by Rob Buyea
Alexia
There was no way I could like, stay away forever—especially after hearing Luke say he’d been to the hospital.
I didn’t have a dad to take me, and my mom was waiting tables from noon to closing time every day of the week now. That made it easy for me ’cause there wasn’t anyone at home to say “Where do you think you’re going?” or “You aren’t going anywhere,” but I was still scared.
I made my mind up and like, rode my bike there one day after school. I knew what room he was in ’cause I heard Luke say it. When I got there, I went straight to the elevator and up to his floor.
“Can I help you, honey?” one of the nurses asked as I hurried down the hall.
I didn’t look at her. I just shook my head and kept going until I found the room. I walked in.
My hands flew to my mouth. I knew Teach couldn’t move, but like, I hadn’t expected him to be hooked up to so many tubes. I stood frozen for a long time. Slowly I found the courage to tiptoe closer to his bed.
“Hi, Teach,” I said. “It’s Lexie.” Already I fought back tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been mean to you. I wanted to hate you for saying those things to me, but you were right, Teach.”
I knelt next to his bed and pulled his blanket in my fists. Then the big tears came. Raindrop tears. They poured from me. I couldn’t help it. I cried like I used to when Mom and Dad would fight. I sobbed for a few minutes before I wiped my face on his covers. Teach just looked like he was sleeping. Was he really going to die?
“Like, I’m doing better now, Teach. I’m not being mean. You’d be happy.”
I squeezed his blanket in my fists again and clenched my jaw to fight back more raindrop tears.
“Teach, like, there’s something else I need to tell ya. I’m not sure but I think I saw Peter leaving here. Like, he’s the one who threw the snowball, Teach. I know he didn’t mean it. He didn’t want this to happen. He loves you. All of us do.” I dabbed my eyes with his blanket. I cried more now, but I kept talking to him. “Peter hasn’t, like, said anything in school. He hasn’t talked to anyone. Not a word. But no one’s trying to talk to him, either. He did throw the snowball, even if he didn’t mean for it to hit you. So it’s still his fault.” I felt bad for Peter. Everything was such a mess, and I had so many mixed-up feelings.
I had my face in his blankets when I felt the tap on my shoulder. I looked up and Jessica was there, and so were Danielle and Anna. I hugged them. I told them I was sorry. And then it was over. All of a sudden I had three friends. Like, Teach helped me, even in his coma. I missed him so much. He had to wake up. I had never felt so happy and sad at the same time before.
anna
Charlie is Danielle’s twenty-seven-year-old single brother. He’s the one who dropped Danielle off at my house, and he’s the one who arrived to pick her up after our hospital trip. He didn’t get out of his red truck and come to our door because he didn’t need to—Danielle was ready. Next time I’ll keep her busy so he has to ring our doorbell.
“Thanks for taking me tonight, ma’am,” Danielle said as we stood on the porch.
“You’re welcome over anytime, Danielle,” Mom said. “I’d love it if we could draw together.” Danielle smiled at that idea.
“See you tomorrow,” I said. We hugged.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
We watched her walk out to the farm truck with the dented door. I held my breath with hope for the entire long, long minute. Then I was rewarded. Charlie turned his head and looked back. I saw his smile and friendly wave, a wave that Mom gladly returned. I walked to my bedroom and sat on my bed, suddenly exhausted. Mom sat next to me.
“Quite an afternoon, huh?” she said.
“Yes,” I said. “Poor Alexia. No dad for her, either.”
“Everybody’s got a story, Anna.”
I lay down and rested my head on my pillow. Mom lay down next to me. “Is Mr. Terupt going to be okay?” I asked.
“I don’t know, honey,” Mom said. “I sure hope so.” She wrapped her arm around me and I started to cry.
“Is it my fault?” I asked.
Mom sat up. “Is what your fault?”
“Mr. Terupt lying in that bed.”
“Anna, how could it possibly be your fault?” Mom sounded shocked.
“Because I’m one of the kids who got Peter mad enough to throw that snowball.”
“Anna, you listen to me.” She sounded almost mad now. “Look at me.” Her eyes narrowed on mine. “You didn’t throw that snowball, nor did you force Peter to throw it. I’m not sure whose fault it is that this happened, or if it even matters, but I do know it’s not yours. Do you understand me?”
“I just want him to be okay.”
“I know, honey. Me too.”
I never thought I’d have the courage to ask my mom the next thing that came out of my mouth, but my feelings just poured out after seeing Mr. Terupt like that. “Do you ever blame me for what happened to you all those years ago?”
“Blame you?”
“Is it my fault that you were ostracized?”
“Anna, honey, please tell me you’re not being serious.”
I didn’t say anything.
“My goodness.” Mom placed her hands on my cheeks and spoke softly. “Anna, I consider myself lucky to have you. I would endure all that pain again in an instant so that I could have you. I’ve never blamed you, nor will I. You’re everything to me.” A tear fell from Mom’s face and landed on mine. “I’ve always been afraid that you’d end up hating me for bringing you into this situation,” Mom said.
“You’re the best mom ever,” I said. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Mom bent forward and we hugged. Then she kissed me on the cheek and lay back down next to me. I wanted to ask her about Charlie, but I was wiped out, so I closed my eyes.
Danielle
I’m glad I went to see Mr. Terupt. It wasn’t easy, but it would have been a lot harder alone. I don’t know how Lexie did it. But I’m glad she was there, because now we’re friends again. I don’t think she’ll be mean anymore. I think Mr. Terupt helped her. Right from his coma, he helped the four of us make wrongs right.
I didn’t know about Jessica’s father. She seemed so perfect—I thought her family was, too. I used to think Lexie was so lucky as well. Maybe I’m the lucky one, even with this extra meat on my bones. Maybe we’re all lucky for having Mr. Terupt.
I’ve been trying to figure out why the accident happened. Every night I pray and ask for help making sense of the tragedy.
Mr. Terupt helped Lexie and us, and he helped me make it over to Anna’s house. I want to go again. Her mom’s very nice. And, when he picked me up, I noticed that Charlie seemed to like looking at her. I decided not to say anything, though—not to Charlie, or about wanting to go over to Anna’s again. Not yet.
At home, Mom and Grandma asked me how my visit went as soon as I walked into the kitchen. “Did that woman do or say anything crazy?” Grandma wanted to know.
“Was she okay?” Mom asked gently.
“She seemed fine,” Charlie said. He came to my rescue and then walked out of the room.
“She was friendly. And I liked her,” I said. “Can we just pray together for Mr. Terupt? It’s late and I’m tired.”
“Sure, sweetie,” Mom said. I could tell that Grandma didn’t like this one bit, but she went along with it.
In school the next day, Jeffrey asked a lot of questions about our visit. He had asked Luke questions, too.
“How many tubes did they have hooked up to him? What was the name of the stuff they were putting into him? Were they giving him blood? What was his heart rate?”
“Jeffrey, stop,” I said. “We don’t know the answers and your questions are upsetting me.”
“Sorry,” he said.
“You should just go yourself.”
I saw him exchange a look with Jessica. I got the feeling that there was something I didn’t know.
&nbs
p; “Sorry,” he said again. Then he walked away.
Dear God,
It’s Danielle. Things down here are getting harder. I’m doing my best, but it’s not that easy. Thanks for returning Alexia, a brand-new Lexie. I’m very grateful for that, but I’m about to ask for more.
It’s Mr. Terupt. He really needs you. He looked terrible when I saw him. There are so many of us down here that want him back so badly. He’s the best teacher any of us have ever had, and I just know he’s got lots of good left to do here. Comfort him if he hurts, and please heal him.
There’s Jeffrey, too. I saw the look he gave Jessica. Something is up with him. Please help him. And I’d like to pray for Jessica and Lexie and Anna—all three of them without dads. That’s just another reason why we need Mr. Terupt back.
And last of all, I want to pray for me. I’d like to go over to Anna’s house again. Maybe you can help me with that? I’ve also been thinking a lot about who’s to blame for Mr. Terupt’s accident. I thought it was Peter, because he threw the snowball. But after seeing Mr. Terupt, I’m wondering if it was me. I’m the one who suggested going outside, and I helped push Peter down. So I don’t think I’m completely innocent. Please forgive me. Amen.
LUKE
I didn’t think it would be as difficult going to see Mr. Terupt the second time. I knew what to expect. I was wrong.
Seeing Mr. Terupt in that bed again wasn’t any easier. I thought he would look better. I thought he was improving. But he looked the same. Still just lying there in his bed. Surrounded by the same beeps and tubes and monitors and noises from the hall. It was all just the same.
I felt the lump in my throat growing. Mom’s hand touched my shoulder. She saw it happening, too. I stood at the side of my teacher’s bed in a state of disbelief, feeling helpless.
Then the doctor walked in. At least I figured he was the doctor. He had salt-and-pepper hair, a white coat, and a smart face. He nodded to us and then moved toward Mr. Terupt. He checked some numbers and fluids, pulled back Mr. Terupt’s eyelids to look at his pupils with his penlight, and then started to leave.
“Wait,” I said. “Wait.”
He stopped and turned around.
“Are you Mr. Terupt’s doctor?” I asked.
“Yes. I’m Dr. Wilkins. One of the physicians.”
“Is Mr. Terupt going to get better?”
I saw him take a big breath. He looked at my mother first, then me. “I don’t know, son.”
“What’s wrong with him? He’s in a coma, but what’s wrong with him?”
Dr. Wilkins pulled some chairs over for all of us to sit in. He sat across from me.
“Mr. Terupt did a lot of wrestling while growing up, and even into college,” he started to explain. “It turns out he had to give it up because he suffered multiple concussions along the way. These concussions have weakened his brain in certain regions. The snowball that was thrown hit one of these weaker areas—the temporal [dollar word] region, to be exact—and it cracked his skull.” Dr. Wilkins looked very sorry as he said this. I don’t know if he expected questions, but I had them.
“Does that mean Mr. Terupt wouldn’t be in a coma if he hadn’t suffered the multiple concussions?” I asked.
“I can’t say for sure, but probably not.”
“What do you do now? Just wait?”
Dr. Wilkins took another big breath. I got the sense there was more to the equation. More bad news, or news he was hoping not to share. He glanced at my mother, who nodded, giving him the okay to explain. I didn’t want a sugarcoated report. I wanted the facts, and my mom knew that.
“Mr. Terupt has some bleeding going on behind this crack, and blood is collecting [dollar word] in his brain. We hoped it would stop, but it hasn’t. He’ll need to undergo brain surgery so that we can clamp the bleeding vessels.”
“And then he’ll be okay?”
“If it works—hopefully, yes.”
I heard the word if loud and clear. “And if it doesn’t?” I said.
“Brain surgery is risky. There’s always a chance the patient won’t recover.”
“You mean die,” I said. Mom put her arm around me.
“What’s your name, son?”
“Luke.”
“Yes, Luke. Your teacher could die during or as a result of the surgery. But I’m going to do my very best not to let that happen.”
I got up and stood by Mr. Terupt’s bed. I looked at him.
Dr. Wilkins got up and stood next to me. “He’s a pretty special teacher, isn’t he?” the doc said.
I could only nod. Speaking would have made me cry like a baby.
“I’ll do my best, Luke. That much I can promise.” He squeezed my shoulder and left the room.
Brain surgery, I thought. Mr. Terupt might never come back.
I ran out into the hall. “Dr. Wilkins!” I yelled. He turned around. “Does anyone else in my class know what you told me?”
Dr. Wilkins walked back toward me. “We didn’t know anything about his concussions at first,” he said, “but another teacher, Ms. Newberry, was able to provide us with Mr. Terupt’s background information. I guess Mr. Terupt had told her about his wrestling days, and it’s a good thing, because we have no other contact person for him.”
I stood there quiet. No other person … there was nobody for Mr. Terupt.
“But to answer your question, there is another student in your class who knows what I told you,” Dr. Wilkins said.
“Who?”
“I think he said his name was Peter.”
I was silent. Peter? I didn’t think Peter had been here. Dr. Wilkins turned to leave. “Wait,” I said. “Does Peter know about the concussions, or just that brain surgery is next?”
“Just about the brain surgery. Why do you ask?”
“Because Peter threw the snowball.”
april
Jessica
Act 10, Scene 1
Mrs. Williams assumed responsibilities as our teacher. She recognized and acknowledged our huge mess, and that our feelings—despite our being just fifth graders—were very real. I respected Mrs. Williams for her courageous act, but it didn’t change a thing. Mr. Terupt still lay motionless inside the vast whiteness and beeping of that building. Our classroom remained as lifeless as our teacher. We needed Mr. Terupt back.
Things happen for a reason. That’s what I told Jeffrey. Did I believe that? Sometimes. What were the reasons for my dad leaving us? I haven’t figured that out yet. And what are the reasons for Mr. Terupt’s predicament? I’ve decided they’re different for everyone, and maybe not there at all for others. I see the reason for Alexia now. Without this accident, I’m not sure she would have made it back as my friend. Without this accident, I bet Danielle never would have made it over to Anna’s house. But what about someone like Luke or Jeffrey? I don’t see any reason for either one of them. And I can’t find any reason for me.
LUKE
The classroom persisted in secreting (dollar word) unbroken (dollar word) quietness. I stayed quiet, too, even though I had a lot bottled up inside me about Mr. Terupt’s brain surgery. Peter knew about it, but he didn’t have all the details. I know he blames himself. You can see it. Ever since the accident, he walks around like a mummy. He should be blaming himself. He threw the snowball. But if it had hit anyone other than Mr. Terupt, I don’t think we’d be experiencing a tragedy like this. That’s what Peter needs to know. It doesn’t make everything all better, but it might help ease his pain.
I can’t tell him, though. No one is talking to him. But that’s not why I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to find out why he threw that snowball.
Danielle
It was springtime. I sat on the front porch with Grandma after church. She drank her coffee (black, because she’s tough) and I sipped some iced tea (unsweetened, because I hope to be tough like her). I love these moments with Grandma.
“There’s nothin’ like a New England spring, Danielle,” she said. “You
endure the harsh winter, and because of that you learn how to really appreciate the new season.”
I knew what she was talking about. The snow had melted and the birds had flown back, singing and praising. Flowers popped up and buds appeared. The animals on the farm acted frisky. Time to rejoice. But I couldn’t, and Grandma noticed.
“I’ll bet you in other parts of this country, where there’s no real winter, people miss out on spring,” Grandma said. “That’s just a shame.”
I nodded. This spring was different, though. My teacher still slept, and this weighed on me and sucked the happiness out of everything. I felt like I was still in my winter slumber.
“Danielle, let’s pray.” I bowed my head and closed my eyes. I figured Grandma was going to thank our God for the beautiful weather and the gift of spring. That would have been fine, but she took me by surprise.
“Dear God, Mr. Terupt needs you. Now, I don’t understand teachers these days, but I’ve come to realize that this Mr. Terupt is as good as they come. I’ve seen how he has touched my granddaughter and her friends. He’s special. You don’t need him up there yet. So you make sure you give him back to us real soon. Amen.”
Grandma had understood the important stuff. Her prayer made me feel better. I always feel better with Grandma on my side, even when she’s telling God what to do.
“Thank you, Grandma,” I said. “I love you.”
“I love you, sweetie. I’ll keep praying for him.”
I stayed in my winter slumber even after Grandma’s prayer. But then, unexpectedly, I startled awake. Not because of encouraging signs from Mr. Terupt, but because of Anna’s shocking news.
anna
I pumped my legs back and forth on the swings. I needed to get some momentum going so that I wasn’t just sitting with my feet dangling in the puddle below me. Danielle, Jessica, and Lexie sat on swings, too—Danielle right next to me. It was nice to be outside for recess again, now that the snow was gone.