After the Death of Anna Gonzales (9781466859524)

BOOK: After the Death of Anna Gonzales (9781466859524)
9.98Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

   

The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way.
Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author's copyright, please notify the publisher at:
us.macmillanusa.com/piracy
.

Contents

Title Page

Copyright Notice

Dedication

Lisa McNair

Principal Barron

Damon Reingold

Manuel Ramirez

Kathleen Hays

Jason Foley

Francine Bradishio

Ricky Stevens

Lauren Reynolds

Debbie Hill

Darrith Evans

Andrea Brensk

Chad Alexander

Mitch S. Foster

Andy Gotchalder

Mrs. Johnson, Algebra Teacher

John Morgan

Sharlee Williams

Kimmy Nelson

Carrie Sells

Eric Sueffert

Tammy Billet

Alexis Jimers

Martin Martinez

Lynn Helter

Shannon Delany

Mandy Krantz

Tiffany Gibson

Jenna Etkin

Ms. Mason, English Teacher

Aaron Sherman

Randal Mallander

Mike Bradler

Karen Covington

Kendra Jones

Lanny Laring

Michelle Magden

Jeff Cook

Ms. Standring, Attendance Secretary

Jermaine Clements

Julio Contraros

Leslie Leiberman

Sean Saunders

Kinderlyn Hovoticich

Jordan Smythe

Andrew Stevenson, Security Guard

Jamie McSully

Anna Gonzales (the Note)

About the Author

Copyright

   

To Life

   

With love for those

who make my life special:

Mom, Rick, Lori, Larry, and Jeff

   

And with gratitude for

excellent manuscript advice from

Erin Murphy, Christy Ottaviano,

and Rick and Jeff Fields

Lisa McNair

I can feel

The whispering of the hallway walls

Growing louder as the groups gather.

Each clique adding its morning input.

“Did you hear?”

   
“Who told you?”

“Do you think it's really true?”

New at this school,

I stand alone.

Watching …

A group of girls plot

For Homecoming only days away.

“He might ask…”

   
“Try to run into him.”

     
“No one is wearing purple.”

“But if Julio goes with Gina, then…”

Seeing …

A brown-eyed boy aim a slight nod and slow smile

At a green-eyed girl.

Who seems not to see him but somehow moves closer.

“Hey.”

   
“Hey yourself.”

Hearing …

A boy beg for finished algebra homework to copy.

Hoping someone will save him.

“No time to do it.”

   
“Impossible anyway.”

“Teacher's a witch.”

My first week at this school.

Seeing but not really being seen.

Trying to figure out how I will fit in.

Listening to the rhythms of this new place.

Already I am able to pick up some familiar refrains.

Yet sandwiched among this morning's murmurs

Today's hallway hints at something more horrible.

“I heard…”

   
“Who was it?”

“How'd she do it?”

   
“Wonder if it hurt?”

“Anyone know why?”

The gossip gets grabbed by Senior Square.

“Found out it was just some freshman.”

   
“Did she leave a note?”

“Don't know.”

   
“Probably not true.”

“Stupid.”

“I think about it once in…”

The blaring of the bell.

   Lockers slam.

   Students scatter.

And I start another day at this new school … wondering.

Principal Barron

Thirty years in education.

I've broken up fights.

Fired a teacher.

Failed a student.

But not this.

This is too much to ask.

“Volleyball practice has been moved to 5:00
P.M.

   The chess club will meet today in

     Mr. Malkin's room.”

Thirty years in education.

I've learned school law.

Listened to angry parents.

Located lost school buses.

But not this.

This is too much to ask.

“Congratulations to the JV football team on last

   night's 14–0 win against the Raiders.

     Student Council will be selling spirit T-shirts

       during both lunch hours all week.”

To make a difference.

To better kids' lives.

That was why I went into education.

So how does this happen?

How do I …

“Mr. Barron, announcements are almost over.

   Do you still have a special?”

I trudge toward the camera.

“And now for a special from our principal.”

Words caught in unwilling voice.

“I am sorry to tell you of the death

   of one of our students.”

Must continue.

Rumors always worse than truth.

“Anna Gonzales took her life last night.

Our sympathies to her family and friends.

   Grief counselors will be available all day.”

Robotlike move off camera.

As a chirpy voice concludes,

“And those are today's announcements.

   Have a nice day.”

Damon Reingold

The game doesn't always go your way.

I know.

You can go to every practice

Even when your shoulder aches

   Your ankle throbs

   Your homework waits.

You can do 100 hand-offs

   1,000 free throws

   10,000 reps

And still sit on the bench

   While

You watch Darrith Evans

   Slack off

   Skip practice

   Showboat for Debbie

And still be part of the

   Starting five.

The game doesn't always go your way.

   Forget fair.

   Feel forgotten.

But damn it, Anna,

     You don't stop playing.

Manuel Ramirez

I'm on my way to class.

Tardy bell hasn't even rung.

When Mrs. Bernstein, the scholarship aide,

Stops me and calls me into her office.

“Manuel,” she says, “do you think of yourself as mature?”

   “I guess…”

“Do you think of yourself as intelligent?”

   I shrug—“My grades are pretty good.”

“Do you think you're a good representative of this school?”

   I have no idea what she's getting at.

“Well, we do,” she continues.

School announcements start.

Mrs. Bernstein turns them off.

“What I'm trying to tell you is

That's why the faculty submitted your name

For the National Future Leader Award.”

   “The what?” I ask.

“Remember I asked you for your government essay?

We submitted it and five faculty recommendations.

I didn't say anything to you because

We've never had a winner here before …

“But, Manuel, you won!” she says.

“You're going to Washington, D.C., for a whole week, all expenses paid.”

   “Wow!” I manage to croak.

   I've never even been out of this city before.

“Congratulations!” She smiles and hands me a stack of papers.

In a daze, I walk into my first-hour class,

Put the pass on Mrs. Johnson's desk,

And feel my face flaunting an ever-growing grin

As I begin what has already been

The best day of my life.

Kathleen Hays

My brother was seven

When they told us the bad news:

It was a tumor

That had bloomed in his body

Like a weed.

Seven surgeries, and still he smiled.

We had his eighth birthday party in the hospital.

He said he could feel that he was almost well.

And we celebrated.

At nine, they said new cells had sprouted.

The chemo was strong.

The cancer was stronger.

But … in spite of the pills and the pain,

In spite of the surgeries and suffering,

He chose life.

And you, Anna, who had health,

Chose death.

How could you?

Jason Foley

“Life's rough, and then you die.”

That's what the sign above the restaurant sink

Says in big red letters.

Only there's a grease spot that covers the
i.

I work kitchen clean-up

Illegally because I'm too young,

But they pay me in cash

And I hide most of it from my dad

So he won't drink it away.

It took me seventeen days and three hours

To earn enough

For my fine new shoes.

But they were definitely worth it.

I don't know who stole 'em—yet.

But I will.

Believe it.

And when I do,

I'll take care of things.

Know it.

Meanwhile, I work and watch the big red letters

That say

“Life's rough, and then you die,”

And I think,

Not me.

   Not yet.

Francine Bradishio

I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

My wrist hurts.

My thumb is numb.

And the pain in my fingers is fierce.

God … I still have 434 sentences to do before fourth hour.

When Mrs. Ebert assigned them yesterday,

She said, “I hope this teaches you a lesson.”

And it has.

There's no way I'm getting in trouble for talking in English again.

As soon as I get to class today, I'm going straight to sleep.

Ricky Stevens

Me.

The one

Other books

Eastland by Marian Cheatham
Mutual Hatred - Love Game by Houston, Ruth
Exile by Julia Barrett
Blood Money by Brian Springer
Amour Amour by Krista Ritchie, Becca Ritchie
La ciudad sin tiempo by Enrique Moriel