Cages (16 page)

On the second day of the final speeches, Miss Fenton called on Kit. Kit had practiced her speech over and over the night before. She was prepared and she wanted to get it over with but she still dreaded it. She jumped when Miss Fenton called her name and when she faced the class and announced her topic, she began trembling.

Despite her anxiety, she managed to remember what she had rehearsed. She used all of the statistics that Mrs. Rydecker had given her and then ended her speech by telling the class, “If you’re caught shoplifting, your parents are notified, and the police come, and the juvenile court decides your punishment. It’s stupid to take such a chance.”

And that’s when Arthur challenged her. That’s when he and Phil said it’s easy to shoplift. That’s when Miss Fenton said,
“Do you want to defend your speech, Kit? This minute is passing.”

As Kit stood with all eyes on her, the rest of that line from the play came back to her. “. . . this minute is passing. And it will never come again. Never in all the world. When it is gone, it is gone. No power on earth could bring it back again.”

She realized that if she sat down now, Tracy would ask her why she didn’t defend her speech and Kit would have no answer. The barrier between them, built of secrecy and lies, would grow stronger. She would have to keep on hiding what she had done and she would always worry that Tracy might somehow find out about it.

If she told the truth, everyone would know what she had done but she would never again have to worry that her secret would come out. She could prove Arthur wrong and she might prevent someone else from making the silly, tragic mistake that she had made. She could eliminate, once and for all, the fence that separated her from Tracy.

Right then, in that singular, fleeting moment, Kit knew she had a chance to free herself.

Kit threw back her shoulders, turned, and marched to the front of the room.

“Yes,” she said. “I want to defend my speech.”

Miss Fenton nodded her approval.

Kit faced the class and began.

“Three months ago,” she said, “I stole a bracelet from Pierre’s.” Someone gasped.

Except for the part about Wayne, Kit told the whole story. Every detail. How she’d been upset, how she put the bracelet in her pocket, and how she got caught. When she told how
scared she was and how her mother cried, the room was still as a tomb; no papers rustled, no one shifted in their seat, no one coughed or whispered.

“I tried to hide what I did,” she said. “I was so ashamed that I didn’t even tell my best friend. I missed her birthday party because I had to appear that night before the Juvenile Court Committee—and I didn’t tell her why I couldn’t go to the party. I was afraid that if she found out, she wouldn’t like me anymore.”

She glanced at Tracy. Tracy looked like she was going to cry.

“Sure,” Kit continued, “I didn’t go to jail. But I had to pay three hundred dollars and I had to do twenty hours of community service work. Worst of all, I had to live with a terrible secret. I told lies to keep people from finding out what I’d done and then I had to tell more lies to cover up the first ones. Through it all, I felt like scum. I regretted what I had done and I hated pretending all the time but it was too late. Once I took the bracelet and got caught, I couldn’t go back.”

She pointed to Arthur. “Maybe your friend hasn’t been caught. Maybe he’ll never be caught. But he’ll never have any self-respect, either.”

Arthur did not respond.

“I quoted statistics,” Kit said, “but I speak from experience, too.” Her voice rang with conviction. “Shoplifting is a crime. When you’re caught, you’re a criminal and that’s how the police treat you.”

Tears came to Kit’s eyes. Talking about her experience this way was like living it over again. “If you are ever tempted to shoplift,” she said, “stop and think about me. Think what it
would be like for you if you got caught. I’ve been there and I can tell you, it isn’t any fun.” She paused. No one moved. “Please,” she said, “obey the law. Don’t shoplift.”

Once again, she nodded at Miss Fenton, to indicate she was finished. Before she could take her seat, something happened that had never happened in speech class before. The students applauded. Two boys whistled. And then Tracy jumped to her feet, still clapping, and the rest of the class followed. Only Arthur and Phil, looking uneasy, remained seated.

Kit got her standing ovation.

She also got the only A grade that Miss Fenton gave that year. “It took courage,” Miss Fenton wrote on Kit’s grade slip. “It did what all great speeches do—it affected the audience emotionally.”

After class, Tracy said, “You should have told me. You don’t know how worried I was. I imagined all sorts of terrible things. I even thought you might have cancer or AIDS.”

Kit’s mouth dropped open. “Why would you think that?” she said. “I’m never sick.”

“What was I supposed to think? I knew something was wrong and I knew it must be terrible or else you would tell me. So I figured out the worst possible secret I could think of.” Tracy’s eyes filled with tears. “I was so scared for you,” she said.

“Oh, Tracy.” Kit threw her arms around Tracy and hugged her. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I was so ashamed.”

“You made a big mistake. That doesn’t mean you’re a rotten person. At least you learned from your mistake; you won’t do it again.”

Kit wondered if Wayne would learn from his mistake, too.
The doctors said he would recover from his injuries and, after a week in the hospital, he was allowed to go home.

His arm was still in a cast on the day he went to traffic court. Drunk driving is a serious offense. Besides a stiff fine, Wayne lost his driver’s license for two weeks and was warned that he would lose it permanently if he got caught driving while intoxicated again.

Kit got home from school shortly after Wayne and Dorothy returned from court. As she opened the front door, she heard Dorothy say, “You can’t go on this way, Wayne. You might have killed someone. You might have killed yourself.”

“I shouldn’t have been driving,” Wayne admitted.

“You shouldn’t have been drinking,” Dorothy said.

“I just had a little too much that night. You were in the hospital and I was lonely.”

“No,” Dorothy said. “It wasn’t just that night. Every time you take a drink, you end up having too much.”

“It won’t happen again,” Wayne said. “I promise.”

Kit joined them in the kitchen as Dorothy said, “You’ve promised before. This time I want you to do more than promise.”

“I’m not going to some counselor, if that’s what you mean,” Wayne said. “I can handle my own problems.”

“No,” Dorothy said firmly. “You can’t.”

“She’s right,” Kit said.

“You stay out of this,” Wayne said. “It doesn’t concern you.”

“Yes, it does,” Kit said.

Wayne started to protest but Kit held up her hand and continued. “I want to tell you something. The night I took the
bracelet, I did it because you were drunk. I came home unhappy but I had planned to take a bath and read. When you were drunk and you yelled at me, I ran out of the house and went to the mall.”

Wayne looked as if she’d slapped him in the face.

“I’m not justifying what I did,” Kit said. “It was wrong and I admit it. But I’m telling you that your drinking problem is a problem for all of us. Most of the time you’re a decent guy but when you’re drunk, I can’t stand you.”

Dorothy said, “She doesn’t mean . . .” and then stopped. “That’s right,” she said.

Kit continued. “The other day you wondered what you have done wrong as a father. Well, I’ll tell you. You drink too much.”

She left the kitchen then. She’d had her say. The rest was up to Wayne.

Mr. Morrison was right about humans and their problems. Dorothy had freed herself from her fear of standing up to Wayne. Now Wayne would have to free himself from his drinking.

And me? What about my cages? She remembered how frustrated and angry she used to feel, how she resented what Wayne and Dorothy did.

I’m not angry anymore, she realized. I still can’t control what they do but they can’t control how I feel. Nobody can. I’m able to choose how I act, what I say and do. I can be the kind of person I want to be, no matter what Dorothy and Wayne do.

I’m already free. And I’ll never be caged again.

On the evening of the last day of school, Kit and Dorothy went to the awards night ceremony.

“I feel like I should go, too,” Wayne said, as they prepared to leave. “But I don’t want to miss my A.A. meeting.”

“I would much rather have you go to A.A.,” Kit said.

“So would I,” Dorothy said.

Kit didn’t know what else had been said that day in the kitchen. She knew only that the very next night, Wayne had attended his first Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. He’d been to two more meetings since.

Kit and Dorothy sat with the Shelburns. When the Good Citizen Award was presented, Tracy nudged Kit and whispered, “I still think you should have had that one.”

Kit smiled at her. It was good to know that Tracy felt that way even now, when she knew why Kit began going to The Humane Society.

The last award was the Ninth Grade Scholarship. Before it was presented, the school band played a Souza march. While she listened, Kit read about the scholarship in the program. It explained that the scholarship money was invested and the interest it earned would compound. In three years, when the recipient was ready to start college, the scholarship would cover tuition, room and board, and books for the first two years.

Even though she had blown her chance for the scholarship, Kit was determined she would still go to college. As soon as she finished paying her debt to Wayne, she would save her baby-sitting money for college. Soon she’d be old enough to get a part-time job. She would study hard and keep her grades up and maybe there would be other scholarships, other opportunities.
As Mr. Morrison said, if the doors were locked, she would climb out a window.

One way or another, she would get to college. She had to, because for the first time in her life, she knew what she wanted to be.

When the band finished, Miss Fenton stood up to announce the winner of the Ninth Grade Scholarship.

She began by saying that the winner had maintained excellent grades all year. “She also participated in extracurricular activities, such as the school play,” Miss Fenton said.

“Oh, no,” Tracy whispered. “Not Marcia. She doesn’t need a scholarship.”

“Shhh,” said Mrs. Shelburn.

“Most of all,” Miss Fenton said, “she has displayed courage and leadership ability. It is my privilege to present the Ninth Grade Scholarship to Kit Hathaway.”

Tracy let out a whoop.

Dorothy gasped. “Kit,” she said, “that’s you!”

Kit walked forward in a daze. All she could think was, I’m going to college. It doesn’t matter what Wayne thinks; I’m going to college.

As Miss Fenton handed her the award she said, “We’d like you to say a few words about your plans for a college career.” Her eyes twinkled as she added, in a whisper, “One last speech.”

Kit stood tall in front of the microphone and thanked the school for the award. “After I finish college,” she said, “I want to go on to veterinary school. I plan to spend my life working with animals.”

As Kit returned to her seat, Harriet Headline said, “
FUTURE
VETERINARIAN WINS PRESTIGIOUS SCHOLARSHIP. PRESIDENT AND CONGRESS WIRE CONGRATULATIONS. NEW NATIONAL HOLIDAY DECLARED
!”

Dorothy’s face glowed with excitement. Kit didn’t remember ever seeing her mother look so happy. She was luminous, her eyes shining. And then Kit realized what she saw.

Love light. She saw love light in Dorothy’s eyes. Had it always been there? Had she failed to notice before because her own mind was filled with resentment? She could almost hear harmonica music in the background.

“I am so proud of you,” Dorothy said. “So very proud.”

“Thanks,” Kit said, as she squeezed Dorothy’s hand. “Thanks, Mom.”

Peg Kehret
lives in a log house in the woods near Mount Rainier National Park in Washington State. She and her husband, Carl, have two grown children and four grandchildren.

Peg’s popular books often appear on recommended lists from the International Reading Association and the American Library Association. They are regularly nominated for young readers’ awards, which she has won many times. She has written over thirty books.

An animal lover and Humane Society volunteer, Peg also likes to read, pump her player piano, and watch baseball.