When Reason Breaks (14 page)

Abby: We'd have to hang out to possibly run into them.

Emily: Ugh! Abby, come on.

Abby: I'm just playing … Kinda … Have fun!

Emily shook her head and tucked her phone into her jeans pocket.

“You okay?” asked Kevin.

“Alpha Dog Abby just growled at me, so, you know, the usual,” said Emily.

“It's because you sat with me at lunch. She's worried you'll break away from the pack and join some cooler wolves,” Kevin said and then howled.

Emily laughed.

“Really, Kev, is that any way to behave when you're trying to impress someone?” asked George as he walked into the kitchen.

“We're already dating, Dad. I don't have to impress her anymore,” Kevin said and winked at Emily.

George shook his head and said, “Be patient, Emily; he's got a lot to learn.”

George rolled up his shirtsleeves and slid an apron over his head to protect his button-down shirt and black pants. He grabbed a few vegetables from the fridge and placed them on the counter. Emily responded to his movements by slipping on an apron and reaching for a nearby knife and waiting green pepper.

“Half or the whole thing?” she asked.

“Half is fine and then dump it into the sauce. Kevin, can you start boiling the water for the pasta? Thanks.” George always asked, but he wasn't really asking. “I'm sorry we don't have something more elaborate, but it was a busy day.”

“This is great,” said Emily. After chopping for a few minutes, she asked, “So, how did you and John meet?”

“We first dated in college, but we didn't really get together until a few years after we graduated,” George said as he minced cilantro. “He was one of those moody artist types in school, but he wasn't an artist. He was a business major.”

“So, he was just moody,” Emily said with a laugh.

“Basically,” George said and smiled. “I tried to work around it, you know, and then one day I asked him, ‘Do I make you happy?' and he said, ‘Yes,' and that was
it
.”

“That's so sweet.” Emily dumped the green pepper pieces into the sauce, stirred, and then offered Kevin a taste.

“It needs garlic, Dad,” he said.

Emily took over chopping the cilantro while George started on a clove of garlic.

“No, I mean that was
it
, as in I let him have it and we broke up.”

“What? Why?”

“Because no one can make another person happy,” said George. “He was happy when he was with me, but otherwise he wasn't. That's not enough. I mean, in a relationship, you have your ups and downs, sure, and you help each other through, but if a person is genuinely unhappy, it won't work. No amount of love or laughter from the other person can fix that. Each person has to love and laugh on their own. They need to feel it for real, deep down, in here.”

George tucked his fist into his abdomen. Emily flattened her palm on her belly.

“In the stomach? Really, Dad? Don't ever think about writing Hallmark cards, okay?”

John walked into the kitchen with his suit jacket over his arm and a hand pulling at his tie. He patted Kevin on the back and said, “He's not telling our story again, is he?”

“She asked for it,” said Kevin.

“So what changed?” asked Emily.

“I did,” said John. “And once I did, we got together and the rest is history. The end.”

“You are the worst storyteller ever,” said George.

“I like to cut to the chase,” said John. “Plus, I'm hungry. Let's eat.”

“It's almost ready. Can you and Kevin set the table? Thanks.” George then whispered to Emily, “We'll talk more later.”

After dinner, Kevin challenged Emily to video game baseball.

“That's not fair,” said Emily. “Baseball's your sport. We have to play something neutral, like tennis.”

“Fine, tennis it is. Prepare to lose.”

“I don't think so,” said Emily.

Kevin yelled like Serena Williams whenever he hit the virtual ball over the net. Emily taunted the refs like John McEnroe whenever Kevin scored a point. During the final match, Emily dived and swung at the same time. When she pulled her hand back, she clocked Kevin in the face with her nunchuk.

“Oh my God, I'm so sorry,” Emily said, but she was laughing too hard to sound sincere. Kevin laughed, too, and collapsed on the couch, calling a much-needed time-out.

“You know, tennis isn't supposed to be a contact sport,” he said, rubbing his face.

“I'm sorry,” she said and kissed his cheek where she had hit him. “I got carried away.”

“It's okay.” He smiled and then looked at her seriously. “I hope my dad's relationship advice earlier didn't bother you.”

“Why would it?”

“Em, I may not be on the honor roll, but I'm not stupid.”

“What are you talking about?”

Kevin pulled Emily toward him. She turned so that she sat with her back against his chest, his arms wrapped around her.

“I know you're happy when we're together, but …”

“Kevin …”

“Let me finish,” he whispered. “I've got lots of love and laughter, and it's all for you, Em, but I know something is going on with you. So, if you want or need me to do something, I will, okay?”

“Okay,” said Emily. She closed her eyes and gripped his arms, but she couldn't talk about it. Could she even explain it, find the right words, if she wanted to? So, instead, she turned toward him and forced a grin. “I need you to answer three questions for me. That will make me feel better.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Have you really dated most of the sophomore class?”

“No.”

“Did you sleep with a high school girl when you were in eighth grade?”

“No. Would it matter if I said yes? Would you feel differently about me?”

“No. Just curious.”

“What's the third question?” he asked.

“Will you drop out of high school and join the circus with me?”

“Yes,” he said. He pulled her close again. “We could be clowns or ride elephants or do something dangerous like walking the tightrope without a net.”

“Being a clown or riding elephants would be okay, but I couldn't do the tightrope.” She pulled his arms tighter around her and added in a whisper, “I need a net.”

Dear Ms. Diaz
,

I'm sorry about what happened in class on Friday. I know you didn't like the drawing, but you didn't give us a chance to explain. Anyway, better late than never. Here goes: Society tied the girl to the chair. “They” covered her eyes, so she doesn't experience the world completely. She's a blinded, caged animal screaming in frustration. Haven't you ever felt that way? Like you're being held down and you want to break free?

The picture is black and white because the gender issue was black and white then: Men were superior. Women were inferior. Period. The blindfold is pink. Get the symbolism? I assumed you'd like that. It's
actually a reference to a No Doubt song called “Just a Girl.” Do you know it? It was out in the '90s. That's when you were young, right? Well, at least younger. The song reminded us of Dickinson and how women were held back by society. That picture is based on the background information you gave us. The other two are based on the poem. The girl is small in size because she's unimportant in her male-dominated world. She's so unimportant, she dies and no one notices
.

Come on, it totally works. If you had let us explain, maybe things wouldn't have gotten ugly. You might not like the drawing, but it's a slam-dunk A+. Didn't you tell us once in class we might not like everything we read or do in class, but we should be open-minded?

Ms. Diaz made a copy for herself and another for Ms. Gilbert. This time the note read,
Suzanne, another letter from Elizabeth. She's begging for a reaction, so she's going to get it. I'll keep you posted
.

Dear Elizabeth
,

This might be awkward, having me write to you, but I need to explain a few things after what happened in class. I liked your drawing, and yes, it does fit the poem. I get it: the girl tied down by society yearning to break free. The pink ribbon, while the rest is black and white—very clever. Really. Great interpretation. It's not because
I disliked your picture that I wanted to talk to you—I'm concerned that you see yourself as the girl in the chair, being tied down and frustrated, or worse, as the girl in the corner
.

Can I help in any way? If I can, I will
.

Sincerely
,

Ms. Diaz

On Monday, Emily walked alone in a near-empty hallway with her arms crossed, as if she were hugging herself.

“Hi, Emily,” Ms. Diaz called out.

Emily snapped out of her daze.

“Oh, hi.”

“Are you okay?” Ms. Diaz asked as she stood in front of Emily. “We had a tough class Friday. I'm sorry you were in the middle of that.”

“I'm fine,” said Emily. “I was surprised and, well, a little embarrassed, but I'm okay.”

“You know, despite what happened, I still think you two can learn from each other. I wanted to tell you that I paired you up for a reason, beyond your writing and her drawing
abilities. Elizabeth takes chances, although obviously she can get carried away sometimes.”

They both laughed.

“But, you tend to be cautious,” said Ms. Diaz. “You're a great student, Emily, but your work is almost too neat. Your writing is mechanically perfect, but it lacks voice.”

“Voice?”

“I can't hear you on paper, Emily,” she said. “I know, without looking at the name, when I'm reading Elizabeth's work or Tommy's or even Kevin's. Their personalities are on the page. They have a voice when they write. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I'll work on that.”

“If you want me to read a rough draft or need an extension, let me know.” Ms. Diaz smiled and walked away. After a few moments, Emily said, “Thanks, Ms. D,” but she didn't hear her.

Ms. Diaz continued on to the small in-school suspension room. Elizabeth sat bent over a desk, arms stacked under her face to serve as a pillow, her messenger bag anchored on the floor next to her feet.

Ms. Diaz waved at Mr. Wilson, who was nicknamed “The Warden,” and then said, “Hi, Elizabeth.”

No answer.

Ms. Diaz grabbed a nearby chair and sat opposite Elizabeth, who stirred but didn't raise her head.

“Elizabeth?” Ms. Diaz said louder and reached over to shake the girl's arm a little.

Elizabeth finally lifted her head, one eye still closed.

“Did you get the note I slipped into your locker?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said.

“I was hoping we could talk.”

“No offense, Ms. D, but I ended up here after our last conversation. I don't feel like talking to you.”

“That's fair, but I'd still like to talk to you.”

“All right, talk,” Elizabeth said, holding her head up with a hand on her cheek.

“You look tired.”

“Thanks. You look great, too.” Elizabeth put her head back down.

“Are you getting enough sleep?”

“Obviously not,” Elizabeth said, head still down.

“Why not?”

Elizabeth whipped her head up.

“Is this really what you want to talk about? Why I'm not sleeping? It has nothing to do with literature or poetry or your favorite female recluse. So, why do you care?”

“Watch your tone, Miss Davis,” said Mr. Wilson.

“Thanks, Chris, but it's okay.”

“Holler if you need me,” he added.

Ms. Diaz turned back to Elizabeth. “I don't know why. I just do,” she said.

Both sat silent for a while.

“You're not going away, are you?” asked Elizabeth.

“No. So, why aren't you sleeping well?”

“I want to ask you a question,” said Elizabeth. “Why did you become a teacher?”

“Because I love literature. That's the short explanation.”

“Interesting,” said Elizabeth. “You didn't say anything about your students.”

Ms. Diaz didn't respond.

“So, do you really care?” Elizabeth asked.

Ms. Diaz hesitated and then said softly, “Yes.”

The bell rang.

“I'll see you later,” Ms. Diaz said before she left. Elizabeth watched her go and then put her head down on her arms and dozed off.

After school, once the buses cleared out, Elizabeth cut across the grass to the nearby wooded area. She was almost where she fell from the tree when she noted swishing leaves and snapping twigs behind her.

“Who's there?” she yelled as she spun around. The movement stopped.

“If you don't show yourself right now, I will beat you to a bloody pulp,” she announced.

The sounds of someone walking through the woods started again. Elizabeth's heart raced and she balled her hands into fists. She lowered her messenger bag to the ground in case she had to run.

“Relax, Davis, you're not in
The Hunger Games
,” Emily said as she became visible from the trees and walked toward Elizabeth.

“What are you doing here, Delgado?” asked Elizabeth with a mix of relief and annoyance.

“I saw you walking this way and was curious,” she said.

“So, you're following me. That's creepy.”

“What are you doing?” asked Emily.

“I'm returning to the scene of the crime. This is where I hurt my knee the first time. I think it knows because it's twitching with pain.” Elizabeth leaned over and touched her knee with her fingertips. She wore jeans and a long, dark gray T-shirt with Georgia O'Keeffe's “Summer Days” printed across the front. Over her T-shirt, she wore a black hooded sweatshirt, zipped partway, hood up.