by Carl Deuker
McDowell sat frozen for a moment. I could feel him thinking. At last he leaned forward toward me. “The alcohol is where we’re sure to get him. He provided it to minors repeatedly over months. I’m not going to lie to you, though. That’s a class-one mis- demeanor charge, which means it’s serious, but it’s not a felony. Hartwell might go to jail for a year but no longer. The important thing is—the conviction will be on his record forever. He will never teach again. He will never coach again. And I promise you that I will do everything in my power to keep him from having anything to do with kids in any capacity. This man is on my radar, and he’s on my radar forever.”
“But Levi? What about the things he did to Levi? Won’t there be a trial about that?”
McDowell slowly shook his head. “Probably not. As far as we know, Levi was his only victim. That’s good, Jonas. Nobody wants victims. But . . .” McDowell stopped and looked at his hands.
“But Levi is dead,” I said, calmly finishing his sentence for him. “Levi can’t testify. It would be my word against Hartwell’s, and that’s no good in court. Hartwell told me that, and he was right.”
McDowell sat straight up; his eyes honed in on mine and held them. “Listen to me, and listen good. Don’t ever think that what you did was for nothing. You stood up to Hartwell, and you stopped him. Okay, maybe he isn’t going to prison for what he did to Levi. But that doesn’t change the fact that you saved people. You’ll never see their faces or know their names, but you saved them. You’re a hero, Jonas. Do you hear what I’m saying? A hero. Don’t ever doubt it, and don’t ever forget it.”
22
WHEN I LEFT SCHOOL THAT day, I had one thing left to do, and that was to explain everything to my parents. They’d hate Hartwell, but what would they think of me?
As I was heading up the steps to my home, my dad was just opening the front door to leave for work. I wanted to get it over with, so I asked him to stay a few minutes. “I need to talk to you and Mom.”
There must have been something in my face or my voice, because he didn’t ask any questions. He simply stepped back inside the house and walked to the kitchen, with me a few steps behind. My mom looked at the two of us. “What is it?” she asked.
Telling the story didn’t take long. My mom’s eyes welled up when I described the night at the Good Shepherd Center; my dad’s eyes got fiery. When I finished, my mom told me that it took courage to speak up and that she was proud of me. “You got yourself lost,” my dad said. “The important thing is to find your way back. I know you can do it.”
That conversation happened three weeks ago. Since then, I’ve been up and down, as if I’m on a never-ending roller-coaster ride. Sometimes I believe the good things that Detective McDowell and my mom and dad said about me. Sometimes I think about Levi and Hartwell and what I could have done differently, and I feel more lost than ever.
Which brings me to today. For weeks the sky has been gray, but this morning came up warm and sunny. After all the gloomy winter months of Seattle, it is as if the houses and trees are inching out of the shadows and into the light.
As usual, I walked to school, passing Levi’s house along the way. Bikes and toys are still strewn around the front lawn. It seems somehow impossible that the house should look the same, but it does.
When I reached Harding, I went to my locker, talked tennis with Gokul, and then made it through my first two morning classes. I saw Celia during the passing period between second and third period. She waved and half smiled, and I waved back, which is what we always do now when we see each other.
I shelved books in the library during the hour when I should have been in chemistry. Then I went to my American government class, where Mrs. Clements led a discussion about the link between unemployment and crime.
When government class ended, I took a sack lunch onto the back steps and ate alone with the warm sunlight on my face. I was about half done when Rachel came out and sat down next to me. She was wearing a skintight, low-cut top again, so things are closer to normal for her.
We talked about the warm weather for a little bit, and then we just sat, both of us remembering Levi. “What are you going to do once you graduate?” she asked. “Are you still going to that college back East?”
“No, that’s off. I’m not sure what I’m going to do. How about you? Have you got plans?”
“You bet I do. I’ve got lots of plans. I’m going to get my driver’s license, and then I’m going to get a job so I have my own money. I’m also going to help my mom around the house and do more with my sisters. They miss Levi a lot.” The whole time she spoke, her voice was strong and decisive.
The warning bell for fifth period rang. We both stood; Rachel smiled. “You should make a plan, too, Jonas. Figure out what’s right for you, and then go out and do it.” It felt strange to get a pep talk from Rachel, but before I could answer, she hugged me and then hurried off, leaving me alone.
The afternoon classes were the same as usual. I came home around three o’clock to an empty house, ate some peanut butter with crackers in the kitchen, and then went to the den.
I turned the television to ESPN. On the screen, a huge guy was lifting up the end of a telephone pole. I glanced away, and that’s when I noticed my basketball over in the corner of my room. Seeing it gave me an uneasy feeling, so I looked back to the muscleman, who was now dragging the telephone pole down a gravel path, his checks puffing. It was too stupid to watch. I flicked off the television, picked up my basketball, and headed over to the Good Shepherd Center.
I’d been away from the game for so long that the ball actually felt strange in my hands. I didn’t get a good release on my first couple of shots, didn’t have any lift with my first tentative jumps. And when I finally made a few baskets, I didn’t feel the tingle of pleasure that I’d always felt when a basketball tickles the twine.
That’s when I got angry.
Because I couldn’t let Hartwell take basketball from me too.
I started moving more freely, shooting more freely, and pretty soon I was playing games in my head, taking down the Duke Blue Devils for the national title, leading a fast break against the Lakers—fantasy stuff that I’ve done for as long as I can remember. It was stupid, but the more I did it, the more like me I felt.
I swished a long three-pointer, a beautiful high-arcing shot. As I chased the down ball, I remembered what Rachel had said. Suddenly I knew what was right for me.
I grabbed the basketball, hurried home, looked up Mr. Knecht’s number, and telephoned him. “Sure, I can help you,” he said, after I explained what I wanted. “Shoreline Community College is the place you want to be, all right. I know the basketball coach there. I’ll give him a call and put in a plug for you. Shoreline is a good school too. I mean academically. It’ll prepare you for a four-year college.”
I thanked Mr. Knecht and then went upstairs to my computer and downloaded the application form. It’s sitting on the desk in front of me right now. I’ll fill it out in a couple of minutes and take it to the post office tonight.
That’s step one, and there are going to be a whole bunch of steps to follow.
Hartwell is not going to steal my life from me. I’m going to work hard both on the basketball court and in the classroom. And when my two years at Shoreline are done, I’m going to scratch my way into some college somewhere. I’m going to play basketball for that college, and I’m going to graduate from that college, and when I graduate, my dad is going to buy me that beer.
The sunlight that lit up the world this morning? I’m going to make it back into that sunlight. I’m going to do all these things for myself, and I’m going to do them for Levi, too.
I owe him.
Do You Need Help?
Speak with a trusted parent, teacher, counselor, or religious leader. If you need help immediately, call 911. Your safety matters.
Looking For More Information?
Visit these websites for information about ways to end sexual violence and bui
ld healthy lives:
www.stopitnow.org
www.rainn.org
Visit www.hmhco.com to find more books by Carl Deuker.
About the Author
CARL DEUKER participated in several sports as a boy. He was good enough to make most teams, but not quite good enough to play much. He describes himself as a classic second-stringer. “I was too slow and too short for basketball; I was too small for football, a little too chicken to hang in there against the best fastballs. So, by my senior year the only sport I was still playing was golf.” Carl still loves playing golf early on Sunday mornings at Jefferson Park in Seattle, the course on which Fred Couples learned to play. His handicap at present is 13. Combining his enthusiasm for both writing and athletics, Carl has created many exciting, award-winning novels for young adults. He currently lives in Seattle, Washington, with his wife and daughter.