“Okay,” she said, pulling her hand up to her chin. “Is the program still open for enrollment? Can more students join even though it’s already started?
“I don’t really know the rules on that, but I don’t see why not,” I said, but I prayed she wasn’t headed where I thought she was.
I didn’t want to find myself writing an article trying to talk-up the program to recruit more students. Both the junior and senior classes had already sat in on the information assembly last week. If they hadn’t committed themselves then, what were the chances they would commit themselves at all? An article like that had the potential to go completely ignored.
“Well, if there’s still room for more to join, then we have options here,” she said. “We can take the original angle and run a piece on the project, the first week’s goals and progress, and a little background information on the Raddick Initiative, or you can write a call to action piece and see if helps drum up some extra volunteers for the program. It may not be hot news yet, but we could make it hot news. What do you think?”
As much as I hated the idea of taking the alternative route, the latter of her two options was the fairest for everyone—the school, the program, the community. Of course we needed as many volunteers as we could get, and the more we had, the more chance the school had of actually winning the competition. If even a few people read the article and signed up for the program, we’d have that much more manpower to help us bring it all together.
“I’ll write the call to action piece,” I said, feeling the opportunity to win the scholarship slip further and further away. More volunteers meant less of a chance at winning. Even with my idea for the killer, dance finale at the end of the program, I might be screwed. Considering my short (and somewhat) regrettable history with Mr. Big Shot, and now the opportunity to invite more help into the group, I couldn’t see how I’d ever stand out amongst the crowd.
But what choice did I have? I had to do what was right for the collective whole. Isn’t that what Gabe, Lashell, and everyone at the Raddick Initiative would do?
I didn’t know. I just had to trust my gut, and that meant doing what was best for everyone, damning my own selfish wants and needs. It didn’t matter how much I wanted my chance, or how much I needed the money. If it meant doing the right thing, then there was really no question about it. I just knew I had to do it.
Seven
“I never pegged you for the dining alone type,” Gabe said, sliding into the chair next to mine. I looked up from my notebook and studied his slight smirk, and then I threw a glance around the noisy lunchroom. “And yet, here you are, all by your lonesome. What are you doing sitting over here all alone? Why aren’t you eating with your friends?”
“What are you doing here?” I asked, feeling my face drain of color. I couldn’t even be bothered to answer his questions. I was too surprised to see him at school in the middle of the day, in the middle of all of my classmates, acting like he had some kind of free pass to just waltz in and start interrogating me. Politely interrogating, I’ll give him that, but still. “Are you allowed to be here right now?” Again, I looked around the busy cafeteria. “I’m not sure—”
“It’s fine,” he said, pointing to the guest pass hanging around his neck. “I have a short meeting scheduled with Mr. Davies at twelve.”
Okay. So he did have some kind of free pass, and of course he would. He was Gabriel Raddick.
“I had a couple of minutes, thought I’d come say hi,” he said with a smile. I caught him staring down at the notebook for a second before his gaze snapped back up to meet mine. “Whatcha got going on there?”
“Scribbling down some notes for the article I’m writing on the program,” I said. “I bumped into Carla this morning, and one of the other groups on our team has organized a car wash down at Maurine’s Diner for this afternoon. I told her I’d definitely be there to help out, but that kinda leaves me crammed for time. I had really hoped to get an outline for the article done today. I’m just trying to squeeze in as much as possible now so that I don’t miss anything.”
“You’re outlining your article now?” he asked. “We haven’t even interviewed—”
“I think that’s off the table,” I said, letting the pen fall from my fingers. I rubbed my face and then dropped my hands into my lap. “I talked to my editor this morning, and she wants to go another direction.”
“Okay?”
“She offered up the idea to write a call to action piece, trying to get some more students involved in the program. She wants to make the program hot news in Sugar Creek, so I guess we’re going another way.”
His brow furrowed as he readjusted his seat. “Well, that’s a good idea in theory,” he said. “I don’t hate the idea of shedding some light on the program, but don’t forget the bigger picture here.”
“And what’s that?”
“What about the rest of you, the ones who’ve already put in hours this week to get this thing up and running for your school?”
“What about us?”
“I’m never going to turn down volunteers, Mandy. The more the merrier, but speaking up and asking for more help doesn’t seem fair to the rest of you. The more students we have trickling in, the less chance the original eleven have at winning the scholarship in the end. I’m not entirely sure your RI teammates will be too happy about lessening their odds.”
“I agree,” I said. “But you just said that you wouldn’t turn down volunteers, and if we have more help, wouldn’t that make a bigger difference? Wouldn’t that cause a larger impact on the community, win or lose? We’re running against schools that have five times the amount of volunteers that we do. Maybe if we had more we’d make a bigger difference.”
“Maybe,” he said, but I wasn’t convinced that he meant it. “But sometimes less is more.”
“Okay, yes, I feel bad for the original eleven—especially since I’m one of them—and if I write the original article, I could carry on knowing that I had a one-in-eleven shot at a free college education, considering we win. But if I don’t write it, we’ll never know if there was a chance for more. It might be worth taking a shot. I know it’s not completely fair to the rest of us, but isn’t it about doing what’s right and not what’s fair?
“Most of the time,” he said, leaning a little closer and lowering his voice. “So what did the rest of the group say when you told them about your article?”
“Oh boy...” I looked down at my hands. “I hadn’t thought to tell them.”
“You have to think about them, though, Mandy. And if I’m allowed to offer my two cents,” he said, as if he hadn’t just sat there and offered it anyhow, “I think you should talk to your editor and try to get your original assignment back. Something like this is only going to hurt your group, and you don’t want to stifle their productivity, especially this early in the program. They’re working hard because they know they have a good chance at winning, but if you take that chance away from them, then who’s to say it’ll be worth it? They might give up. And then what?”
“You don’t think I should write this article?”
“I don’t.”
“Not even to spread the word for your program?” I asked. “Not even for a little exposure for RI?”
“Not even for us,” he said. “Do what’s right for the group who’s already committed to helping. Do right by your team.”
I nodded. “Well, the good news is that I still have the option of writing my original article,” I said.
“And the bad news?”
“I’ll still need an interview.”
“That won’t be a problem,” he said, smiling, and I shuddered at the hint of gaiety laden in his stare as he leaned a little closer.
I was completely awestruck by the way he held my stare. There was a certain degree of intensity in the way he looked at me, and I wanted so badly to pretend I didn’t see it, but my heart wasn’t responding to the pleas of my better judgment. I kept holding his gaze, studying
the subtle movement of his eyes as he studied mine, and I felt myself slipping further away from the comfort and security of solid ground. I was drowning. I’d suddenly forgotten how to breathe. The steady cadence in my chest had exploded into something that felt much more like a full-blown drum-line. I was slipping, and I had to pull my head above water before it was too late.
“Oh!” I said, trying to find any excuse to look away. My eyes shot down to my notebook, and I quickly turned to the next page. “I have updates. You want updates?”
“Sure,” he said, settling himself back in the chair.
I slid the notebook in his direction and tried to keep my cool.
“The dance is scheduled for Friday, October 18th,” I said. “I ran the idea by our principal this morning, and he cleared it; he said a quick phone call to the administration office, and the gym is all ours for the night of the dance.”
“Impressive.”
“Wait until you’ve seen this,” I said, pointing at the next note on the page. “My homeroom teacher’s husband owns the print shop uptown, and he’s going to cover all the printing costs for our flyers, invitations, tickets, and anything else we may need for that night. I haven’t talked to Jones yet about having his band play, but I don’t think we’ll have a problem there. I’m still not sure what we’re going to do about food and drinks, but I’m sure that’ll come together soon. Oh! And Georgia, my editor for the paper, said she’ll make room to advertise the dance in each issue leading up to the event. She’s even giving your story the front page next week.”
“Wow, Mandy, that’s excellent,” he said. “Looks like you’ve got this all under control.”
“Not quite, but it’s getting there,” I said, closing the notebook. I picked up my fork and started poking at the heaping pile of spaghetti on my plate. I wasn’t really hungry, but focusing my attention anywhere else was the best possible way to keep from locking eyes with Gabe for the second time in five minutes.
“So you never answered my question,” he said, dipping down to catch my stare. “What are you doing sitting over here all alone? Why aren’t you sitting with your friends?”
“What friends?” I asked, trying to disguise the pity with a half-laugh. “This is a pretty normal routine for me, Gabe. And don’t go feeling sorry for me. I haven’t been banished from my inner-circle. This is a choice, and it’s one I’m fine with.”
He slid his chair closer, and his brow furrowed as he narrowed his gaze. I looked back down to the food and tried to ignore him again.
“Let me ask you something,” he said, nudging me with his shoulder. “Why’d you sign up for the program?”
“Why not?” I asked. “It was the chance to do something different. Lashell made it sound interesting, and if there’s a chance to win a scholarship when it’s all said and done, then that’s great, too.”
“But between school, the newspaper, and the dance committee, don’t you have enough going on?”
I felt my hands go numb. Panic set in without a moment’s notice, and I had no idea what had triggered the onset of my nerves. Was it just the simple fact that he was asking, or did his question carry more weight than it was meant to seem?
What did he want me to say? I’d already given him the easy answer, one that I didn’t think left any room for interpretation.
How had he read into it? How had he seen past my lie?
“I liked the idea of winning the scholarship,” I said again, but this time I was keenly aware of the fact that a casual conversation had just turned very personal. Rule #2: Keep everyone at arm’s length! Although I knew the rule, and I knew the consequences of breaking the rules, there was something shaking inside of me, something that I didn’t want to bury. It was as if I could hear the words spilling from my mouth, and yet I couldn’t do anything to stop them. “I didn’t sign up to make a difference or lend a helping hand. It wasn’t about the volunteer work at all.” He nodded as if he’d somehow already known that. Still, I couldn’t stop talking. “I thought it would be good for me and my sister to take a step out of our comfort zones for once. Bailey, because she doesn’t really do anything if it doesn’t directly benefit herself.”
“And you?”
“Because…” I said, thinking back to the conversation I’d had with my sister just before school.
Her words still haunted me as I sat there staring at Gabe. I knew I didn’t owe him a heart-felt confession, but for some reason unknown to me, I felt compelled to give him nothing less than the truth. I started to wonder if maybe it had everything to do with Bailey’s advice earlier that morning.
My hands were shaking as I looked back up at him.
“I had to leave my best friends four years ago when we moved to Sugar Creek, and I refused to make any more friends when we got here,” I said, and my mouth went dry. I took a quick drink of water, but it didn’t do a thing to settle my nerves. “I thought I wouldn’t need anything more than what I had, but then life happened, we grew up, and everything changed. Bailey made new friends. We drifted apart. She went her way, made a whole new life for herself, and I… I just stayed the same. Life kept happening around me, time passed, and I got left behind.”
I finally looked up from my table again and met Gabe’s stare. He watched me, a vacant expression etched on his face as we looked at one another. I couldn’t tell what was on his mind or what he was thinking, but I knew that his attentiveness went far beyond just hearing what I said. He listened to me.
“I woke up one day and suddenly realized that I didn’t have anyone,” I said, suddenly anxious to keep talking. I wanted to maintain the focus he’d given me, and I knew that the longer I talked, the longer he’d listen. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at me that way, listening as if my words were the only thing that mattered. “I moved here thinking I had everything I’d ever need, so when people tried to claw their way in, I only pushed harder to keep them out. I convinced myself that it was okay to be alone. But after Bailey broke away and started doing her own thing, that’s when I realized how alone I was. After living this way for so long, I knew I had two options: I could try to make new friends, or I could try to fix what was broken with my sister.”
This time he nodded, but he didn’t make a sound.
“Family is the most important thing to me, so I chose Bailey,” I said, feeling an overwhelming sensation of relief. Years of pent-up frustration slowly made its way to the surface and out into the world. “After four long years, I finally decided to do something about it. I was tired of being alone, tired of pretending like it didn’t bother me. I signed up for the program hoping for a miracle, I guess. I thought it would be a good chance to bond with her again, to rekindle something we once had. I thought if we could find something that we both enjoyed doing together, then maybe she would remember that I’m her sister.” I closed my eyes and shook my head, hoping that when I looked back to Gabe he wouldn’t see the tears I fought so hard to hold back. “I just want her to remember what we had, and that I’m not just some girl that she’s forced to co-exist with.”
He nodded slowly as the silence lingered between the two of us, and as I watched Gabe’s sympathetic eyes, I couldn’t begin to figure out where any of that had come from. What was it about him that made me so eager to let go of all my inhibitions? What made him so different?
Opening up to him and watching his interest, I found myself digging up all of the pain that I’d buried and vowed to forget. I’d always known that signing up for RI had been about spending time with Bailey, but I never realized how much it had really meant to me until the words had already slipped off my lips.
Sure, I was excited about the program, about winning the scholarship—something I desperately needed. But had it unconsciously been about something bigger than that all along? Had I just signed up to compete in hopes to fill some gaping void in my life that could only be filled by my sister? Had Bailey been right at the diner this weekend? Had I really become so desperate for social intera
ction that I’d signed up to get involved with something that I would’ve normally turned up my nose at? Was that really how it happened?
So much of my life in the past few days had just gotten lost inside a thick fog of uncertainty. Had I tried so hard to hide the truth from everyone else that I’d even started fooling myself into believing the lies?
After a few seconds of listening to the buzz of conversations happening around us, Gabe scooted his chair right up next to mine and leaned in closer to me.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said, wiping the single tear that had made its way to the corner of my eye.
“That was brutal honesty, Mandy,” he said, and his hand landed gently on the top of my back. I raised my shoulders to my ears, feeling the tension kick in the moment his hand brushed across the back of my shirt.
“Yeah, well,” I tried to ignore the way that my body responded to his touch, “I’m distant, judgmental, carry a chip on my shoulder, and I hate to be challenged, but I never said I wasn’t honest.”
His thin lips quirked into a smile.
“You only have to be alone as long as you want to be,” he said. “You have a hundred, potential friends sitting all around you right now, and one friend,” he said, narrowing his gaze, “sitting here talking to you now.”
“Oh, let’s not pretend we’re friends,” I said, trying to force a smile.
“You can change the subject and try to cover it up with a laugh if that makes you feel better,” he said, patting my back. “But that doesn’t change the facts. People aren’t going to just walk into your life and stick around if they’re not invited to do so. If you’re eager to fix things with your sister, tell her so.” With a couple gentle taps, he moved his hand and backed away. My shoulders slowly fell again. “I’ve got to get to that meeting now,” he said. “But think about it, okay? If you want things to change, then you have to change them.”
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