When Reason Breaks (9 page)

So, yes, I have vehicles to help me navigate the world, but I can't make sense of it
.

People think they have me all figured out
.

They take one look at me and think they know me, like it's that easy. But they have no idea. I guess we're all clueless, even you, Ms. D
.

Ms. Diaz photocopied the letter twice—one for her files and another for Suzanne Gilbert, Elizabeth's guidance counselor. She put a copy of the letter into Suzanne's mailbox, sealed in an envelope, with a note:
This was slipped under my door this morning. No name. I think it's from Elizabeth Davis. I won't respond—for now
.

Elizabeth plopped onto a plastic chair at a table in the back of the cafeteria. Tommy and Kevin were already there. Before she even opened one of the two bags of chips she bought, she asked, “Do you think teachers really care about their students, or do you think it's an act?”

“I think some care and some don't,” said Tommy.

“Like who?” asked Elizabeth.

“Let's go through the list,” Kevin suggested and bit his turkey sandwich.

“How about Ms. Diaz?” asked Elizabeth. “This morning she complimented my bangs.”

“Hey, nice bangs, by the way,” said Kevin.

“I noticed, too,” said Tommy.

“Yeah, right. I cut them in July,” said Elizabeth.

“See,” said Tommy. “I can't win. If I didn't say anything ever, I'd be a jerk for not noticing. If I said your hair looked nice when you first cut it, you would've said, ‘What? Didn't it look nice before?' ”

“Right, man?” asked Kevin. “Girls are tricky that way.” The two nodded and shook hands in a complex way.

“Focus, please,” said Elizabeth. “Ms. Diaz does that every day, though. She says good morning and tries to personalize it. Haven't you noticed?”

“What's wrong with that?” asked Tommy.

“Yeah, I think it's kinda nice,” said Kevin.

“I just wonder if it's genuine, or if it's something you learn in How-to-Be-a-Teacher one-oh-one.”

“Does it really matter?” asked Kevin. “I mean, who cares if she cares? She's a teacher, not your mom.”

Tommy kicked Kevin in the shin and shook his head.

“Ow!” Kevin rubbed his leg and eyed Tommy and Elizabeth. He smirked and said, “Maybe you wouldn't care about Ms. D if you had another kind of love in your life.”

Tommy kicked Kevin again and Elizabeth threw a chip at his face.

“Jeez, I don't know why I hang out with you two, with all this abuse I take,” said Kevin. “You two aren't easy to love, you know that?”

Tommy snickered, but Elizabeth stared at Kevin and then lowered her gaze to the top of the table. Tommy shook his head again at Kevin, trying to get him to cut the comments.

“Sorry, Davis. I was kidding,” Kevin said. “I didn't know you were so sensitive. Lighten up, would you?”

“I'm not sensitive, and I don't need to lighten up. You have no idea what you're talking about.” Elizabeth raised a hand. “You know what, no. I'm not getting into it with you, and how did this conversation become about me, anyway?”

“Right,” said Tommy. He grabbed one of Elizabeth's bags of chips. She let him steal a few chips before she snatched back the bag. “Well, we could survey the teachers. Ask them why they got into teaching, what they like and don't like. It could be an interesting story for the newspaper, don't you think?”

“I guess,” said Elizabeth.

“It's too bad you don't write. You could do the article.” He grabbed one of her bags of chips again.

“I can write,” Elizabeth said defensively. She grabbed back her chips.

“I didn't say you can't write. You don't, though.”

“I don't write for the paper. That doesn't mean I don't write.”

“Really, so what do you write in your journal?” Tommy asked. Kevin grinned at the exchange.

“Stuff,” said Elizabeth.

“So, why not publish any of this stuff in the paper? That is what we do.”

“It's not for the paper. It's not meant to be read by anyone else.”

“So mysterious,” said Kevin.

“You see what I have to deal with?” Tommy asked Kevin.

“What's that supposed to mean?” asked Elizabeth.

“Nothing,” said Tommy. The boys glanced at each other and snickered again.

“Girls are complicated,” said Kevin. “Like my little
chica
, Emily.
Muy complicada
.”

“So, you're paying attention in Spanish class this year? Or are you getting ready to meet her family?” Elizabeth said and laughed. “You never told me how this whole thing with Emily started.”

“Well, first, I kissed her at a party in June because Abby asked me to.”

“What?”

“How could you not know about the kiss? We went viral. Do you live like the Amish at home or something?”

“I knew about the kiss. Who didn't? I didn't know that Abby told you to do it.”

“Neither does Emily. God, she'd kill us both, although, it wasn't like an order or a dare or anything. It was more like a friendly nudge in Em's direction. No big deal.”

“Stop saying that. You both say that all the time, even when you know it's a big deal. You drive me crazy.”

“I love you, too, Davis. It's not easy, but I do,” said Kevin. “Anyway, after that, Emily's dad went ballistic over the whole thing and she dropped me. But, once that died down, we started hanging out again.” Kevin paused and looked over at
Emily's lunch table. Elizabeth turned to look, too, but snapped back when Emily glanced in their direction.

“So, then what happened?” asked Elizabeth.

“She wanted to keep it quiet. We argued about that, and one day she went off on me because she said I flirted with Sarah in English class.”

“Did you?” asked Tommy.

“No,” said Kevin.

“Yes, you did,” said Elizabeth. “I remember. On one of the first days of school, you scratched Sarah's back and then winked at Emily. It's like you were flirting with both of them. I meant to slap you for that.”

“I needed a pencil. I wasn't flirting.”

“Are you kidding?” said Elizabeth. “You could have tapped Sarah on the shoulder or whispered her name to get her attention. Scratching her back was a flirty move.”

“Really? I should run some of this stuff by you from now on, Davis. I mean, you are a girl.”

“Excellent observation skills, Kev.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I mean, I feel weird asking my dads about advice on women.”

“They know way more about having a successful relationship than you do,” said Elizabeth.

“True. Anyway, I convinced Emily I wasn't flirting, promised her everything would be fine, and we've been great since then.” Kevin smiled as he dragged a french fry through a blob of ketchup.

“Do you really like her?” asked Elizabeth.

“Yeah.”

“Was it her first time?”

Kevin nodded.

Elizabeth looked over at Emily. She sat at the end of a table filled with popular sophomore girls. A paper napkin lay unfolded on her lap, as if she were in a restaurant. She bit off small pieces of her sandwich and chewed with her mouth closed. She listened attentively to her friends but didn't talk much.

Elizabeth turned back when Emily caught her staring again. She remembered finding Emily on the bathroom floor a month ago.
If things were so great, why was she a sobbing mess?

“Here's what I think: Everyone knows you're a flirt, but if that little scratch bothered her so much, then don't flirt with anyone in the slightest, especially not her best friends. And if you ever break up, you can never date Sarah or Abby. Cross them off your list.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Trust me on this. I'm a girl, remember?”

“This is true,” said Kevin, “but you don't have girlfriends. I mean, you hang out with guys, so are you sure? Like if we made out and then Tommy wanted to date you, I really wouldn't care. I'm not saying I want to kiss you, although I wouldn't turn you away either, and I'm not saying Tommy wants to date you. I'm just saying guys are different and you hang out with guys, not girls.”

Elizabeth sat quiet while Tommy rubbed his temples.

“Three things,” Elizabeth said to Kevin. “One, shut up. Two, don't make her any more promises. Three, take my advice.”

“Okay, then … Sarah and Abby are off the list forever, no big deal.”

Elizabeth leaned over and punched Kevin in the arm.

“Damn, Davis,” he said as he rubbed the spot.

“I'm going to hit you every time you say that,” she said. “You, too.” She pointed at Tommy, who held up his hands in surrender.

“Before we get off the topic of girls, I must say that Abby is all about you, Tommy Boy.” Kevin playfully punched Tommy on the arm.

“Hey, man, cut it out,” Tommy said. He glared at Kevin and glanced at Elizabeth. She noticed but didn't say anything.

When the bell rang, the boys turned to face the doors that led to the main hallway. Elizabeth turned in the other direction toward a door leading outside.

“Hey, where are you going?” asked Tommy.

“I need a break,” she said.

“You're going to get caught,” Tommy yelled at her as she walked away from him. “Teachers take attendance every period. They'll know you're missing.”

“I know,” she yelled back over her shoulder. “And I don't care.”

In the nearby wooded area, Elizabeth climbed on a large downed tree. She sat on top of it, carefully placed one leg on each side of the trunk, and leaned back with her hands linked behind her head. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The warm autumn sun kissed her face; the chilled wind gently followed with a light caress. This beat P.E. class any day. The detention would be worth it.

After resting for a while, Elizabeth opened her eyes. White clouds streaked a soothing light-blue sky. The trees' tallest branches stretched and waved in the mid-October wind. Lush evergreens mingled with their colorful, shedding neighbors. Elizabeth looked a little lower at a branch perfect for climbing.

She sprang to her feet and scanned the tree for nooks to
help her climb. She placed a foot here and grabbed a branch there; she hoisted herself and repeated the movements to reach the tempting branch. She straddled the branch, lay flat on her belly, and shimmied out as far as she could go. She turned her face against the branch, hugging it tight and laughing with pleasure.

Elizabeth remembered climbing trees with her dad. When she was little, he'd place her on a branch and hold her by the waist. Later, he'd guide her from the ground as she climbed, a little higher each year. If she got scared, he calmed her by promising: “I'm right here. I won't let you get hurt.”

The wind blew over Elizabeth again, making her wobble. If the branch snapped, she'd get hurt. No serious damage, but enough to matter.

The fastest and easiest way down was to hang from the branch and then let go, being sure to bend at the knees when she hit the ground to protect her legs. This was another thing Dad taught her: “If you're going to take risks, you have to know how to protect yourself.” She unlocked her legs, gripped the branch, and turned to dangle.

She wondered: If a student fell in the woods, and no one was there to hear her, would she make a sound?

She laughed at herself.

And then her hands slipped.

She didn't have time to prepare her landing. She fell on her side, her leg bent under her weight. Her face scrunched in pain—eyes shut tight, teeth clenched. She rolled on her back and held her knee. Her mouth opened, but the sharp,
immediate pain stole her breath and deadened her scream. When she was able to, she arched her back and released a loud, guttural groan.

She stayed down, looking at the branch that now mocked her. Once the pain dulled a bit, she pushed herself into a sitting position. She breathed deeply for a few minutes before she tried to straighten her leg, knowing this would bring another wave of pain. She moved slowly like this, extending her leg, shifting her weight, breathing through the pain, until she was able to stand.

Now, she knew: He wouldn't be there. She
would
get hurt. And, yeah, if a student fell in the woods, and no one was there, she'd make a sound, a horrible one.

But no one would hear her.

Good to know
.

Elizabeth figured she'd miss her science and Spanish classes if the school nurse let her rest after checking out the damage, but she was going up against Mrs. Ryan, a graduate of the Nurse Ratched Training School. She wasn't stupid and had a tough-as-nails attitude with frequent fliers, like Elizabeth, who overused the go-to-the-nurse-to-get-out-of-class plan. Mrs. Ryan poked Elizabeth's knee with the delicacy of a jackhammer and concluded that nothing appeared broken or dislocated. She handed Elizabeth an ice pack and a pass and sent her hobbling back to class.

Halfway through Biology, the phone rang. Elizabeth was wanted in Guidance. She limped into Ms. Gilbert's office to discuss why she skipped gym. The assistant principal, who
usually handled discipline, let Ms. Gilbert relay the consequence since everyone considered Elizabeth a “sensitive case.”

Today, though, Ms. Gilbert wasn't gushing with compassion. That was last year's approach when Elizabeth's wounds were fresh. Ms. Gilbert sat behind her desk, not in one of the nearby comfy chairs. She removed the basket of stress-reliever knickknacks from reach so that she had Elizabeth's full attention.

“Your consequence is to make up the P.E. class by walking the track after school for forty-five minutes,” Ms. Gilbert said with little sympathy in her voice.