time. And at least for a moment, I know that the purpose is to keep moving forward. To stick with the people you love, even when they push you away. Even when they’re hurting, and especially when you’re hurting.
I hear a twig break at the end of Tad’s row. I turn, and Lindsey is there, walking up the path next to her brand-new street bike. She puts down the kickstand so her bike is right next to mine, takes off her helmet, shakes out her hair, and walks over. She points to a new, yellow sticker on the upper right corner of Tad’s headstone and asks, “What’s that?”
I know the answer, because I just asked Mrs. Ibsen the same question two days ago. I tell Lindsey that it’s a Perpetual Care sticker. It tells the cemetery staff to keep the grave looking nice forever.
Forever. A chill shoots down my back.
“Perpetual Care, huh?”
I nod. “How did you know I was here?” I ask.
“I went to your house first. Your parents’ cars weren’t in front, but your brother answered the door. Then Annette popped up behind him wearing a bathrobe. I was pretty embarrassed, but they seemed to be cool with it.” Lindsey blushes and continues. “Anyway, Steven told me where you were. Are you OK?”
“Fine,” I say, smoothing the drenched front of my shirt.
She smiles then, just a little hesitant smile. I think it must be hard for her to understand why I keep coming here. “All righty, then. Jeff, do you want to go for a ride? I’m, uh, a little nervous about tomorrow.”
I stand up and hug my girlfriend. Then she takes my hand and leads me back to the path.
Special thanks to Susan Shaw, R.N., M.S., P.N.P., and the late Nan S. Songer, M.S., for urging me to tell the story of late effects, for sharing their vast expertise, and most of all, for showing by shining example that in the battle against cancer, fighting IS winning.
JORDAN SONNENBLICK is the author of the acclaimed Drums, Girls & Dangerous Pie; Notes from the Midnight Driver; and Zen and the Art of Faking It. He lives in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, with his wife and two children.
Drums, Girls & Dangerous Pie
Notes from the Midnight Driver
Zen and the Art of Faking It
Copyright © 2010 by Jordan Sonnenblick
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Sonnenblick, Jordan.
After ever after / by Jordan Sonnenblick. — 1st ed. p. cm.
Summary: Although Jeff and Tad, encouraged by a new friend, Lindsey, make a deal to help one another overcome aftereffects of their cancer treatments in preparation for eighth-grade graduation, Jeff still craves advice from his older brother Steven, who is studying drums in Africa.
[1. Cancer — Fiction. 2. Middle schools — Fiction. 3. Schools — Fiction. 4. Best friends — Fiction. 5. Friendship — Fiction. 6. Family life — New Jersey — Fiction. 7. Brothers — Fiction. 8. New Jersey — Fiction.] I. Title. PZ7.S6984Aft 2010 [Fic] — dc22
2009010430
First edition, February 2010
e-ISBN 978-0-545-29278-8
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
Cover photo-illustration © 2010 by Marc Tauss
Cover design by Marijka Kostiw
After Ever After (9780545292788) Page 14
