Grace (18 page)

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Authors: T. Greenwood

BOOK: Grace
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“Let's go,” he said.
They made their way through the woods to the river's edge and Gracy peeled off her costume, leaving it lying on a rock. It made him think of that scene in
The Wizard of Oz
after Dorothy throws the water on the Wicked Witch and she melts. He snapped a few photos of the empty costume and then followed Gracy to the river.
“You can wade, but don't go in,” Trevor said. “The current looks really strong today.”
“Brrr,” she said as she stepped into the water. “It's cold!”
Goose bumps sprang up all over her arms and legs. He clicked a couple more pictures, thinking he maybe should have brought another roll. The sun on the water made constellations of light. A billion twinkling stars on the surface of the water.
“I don't want to go swimming anymore,” she said. “I want a towel.”
Shoot. He'd forgotten to grab a towel. “Here,” he said, pulling off his sweatshirt and helping her put it over her shoulders. It hung nearly to the ground. He yanked the hood over her head and pulled the strings so that just her little face was showing. She stuck her tongue out and he clicked another picture of her.
“Let's keep walking,” Trevor said. It was so beautiful in the woods, cool with warm spots where the trees opened up, allowing the sun to shine down through the foliage. He sat on a warm, flat stone by the water and advanced his film.
“Gracy, go stand over there by that tree.”
“Why?” she asked. She had found a roly-poly bug and was examining it at the tip of her finger. Her fingernails were short, dirty.
“Please?” he asked. He thought about that photo of the real Alice in the book Mrs. D. gave him. He thought about what Mrs. D. had said about having a muse. “But take off that sweatshirt,” he said. “It looks silly.”
“It's too cold,” she said.
“Please? Just long enough to take a picture.”
“Okay, okay,” she said. She pulled the sweatshirt over her head; her hair stood up with static. “Like this?” she asked and leaned against the tree. Pouty. His mom was right about her growing out of all of her summer clothes; the yellow bathing suit with the ripped-up skirt around the middle was way too small. Trevor didn't notice until he clicked the first couple of pictures that one of her nipples was showing.
“Wait,” he said, feeling embarrassed for her even though she was just a little girl. He walked over to her and pulled her strap up so that she was covered again.
“Okay,” he said. “Say
cheese
.”
She only let him take a couple more pictures before she said she wanted to go home and have a snack. It was eleven; their mom would be back in two hours.
“Can we have popcorn?” Gracy asked, skipping ahead of him.
“We're not supposed to use the microwave,” he said.
“Mommy lets me push the buttons sometimes,” Gracy said hopefully.
“Not today, Squeak,” he said.
They walked along the river's edge back toward their house, and when they got to the train trestle that traversed the water below, something caught his eye. There was the hint of something red through the green of the trees. He'd never noticed it before.
“Come with me,” he said to Gracy. He grabbed her hand and they ran to the trestle. He thought about helping her climb up and then realized that probably wasn't safe. But he really needed to see what it was. It would only take a second. He looked back at Gracy. She'd plucked some dandelions and was braiding their sticky stems together. Her hands would be stained with the stems' brown circles later.
“Stay right here,” he said. “Don't move. I'll be back in two seconds.”
It was an easy climb, probably only about ten feet up or so. The metal was hot from the sun, burning the palms of his hands. He could still see Gracy from up there; he waved and motioned for her to stay put at the water's edge. He watched the river between the railroad ties as he made his way across to the other side, where he jumped down and entered a tangle of maple and birch and pine, as thick and dense as a stone. He could feel the branches scraping his arms, but he didn't care, because that red thing he'd seen was a
caboose
. A real caboose just sitting there in the woods! And it looked like he was the first person to find it. No graffiti, no beer cans. Not a single scrap of evidence that anyone but he knew that it was here. Not even the trees seemed to notice it; they were growing right up through the rusted floor. He climbed up onto the platform and went through the door.
Inside, the leaves pressed against the windows, making everything green. The floors were littered with leaves and twigs. It was cool and dark in here, a cave. Spiderwebs stuck to his face and chest as he moved through the room. There was a potbelly stove, some rotten mattresses, and a wooden chair missing a leg. There was also a platform, which he climbed. From up there, perched like a hawk, he could look out over the tops of some of the smaller trees. He could hear the river.
He quickly snapped a picture of the broken glass scattered on the floor below him, the spiderwebs that caught the sunlight in their careful designs. He tried to capture that color green, the inside of a chrysalis. It felt like he was taking photos of his own heart, which was still beating like a captured bird in his chest.
Mine,
he thought. This place is mine.
He wanted to stay longer, but he knew he couldn't leave Gracy. And it was too dangerous for her to climb up too. So he reluctantly left the caboose and made his way back to the river's edge where he had told her to wait. But when he shimmied down the trestle, she was gone.
“Gracy?” he asked, looking around. He was sure he had left her here. He remembered this toppled tree, its upturned roots like a giant's hair. Her witch costume was still lying empty on the rocks, the striped tights like quiet snakes basking in the sun.
“Gracy!” he hollered again, and then he felt the dull, hollow thud of panic setting in. He raced back and forth across the scattered pine needles, winding through the labyrinth of trees. His heart was beating like a drum in his ears and head. He was dizzy, feeling the ground tilting awkwardly underneath him, as if the world might just spill him off its edges. He walked slowly, terrified, to the water, and his heart stopped like a cork in his throat.
Gracy was standing ankle-deep in the water about ten yards away. The sun was bright behind her, making her a silhouette. A shadow. She had made a crown of dandelions that circled her head like a halo. The sun dappled the water with light, and the leaves made heart-shaped patterns across her bare legs. He caught his breath. Where only moments ago there had been terror, now there was nothing but relief. Where there had been blistering panic was now a lovely, hushed reprieve. She was here. She was okay. Disaster had been avoided, and in its place was the most perfect thing he'd ever seen.
She held her arms out and spun on tippy-toes in the rushing water. The tattered skirt of the bathing suit swirled around her legs. He slowly, quietly raised the camera, peering through the viewfinder at her. He was afraid to release the shutter, afraid to disturb her, but he desperately needed to capture this feeling. This beautiful sensation. All of the fragility of the world was in this moment, though he didn't know how to articulate that except by pressing his finger.
Click
.
That night there was another robocall from Mrs. Cross saying that after a thorough search of the grounds by security, the administration had determined that it would be safe for the students to return to school. There was no bomb; it was just a threat. But in the morning, Mr. Douglas was standing at the entrance to the school with his DayGlo orange security vest, checking out every student before they entered the building, even the kindergartners. He let Gracy through and then looked Trevor up and down suspiciously before asking to see his backpack.
“Why?” Trevor asked.
“S.O.P.,” Mr. Douglas said. Trevor had no idea what he was talking about. He reluctantly relinquished his backpack, and Mr. Douglas unzipped it, reached inside, and rifled through Trevor's stuff, pulling out a freezer bag. “What's this?” he asked gruffly.
“Film,” Trevor said.
“What for?” he said, unzipping the Ziploc and shaking the film out into his hand. Trevor felt his stomach knotting up.
“It's for art class. Please be careful,” he said.
Mr. Douglas looked like he might crush the rolls in his hands. But then he smirked and tossed the loose rolls back into the backpack, shoving it at Trevor. “Get on in there now,” he said, as if Trevor had been dawdling instead of him holding him up.
Trevor went inside and went to his homeroom. Art class was second period on Tuesdays, and he was excited to finally get into the darkroom. He knew there were some good pictures on those rolls of film. He couldn't wait for Mrs. D. to see. He sat down at his desk and pulled out his social studies textbook. He stayed in homeroom for social studies. Angie McDonald sat next to him. She came in, her hair a mess, two different-colored socks and a wild plaid scarf tied around her neck. She didn't seem to care what anybody thought; he liked her for that.
“Hey,” she said as she sat down.
“Hey,” Trevor said.
As he reached into his backpack and pulled out his folder, he suddenly realized that he'd forgotten his social studies homework at home. Along with the peanut butter sandwich he'd managed to hide from his mother that morning. They were both sitting on the kitchen counter. He felt sick. He was going to have to try to explain this to Mrs. O'Brien, and she was probably going to send him to see Mrs. Cross.
“Did you hear about Mrs. D.?” Angie whispered as Mrs. O'Brien walked into the room.
“Huh?” Trevor asked. He was starting to sweat.
“I heard she had a heart attack this weekend,” she said.
“What?” Trevor asked, his throat swelling shut.
“Yeah, my mom heard it from someone in her office.”
Trevor shook his head. His hands were trembling as he opened the empty folder again.
“The lady lives in the same apartment building. An ambulance came and everything.”
“Is she ...” Trevor couldn't get the word out.
“I don't know,” Angie said. Her eyes were wide and filling with tears. This brought tears to Trevor's eyes too. “They'll probably make an announcement.”
Mrs. O'Brien took attendance; she had to call Trevor's name twice, because he couldn't even manage to get the word “present” past the burr in his throat. Then Mrs. Cross's voice came over the loudspeaker. “Good morning, boys and girls, this is your principal, Mrs. Cross. Today is Tuesday, June eighth. You'll probably notice that we have heightened security at the school after yesterday's incident. Please know that your safety is our number one priority. On that note, remember that you are not allowed to bring weapons of any sort to school. This includes pocketknives. They will be confiscated. Additionally, there is now a schoolwide ban on Silly Bandz. If you are caught wearing them or playing with them, they will also be confiscated.”
Angie rolled her eyes. Trevor took a deep breath.
“Today is Taco Tuesday in the cafeteria. And Friday night is the final dance of the school year. Now please join us all in the Pledge of Allegiance.”
Trevor stood up and felt like he might pass out. He walked up to Mrs. O'Brien's desk and said, “I think I need to go to the nurse.”
“What's the matter?” she asked, irritated.
Trevor shook his head. He couldn't begin to explain what he was feeling. It was the worst kind of sickness, like something had just died inside him.
“Fine, here's a pass,” she said, handing him a paper slip. He rushed out the door into the hallway. He glanced toward the closed door to the nurse's office and then down toward the art room. He walked quietly down the deserted hallway and peered through the small window into the art room. Mrs. Lutz, the all-purpose substitute, was sitting at Mrs. D.'s desk. He slowly opened the door and peeked in. Mrs. Lutz looked up at him and scowled at him over the top of her reading glasses. “Can I help you?”
“Is Mrs. D. here?” he asked. His voice sounded like a creaking door.
“No, I'm sorry. She's ill. Can I help you?”
“When will she be back?” he asked.
Someone shot a paper airplane made with Mrs. D.'s expensive origami paper at him. The pointed part hit him square in the chest. The whole class erupted in laughter, the voices echoing in that cavernous room.
“I'm sorry,” Mrs. Lutz said. “She's in the hospital. I don't know the details.”
Trevor shook his head and backed out of the classroom, worried that somebody might throw something else at him if he turned his back.
Back out in the hall, he looked toward the exit. His whole body felt cold and hollow. The hallway was still deserted. No one was out. Not Mrs. Cross. Not even Mr. Douglas. He looked up at the security camera, its red eye peering at him, and then he ran. He ran and ran until he got to the front doors, and then he was outside. Free, running across the parking lot. He ran all the way home before he realized he'd left his backpack at school. Before he realized that as soon as they figured out he was gone, Mrs. Cross would be on the phone with his mother and father. Before he realized this might be the last straw for Mrs. Cross.

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