Because of Mr. Terupt (14 page)

Once she realized he was there, her hands and yarn and needles all stopped working and rested in her lap. Her eyes looked into the doctor’s face.

His lips never moved, but his head shook from side to side and his face expressed sorrow.

The knitting lady’s strong chin dropped. The yarn and needles fell to the ground, and her hands covered her face. She began to shake silently with lonesome tears.

The doctor placed a hand on her back. He said, “I’m very sorry.” He waited for a while, then rose and walked out of the room.

I felt silent tears trickling down my cheeks. I looked at my friends and saw some of them with tears, too. I was scared, but I wasn’t alone.

H
ard to breathe. So many bad memories. Bad news everywhere. I saw the doc walk in. I couldn’t catch my breath. Jessica noticed. She and her mom wrapped their arms around me and helped me calm down.

The doc wasn’t for us. He handed out his bad news to someone else. I know how that goes.

“I’m so sorry,” the doc had told my family. That was all he had to say. We knew Michael was dead.

P
eter took the microphone. He still wasn’t talking. He’d answer you if you asked him something, and we weren’t ignoring him anymore, but for the most part he stayed silent. And he never talked about Mr. Terupt or anything to do with the accident. I held my breath along with everyone else—at least, that was what it felt like.

“I remember the time I said we should invite the Collaborative kids to our holiday centers. I saw Mr. T wipe his eyes after I said that. I didn’t know why then. Now I do.”

Peter put the microphone back on the table.

I
took the mike again after hearing Peter. Like, I knew what he was talking about, understanding stuff about Teach that he didn’t before. That was true for me, too.

“Teach took me in the hall and, like … said some stuff that I hated him for. Really hated him. But all he did was tell me the truth. I didn’t want to listen. I hated him and the truth.”

I stopped talking, but I didn’t pass the mike yet. I was thinking.

“I hope Teach wakes up so he can see that I’ve listened,” I added. “He helped me. I’d like him to know that.”

I put the microphone back on the table. Peter picked it up again.

I
decided to pick up the microphone again and say one more thing. Maybe talking about Mr. T and sharing memories would help him pull through the surgery.

Surgery. Brain surgery. I couldn’t believe he had to have brain surgery. And all because of me. Because of the snowball I threw. My thoughts always came back to this.

“I remember the time I flung that Frisbee. Mr. T said a few things to me, but that was it. I remember the puddle on the floor. He said a few things, but that was it. Nothing bad ever happens, I thought. I chucked that snowball. No matter what any of you say, it’s all my fault. It always will be.” I stopped talking so that I could fight back my tears, but I didn’t put down the microphone. I wasn’t done yet.

“I’m sorry,” I said as I looked around at everyone. “I’m sorry you’re here because of me.” I let the microphone roll back onto the table.

No one had time to respond, because another doctor walked in—and this time, he was our man.

A
ct 11, Scene 3

The door to the waiting room pushed open and another doctor walked in. Same lime green scrubs and matching cap. This doctor also wore a mask tied around his face.

Jeffrey started hyperventilating again. Mom and I calmed him. We held hands on Jeffrey’s lap. I squeezed Mom’s hand and she squeezed back. Was this it?

The doctor reached behind his head and untied the mask. He was our guy. I saw him take
that
deep breath as he walked toward us.

I
saw Dr. Wilkins approach us. My heart took off like a car that had its gas pedal mashed to the floor. Please, please, please have good news! I repeated over and over again in my head. Mom squeezed my shoulder.

Dr. Wilkins found a chair and sat with us. “Good news, gang,” he said. “Mr. Terupt made it through the surgery.”

Our faces broke into mini-smiles and we let out breaths of relief. I gave Mom a little hug.

“We were able to stop the bleeding, but your teacher remains in a coma,” Dr. Wilkins continued.

“Why?” Anna said. “I thought that if you stopped the bleeding, he’d wake up.” Her voice rose and shook a little. “I thought that was what’s supposed to happen.”

Anna spoke for all of us. But instead of Dr. Wilkins answering, Jeffrey did.

“Now it’s wait and see,” Jeffrey said. He took a deep breath in and let it out slow. “That the bleeding stopped is a good sign”—deep breath—“but that doesn’t guarantee Terupt will wake up. We have to wait and see.” More deep, slow breathing. Why was he so anxious? His difficulties made me realize that he hadn’t visited the hospital, but always seemed interested in my report. What was Jeffrey’s deal?

“That’s right. We wait and see and keep hoping,” Dr. Wilkins said.

“Can we see him?” Peter asked.

“Not today, Peter. Mr. Terupt is in a postsurgical room being watched carefully.”

“Why does he need to be watched carefully?” Anna asked, her voice barely a whisper. “I thought he was okay now.”

“We monitor every patient closely after a major surgery. It’s normal,” Dr. Wilkins promised. “Mr. Terupt is doing well at this point.”

We sat there looking at him like a team that had just lost their big game.

“Hey, guys—don’t give up now,” Dr. Wilkins said. “This is when your teacher needs you most. This is good news today.”

And then Anna came through in the clutch. She took the lead and said what we needed to hear. “He’s going to make it.
Trust me on this one
.
Be positive
. Mr. Terupt told me that once, and he was right.”

I
t was “wait and see” for Michael, too. He didn’t make it. That was when Mom and Dad’s lives suddenly crashed down different paths. I don’t know if their paths will ever come together again, but it’s okay to hope. I hope Terupt makes it. I’m tryin’ hard to believe Anna.

A
ct 11, Scene 4

That was it. Wait and see. It felt so anticlimactic—to sit all day expecting an outcome, only to find that it was time to go home and wait some more.

People trickled out of the waiting room at different times. Some of the adults left first, probably because they’re more accustomed to being patient. Miss Kelsey and Mrs. Warner left, then some of my classmates. Only a few people were still sitting—Anna and Terri, and Danielle and her mother—when Mom and I rallied ourselves to leave. Lexie and Jeffrey came with us. We were their ride home.

Wait and see.

T
he waiting room slowly emptied. Next thing I knew, my mom and I were sitting directly across from Danielle and her mother with hardly anyone else around. I felt uneasy, knowing her mother hated us, but I took a chance.

“Danielle, can we pray with you?” I asked.

Danielle didn’t hesitate one second. “Sure,” she said.

We bowed our heads and Danielle led us in a prayer for Mr. Terupt. It was a beautiful prayer, and afterward I thought her mother’s eyes looked differently upon me.

Mom and I left after that, leaving Danielle and her mother, Luke and his mother, Peter, Mrs. Williams, and Ms. Newberry. How close were Mr. Terupt and Ms. Newberry, both without wedding rings? I didn’t know, but my heart
suddenly hurt for the teacher from across the hall. She was definitely hoping to have him back. You didn’t even need to be good at noticing things to see that. So many of us need you, Mr. Terupt. Keep fighting.

“C
an we pray with you?” Anna asked me. I felt alarm rush through my mom’s body. How could these sinners want to pray with us? Mom must have wondered.

“Sure,” I said.

“Dear God, we’re down here playing the wait-and-see game now. It’d be great if you could keep the waiting part short, and give us back Mr. Terupt. There are lots of people hoping he wakes up. Please give us the strength to keep hoping and believing as we go on waiting. And God”—
I whispered this last part, because Peter was sitting near us
—“I also ask that you give extra comfort to Peter, and Jeffrey, too, though I’m not sure what’s up with him. Amen.”

Anna’s smart. She wants our families to get along, so she
asked to pray together, knowing that God is most important to my family. I know my mom can’t think Terri’s all bad if she’s praying with us, and Anna is as nice and sweet as she is. At least I hope that’s true. I’ve been asking God to help me get my family to see that Terri and Anna are good people.

A
ct 11, Scene 5

We dropped Lexie off first, then Jeffrey. I sat in the front passenger seat and Jeffrey sat in the back. Before he got out, I asked him, “You okay, Jeffrey?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he said. “Thanks for helpin’ me in there. Thanks, Ms. Writeman.”

“You’re welcome,” we said together.

“I’m sure everybody’s wonderin’ what’s up with me,” he said.

“Don’t worry. Your secret is still safe,” I said.

Jeffrey opened the back door, but he didn’t get out right away. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Jess. What happened to Terupt isn’t your fault. You need to stop thinking that it is.”

Jeffrey’s words startled me. I did feel guilty. I’d roped Danielle and Anna into my wicked plan, which led to Peter’s devastating snowball. “Then why did it happen, Jeffrey?” I said. “I told you things happen for a reason, and I still don’t know mine.”

“Neither do I,” he said. “But not knowing the reason doesn’t make it your fault.”

We sat quietly. Mom didn’t say anything. I stared down at my hands. They longed for a book to hold. I fidgeted with my nails and cuticles instead. Then Jeffrey spoke again.

“I know one thing, Jess.” He had called me Jess twice now. “You’ve helped me. I haven’t had someone to talk to in a long time. Thanks.” He climbed out of our car and shut the door. Before driving away, we saw Jeffrey’s mom standing at the front door to his house, waiting for him—and she wasn’t wearing pajamas. They hugged.

Mom and I had tears in our eyes as we drove away. More of Mr. Terupt at work, I just knew it. We hadn’t driven very far before Mom broke the silence.

“Jessica, I need to tell you some things that even adults have a hard time understanding, but I need you to try, okay?”

I nodded and sat up straight in my seat to readjust my seat belt.

“I know you’ve been wrestling with the issue of whose fault Mr. Terupt’s accident is, as have many of your classmates. Poor Peter’s really struggling, and I’m afraid the only one that might help him is Mr. Terupt.” Mom slowed to the stop sign and looked both ways.

“So whose fault is it?” I asked, my voice rising. Emotion
can do that to you. Mom just went with the flow. She turned the car left and stepped on the accelerator.

“Mr. Terupt’s,” she said. I looked out my window. I didn’t want to hear it. “Look, Jessica, you don’t have to agree with me, and not everyone will, but you need to hear me out. Let me explain.” Slowly, reluctantly, I looked at her. I didn’t want her to be right. “Thank you,” she said. “I told you it wasn’t going to be easy.” We slowed at a red light.

“All those instances with Peter earlier on this year, and with Luke’s plant concoction, and all the other mischief.” Mom paused. “I think Mr. Terupt handled them the way he did because he was trying to teach you guys some personal responsibility.” The light turned and Mom pushed the gas. “But that’s what cost him in the end. He let you play rough that day in the snow and hoped you wouldn’t cross the line—but he made it
your
responsibility not to cross that line because he didn’t intervene.”

“But how is that bad? Isn’t that one of the reasons he was so special, because he gave us those chances?”

“Don’t use the past tense, honey. He is special.”

“Fine,” I said, annoyed, but glad to talk about him in the present. “But isn’t it?” I was annoyed because I didn’t want the conversation slowed. I wanted answers. I cracked my window, suddenly hot. I let the wind hit me in my face.

“It is indeed one of the reasons he’s special. But in the end, you’re still just kids, and asking you to assume that much responsibility isn’t fair. You can’t be expected to handle it all the time. So that’s why it’s his fault.” Mom spoke so calmly. I knew she was trying to keep me from getting too upset.

“It’s his fault for asking us to act like adults when we’re just kids,” I said, restating Mom’s argument. “Whereas, if he had taken the responsibility out of our hands by making us stop playing rough, then there probably never would have been a snowball thrown.” I looked at Mom.

“That’s right, exactly,” she said.

“Well, I think that makes about as much sense as Dad and his airheaded bimbo.” Our car swerved. Mom was in shock. We hadn’t spoken about Dad in a while, but he and his stupid girlfriend boiled to the surface of my upset feelings. Plus, I have a strong vocabulary and could have probably selected a nicer word for her, though I doubt I could have chosen a more accurate one. “So now if Mr. Terupt gets better, he’s going to get in trouble. Is that right, too?”

“Not necessarily,” Mom said. “And watch your language. Besides, to say airheaded and bimbo is a bit redundant, though I’ll agree, the new woman in your dad’s life is a real floozy.” The car slowed and Mom pulled into our driveway. She put the car in park and turned it off. I undid my seat belt. “Jessica, I’ve spoken to Mrs. Williams and to some of the other parents and adults at school on several different occasions. We’ve been talking because we’re worried about how you’re all dealing with this. Nobody wants to see Mr. Terupt get in trouble, including Mrs. Williams and the school. Everyone knows he’s a great teacher. We all just want him to get better.”