Streaks of Blue: How the Angels of Newtown Inspired One Girl to Save Her School

by Jack Chaucer

  Mr. Richardson nodded and smiled. He seemed impressed at Nicole's initiative.

  "You don't owe me anything extra, Nicole, but I would be delighted to read your poem if you want me to," he said.

  "Great. I'm going to write it tonight then," she said enthusiastically.

  "Glad to hear it ... I'll see you tomorrow, Nicole," he said, stepping back toward his car.

  "OK, Mr. Richardson, bye," she said, smiling as she got into her Altima and drove home.

  ...

  "Nikki, do you want to go for a jog with me?" her mother asked, sticking her still youthful face into Nicole's bedroom.

  Nicole was writing a poem in longhand on a notepad while lying stomach-down on her bed. She was so deep in thought that she took too long to answer her fast-paced mom.

  "Nicole Christine ... I just asked you a question," her mother said, this time projecting her voice and standing in front of Nicole's bed in a teal-and-white track suit.

  "Oh, sorry Mom ... what?" she asked, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes.

  "Do you have a sinus infection? Head ache? Sudden loss of hearing?"

  "No," Nicole replied, opening her eyes again to look at her mother.

  "Come with me then. It's been too long since we ran together," said Lynn Barrett, a 42-year-old mother of one who had reclaimed her maiden name after she and Nicole's father divorced six years ago. "You used to like to run, but lately you've been ..."

  "Mom, please don't be so dramatic," Nicole pleaded. "We will run together again very soon, I promise."

  "I'm going to hold you to that, Nikki, because lately you've been extremely distant with me and I don't like it," Lynn said, tying her shoulder-length brown hair into a ponytail and heading back toward the door. "I really think you met a boy or something on that hike you and Candace went on, and you won't tell me about it."

  Nicole knocked her head into the raspberry-colored bedspread a few times for effect.

  "Mom, we've been over this 10 times now. Candace met a guy, I did not and we had a great hike," she said. "You know I don't like to be watched like a hawk for my every change of mood. Go and enjoy your run."

  "Fine," Lynn said curtly before scurrying down the hall.

  "And your chocolate chip cookies in my pack were a divine surprise ... thank you again," Nicole shouted but got no response — only the front door of their raised ranch being closed rather forcefully in her mother's wake.

  The truth was Nicole didn't want to tell her mother about the baffling coincidence — the 14th & Stardust coincidence — but it continued to nag at Nicole's overtaxed brain just the same; just as her mom continued to nag at Nicole's ears and conscience for keeping her in the dark. But how do you tell your mom you're following your dream when it's the one that warned you to befriend a psychotic boy before he shoots up your school?

  Instead Nicole attempted to express her feelings in her poem. The words and emotions flowed from her heart, down her hand, through the blue pen and onto the paper. When she paused a moment to think and look up, her eyes fixed on the calendar hanging against the lemon-yellow wall. Beneath the photo of the basket of puppies and the word September, the number 14 seemed to jump out at her.

  "That's the day," she whispered to herself. "14th & Stardust ... that's the night then. I have to have my friendly intervention with Adam sometime in the next 10 days ... or I will call the police. I won't be able to handle this by myself any longer than that. It's too much."

  Nicole felt slightly better. At least now she had a Point A and a Point B. She sensed it would be her most difficult trail yet, though she wouldn't even have to leave the relative flatlands of southern New Hampshire. No, this was a different sort of trail. In the White Mountains, she felt comforted by the vertical rectangles of blue paint that blazed her path through the trees, over the rocks and kept her on course toward the summit. But at Lakeview Regional High School, Nicole had no such markers — just the toxic cliques, unnerving stares and harsh words to buffet her every step.

  She thought again about the 20 innocent little children and six women who died in the classrooms and hallways of Sandy Hook Elementary School on December 14, 2012. She ran her fingers through her brown-and-blue hair and allowed her tears to make trails of their own — down her cheeks and onto the paper below. The three words forming in her mind had moved her. They perfectly matched the trail markers in the mountains, the strands of her hair, the tears running down her face, the ink of her pen and the sorrow in her heart for every young life cut short.

  She now had a title for her poem — the one she would give to Mr. Richardson, as long as he promised not to read it until after 14th & Stardust.

  CHAPTER 7: CALLING FOR BACKUP

  Valerie Moore ambushed Nicole at her locker with the sound of a train whistle.

  "How's the T.T. train wreck going, Nikki?" the sassy brunette inquired as Nicole flashed her a nasty look.

  "You're the one tied to the tracks," she shot back.

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Don't worry, I'll come to your rescue, too," Nicole said, "even though you don't deserve it."

  "It's like you don't even speak words that make sense anymore," Valerie said.

  "Oh, there's definitely a disconnect — I don't deny that," Nicole replied. "I'm having lunch with Adam Upton today so you'll have plenty of ammunition to torment me with all day long."

  "Wow, this is serious," Valerie said derisively. "Do I hear wedding bells at the station?"

  "Valerie, what is wrong with you? We used to be friends, but you're so nasty that now I'm not sure how that ever occurred," Nicole said, glaring right at her. "These days you get off on tearing other people down. Say whatever the hell you want about me, but know this: I don't give a shit. Am I speaking the same horrible language as you now?"

  Valerie choked on her tongue for a moment. Nicole savored the small victory and started to walk away.

  "Wait," Valerie said.

  Nicole turned around in the crowded corridor, visibly annoyed at Valerie and the other kids jostling her as they passed by.

  "What?" she asked.

  "Are you trying out for the school play this year?" Valerie queried with a semi-chastened look.

  Nicole raised her eyebrows at the sudden change of subject.

  "Yeah, who wouldn't want to be Juliet?"

  "Then I'll see you at tryouts," Valerie countered with a suddenly competitive tone.

  "When do they start?" Nicole asked.

  "The week of the 15th," Valerie replied.

  Nicole pondered that for a moment.

  "Well, if we're all here on the 15th, I might be too happy to compete for such a tragic role, but I'll think about it," Nicole said, now realizing that she absolutely was speaking a very different, very cryptic language. How could she expect Valerie, her own mother or anyone else to understand what was going on in her head if she didn't tell them? But if Candace barely showed support for her, who would?

  Valerie just shook her head in dazed disgust.

  "Take care of yourself, Nikki," she said, walking away in the opposite direction.

  ...

  There were no obvious bruises to Adam's face, so either the fight with his father was strictly verbal or he won. Nicole was hesitant to ask Adam about it as she sat across from him at the long, white lunch table. The clock said 12:12 as they dined alone despite a busy lunchroom. Apparently no one wanted to join them — too bizarre a combination perhaps, Nicole and Adam. Kids have their own cruel ways of rejecting their peers — some loud, some silent. But this silent statement was gnawing at Nicole as she gnawed on her apple.

  12:13.

  "Does the time 12:14 have any significance to you?" she forced herself to ask Adam out of the blue.

  Adam gave her a weird look, shrugged and polished off his Coke.

  "What do you mean?" he finally asked.

  Nicole could tell he was lying just by the way he made an extra effort to avoid her gaze.

  "Wann
a go to a hockey game sometime this fall?" he asked, deftly changing the subject.

  "Sure," she replied, pleasantly surprised by the invitation to something fun and positive.

  "I like the Bruins," he said, "especially Shawn Thornton."

  "Who's he?" she asked. "I'm a Patriots fan, but I don't know much about the Bruins."

  "Boston's best fighter," Adam said, punching the air a few times and grinning.

  "So they play in Boston?" Nicole asked, belatedly realizing it was a dumb question.

  "Yeah."

  "That's kind of a long way from here," she said.

  "Nah ... 45 minutes if traffic ain't too bad."

  "Oh," she said, suddenly regretting she agreed to go with him so quickly. Candace had just warned Nicole not to spend time with Adam alone, and now she fretted over the scary possibility of driving to Boston with him — far from home, far from safety.

  12:14. Nothing. How could anything happen today? The suspect was having lunch with her.

  Nicole took a sip of Snapple and noticed a goofy-looking string bean of a kid mocking Caleb Evans, a short sophomore who walked with a cane and shuffled awkwardly because of cerebral palsy. Nicole didn't know the clown who clearly enjoyed exaggerating every herky-jerky move Caleb made from behind his back like a coward. And Caleb had no idea what most of the lunchroom was now laughing at as he searched for a seat.

  Adam, too, snorted out loud at the disgusting display. Nicole glared at him.

  "How would you like it if you had a disability and someone treated you like that?" she asked bitterly.

  "I wouldn't like it at all," Adam acknowledged, "but it is sort of funny."

  "Who is that coward?" she asked.

  "Timmy something, I think," he replied. "He's a junior."

  "He's terrible," she said.

  "You're right," Adam agreed, springing up from his seat with an idea in his head and a creepy expression on his face — very similar to the one she saw on the path two days ago that disturbed her greatly.

  "What are you doing?" she asked.

  But Adam didn't answer. Instead he took off running and violently hip-checked Timmy into the yellow wall between two tables. The lanky kid crumpled in a heap on the floor and the lunchroom roared with laughter, hoots and hollers. The same kids who cheered on the cowardly showman seconds before also applauded the much larger boy for his blindside punishment.

  Relishing the results of his hockey-style check and the crowd's reaction, Adam bowed with a deranged-looking smile.

  Nicole was mostly horrified and slightly impressed all at the same time. Her face was frozen in shock from that overload of mixed reaction.

  Caleb, meanwhile, looked confused as he turned around to assess the situation.

  Timmy managed to flip Adam the bird from his fetal position as he grimaced in pain, but the man-boy laughed and snorted at him.

  "Hah, dumbass, you shouldn't make fun of the handicapped and expect to get away with it," Adam shouted down at him as a kitchen staffer emerged to intervene. The short Hispanic woman with the hairnet pointed at Adam, but he ignored her and challenged Timmy to get up.

  "Scrape yourself up off the floor and fight me, son," Adam yelled as he assumed a boxer's stance to the howls of the cafeteria crowd, which surged closer for a better look.

  "Screw you asshole!" Timmy shot back with no interest in getting up.

  Guidance counselor/disciplinarian Maria Alvarez happened to walk into the cafeteria, surveyed the scene with sharp eyes and received an update from the kitchen staffer before taking command of the situation. Ms. Alvarez also was Hispanic, but stood about a half-foot taller than the kitchen lady. Wearing black pants and a sleeveless light-green shirt that showed off her strong, tan arms, Ms. Alvarez looked like she had won a few fights of her own in her life.

  "What do you think you're doing, Adam?" she asked, her dark-brown eyes and determined face instantly commanding respect. "You know you can be suspended for fighting in school."

  "There was no fight," Adam countered. "I boarded this punk against the wall for making fun of Caleb behind his back."

  "That's no excuse for physically assaulting someone. Two wrongs don't make a right," Ms. Alvarez replied, bending down to check on the wounded Timmy. "Are you OK?"

  "I'm not sure," he said, rubbing his head and looking dazed.

  "You better check him for a concussion," Adam advised with a laugh, prompting a few other students to chuckle as well.

  "This isn't funny, Adam — go to the principal's office right now and wait for me there. The school nurse is coming any minute to check on Timmy and I'll see you in Mrs. Wheeler's office," she ordered with a loud voice.

  "But it's true. Adam did stick up for Caleb," Nicole blurted out.

  Ms. Alvarez looked at her with an expression that conveyed annoyance first and then surprise. Nicole clearly had thrown her for a loop by rushing to defend the likes of Adam Upton.

  "What?" was all she managed to say.

  "And I put the idea in his head to do something about it because Timmy was being such a jerk to Caleb, making fun of the way he walks — and all of it behind his back like a coward," Nicole added as Adam smiled and nodded at her support.

  "Is that true, Timmy?" Ms. Alvarez asked him.

  "Yes," he reluctantly admitted as the school nurse arrived, stooped down and began examining his head.

  "OK Timmy, well when you're all checked out by Nurse MacCormack, you can report to Mrs. Wheeler's office, too," Ms. Alvarez declared. "Adam, you come with me now, and Nicole, I'll be talking to you later about your role in this because fighting is not the proper response to these situations."

  Chastened, Nicole simply nodded as Ms. Alvarez led Adam away.

  Before departing the cafeteria, Adam gave her a thumb's-up sign that left her feeling confused. She could tell he appreciated the way she backed him up, but she began to wonder if her attempt at friendship was doing just as much harm as good. Was she pushing his buttons with her words and making him act out more aggressively than if she had just kept her mouth shut?

  No, she thought to herself. At least he's listening to me. And as long as I can get through to him and say the right words next time, I can make sure he doesn't harm anyone else. This Adam is not like the Adam from Newtown who killed all those little kids. He's a completely different person and he can be good. Like the trail angels who warned me about the danger ahead, I can be Adam's trail angel, show him the painted blue rectangles on the trees and lead him up the right path — the safe one.

  ...

  As final bell rang at 2:20 and the students departed for the weekend, Mr. Richardson gathered his materials and filled his briefcase. Nicole said a few words to Derek, waved as he exited the classroom and then waited for her English teacher to look up.

  "Nicole," he acknowledged her with a smile.

  "Mr. Richardson, here's that extra poem I promised you," she said, handing him a sealed white envelope.

  "Great," he said, smiling and taking it from her.

  "The only stipulation is you can't read it until September 15th," she instructed.

  He made a quizzical smirk. "Why the 15th?"

  "I can't say right now," she replied.

  "That's intriguing," he said with a grin. "I do love a good mystery — and there's nothing like a mysterious poem with a do-not-read-until date."

  Nicole smiled but provided no further clues.

  "I look forward to reading everyone's emails this weekend and seeing which songs you've all chosen," the teacher said, shutting his briefcase and walking with her toward the door. "Can you tell me that at least?"

  "Sure," she said. "I chose 'We're Going to Be Friends' by the White Stripes.' Not completely modern, but close enough, right?"

  "Oh that's a fantastic choice, Nicole," he said with a smile. "I enjoy the Stripes. Too bad they broke up."

  "I know."

  "And I remember that song being on the soundtrack for that crazy movie ... what was it called?" he asked
.

  "Napoleon Dynamite," she answered with a chuckle.

  "That's it. How could I forget a title like that?" he wondered with a hearty laugh. "Have a great weekend, Nicole."

  "You, too, Mr. Richardson," she said.

  ...

  Nicole checked her iPhone and read the text from Adam: "Got detentiun Monday for the hip check."

  She smiled at the misspelling of his punishment.

  "Detention, not un, LOL. I have 2 c Ms. Alvarez on Mon. a.m.," she texted back as she sat in Candace's front passenger seat en route to the mall Saturday.

  Nicole was pleasantly surprised Adam had kept her in the loop, even if it was one day later.

  "Want 2 hang out 2morrow?" she texted him.

  "Sure," he replied.

  "I'll pick U up at WP around noon and we'll go 2 the lake," she texted, referring to Whispering Pines trailer park.

  "How bout 1?" he texted.

  "OK. C U then," she confirmed.

  Candace checked her lipstick in the mirror at a red light before giving Nicole a concerned look.

  "Nikki, that better be Derek you're texting with all this time and not you-know-who," she said, her eyes returning to the road as she drove into the sprawling mall parking lot.

  Nicole didn't respond right away and Candace had her answer. She shook her head, stopped the car rather abruptly in a parking space and turned off the ignition.

  "What?" Nicole asked, dreading another battle over Adam.

  "I think it's time for an intervention, Nikki," Candace said, totally serious.

  "You and me with Adam?" Nicole asked, despite knowing full well what her friend meant.

  "No, how about me with you right now," she said sharply.

  "Candace, sometimes I wonder what would've happened if you had had the dream instead of me. Tell me what you would do if you were in my shoes right now," Nicole said with an exasperated tone.

  "I would not be texting Adam Upton, that's for sure," she replied. "You're playing with fire. Just stop it already!"

  "I'm just trying to be his friend," Nicole said.

  "And I’m just trying to be your friend right now, Nikki. I know I'll never convince you, so just forget it. Intervention over," Candace declared. "I came here to shop, not rehash the dream that never ends."