My palms were slippery with sweat, and not because of the humidity. In fact, it was cool inside the heavily air-conditioned building. Still, I feebly rubbed my palms over my baby blue sweats. Heart racing, blood rushing fervently and hair plastered against my forehead, I took a swift glance around the room, my eyes locking onto one of three closed doors to my right. I could feel my stomach twisting into unruly knots, my fists clenching and unclenching. Yet I urged my eyes to focus on the array of papers tacked to the bulletin board directly across the room. I forced my ears to get lost in the repetitive rhythm of fingers tapping computer keys at the desks just a few breaths away.

I could do this. I was over-reacting, morphing a miniscule issue into a raging elephant. It was what I did.

“Casey?” a husky feminine voice suddenly called, stepping out into the waiting area. My head snapped up, and I felt as though a cool breath had just brushed against my neck, leaving small tufts of dark blond hair on end. This was it—my first interview ever. Yeah, big deal, I know, right? Only it was. “Casey?” the middle-aged woman yelled out once more, her voice sharpening.

“Here!” I said, jutting forward to follow a short woman with salt-pepper hair and ocean blue eyes. Grabbing a hold of myself, I managed to trail behind her, my hands clammy and suddenly freezing cold. Stepping into a small room, I was faced with another woman, only she was young–mid-twenties–with thin blond hair, which was tied back in a loose ponytail. Her frame was small and delicate, and she has brown eyes, round and large like a child’s. She put out her hand, a welcoming gesture.

“Hello, Casey. I’m Mrs. Maureen and this is Mrs. White. We’re in charge of next year’s Peer Support program. Please, take a seat.” I sat down calmly, my past fears dissipating at the sight of Mrs. Maureen’s kind nature and soft melodic voice. “Now, why do you feel that you have the potential to be a good role model for the future grade nines?”

Wetting my lips, I swallowed hard and said, “I remember how lost I felt entering high school. When I was in grade nine, I found that I could look up to my peer coaches, and I always wanted to be able to do the same someday. The most important attribute of a good Peer Supporter is ensuring that the students feel safe, happy, and welcome at their new school. I believe that I’m patient, understanding, and easy to approach. I want to make a difference in our school, and provide both knowledge and friendship to the students.” Internally, I felt a rush of relief–so far so good, I thought to myself. Blood rushed to my fingertips, and suddenly I was warm and confident. I felt good, if only fleetingly.

I answered the next few questions with ease, words spilling out of my mouth as if it were as simple as breathing. Feeling absolutely content and self-satisfied, I leaned back with my heart slowing into a normal rhythm. Just a few more questions and you’re in.

“Do you know what shirt size you are?” Mrs. White asked with a pencil in hand. “They’re so the students can spot you in a crowd,” she explained. Of course, I already knew this, having watched and envied previous selected Peer Supporters. Being chosen meant moving up the ladder in the social hierarchy. It meant being watched, admired, and accepted. I felt almost drowsy at the thought. Junior year was so going to change my life.

Snapping out of my reverie, I answered, “Medium.”

Then there was the next question: “So, would you be interested in being chosen to represent the CLP class?” Mrs. Maureen locked her eyes hard on mine. What? I had no idea how to respond to the inquiry – had it been mentioned in the pamphlet? My mind frantically puzzled over the question, thoughts racing. Oh, God. Would I lose my chance if I were to mess up this one answer? My heart began to pound, blood sounding loud in my ears.

“I beg your pardon?” I asked, my mind struggling for control over my tongue.

“It’s called the Community Living Program. It represents students here at Mayfield that have disabilities or need extra attention . . . Are you interested?” Mrs. Maureen’s eyes remained fixed intently on mine, almost demanding that I say anything except the contrary.

“Yes, I have some experience. In public school, I used to help a girl with a disability.” Mrs. White smiled full on, her pencil pressed to a notebook.

“Are you sure?” Mrs. Maureen asked softly. You can’t back out now Case; you might lose any chance you have of being accepted. Just because they’re asking you about this program doesn’t mean they won’t take you on for the one you really want.

“Yes, definitely,” I blurted out.

“Wonderful! You will receive a letter in your homeroom in a few days, once we’ve made the selections. Thanks for your time, Casey,” Mrs. Maureen said warmly, standing up to shake my hand once more.

“No problem,” I smiled, and walked out of the room.

No problem at all.

The envelope was a pale moon, thin and narrow, and trembling in my hands. God, I wanted this opportunity. Yeah, I also wanted the title and all that it implied. Who didn’t? I was a teenager, so yes, I was naïve and all the little things were the big ones.

Looking around my first period science room, I could see that a pile of other kids in my class were already tearing open their envelopes. Shouts of joy and groans of despair filled the room like a giant, lolling wave, raising some people up and pulling others underneath. I was going to the ride the waves from now on, I told myself silently.

With one impatient thrust of my fingers, I felt the envelope break open like tissue paper. It read,


Congratulations! Casey, you have been personally selected as one of the 2010-2011 school year Community Living Program (CLP) Peer Supporters. Return this letter to the office by June 1st to confirm your entry in this course.

Wishing you all the best,




Mrs. Maureen and Mrs. White


Crap. This wasn’t the news I’d expected. It wasn’t what I wanted. However, little did I know, this experience was what I needed.









***


I delivered the letter in confirmation of my choice a day later. I had told Mrs. Maureen and Mrs. White that I was interested in being a Peer Supporter. I still was; that intrigue hadn’t changed.

3 Months Later . . .


It was an ordinary morning–well, as ordinary as a first day of school begins. I hadn’t slept at all as per usual, and I was totally bummed about the summer being over. Good-bye hot summer days and cool, icy pink lemonade; hello trucks of homework and awful headaches.

I could never understand those commercials with the parents screaming and jumping animatedly while their kids inspected the school supply aisles looking for the quote on quote “Back to School” deals. Personally, in my own family, my Mom was always devastated when my younger sister, Sabrina, and I, were forced to return to the so-called jail; in other words, school. Hell, school was a swear word; no one uttered the dirty syllable unless they wanted to be glared at stonily. It wasn’t that I performed poorly in school. In fact, I did quite well. Some called me a nerd.

The truth was that I just didn’t like school. Halfway through the year, I would always get into such a rut of waking up, going to school, talking to the same friends, coming home, mulling over my homework, and then going to bed. I couldn’t see the point in spending a quarter of my life holed up in a building and poring over what seemed to be nothing but nonsense.

So, as Sabrina and I stepped out of my Mom’s car and onto the cold grey pavement, I bit my lip with worry and gave a short good-bye. Before I could blink, Sabrina was already hurrying inside. She was such a social butterfly; she’d fit in really well. Why shouldn’t she? She had the personality, the good-looks, and she was anything but dumb. I could already imagine all of the eyes that would be on her as soon as she loped inside as a freshman. Her frame was long and limb like a dancer’s. Sleek, flowing chestnut brown hair streamed down her back like an enchanting waterfall and her wide, large brown eyes were honest and true. Conversely, I was short and average with wavy dirty-blond hair. We were nothing alike, and yet completely the same. You see, she and I appeared different on the outside and our personalities were night and day, but we were the same within: our values, beliefs and dreams were in sync. She was my best friend, and yes, I was envious of her deep down. Sabrina was everyone’s best friend. I was just wading through the water, testing and teasing, and not really sure where I was heading at all. When Sabrina saw something or someone she wanted, she went after it. I hung back.

I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, and glancing up at the long two-storied high school, I put one foot ahead of the other and made my way inside. The newly renovated building was teeming with students. Shoving my way through the crowd, I managed to make it to the bulletin boards covering the wall across the hall like a giant cobweb. Finger tracing through the list of names, I finally found my first period: Room 101–CLP Classroom. As usual, my name was right near the bottom of the daunting list. I guess that’s what happens when you have a name like Winters.

I’d find my friends at lunch, I reasoned as I hastened down the wide, twisting hallways. The warning bell had already sounded throughout the building, but most students around me seemed unfazed by its shriek. I picked up the pace and took hurried glances at the room numbers I passed until my eyes locked on 101. I refused to be late. In fact, I liked to think of myself as a punctual person.

I literally had to stop at the door to gather myself and my thoughts. Peering through the glass-paned window in the door, I took a final gulp of air and nearly stumbled back at the sight I found. The room looked chaotic with kids running around everywhere, and several women darting across the room.

Suddenly, I could feel my stomach bunch up inside of me like a cat curling in on itself. God, I thought. What have I gotten myself into?

A shrill scream pierced the room as I pushed my way inside. My body instantly clamped up inside, fingers clenching into shaking fists as I feebly struggled to reign in my alarm. What on earth is going on? The shout broke off suddenly as I heard a rush of feet and the abrupt close of a door. I was too stunned to move for a few seconds.

When I managed to drag myself further inside and into the then empty section of the room, I realized that the area branched off into several other adjoining rooms. It was huge. Upon entry, I could see that to my left there was a large kitchen, which occupied the entire wall with a long, wooden table in the center. I was surprised to find a washing machine and dryer nestled in the far left corner; the machine was spinning clothes around and around in a strict mechanical fashion. Directly to the right, I peered into another room, which appeared to be a mini-office of some kind with one of those chairs that swing around in lazy circles and a long mahogany desk sporting a typical telephone. The desk was a haphazard mess, covered with what appeared to be student planners and bright yellow sticky notes. As I took a quick sweep of the room, I could see a door at the end. Perhaps the area was for storage, a bathroom even? I didn’t dare step inside; I understood the boundaries between teachers and students. However, I was admittedly curious.


It wasn’t long before another shout erupted from somewhere in the maze-like rooms. I didn’t jump this time, but uneasiness was clear in my trembling body and flip-flopping stomach. Without much thought, I sprang forward and into another adjoining area which was even larger than the first. I immediately caught sight of the source of the screams: a small, thin boy seated at a single desk. He yelled out at the sight of me, and I jumped back with a small, frightened sound.

“Henry!” exclaimed a high voice as a woman briskly made her way over and scolded the boy. She was tall and thin with a short, boyish mop of brown hair. “That’s no way to greet our guest!”

“It’s okay. I’m fine,” I whispered, my eyes locked on Henry’s as I took in his features. He had short red-orange hair and small blue eyes. He was thin as a rail and dressed in navy sweats with a striped pullover shirt. I would have guessed him to be about twelve years old if I hadn’t seen his face. There were many more years of experiences behind those two small pools in the centre of his face. In all reality, he must have been about twenty years. He looked at me wonderingly, his eyes crinkling softly in the corners. He let out a small groan, and I caught the hint of a smile in his face.

“He’s curious about you,” said the young woman with a faint twitch of her lips.

“What happened . . . ?” I ventured, wondering why he had been so alarmed only a few moments ago.

The woman shook her head of hair and shrugged. “He doesn’t like school much. First day is always hard for the kids.”

“So, he wasn’t in pain or anything, right?” I asked, not entirely relieved yet. Henry seemed to have calmed down, but he did look uncomfortable. His one hand was awkwardly clasping his other and his legs were trembling.

“No, he’s simply communicating his frustrations. He can’t speak. He can’t walk well either.”

I felt a deep pang somewhere deep down inside of myself. He was just a kid, a helpless victim of a disorder that I couldn’t even begin to understand. He had to be in some kind of pain–if not physical, then emotional, at the least. I thought I had problems; I didn’t have any at all. I’d never realized what I had. I could walk. I had a voice. I could express myself in any way I chose.

The woman suddenly reached out her hand to mine, saying, “I’m Mrs. Graves. You must be Casey. Correct?”

Jarred from my quiet thoughts, I gave a curt nod of acknowledgement, and shook her hand absently. I began to take in the rest of the room, unsure of what I was expected to do.

“Would you like to take a tour and meet the students? Most of them are in the other room, although a few are in the bathroom, and, of course, some are yet to arrive.” She gestured to another door on the far side of the room. “I’m just going to get Henry set up with an activity. You go on.” She gave me a reassuring smile and pushed Henry’s chair against his desk.

“It was, um, nice to meet you, Henry,” I whispered. Did he know what I was saying? Surely he could hear, right? How much could he understand? Suddenly, I just didn’t know. I didn’t have any of these answers.

I thought of touching his hand to say good-bye, but I couldn’t bring myself to the task. I was afraid he may yell out; this boy, he frightened me to the core. Admittedly, I felt ashamed of my fearful response. I was struggling to understand this new reality.

Without further contemplation, I turned full-circle and pushed open the door gently, only hoping I’d do better this time. Inside, I was greeted by multiple turning heads. I smiled faintly, biting my lip hard. There were so many of them–the kids. They were all different shapes and sizes. None of them yelled or shouted out at my appearance.

“Hello! Welcome to our class.” I looked up, startled out of the silence as I met the face of an older woman with bright blue eyes and layered greying hair.

“Hey,” I managed to murmur. The teacher smiled full-on as she pulled out a seat for me next to a skinny blond-haired boy.

“I’m Mrs. McGuire and these are my excellent students. Class, do you think we could introduce ourselves to our Peer Supporter?” Words of agreement and excitement flooded the room. “She will be helping us reach our personal and academic goals this year.”

I shrunk back under the newfound gazes of the students. I couldn’t help but notice that while some stared at me directly, others seemed lost and far away.

Before I could say anything agreeable, Mrs. McGuire gestured to the student closest to her–a shy-looking girl with wavy strawberry blond hair, who was wearing a One Direction tee. The girl gave me a wary look and shook her head fiercely with disapproval.

Mrs. McGuire stepped in to say, “Amelia is new to us this year. We have a lot of grade nines.”

“Amelia,” I tried. “That’s a pretty name. You like One Direction, I see. I do too.” I watched the girl smile faintly and then cover her face with embarrassment. Inside, I felt my heart flutter briefly. I had made that smile. Me.

I noticed right away how Amelia looked like any other girl. She had bright pink mascara smudged across her eyes, a long silver chain around her neck and in-style clothes. She was a teen just the same as everyone else in the rest of the building. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as difficult as I’d thought.

The boy sitting to the left of Amelia was a different story. He had short curling black hair and a pair of hazel eyes behind big, round glasses. That wasn’t what startled me. It was the chair. He was strapped tightly in a wheelchair, his hands trembling in his lap and his head shaking so badly I didn’t know whether or not he could focus on anything at all.

“I–I’m Carlos. Carl,” he struggled to say.

“Nice to meet you,” I replied automatically. He looked at me curiously, and then glanced at Amelia with a smile that I couldn’t understand the meaning behind. Amelia giggled in response, her eyes trapped on his for a split second, one that I almost missed.

The introductions continued in a similar fashion. There was Jeremy, a boy who appeared as far as I could fathom, well, normal–if you could say that. I mean, in all actuality, what was normal? There are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of psychological disorders alone and everyone is said to have an abnormality. Who was I to judge? Who was anyone?

Jake, another boy, was on crutches, though I figured that wasn’t why he was in the class. Andy has short black hair, glasses, and he seemed to be a very sweet young man–he smiled at me and laughed good-humouredly. Riley, a girl with long black braids and chocolate brown eyes, was also introduced. Bailey and Bethany were in chairs, like Carl. Other names followed until we came to the boy seated next to me.

“And what is your name?” Mrs. McGuire inquired of the boy. I had a feeling she knew; she wanted him to tell me. The boy turned to look at me and then made a high-pitched squeaking sound. I didn’t flinch. Mrs. McGuire tried several times until the boy seemed to awaken from his reverie.

“Braden,” he said awkwardly and then turned away, absorbed in something I couldn’t see.

Mrs. McGuire smiled to herself and began to hand out notebooks to each of the students. Without even thinking, I moved towards her and she gave me half the pile. This was a solid, concrete task, and something that I knew I could handle perfectly. Once everyone had a book, I was directed back to Braden.

“Please help Braden write his name,” Mrs. McGuire said. I nodded and handed Braden a pencil.

“Can you draw your name for me?” I asked the boy curiously. He glanced at me; blue eyes on my hazel ones. We stared at each other for a few moments of complete silence, my tongue stuck frozen inside my mouth. “Please?” I urged. He didn’t move, his eyes staring into mine. I could feel them staring through me. “Braden,” I tried again, my tone slightly more forceful. His body seemed to take a jolt, and his eyes truly found mine. I didn’t know what I had done to grab hold of his thoughts. I patted the notebook, saying, “Write your name, here.” His eyes widened as he glanced from me to the pad and back again. “Here, Braden. Your name goes here,” I repeated. His pencil slid across the paper in surprisingly neat black script. I smiled in spite of everything; I had helped him succeed.

After twenty minutes, Braden had written his name numerous times, each better than the last. There were times when I had to urge him and give him that extra push in the right direction, but he was doing it and I was . . . proud of us–him for giving me a chance; me for taking the leap of faith.

It wasn’t until halfway through first period that I was introduced to the other class–there was in all actuality one single large class. However, the class was divided into two separate ones, including the “higher functioning” and the “lower functioning.” When I was working with Braden I’d been in the “higher functioning” one. These words tasted sick on my tongue; the words that claimed one student to be essentially “more” or “less” capable than another. Yes, I realized that some students were clearly more functional than others, but each was an individual with different needs. Maybe I was judging inappropriately, or perhaps my feelings were directed by my distaste for labels. I knew the effects of labels all too well: Nerd. Geek. Loser. Labels hurt–whether or not they served a purpose, such as in designating teaching methods for students.

After drilling Braden to write his name several times, Mrs. McGuire had said, “Casey, you have helped us, especially Braden, plenty today. Why don’t you visit the other room and see if they need some assistance?”

“Of course,” I’d answered. Turning to Braden, I’d said, “You did great, Braden! I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Bye!” he’d exclaimed, and I’d nearly tripped over my chair at his response. A cacophony of sound had then filled the room as the students around me shouted their good-byes and asked that I see them the next day. I’d felt a smile tug at my lips playfully as I nodded at my new friends.

The “lower functioning” classroom had several students as well, though not nearly as many as the other class. Several students were standing over a series of desks that had been pushed together to form a huge rectangular table. No one was looking at me; the students seemed to be absorbed by something on the table. As I quietly stepped forward, I found my eyes meeting a huge puzzle with palm-sized pieces, which seemed to be forming a series of colourful dinosaurs.
One boy, in particular, seemed to be enjoying the game as he shoved in one piece after another with anticipation of the finished product. I moved closer to get a better look and caught sight of his face. The boy had a small head with tiny ears and blue eyes that slanted upwards behind round glasses, which I saw him push up the bridge of his flat nose. I struggled mentally to place his features–I’d seen them before. Although I had quite little knowledge about disorders and disabilities, I knew this one. I recognized Down syndrome.

“Kyle, Jasmine, Travis! That looks amazing!” Mrs. Grave’s voice exploded from behind me.

“Done!” Kyle, the boy with Down syndrome, exclaimed as he pumped his fist into the air with exultation.

A girl beside me, nearly half my height, tugged on my shirt. “Look! Look! We did.” She pointed at herself frantically, slapping her chest with pride.

“Yes, it’s very good.” I smiled back at her, and she leaned against me, her small and fragile frame nestled close. Stunned, I looked down at her brown eyes and did the only thing I could: I wrapped my arm around her.

“Jasmine–me,” the girl mouthed. She had black hair and a small, delicate round face. I immediately noticed that she wore large heavy supports around her legs. Sucking in a silent breath, I forced myself to smile. I couldn’t even begin to fathom the pain and hardships this girl endured ever day of her waking life. Lost in thought, I hardly noticed the other girl who suddenly at my side.

“Hey, Casey, right?” the girl asked politely. I recognized her right away. Her name was Kathleen; I’d met her last year when the CLP Peer Supporters had had the chance to meet one another.

“Yeah, so you’re my partner?” I inquired, my voice quiet and shy. God, I was bad at introductions.

“Yes. I’ve been working in here while you were with the others . . . You want to see something awesome?” She looked at me expectantly behind her glasses with big blue eyes. Kathleen wore her shoulder length brown hair in a high ponytail and she was about my height, only super thin. I didn’t know her very well yet, but she seemed kind-hearted.

“Okay,” I obliged, wonderingly.

I watched patiently as Kathleen walked up to Travis, a very short boy with black hair and dark eyes. He had darker skin and appeared to be much younger than he actually was. Kathleen found his shoulders from behind and gave them a light squeeze. “Travis,” she said, grabbing the boy’s attention, “would you like to play Casey something . . . on the piano?” I was immediately envious of the way Kathleen handled him so calmly, touching him like a brother and speaking very close to his face. I wasn’t that comfortable, at least not yet.

Travis let out a strangled sound and then shouted with joy. He began to work himself up with excitement, and I watched with horror as he fisted his hands around his neck and squeezed hard. I knew I should yell, scream, do anything, but I was locked up inside.

You can imagine my surprise when I saw Kathleen take action. Immediately, she took his hands away from his throat, bracing them at his sides as she whispered intently, “Calm down. Only gentlemen can play the piano, remember? Can you keep yourself under control?” I watched mutely as Travis became silent and took Kathleen’s hand. “Coming?” Kathleen asked, glancing back at me and my ramrod-straight body.

I managed a nod as I followed in step behind her and we made our way to the back of the room to find a large wooden piano pushed up against the wall.

Kathleen pulled back the cover over the keys as I helped pull the piano out. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, the teachers don’t mind, and just wait until you see what Travis can do,” Kathleen said, a grin spreading across her face. She pulled out a chair from one of the nearby desks and helped Travis get himself comfortable. I was stunned as I saw her stroll over to the other side of the room–the entire wall was lined with computers. Already up on one of the screens was a song from Glee, called “Don’t Stop Believing.” I knew the song well and quite enjoyed its upbeat tempo. Kathleen played the song. Looking back at Travis, I saw his eyes narrow with concentration as he slapped the side of the piano in rhythm with the song. “Listen, Travis,” Kathleen told the boy and once the song had played through, she stopped the music. “Go ahead,” she told him.

Before I could so much as blink, Travis’ fingers danced across the keys as he belted out the lyrics to “Don’t Stop Believing.” He was playing by ear, and it was like magic, the notes ricocheting off the walls and the sound drumming inside me like a heartbeat. I’d never seen passion like this before. Travis’ body was moving rhythmically like a dancer, the chair a forgotten thing as he used his entire being to create the music bunched up inside of him, the sound bursting and exploding around us as he seemed to spread his wings and fly into our hearts.

Kathleen began to sing along and clap. It wasn’t long before the whole “lower functioning” class and numerous teachers were crowded around Travis, celebrating the new school year in song. I couldn’t help but think that this was Travis’ God-given gift. I believed that every person, no matter how big or how small, had some greater purpose in the world; every person just had to find their place.

As I glanced around the room, I found my eyes resting on another boy that I hadn’t seen before. He was sitting by himself, rocking back and forth in rhythm with the music. He looked transfixed, his eyes somewhere very far away, caught inside an abyss. Still, something about his small, vulnerable face pulled me closer to him.

It was as if I was being directed by the strings of my heart as I found my way to the table where the boy sat. He didn’t stop moving back and forth, nor did he look up at me.

“Hey,” I said over the music, and then my voice seemed to die, swallowed by anxiety. I felt my nerves get the best of me, and yet, I was able to move past the fear. “What’s your name?”

The boy found my eyes, his hazel ones entrapping mine so much so that I couldn’t look away.

“Jamie.”

“Everyone is having fun singing and dancing,” I said to Jamie. The boy glanced at me curiously, and continued to move his body back and forth.

“Why?” he asked, his voice soft and low, but definitely not very deep for someone his age. His eyes focused on the group ahead of us, their bodies moving and swaying like a twisting, twirling breeze.

“It’s fun, you’ll see. Come with me,” I said, my hand outstretched towards him, eager with anticipation.

When he didn’t move, I pulled my hand back uncomfortably. “Please,” I whispered. I don’t know why I cared so much, but I did. No one should ever be alone; trust me, I knew. I wasn’t one to burst into a crowd and make myself at home. I’d much rather blend in with the shadows, but this boy–Jamie–deserved to shine alongside the other students.

Jamie was suddenly on his feet. He was the same height as me with short black hair and a dusting of freckles across his face, like a handful of golden glitter. I watched with a smile as he stepped forward towards the others, until he suddenly turned back and said over his shoulder, “You coming?”

Caught off guard, I didn’t say anything immediately. It was several seconds before I walked up beside him and said, “Yeah, I’m here.”

He stepped up beside Kyle and stood there hitting his left fist into his right one awkwardly.

“Jamie, like this,” I told him as I clapped my hands together in time with the beat. He looked at me from under his long eyelashes and began to copy my movements, nodding his head in time alongside me.

I hadn’t realized that Travis had switched songs several times until he collapsed in his chair with a cry of contentment. “Give a bow, Travis,” Mrs. Graves shouted from among us. Travis bent forward professionally and stood back up straight to give a sheepish grin. The room immediately exploded into a chorus of applause, myself included.

“Songs are over. Over,” Jamie muttered, clearly upset, his arms folded across his narrow chest.

The bell sounded, nearly giving me a heart attack. “Yeah, and I have to go, buddy,” I admitted. I could hear the disappointment ringing in my voice. I could hardly believe the reality of time’s passing.

“Why?”

“I have class.”

“Come back?” he asked.

“Definitely.” I gave him a hopefully reassuring smile, and after saying my good-byes to the other students around me, I was almost out the door when Jasmine came practically hurtling down the hallway to wrap her arms around my waist. I nearly fell over; for such a little thing, she sure was strong!

“No, no!” she exclaimed, pulling me further back inside, her eyes wide with horror.

“Jasmine,” I whispered. “I’ll be back. Tomorrow, okay?” She shook her head frantically and buried her face against my skinny jeans. “Promise,” I added apologetically.

The girl looked up into my eyes, and nodding, stepped back to wave as I hurried out the door to make it to second period.

Next period happened to be English, which was okay with me, considering how much I enjoyed studying literature, but even so, I couldn’t help but find my mind wandering back to my first class of the day. Unfortunately, I didn’t know anyone really well in the English class, so there was no one to distract me from my thoughts. Mostly, I kept seeing Jamie’s face. I didn’t even know why. Was it because of the way he looked at me, or was I simply drawn to his pleasant and innocent manner? I knew one thing for sure: I was looking forward to seeing everyone again tomorrow.

At lunch, I met up with a few of my friends at the cafeteria. I caught sight of Cecilia right away, her bright red hair a flaming torch. Next to her was Mary, a short girl with straight white-blond hair.

“Hey, guys!” I exclaimed.

“Like my shades?” Cecilia beamed, looking up at me from under big, black sunglasses.

“Cool,” I responded, and before I could say more, Mary took them from Cecilia and slipped them up the bridge of her nose, striking a ridiculous pose.

“Yeah, baby!” Mary shouted. “I’m starving! Let’s go get some fries, girlies!” I trailed behind them as Cecilia and Mary fought for the spotlight, each talking over the other as I faded into the comfortable background. With those two, I was the third wheel, but hey, that was totally all right with me.

Once we all had our fries, I decided to mention my experiences from that morning. “So, guys, about the CLP class I took, it’s a real eye opener, you know?” I said between mouthfuls of fries.

“Aren’t they like retarded or something?” Mary whispered anxiously. I nearly choked on my fries, taken aback by her response.

“No, well, I mean technically some are called that, but they’re like us,” I concluded thoughtfully. “I hate labels,” I added, chewing my food loudly in irritation.

“Same diff,” Cecilia said dismissively, playing with her poutine. Mentally, I rolled my eyes at them both.

“They’re a lot smarter, I think, than people give them credit for. The one kid plays the piano like Beethoven.” I smiled at the memory. Yeah, I guess I could see where my friends were coming from– I might have thought the same if I hadn’t had the experience I’d had that morning; though, I did like to think I was better than that.

“Well, I bet that he can’t sing like me!” Mary said, suddenly breaking out into a country song. I felt like folding in on myself and crawling into a corner with embarrassment. Hell, she was good, but the world didn’t need to hear her in the middle of the cafeteria!

“Mary!” I whispered loudly.

“Seriously, take a chill pill, Casey!” she said, continuing her song in high soprano. She didn’t stop until she sang through the entire song. People were watching! To make matters worse, halfway through, Cecilia joined in with a harmony. I wanted to make a run for it, but yeah, I figured that might offend them. There went my chance of being popular junior year. It’s not like status really mattered to me, but everyone wants to fit in at one point, right?

I desperately wished that I was a turtle so I could crawl up inside my shell and not come back out until the spectacle was over. The bell for third period was a lifesaver. I nearly fell out of my chair with relief, muttering an apology as I sped down the halls to my locker as fast as my legs could carry me. I knew the girls would understand my hurried departure. According to them both, I was always- and-forever nerd. At least it worked as a cover pretty well. Whenever they wanted to hang out and I didn’t: “Studying, sorry!” No one questioned the response. I couldn’t argue any other reasons half as well. I didn’t even have a reason; well, not really–at least not an explanation that they could understand. Like, how I’d rather drone out their voices with a peaceful, lulling silence, and how I literally had to think up things to discuss before we all got together. These true reasons were simply too embarrassing.
It was different with Jess and Kylie, my childhood best friends. Our silences weren’t awkward, and I could just let all my feelings go rampant. Sometimes, I felt like the first bonds I made in life were the strongest ones. As someone once said, “If you have one true best friend, you can count yourself lucky.” I couldn’t disagree.

The next day, I must admit, there was a small candle of light glowing within me. Each step I made was easier than the last, and I could feel a small, insistent smile creep up on my face as I made my way to my first class. Kathleen was already present, standing just a few paces away from the CLP room. She was helping Travis and Kyle with their lockers.

“Hey!” Kyle exclaimed when his eyes found mine.

“How’s it going?” I asked, thinking the teenaged, “What’s up?” was out of the question.

“Good,” he smiled, his eyes crinkling softly in the corners, like leaves curling up toward the sun.

“Let’s hurry up and get inside, boys,” Kathleen murmured, glancing up at me with a smile so friendly and honest, I was totally taken aback. Yeah, I knew her a bit; well, as far as meeting someone for an hour or two went. Hope spurred within me, a seed planted deep within fertile soil. Maybe, just possibly, we’d be friends.

Inside, Mrs. Graves introduced Kathleen and me to Mrs. Bailey. “Welcome, girls. It’s a pleasure to have you both here,” the latter said. Mrs. Bailey had caramel, light brown hair, which fell straight to her shoulders, whereupon the hairs suddenly flipped upwards. Her blue eyes were like glass, reflecting everything. I guessed her to be in her forties, give or take a few years. Yeah, I wasn’t a good guesser.

Mrs. Bailey was quick to get things done, I soon realized. Only, it wasn’t just quickly, but orderly and precisely. Kathleen and I were promptly assigned tasks to complete. The first assignment being attendance, we rounded up the students necessary: Jasmine, Kyle, and Jamie.

Jasmine was thrilled to do the attendance, her hands shaking with excitement. I didn’t realize why until Mrs. Graves explained: “The students don’t get to see the mainstream kids very much. Some have siblings here, like Kyle. Though Jasmine doesn’t, she simply enjoys the change of scenery. Here, take this for Jasmine. It’s her DynaVox. It helps her speak.” I felt my eyebrows furrow with confusion. Dyna–what? I decided to just nod. I’d find out soon enough, I reasoned. Jasmine latched her fingers onto mine, while Jamie stepped into my peripheral view.


I was beginning to notice that like me, Kathleen had a budding affection, only hers was for Kyle. As we passed through the halls and found the stairs to the second-level, her laugh ricocheted through the halls as she joked with the boy about anything and everything. God, she made it seem like speaking to these students was as easy as breathing. I was lost for words at times, though it most certainly wasn’t as difficult to communicate as I’d fathomed. It wasn’t as though the students were dumb; these kids were anything but stupid. Strange as it sounds, inexplicable as it seems, there was some hidden knowledge locked inside their eyes, a kind of understanding that I’d never seen before. This knowledge wasn’t anything to do with academics; rather, this understanding seemed to run deeper . . . almost ingrained. I couldn’t explain it.

Other teachers were assigned to different students so that the entire school’s attendance could be collected. I saw Braden head off in another direction with a teacher I didn’t know. Kathleen informed me that several of the teachers were actually what one called Educational Assistants, otherwise known as EAs. These people, often women, were individuals who were familiar with certain disorders and disabilities, particularly those of a specific student whom he or she had great knowledge of their strengths and limitations. It was soon made clear to me that not every student had their own teacher. Only those students who were especially affected by their disorder or disability had their own teacher who tailored to their needs. Jasmine was one example of this scenario–Mrs. Graves was her EA.

When we approached the first classroom to our right, Jasmine’s fingers automatically reached for her communication box, gesturing to Kathleen and me wildly.

“I ask. Me,” Jasmine struggled to say, her forefinger finger slapping against her chest. “Please,” she breathed.

“Go ahead,” Kathleen responded, pushing the door open for Jasmine as I followed the latter inside. Kathleen hung back with the others. More than twenty heads turned toward me, eyes burning a hole through my chest as I made my way to the teacher’s desk. Unwillingly, I felt my head tilt forward with a shame I tried to forbid myself to feel. A hard lump formed in my throat but no matter how hard I swallowed, my throat constricted tighter beneath the pressure. I didn’t want to feel this way; like, who I was wasn’t normal or right. Who were they–my peers–to judge my choices, to make me feel less than them because I saw what they couldn’t believe? Like, the fact that these disabled students were just like us, that these kids weren’t really kids at all, but in actuality, teenagers, just the same? I could, and yes, would ignore their haunting glares.

It took me several minutes to gather up my courage and fix an even stare on the teenagers’ glares; to curl my hands into fists at my sides; and to stride forward with my head held high. Even so, I felt my courage fall in on itself, collapsing like a tent struck by lightning. Who was I kidding? I could barely justify the truth to myself. I wanted to believe these students were the same as us. I mean, how different could we really be? Hadn’t the same God made us all from the clay of the Earth?

I was at Jasmine’s side when she first spoke, or rather, her communication box talked for her. It was both one of the strangest and most incredible pieces of technology I’d ever laid my eyes on. I could understand where the device had received its name. The thing sure looked like a box. Shaped like a mini computer monitor, the object was basically a high-tech touch screen with a series of images, or pictographs, which held various meanings that could be selected and spoken allowed by a pre-recorded voice. In this case, Jasmine’s EA was Mrs. Graves.

Jasmine’s fingers trailed expertly across the screen, treading like a boat across the sea, exploring and reaching toward her destination. And she found her words.

“May I please have your attendance?” the DynaVox asked aloud in a confident, strong voice. Instead of the joy I expected to feel, I felt my breath escape me as though a vacuum had sucked out the air inside my lungs. Jasmine would not have to speak anymore, not if she had this . . . this box to do the talking for her. I knew Jasmine could speak, so why wasn’t Mrs. Graves encouraging her abilities instead of her limitations? Why were the teachers treating the symptom instead of getting to the root of the problem? My head hurt from trying to understand these strange ideas the teachers possessed.

I was pulled back to reality when Jasmine said “Bye” through her box to the teacher. Hurriedly, we continued through the halls, allotting each of the three students a few turns to collect the attendance. In the one classroom we ran into Kyle’s brother, Jack, who was greeted with hoots of joy from Kyle’s lips. Jack responded mockingly, though I knew Kyle was oblivious to the fact. I couldn’t help the heat that flared up my cheeks with an anger I wasn’t familiar with. How dare Kyle’s own brother play him like a fiddle? And the worst part of it all? I had to stand there and watch like a doe-eyed deer. God, I was a fool. I’d never be able to stand up for what I believed in, and the cold reality shook me to the core. I didn’t want to be one of those people who hung back in the shadows whenever darkness bloomed before them like black blood. No, I wanted to rise above the evil–I wanted to quench it with the light. Cheesy, I know, right? I was a dreamer without a kite to fly.
But that didn’t mean I couldn’t spread my wings anyway. In fact, at that moment, I promised myself that next time I would stand up for the people I cared for, and not because they were less fortunate, but because I could and wanted to. I needed to.

Fisting my hands into tight balls, I forced myself to take a quick breath and smile back at Kathleen as we returned to the classroom. However, I couldn’t help but feel my stomach squeeze. Kathleen would have had the courage to tell Jack to screw off. I was weak, powerless, and, yes, ashamed.

Jamie’s eyes pierced mine so intensely as we made our way to the classroom that I had to look away. I couldn’t gaze into those two pools without feeling guilty, like I was just as bad as the perpetrator.

These students were victims.

And that was the truth. Because every single time we look away when someone with a disorder or disability passes by, we have shown shame for the innocent. Every single time we laugh at someone with a disorder or disability when we think that they’re not listening, we’re mocking the helpless with our own pitiful insecurities. Every single time we act like we have nothing, we’re insulting someone with a disorder or disability who smiles in the face of darkness and defeat.

So yes, I was guilty and, admittedly, more than once. But so were we all.

Inside the classroom, chaos was running loose like a wild horse. Shouts were gunshots. I craned my neck to get a better view and nearly fell flat on my face as I wrapped my head around the reality before me: a teenaged girl running around half naked. Her drawers were swimming around her ankles like a forgotten thing tossed to the ground, though she had managed to keep her undies up. I didn’t quite know how to react. I caught Kathleen looking away, trying not to be rude. I bit down on my lip, quite hard.

Luckily, I was saved from having to do anything when Mrs. Bailey’s hands fisted around the girl’s pants and abruptly yanked them upwards.

“Oh, girls, I’m dreadfully sorry. Carla is new here. She just came today and, well, let’s just say we’re all a bit surprised by her . . . I’ll be in the bathroom with Carla, so if you need anything just knock.”

Carla was a very, very short girl with long black hair fisted into a high ponytail. She had large brown eyes and a wide, pleasant grin. For some odd reason, I felt as though she was laughing at us all as she danced her way into the bathroom, drunk on happiness.

Kathleen let out a breath that I figured she’d been holding, and I felt my shoulders relax slightly. God, that was . . . crazy. There were just no other words to explain the situation.


I noticed then that Jamie was giggling hysterically, his eyes crinkling in the corners. It was also then that I realized he had adorable big ears that stuck out from his head. Kyle and Jasmine had already taken off somewhere in the room.

“Funny! Carla. No pants!” Jamie exclaimed in a high voice.

“No, the situation is not funny, Jamie!” I scolded him, though I could barely contain myself. A small giggle escaped from between my lips, which inevitably sent Jamie into a fit of his own. I had just confirmed what I had tried so hard not to convey: the situation was indeed hilarious. I caught Kathleen break out into a grin, soon to be replaced with a frown of disapproval aimed at Jamie.

“Okay, that’s enough!” Kathleen barked at the boy. I felt my mouth immediately clamp shut. Man, she was scary when she wanted to be!

“Not funny. No,” Jamie responded, shaking his arms to denote a negativity.

“That’s right,” I said, my mouth set into a forced grim line. It was so weird trying to act as a teacher, like a role model. This almost parental role was so completely foreign to me, like some tropical fruit that had been plopped on my tongue. I undeniably sucked at it. I wasn’t even a role model in my own family. I had Sabrina to thank for that. Yes, I was the older one. However, that didn’t mean that I was more mature. I wasn’t. I promised myself I would try for all of the students, especially Jamie.


Again, I couldn’t tear my gaze from the boy. It wasn’t like he paid me more attention than the others. He didn’t. If anyone, Jasmine was the one attached to my hip. That scenario was another one I just couldn’t fathom. But then, wasn’t it the same as choosing any friend? What pulled us towards some people and caused us to look away when others glanced our way? Was it the way the individual looked, or some gut instinct? Was there any pattern or theory that could explain the mysteries of the human way? No. I didn’t believe so. Call it some spark of a connection or call it fate, I was caught and not getting off the hook anytime soon. I didn’t struggle; indeed, I was happy.


I followed Jamie over to his desk, saying,

“Back in a minute.”


“’Kay,” was all he said as he fell into his back-and-forth body rhythm, similar to that of a rocking chair. Mrs. Bailey said the motion soothed him. I guessed it was similar to my own strange quirks. I bit my fingernails and lip when I was nervous. I could relate to coping strategies. I was a worried person. When I wasn’t worried, I panicked. It was like, God, why am I not worried? My mind was constantly flooding my brain with unnerving thoughts. Whether it was about my family, school, or simply friends, I was in a nervous fret.


Jamie seemed to be facing similar demons; his eyes lost somewhere far away, trapped in a place deep within himself. I couldn’t even pretend to understand. I didn’t want to. No, it wasn’t my place to interfere, but God, I wanted to. I wanted to take his pain in the palm of my hand and crush it into a pile of dust.


In the back room of the classroom, I faced shelves covered with puzzles, games, and books galore. I fingered through the piles, searching for something that seemed right for Jamie. Kathleen was already at the table with him. She was completing a puzzle with Kyle and Jasmine. My hands locked around a puzzle featuring images of cars, trucks and different vehicles associated with various occupations. It seemed like a boy’s puzzle, not too immature, and slightly challenging. Before I was out of the room, Jasmine was at my side, urging me back to the table. I smiled besides myself. She was such an adorable girl, so upbeat and positive.


“Come, come,” she mouthed up at me, her words coming together awkwardly. I didn’t mind, so long as she used her true voice. I wouldn’t encourage the other method.


“Jamie, look at the puzzle Casey brought you,” Kathleen smiled.


The boy said nothing. He took his time maneuvering the pieces until they clicked into place. I was lost for words by his silence. I’d been here, in this classroom, for a school week and two days, but I was still quiet and awkward at times. Instead, I turned my attention to Kyle, watching him smile broadly over his puzzle. His pieces displayed numerous farm animals, a cow in his vise-like grip.

“This is a cow. I live on a farm–Jake and me. There’re horses, lots of cows.” Kyle smiled up at Kathleen and me from under his glasses. I tried to ignore Kyle’s mentioning of his older brother Jake. Suddenly, Kyle’s appearance made total sense to me. Kyle’s pants were pulled up high and he did have an outdoorsy smell. I wasn’t judging, only trying to paint a picture.


Kathleen began a conversation with Kyle about his chores on the farm, while I turned back to Jamie. I noticed him fingering one puzzle piece in particular. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a bright red fire truck. I decided to jump on the topic, take a chance.


“Do you like fire trucks?” I asked. I knew I’d struck a chord when Jamie smiled broadly. It was almost like a light switch had been flipped on inside of him, his eyes entrapping mine with a presence I hadn’t seen before.

“Yeah, fire trucks . . . hoses. Help people.” Struck by his sudden mouthful of words, it took me several seconds to come to.


“Pretty cool, huh?” I agreed. “You like helping people, Jamie?”


“Fire hall is fun.”


“What do you mean?”


“I go if good.”


Suddenly, the pieces just clicked in my mind. I recalled the fire hall across from the school. That’s what he was talking about. “Maybe this week you’ll get to go?” I ventured.


“Don’t know yet. We’ll see.” I guessed that Jamie was simply repeating a phrase that Mrs. Bailey had told him. I’d noticed before that he sometimes parroted back what others said. He wasn’t saying these words mockingly; he was just stating what was a fact.


“I’ll take you one day,” I blurted out without even thinking. I covered my mouth abruptly, shocked by the words that had practically ran out of my mouth.


“One day,” he repeated, and I knew he wouldn’t forget easily. Yeah, me and my big, fat mouth. I swore to myself that I’d find a way.


“Did I hear the words ‘fire hall’?” asked Mrs. Graves, coming up behind me.
Shit. I nearly died on the spot with fear. I had so overstepped my bounds. I was still such a newbie here, it wasn’t even funny.


“Uh–” I began awkwardly, my mouth flapping open.


“Jamie will get to go to the fire hall next semester, if he keeps up some good work this semester. Show us that you’re mature and responsible, little man, and we’ll get you a job there.”


Jamie’s lips curved up into a cute grin, his eyes squinting and cheekbones forming small dimples on his face. “Excited,” he said, trembling.
I thought it was such a great idea that the teachers were giving the students goals to reach. Without a vision of the future, there would be no push for the teens. I could see a new motivation within the rings of Jamie’s big brown eyes; a hope for something better, a dream to latch his fingers around tightly, and a glance at what he could become.


The strange part was that I wanted him to succeed. Even more peculiar, I wanted more than anything to be there when Jamie found his way. It wasn’t just Jamie or Jasmine that had got to me–all of the students had dug themselves a place within my heart.


I hadn’t ever realized that people with disorders and disabilities could take on such a responsibility as having a job. I’d never really thought about their situation. These people had the same expectations as us. Yes, these teenagers wanted friendships, dating relationships, careers, and families.


“You should be excited–that is, I mean,” I fumbled, turning to meet Jamie’s eyes. Man, was I awkward, or what? The good thing was that all my stumbling really didn’t matter, at least not there, in that classroom, surrounded by teenagers who didn’t judge. Maybe that’s why I felt more comfortable, because I could be myself. Normal wasn’t a word.


“Help me,” Jamie whispered, looking straight ahead, though I could see him peeking at me from under his long, dark lashes.
Without any contemplation, I found my hand on his. “We can do this, together.” He didn’t pull away. I didn’t care whether or not Kathleen had seen. Jamie was my friend, and I was his.

“Jamie has OCD, otherwise known as obsessive compulsive disorder, among other things,” Mrs. Maureen said simply, her eyes trailing around the table, which I sat at with several other CLP Peer Supporters. I swallowed, hard. I hadn’t given his disorder any thought before. My knowledge of disorders, as I’ve mentioned before, was quite frankly limited. I hadn’t tried to guess or even research. Putting Jamie in a search engine hardly seemed fair. He was a person, not some scientific lab rat that could be named and placed in a neat pile. No, Jamie was better than that. He was an individual–unique. I refused to betray him in such a manner.

I tossed the terminology around in my head, tasted the sour words on my tongue. I had a hunch as to what the disorder entailed. The words pretty much said what they meant. Thinking back to the last few weeks, I tried to connect the term to Jamie, but it was so weird. It was like giving him a dog tag–so freaking wrong.

Glancing around, my eyes found a series of familiar faces. Kathleen was sitting close beside me to the right, her eyes intent on Mrs. Maureen’s words. Gabby, Marcy, Chris, and Alex were to the left of me, in that order. Gabby and Marcy were nice enough, though I didn’t know them that well. The CLP Peer Supporters only communicated once a week at lunch to catch up, hand in our journals, and plan trips for the students. Chris was a sweetie–all smiles and kind words. Alex, on the other end, was a real jerk, to put it nicely. He just enjoyed the easier workload that came with the course. He was a jock, though he was a skinny, little thing. Alex played badminton and several other sports. I only knew so much about him because all of the girls were gushing about him. No, I wasn’t. I wasn’t interested in relationships –just school. Yup, I was a nerd.

Mrs. Maureen elaborated on Jamie’s condition. I wasn’t surprised by what she said next: “Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is basically a combination of obsessions and compulsions; in other words, people with the condition become obsessed with obtrusive thoughts that lead to compulsions, which can only be repressed by carrying out certain tasks, such as washing one’s hands a specific number of times or checking to make sure a door is locked, over and over.”

“You mean like how Jamie constantly rocks back and forth in his chair? Or when he complains about his shoes being dirty and needing to be washed when they’re perfectly fine?” I asked, recalling some experiences I’d had.

“Yes, germs are one particular subject that repetitively enters the minds of people with this disorder.” I felt my insides squeeze inside me, my fingers trembling in my lap. I couldn’t help but think I was one of those people. I always washed my hands twice. I literally had to. Otherwise, I couldn’t concentrate. Was I simply a germ phobic? Was I so fascinated with Jamie because, well, I was the same? Or was I being completely ludicrous? Making this all about me when it wasn’t? I forced my mind to push away the horrid, intrusive thoughts, buzzing around my head like an incredibly annoying horde of bees.

“He lives in a Group Home,” Mrs. Maureen continued. I nearly fell off my chair, my thoughts scattering, and heart smashing against my rib cage.


“What?” I nearly shouted, taken aback by the news. Jamie, sweet, innocent-looking, Jamie, lived without his family? Biting my lip, I forced myself to calm down as much as possible, but I just couldn’t shake my inner turmoil. How could this happen? My mind was screaming inside of me. I sucked in a breath of air, struggling to hold onto something. I couldn’t let out my breath after that greedy gulp.

I had a home, a family. I’d never truly grasped the weight of that concept before. No, I was a foolish and naïve girl. I believed in happy endings, in love, and in magic. I was so incredibly stupid. Life wasn’t easy. It was messy, more so for some than others. Suddenly, I didn’t understand anything at all. How could Jamie smile at me at all, especially when in his eyes I probably had everything he couldn’t have? I struggled to fathom the ways of the world. Was life some silly game? We were dealt our hand of cards–that was the unfair part–and we chose how to play them. Whether we won or not, that was a different story entirely.

“His parents couldn’t afford to look after him, so people at the Group Home are his caretakers. His parents do come to visit, sometimes,” Mrs. Maureen finished with her gaze wavering, unsteady. I realized how difficult it was for her to deliver these terrible words. They flipped my world upside down; I couldn’t find my way back to the surface. I struggled feebly to get a hold on myself. My breath scraped along my throat like fingernails running down a chalkboard. Jamie’s parents came to visit him sometimes. What was that supposed to mean? How could any sane human walk away from their child, let alone a child who was defenseless to the wraths of the world? I couldn’t wrap my head around abandoning a kid for a want of money. I told myself that if it were me, I’d find a way no matter the costs, because my child would be mine, and no one else’s. That was a fact. No questions asked.


But who knew in all reality what I would have done had I been in the same situation as Jamie’s mother and father? Desperation could be a powerful motive. Don’t all people want to see themselves in the most gracious light possible? Maybe the couple were just children themselves and their parents had refused to help them financially? Perhaps they regretted their decision every day; that kind of pain would be torture enough, surely? The truth was that, ultimately, I didn’t want to think poorly of Jamie’s family–because it was Jamie, and he deserved better. God, he deserved to be loved.


“It’s a lot to take in, I know. Jamie is well looked after though, so there’s nothing to worry about. Having a child with a disorder is a great responsibility–and not one everyone can take on,” Mrs. Maureen explained to me, her big brown eyes reassuring. The room fell awkwardly silent for a few moments as everyone seemed to ponder their own thoughts.


Our teacher took a breath before saying, “Jasmine has Trisomy 13. She is one of our students who are nothing short of a miracle. Doctors told her family years ago that she wouldn’t live to see her fourteenth birthday. She is going to be nineteen soon. Just goes to show you that our lifespan cannot be measured. Humans are truly wonderful creatures, and a lot stronger than most people can hope to believe,” continued Mrs. Maureen. She paused, letting her words soak into our minds.


“You’re probably all wondering why I’m telling you this, I suppose,” she said. “Well, I want you all to choose a student and research their disorder. Afterwards, I’d like you all to present your findings aloud to the rest of us. This way, we can all become better educated. It’s not until we know the students’ daily life challenges that we will be able to truly understand how to help them succeed.”


I both gaped and reveled at the thought of putting a student figuratively under the microscope, and of learning more about the experiences of the peoples’ lives of whom I was become so engorged within.

“But before I hand out the assignment and you each select a student, I would like to give you further details about the students to help you decide which disorder most intrigues you.”


Please let me have Jamie, I prayed silently, repeating the words over and over again.


Mrs. Maureen waited for a nod from each of us before pushing on. “Braden and Amelia have autism. As you all have probably noticed, Braden often drifts off into his own world, a place where he feels content and safe. Autistic children have a difficult time knowing how to communicate with others appropriately in today’s society. Suzie has dwarfism and a mixture of other disorders; this combination of disabilities is not uncommon. Initial difficulties can create more complications. Though I won’t list all of the disorders present in the classroom, I will mention the more popular ones as choices. Kyle, he has Down syndrome, so he learns more slowly and has a poorer metabolism.”


Suddenly, Mrs. Maureen looked up at our faces each in turn as she said, “Remember, now, that just because someone has a certain disorder doesn’t mean that he or she fits into the description of symptoms exactly. Online, you’ll find various listed signs and symptoms because all people are different and nothing is ever set in stone.”


It was several minutes before our teacher finished listing off all of the disorders that we could research. Travis had Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, which caused physical abnormalities, due to his mother drinking during pregnancy; Carlos had Muscular Dystrophy, a disorder that was slowly eating away at his muscles until they would eventually stop working; and Henry had Cerebral Palsy, a condition having to do with his brain.
All of the student’s lives were so completely different and shocking than I ever could have imagined. Mrs. Maureen revealed several very personal experiences the students had encountered in their lives, two of which stood out in the forefront of my mind, like they’d been etched onto my forehead in the blood of the students’ wounds:


“Travis is a twin. His mother drank heavily during him and his brother’s pregnancy. She was only seventeen; put simply, a teenager who thought she didn’t have a future to care about, let alone two small babies curled up inside of her, drowning in what was essentially poison. The truly sad part is that Fetal Alcohol Syndrome is 100% preventable; this disorder doesn’t have to occur, and it shouldn’t. Travis only reunites with his brother twice a year. The brothers were separated at birth, adopted by different families,” Mrs. Maureen had informed us, her eyes pleading with us girls at the table to promise that we wouldn’t be foolish mothers someday.


“Carlos, of course, is new this year, as you all know. However, you should also be aware that this is his first year in a wheelchair. He played basketball just last season. In fact, he was a cheerful, active boy less than nine months ago. His disorder is becoming exponentially worse, and to the point where very soon he will never be able to walk again. Carlos is very much a teenager. He understands what he is losing. He wasn’t born this way. This boy knows what it feels like to walk, to run, and to be a teenaged boy chasing after all the girls. His knowledge of this new reality makes it all that much more difficult to bear and accept, especially as he grows into a man in the midst of all this pain and most grievous loss.”


I felt my insides twist unbearably inside myself like a wringed dishcloth, hands fisting about me in a strangled fashion. How could Travis’ mother have been so selfish? And how could Carl make sense of a life that was changing so drastically before his own eyes? Questions bloomed inside my head like popping explosions, startling and confusing. All these experiences, though they weren’t mine, felt incredibly real and terribly wrong. I suddenly felt like I had and could have anything I ever wanted. In comparison, I was the luckiest girl in the world, and I wasn’t nearly half as happy as these teenagers who smiled from the moment they awoke each day until the choking ribbon of darkness wrapped around the sky like a looming death threat. Most of these people were given an expiry date, like Jasmine. I wasn’t. So why wasn’t I as content as those who were blessed with less than me? Was I just ungrateful? Or, more realistically, was I simply inexperienced with losing what I loved? Maybe I was just stuck living for the promised tomorrow: Tomorrow, I will love like I can’t be hurt; tomorrow, I will make a difference in the world; tomorrow, I will live like it is heaven on earth. What if tomorrow didn’t come? What if I was so preoccupied with living in the future that I forgot to live in the moment? What if? . . . Now, that was a very good question.


“I think . . . Carl will be just fine,” I whispered aloud. All heads turned to face me, curious pairs of eyes blinking back at me. “He’s so strong–they all are. He won’t give in, not if he’s the man I believe him to be.”
“It’s all about attitude,” Kathleen jumped in, agreeing with me. “I feel like their positive outlooks on life are what keep their heads on straight and facing forward. They’re inspirational, really.”


“I’m glad to hear that you feel that way, girls. We, as human beings, in general, can learn so much from each other,” Mrs. Maureen replied. “Whether we decide to pay attention and listen to those around us, now that’s a very different story.” She smiled and then started to pass around the assignment sheets.


She began to list off the names of the students and their corresponding disorders. My fellow CLP Peer Supporters eagerly spoke out as their desired research topics passed through Mrs. Maureen’s lips: Kyle, Travis, Carla, Jasmine, and the names went on. I waited both desperately and patiently, fingers fisted so tightly my knuckles were bone white. Please.


“Jamie–” Mrs. Maureen continued.


“Yes! Oh, please!” I cut her off abruptly, my hand high in the air.


“Casey.” Mrs. Maureen penciled in my name beside Jamie’s. Relief flooded; blood running through my veins and pouring straight into my beating heart.

So, it turned out that I didn’t have any disorder like Jamie. No, I was simply really into cleanliness. I was just being overly dramatic, again. Personally, I was beginning to think that all people had their own OCD quirks. It was the “three D’s” that determined whether or not you had a psychological disorder: the disorder had to be dysfunctional, distressing, or deviant. These ‘three D’s’ could be accepted as present, alone or jointly, by the individual or society.

I had to admit that there was some crazy interesting stuff on the Internet about disorders, and not just on Jamie’s. The Internet was starting to become both my encyclopedia and night companion as I leafed through dozens of pages. I was figuratively eating up all of the words, piling the information inside my brain until it hurt. The strange thing was that I couldn’t stop reading. I wanted to know more. Indeed, I was thirsty for the knowledge and hungry for the results of my newfound understanding. Knowledge really was power–the ability to make a difference.


The research itself proved to be quite more intense that I’d guessed. There was so much information on both common symptoms and also unique, individual experiences. Personally, I preferred the individual ones. Words coming straight from the mouths of those who actually had the disorder seemed to ring more true. I mean, how could people who didn’t actually live the lives of those with OCD even begin to understand the tribulations? Wasn’t it more appropriate to listen to the voice of the victim rather than that of the reporter?


Several personal recollections written online stood out above the rest. There were multiple extreme cases of people with OCD who could hardly bear to drive. These people were horrified by the thought of running someone over and, quite potentially, killing an innocent individual. So fearful were they that whenever their tires ran over a pothole or kicked up a rock, he or she literally had to get out of their car and check over and over to make sure that no one had been struck down by their vehicle. I couldn’t begin to fathom the fear that jumped down their spine at the thought of hurting another person. Nor was I able to grasp the reality of having to drive to the same location repetitively to quench the terrifying thoughts bursting into their minds like raging explosives.


I realized with surprise that Jamie’s struggles, as far as his disorder went, were not nearly half as bad as some. There were several people, I discovered, who were placed in mainstream society, and they often faced other troubles on top of the ones they already had. Having OCD was alienating, especially for people who couldn’t stop themselves from re-checking their routines constantly. At least Jamie has people helping him, I thought to myself with a grim smile, looking through the papers of research sprawled all over my bed. It wasn’t as though he was alone. I had his back for now. But I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about all of the other people out there. Those people who were trapped alone with their fears closing in and strangling their resolve to keep going, to continue moving forward. Who was there to assist the silent, those who screamed without a sound? What about people who couldn’t escape the hell their minds were creating?

One step at a time, I reminded myself. I knew that I couldn’t concern myself with everything and everyone, but I wanted to. What I didn’t want was to sit around for my entire life and do nothing, especially not when I saw so many things in the world that I desired to be changed. I promised myself then that I would make a difference, even if it was small, so I knew that my time here on the earth plane was well spent. Partly, I wanted to reassure myself that I was purposeful; on the flipside of the coin, I wanted to be someone better. I wanted to fill my place here in this big, wide world.


Suddenly, I realized that I had the key to the desires locked up inside me. Jamie was my wishing star, the dream blinking back at me outside my window as I glanced outside the panes and into a future shrouded with darkness. Jamie’s disorder wouldn’t disappear like the way the sun swallows up the darkness, and without his disorder, Jamie wouldn’t be who I knew him to be. In other words, without the darkness we couldn’t see the stars. I didn’t want Jamie, or any person, to have a disorder, but without people like Jamie, how would others learn what it meant to be brave, to be special, and most importantly, to be human? I believed in reasons, not excuses or mistakes.
Caught up knee-deep in the research process, it was some time before I actually finished my paper. It was way too long, and I mean pages over, but I just prayed that Mrs. Maureen would be lenient. Okay, I did delete some of it, though I placed what I deleted into another folder. I didn’t want to forget what I’d read. So much pain and joy in so few words. I wished I could capture that much emotion some day if I ever set pen to paper. I imagined squeezing all of the most powerful human emotions into a tiny space like one of those ships placed inside a bottle. It was an oxymoron, yes, but one that made sense, at least to me. Big things, I was beginning to realize, came in small packages. You just had to allow your eyes to be opened, and then, well, you’d see for the first time, hopefully. Not everyone saw the butterfly in the caterpillar.



My paper turned out to be about eight pages typed–double-spaced–and I was incredibly proud. Nerd alert! Yeah, I couldn’t wait to showcase this puppy, but even more so than the attention I expected to receive, I wanted to open the eyes of the other CLP Peer Supporters. I wanted them to feel the way I had while reading the texts about topics I could barely reason myself into typing in my search engine. I’d only convinced myself that I wasn’t mistreating Jamie and the other students with the fact that the paper was for school, so I wasn’t willingly hurting anyone. The school was so-called forcing me to do this research. The reasoning sounded good to me, and the pep-talk made me feel much better.


Then came the really tricky part of the equation: presentation time. Being the shy, nervous person I was, standing up in front a group of spectators wasn’t my forte, at all. Even the thought sent my stomach into a growling, naughty child-like fit. It was about the only personality factor that my sister, Sabrina, and I, actually shared. She’d puked several times in front of a crowd. She could talk to the devil; yet she couldn’t say a few words in front of her peers without spilling her last meal. I always poked fun at the totally paradoxical situation.


So, when it was finally my turn to present the words I’d carefully crafted into sentences, which read about not only Jamie’s reality but also hundreds of thousands of other people, I couldn’t help but shy away from the pairs of eyes pinned on my own. Again, it suddenly didn’t feel right revealing Jamie’s situation in a few pages. I couldn’t capture someone’s life through words, and quite honestly, I didn’t believe that anyone could. But there was no choice here for me to make–I simply had to force my lips open. Mrs. Maureen’s eyes were on mine, hers holding great expectation, and I found the words slipping out like rain from a cloud.


It felt good, in the end, to reveal Jamie’s story. I watched as confused expressions and furrowed brows brushed away into grim smiles of understanding. The transformation emerged before my eyes like a tree taken root and sprouting for the first time. And then the words felt right. I wasn’t there to judge anyone or to try to spell out someone’s life. No, I was there, inside a classroom, speaking amongst people who wanted to learn about each other as human beings. People, just like me, who were studying life’s challenges and trying to make sense of it all, both the good and the bad, but especially the good.


When I finished and sat back down next to Kathleen, I caught her smile, reassuring me that everything, especially the research, was okay. I believed her. I knew that I had good intentions. We were there for all the right reasons, and that was what mattered.

“Can we adopt Jamie?” I blurted out one night at the dinner table, my thoughts filling my head like a balloon. I nearly started at my own words, tempted to pick them up off the floor and toss them back in. Sabrina’s eyebrows shot upwards, and she paused with a piece of chicken halfway on its trip into her mouth. My Mom was admittedly calm, though her brows furrowed with confusion.

“I thought he has a family?”

“He does, but he like never sees them.” I wiped a hand sloppily across my face, abruptly overcome with emotion. I was surprised by my own reaction. I realized then that I was becoming way too invested in the people I only spent seventy-five minutes with each day. I felt so ashamed by the fact that I had this huge pile of food on my plate and a family staring back at me when I knew people who didn’t have what I took for granted every single day. It reminded me of Sundays when my family went to mass and there’d be several people, terribly thin and often sick, begging for money or their next meal in the parking lots. In that situation, I literally had to hang my head down while walking by. I couldn’t meet their eyes. I couldn’t bear the sight of their tattered clothing, hanging in sheets over their scraggly bodies, or the image of fingers that wouldn’t open and close because of a surgery they couldn’t afford. We gave the people money, sometimes. It wasn’t like money could solve Jamie’s problems. No, money couldn’t fix a lot of issues.

“Honey, I’m sure he’s fine in the Group Home. I realize that the living situation isn’t ideal, but even if we did entertain the prospect of taking him in, we just don’t have the extra money for his care.”

I swallowed my food. The potatoes just came rolling back up my throat a few seconds later, and I spit them out into a napkin. Ungrateful brat, my conscience mocked me brutally.

“Are you all right, dear?” My Mom asked; her eyes were framed with worry.

“Yeah, it was a stupid question. I just feel bad. Like when I look at Sabrina and you, I realize that I have everything I could ever need and want. I feel–I don’t know–almost selfish for having it all. Giving something up feels wrong, too, almost like I’m being ungrateful. I’m so confused,” I finished, burying my head against the tabletop like a child.

“Uh, Mom, what’s wrong with her?” I heard my sister mouth from beside me, her voice laced with concern but also an undeniable hint of annoyance.

“Sabrina, go upstairs, honey. Please,” my Mom added. Sabrina left with a sigh.

Immediately, I felt my Mom’s hand on top of my own, hers still so much bigger than mine. “Baby,” she began, taking a deep breath, “you should never feel guilty for what you have. I think it’s wonderful that you want to give someone else what you have. However, all we can really do is thank God for what he blesses us with, and pray that he will bless others as well. I’m not saying that we shouldn’t help other people–not at all. I just think that we have to be within reason, you know?” She paused thoughtfully, and I glanced up at her from under the crook of my elbow.

I raised my head, tentatively resting it on top of my arms. I couldn’t resist the tears that slid down my cheeks. “I know I was being irrational,” I agreed. “I guess that I just had to get these emotions out of me. I tell you everything, Mom–you know that.” My eyes met hers then, hazel locking on bright blue. She had straight light brown hair and a heart-shaped face. I knew that my Mom was incredibly pretty, beautiful even, though every time I told her she refused to believe me. She was strong, too. Being a single mother of two teenagers couldn’t be easy, especially when she’d never planned for her life to take the course it did. Right then, I could’ve borrowed her strength to make sense of the life around me, to understand what couldn’t be true: the unfairness of the world.

“It makes me incredibly proud to hear you say such things. You’re not being irrational in the least. You’re the sympathetic, emotional, and compassionate girl I raised you to be. I love you for that, baby. Just try to remember that Jamie does have a family, and people who care for him. The living circumstances are simply different from ours, and that’s all right. Jamie is happy, as you so often have mentioned. Isn’t that what’s important?” My Mom gave me a small smile and nod of reassurance.

“Yes, his happiness means everything to me,” I admitted.

“I know, but don’t hold yourself responsible to make him–or anyone in that classroom, for that matter–happy, because you’re only one person, and if you forget that, you will hold too great of expectations for yourself.” Her eyes narrowed on mine as she tried to get her message through to me in a way I could reasonably accept, so that the inner turmoil curled up inside of me, like a dangerous spring, would unfurl itself without spinning out of control.

“I suppose some part of me knows you’re right,” I whispered, my finger tracing circles on the side of a glass. “But it’s difficult to accept what I don’t want to believe, what my heart tells me is so completely, utterly wrong, you know?” I gazed up into my Mom’s cool blue eyes and chewed my lip worriedly.

“You’ll find a way to accept the world, both the good and the bad. Maybe it won’t be today or tomorrow, or even years from now, but one day you will, and the burden you carry on your shoulders shall be lifted. Until that day, I want you to promise me that you won’t blame yourself for anything that is not justly your fault. Can you do that?” Her voice was quiet, though controlled and patient.

I thought silently to myself, turning my Mom’s words over in my head like playing cards. “I think I can,” I managed to say. “Thanks, Mom–for everything,” I finished. I darted around the table and into her arms for a big bear hug. She pulled me tightly against her and just held on for a few minutes, silently saying all that I needed to hear. I felt a grin flit across my face as a warmth spread from my fingertips to my toes. It was the feeling only a mother could give.

After breaking away from my Mom’s arms, I made my way up to my bedroom to find Sabrina curled up at the top of the stairs, head pushed between the rails to hear more clearly.


“Sabrina?”


“Crap.” She leaped upward and started backwards.


“Wait.” I motioned with my hand for her to stop dead in her tracks. “How much did you overhear?”


She paused, looking at the floor, and then glanced up at me from under her side bangs. “I heard pretty much all of what you said.” Sabrina ran a hand through her hair and grimaced at my frown. “Jeez, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

I wasn’t angry, just surprised that my sister cared. I knew that she liked to look after me in a weird, ‘I’m older than you, cause I think I am, even though I’m not actually’ kind of way. Yeah, it was totally strange and uncool to be monitored by a younger sibling, but yes, I was emotional and kind of a wimp. It wasn’t like I didn’t appreciate the gesture. I did.

“Well, I am–or at least, I will be.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m okay.”

“You know I’m just next door, so if you change your mind . . .” She trailed off uncertainly.

“Thanks.”

Sabrina nodded, and with one last long look, she padded down the hall into her room. I followed suit and crashed onto my bed like I hadn’t slept in days. In a way, I hadn’t. That research project had been quite time consuming.

I couldn’t sleep. My thoughts simply refused to be silenced no matter how hard I tried to smother them with a pillow over my head. It wasn’t as though I was thinking about anything in particular. My body was still wound up over the stress I’d been putting it through, what with my courses, the CLP situation, on top of all of the other common teenaged crises.

Suddenly, I knew that I needed my best friend. Slipping out from under my sheets, I crept up against the wall across from my bed and gently rapped my knuckles against the wall. Immediately, I pressed my right ear up against the wall, waiting silently. A knock of reply reverberated against my ear less than a minute later. A ghost of a smile swept across my face. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d rapped on the wall for my sister–too long.
When I opened Sabrina’s door, I found her sitting cross-legged on her bed, a grin spread across her face and hands clasped beneath her chin. “You knocked?”

I’d needed to spend time with Sabrina. I hadn’t realized how badly our reunion was overdue. In the summer, we were like two peas in a pod or two halves of the same coin, totally inseparable and following the same wavelength. Conversely, during the school year we drifted apart, so caught up in our studies, meeting up with friends (Sabrina mostly, admittedly), and other daily hassles.

To be honest, I’d been surprised by Sabrina’s quick acceptance of my presence that night. Maybe, just possibly, she’d been missing me, too? It was never difficult to see the reverence I held deep within myself for Sabrina; she was everything I wished to be. Yeah, I knew that the situation was backwards. Wasn’t the younger sibling supposed to be in awe of the older one? This wasn’t the case in my family, not in the least. Even as children, I’d always been the one to crawl into bed with Sabrina on a stormy night; the one to cry at the drop of a hat; and the one to envy the way my sister carried herself. I wanted her confidence, the sureness in her step, the smile that came so easily. Though I could feel a smile tugging at my lips more, it was nothing in comparison to the grins that stretched across Sabrina’s face, and not even close to the laughs that erupted from my sister’s swan-like neck. It wasn’t just me who noticed her. Boys stared at her, too. Her personality shone as a star–no, more like the sun–so big, bold, and encompassing. I dreamed of having even just the tail end of that planet. Maybe it wasn’t in the cards for me, but damn, I wanted to shine one day. I wished to glow beside my sister, to be as strong and beautiful as she was.

Sabrina was so easy to talk to, her expression honest and open. We’d talked for hours that night, and not just about the questions that were larger than life, but also about anything and everything. Words passed between us like smiles, simple and reassuring. Eventually, we’d fallen asleep, somewhere between rambling on and yawning very unattractively.

I didn’t wake up until the sun was streaming in through the windows in bright, thick bands of golden yellow. Sabrina was practically falling off of her bed, her left arm hanging loosely over the side of the mattress with her legs hugging the side.
In one quick movement, my hands fisted around the pillow beneath me and came up in one fell swoop to come smacking down on Sabrina’s torso.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, eyes twitching. Flipping onto her belly, she groaned, muttering, “Go away.” I paused, silently appraising her reaction. Was she actually going back to bed? It was a weekday–Friday, to be exact.

Suddenly, Sabrina rolled, latched her fingers around a pillow, and thrust it hard against my head, a laugh bubbling out through her mouth.

“Gotcha!”

“Totally didn’t see that one coming!” I replied, a laugh bursting free from my lips.

Then our mother was inside the room, her eyebrows raised quizzically.

“It’s a school day, girls!” she scolded, her finger pointed at us accusingly, like we were criminals. Then a smile broke out across her face, and she said, “Breakfast is ready when you are.” She shut the door quietly, and Sabrina and I fell into a hysterical fit of giggles until our sides screamed with unease. Mom was not good at being angry.

Sabrina and I were rather reluctant to part ways at school that morning, having enjoyed ourselves so entirely. We managed to slip back into our normal routine as soon as we passed through the wall of glass doors, though I did catch Sabrina glancing back at me for a brief moment.
I nearly fell over a girl on my way to the CLP classroom, my thoughts scattered all over the place. Jamie. Sabrina. Jasmine. I had a lot to think over.

“Sorry,” I muttered as I slapped into a little body, hardly paying attention to my surroundings. The girl regained her composure quickly, and I caught sight of a head of bright red hair in my peripheral view.

“Hey, Case, it’s me!” the girl shouted, obviously annoyed. Crap, I thought to myself. I knew that voice like the back of my hand. Cecilia. Coming to an abrupt halt, I literally backed up and turned to face her, all the while worrying my bottom lip. How could I have not noticed my own friend?

Before I could spill out an apology, Cecilia yelled, “Jeez, what’s wrong with you, girl? Where have you been these days? I see you in class and at lunch, yeah, but you’re not really there. What’s on your mind?” I felt my eyes widen at the sudden attack. Had I been quieter than usual? I tried to think back to the past few weeks, coming up empty at first until something clicked. Okay, so maybe I’d been a bit less enthusiastic than usual. Did I have to smile at all that was said and nod along to every single word?

It took me several seconds before I was able to regain my composure and scramble up some words to make an apology. “I guess I’ve been really focused on my CLP course and stuff. Sorry.”

“And . . . ?” Cecilia prompted, eyes narrowed harshly and hands on her hips.

“And you guys don’t really care to hear what I have to say. I’m just dealing with ‘retards,’ remember?” I blurted out without thinking over my words in the slightest. But I didn’t even try to take them back. These people weren’t my friends if they couldn’t understand what was so quickly becoming the world to me.

“I–” she faltered, and then looked down at her sneakers. Cecilia frowned; though, to her credit, she quickly recovered. With a sigh, she chewed the inside of her cheek and then whispered, “Is this class really so important to you?”

“It’s everything.” My response was bullet quick, so automatic even I was taken aback. For once, I couldn’t read Cecilia’s expression. There were no clues. Nodding and smiling wasn’t going to work this time.

“Can I see them, then?”

“What? Who?”

“The CLP students, silly.” Cecilia smiled, if only faintly.

“Are you sure?”

“Why not? If this is what means so much to you, I’d like to see what the big deal is.”

Aghast, I felt my mouth drop open like a frog ready to latch its tongue around a fly and have at it whole. I swallowed thickly and then smiled, truly.

“Okay, how about we head in at lunch?” I suggested.

“Sounds good.” She continued off in the other direction with a brief nod.

As I turned, a thought bloomed inside my head. “Cecilia?” I called out.


“Yeah?”

“Bring Mary with you. Please.”

“Sure thing. Glad to have you back, Case.” I felt warmth erupt inside me and spread throughout my belly. You know, that feeling you get when you realize that maybe, quite possibly, everything is going to work out just fine. I literally felt as though I was glowing inside. Perhaps my friends cared more for me than I’d ever realized. The thought sent me reeling with a pleasure I almost couldn’t contain. Though I didn’t think that I’d ever form friendships with Cecilia and Mary like the ones I had in my childhood, I hadn’t dared to hope for their understanding.

Entering the classroom, I was greeted by Kathleen who immediately handed me a pair of thin, plastic gloves, which I slipped on over my hands.

“Cutting it a bit close,” Kathleen teased me playfully.

“Real funny. I’m never late to class,” I laughed.

“I know, just kidding.”

“So, it’s recycling day, again?”

“Yeah, the weeks are flying by.” Kathleen frowned, displeased.

I remembered the first Friday I’d done recycling, and how disgusted I’d been initially. I couldn’t understand why the teachers would give such a terrible duty to the students. The work was quite gross, especially when the mainstream students tossed unfinished pop cans into the bins. Flies would gather in the drinks, and worse, sometimes gum was stuck to the lids, which, of course, had to be diligently torn off and thrown into the garbage bins. I couldn’t help but feel that making the students perform some of the most unwanted tasks was both degrading and isolating. It was like saying, ‘Yeah, these kids can clean up the messes of the mainstream students.’ It wasn’t fair.

Gradually, I’d come to look at the scenario with a different perspective, one that I could accept. The students I saw everyday were like garbage men and women. These kids had a difficult and dirty duty, but it was also a respected job. I could only imagine what the public’s response would be like if the garbage collectors didn’t come to pick up the trash. It’s not a job that people want, but it’s necessary for people to move on with their day. Like an ecosystem, remove one small animal and the system collapses in on itself.

Every job, large or small, was important. People just had to look a bit more closely to see the value. Not only were the students being respectable recycling collectors, but they were also learning how to be members of a community, one built on the foundation of teamwork. Co-operation was hard to come by these days. I was proud of the way the students worked together so easily, assisting one another without having to be asked. It was almost as if the students silently understood each other’s weaknesses.

“Coming, Case?” Kathleen asked suddenly, her words shattering my thoughts.

“Right,” I responded and then passed through the rooms of the classroom, deftly searching for my group of students, and finding them all exactly where I’d figured. I had really begun to understand all of the students’ personalities to a tea. Kyle and Jasmine were seated at their desks near the front of the classroom; Jamie was in the puzzle-filled room in the corner; and, Jake and Riley were in Mrs. McGuire’s classroom.

Kyle perked up at the sight of me and pumped his fist into the air, shouting, “Recycling day! Can crushing!” A smile spread across his face as he automatically pushed his wire-rimmed glasses back up his nose.

“Yeah,” I laughed with him. Can crushing was the boys’ favourite part of the day. Boys would be boys. The girls were a lot less thrilled at the idea, especially Amelia, who’d much rather spend all her time crushing on Carl or looking up One Direction online. I was finally getting closer to her. Amelia had a tendency to be unresponsive at times, most often when she was upset or in a poor mood. Overall, she was simply a shy girl with a taste for music. It was no wonder she and Carl were incredibly close as girlfriend and boyfriend – Carl had a love for anything musical, though Hedley was his all-time favourite. Every single time I looked over, the couples’ fingers were slid through one another’s; that is, until Mrs. Bailey caught sight of their joined hands and scolded the two furiously. That was one of the many reactions from the teachers aimed at the students that I couldn’t quite comprehend. I mean, how could hand-holding be so harmful? Tons of people I knew in my other classes were doing a lot more than what Carl and Amelia were. I’d seen teens shoving their tongues down each other’s throats, or worse, practically having at it in front of their lockers. I’d even heard rumors of first year students making out inside the double-sized lockers–talk about weird! I supposed the CLP teachers had their reasons, whatever they may have been, though I couldn’t imagine Amelia or Carl doing anything besides touching each other’s hands.

I managed to gather up my group of students. It wasn’t difficult to get them rearing to go. Each of them had come to love the task, especially Jake. He’d taught me so much about recycling, it was almost embarrassing. He knew exactly what was–and was not–recycling material.

“Is everyone ready?” I asked, hiking my gloves up higher over my wrists.

“My glove won’t go on,” Riley spoke up, struggling to put the glove on her right hand. My heart went out to the girl. She had a disorder where the left side of her body was paralyzed so that her arm was permanently standing out horizontally up to the elbow, where her forearm then came up vertically. Her fingers were shaped in a claw-like position, one that made me wonder if they hurt, though I’d never had the courage to ask. Before I could walk over to Riley, Jake set down one of his crutches and took her hand in his.

“I’ll help, Riley.” Jake was quick, and Riley immediately thanked him while fingering her brown braids out of habit. They were close friends.

“No problem,” Jake smiled, and then he hitched his crutches under his arms.

With my crew ready, we headed into the hallway and treaded carefully up the stairs to the second-level, Jasmine’s small hand in mine. I squeezed it gently every so often; the action made her smile and it made me feel special, like I was needed.

As soon as we were in the Janitor’s room, where the huge blue recycling bins were housed, Jamie ran over to fist his hands around the handle of one of the bins. “I’ll push,” he said, absolutely determined to do his job well.

“Okay, but remember that Kyle gets a turn, too.” Jamie didn’t say a word. It was always a struggle to get him to give up what he loved, and it hurt me as well. One time, he’d cried. It’d been almost unbearable to watch, but he was getting better at understanding what sharing entailed.

Our roles were so ingrained by then that I was nearly, but not quite, unnecessary. Jake and Riley sorted through the cans, while Kyle plucked through the paper to pull out the garbage that had been placed in the wrong bin. I oversaw the entire process and settled any squabbles over whose turn it was for what.

Eventually, we came across a classroom that had forgotten to leave out their bins. “Kyle, could you please ask Mr. Horan for his bins?” The boy nodded at me vigorously and walked into the classroom.

I suddenly felt a tug on my sweater, and looking to my side, I found Riley’s big brown eyes fixed on mine. “Riley?”

“Kyle is going to ask?”

“Yeah, I don’t see why not,” I replied, shrugging my shoulders awkwardly. Did Riley wish I’d asked her?

“Casey, he’s such a good speaker now.” Riley looked on at Kyle with admiration, and I felt my eyebrows shoot up in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“He couldn’t talk in public school. He’s been practising a lot.”

“Really, he couldn’t speak at all?” I ventured, totally aghast at the thought of a silent Kyle. He talked non-stop, usually about the farm he lived on, and the karate him and his brothers participated in.

“Not a word.” I swallowed thickly, trying to imagine a mute Kyle. I couldn’t no matter how hard I tried. So, when Kyle appeared back in the hallway with a bin in his hands, I didn’t know what to say. I was finally beginning to grasp the idea of miracles, the possibility that nothing could be something.

When I finally recovered, I touched Kyle’s shoulder gently, saying, “Thanks. I’m proud of you.” He beamed from under his glasses, his eyes going all squinty in that adorable way of his.

The next few stops at each of the classrooms were just the same as usual. We methodically disposed of the paper.

Finally, we came to our last stop for the morning. It was the art room. Being the room that it was, there were several bins of recycling for us to rummage through. Jake absolutely loved dumping the bins inside the large blue one, and Jamie was enjoying himself as he directed the cart around at Jake’s beck and call.

I didn’t notice the two girls at once, merely going about my business and making sure our job was being done right. It wasn’t until I heard the one girl’s hoarse laughter that I paused to take a listen. The pair was speaking louder. I think they had seen me eyeing them speculatively. Both were slender and tall, one a brunette and the other a blond. It was difficult to gauge how old they were, their eyes framed with heavily coated make-up and hair straightened to perfection.

Honestly, I tried to ignore them, but as they grew closer, their working mouths formed words:

“Oh, my God,” the blond squawked like a parakeet, her hand slapped across her mouth dramatically. “It’s those kids from downstairs. You know, those ones that are always yelling and acting really immature?”

I felt my jaw tighten, and I couldn’t stop myself from glancing up to get a better look of the two.

The brunette smiled with acknowledgement and then frowned nastily. “Wow, look at them hunched over the garbage. Good place for them, if I must say so. And, of course, I must. Someone has to put them in their place. If it were up to me, I’d make them go to an entirely different school–some place where I didn’t have to see them. Talk about eyesores.”

Inside my mind, I was banging against the walls and yelling at the top of my lungs. I gritted my teeth, and fisted my hands around a clump of paper furiously, trying my utmost best to keep calm.

“I know, right?” The blond chimed in mirthlessly. “I suppose someone’s got to be here to clean up the mess. It sure as hell ain’t going to be me. I mean, what else are they here for? I tell you, any more of these people, and I’d be blinded by the sight!” The Barbie doll threw back her head and laughed, hard.

Don’t get involved, Case, I’d been repeating in my head, over and over. When I saw Jamie look up at the words spoken by the girls, I felt a pang somewhere deep within my gut. I didn’t know whether he knew what they were saying, but I couldn’t stand there and watch like some silly spectator. I had to defend the people I loved.
My body reacted more quickly than my mind. I was on the blond in two seconds flat, pinning her bony little arms against the wall as the brunette shrieked animatedly for what seemed like pure effect.

“Apologize, right now!” I whispered through clenched teeth, my legs pressed up against hers, keeping her held tightly in my grip. “Take it back!” I could hear my voice as though I was underwater; the words were all muddled and they seemed so far away. Some part of my mind was telling me to just shut up, but another part wouldn’t back down.

The blond struggled weakly against me, her hands jerking beneath the pressure I had on her forearms. I hadn’t realized how strong I was. Up close, I could see that the girl was most definitely a first year, her face still childish, hiding under all of the makeup.

“I’ll scream!” she threatened, but before I could move away of my own accord, I was pried off by the brunette who had balled her hands up in the back of my sweater.

“Ugh!” I responded as I was flung backwards with a start. I hit the wall with a thud, and let out a strangled gasp as my head exploded with pain. Stars crossed my visions like little white sparks. I yelled at the brunette, clutching my head with my right hand.

“Serves you right, bitch!” The brunette smirked, hands on her hips. “Let’s get out of here, Miley.”

The blond fixed her rumpled clothes, and combed her hands through her mane of hair. Facing me dead-on, she whispered, “Touch me again and die! I’m a model you know. This is a designer sweater–you could have unraveled the whole thing with those grubby hands of yours! Go back to your loser friends, why don’t you?”

Suddenly Jake was at my side, his eyes jumping between the three of us girls until they fixed on mine. “You don’t think we’re losers, right, Casey?”

“No, never,” I replied, my voice confident and firm. Jake smiled from ear to ear.

“Should I let them have it?” Jake asked, his eyes telling me how badly he wanted a fight. I reached for his arm, gently holding it.

“No, Jake. They’re not worth our time.” It took every ounce of my being to muster up the words, but I knew they were true. A fight wouldn’t settle the invisible score. There were no points to be awarded.

“You can’t win, and you know it,” the brunette snickered, her lips pouted like a child who’d been pampered all her life. I wanted to slap her, hard. I tried to tell myself that if she had a brother or sister who was facing what the students did every day, she’d have a different mindset. It was the only explanation I had, and I needed to believe it; otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to control the ache in my fists, the desire to let out the fire burning inside my heart. How dare these girls put down my friends, the family I’d chosen? I could understand being afraid of the CLP students or even uneasy, but being outright cruel and disrespectful was an entirely different matter. I refused to put up with the shit.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Miley said. She walked off, flipping her hair over her back, and shaking her butt all the way down the hall. Suddenly, all of the students in my recycling group were next to me. If it weren’t for their pairs of eyes fixed on mine, I would have run after the girls and given them a piece of my mind, but I had to remember that I was their so-called role-model. Already, I felt so embarrassed about slamming that girl against the wall. I never behaved in such a way. I wasn’t a violent or angry person.

I didn’t realize that I was still lying on the floor from my fall until Jamie’s hand was suddenly reaching for mine. “Here,” he mouthed. I was too stunned by the gesture to disobey, my hand seeking his and interlocking with his fingers like puzzle pieces.

The world spun around me, Jamie’s face fading in and out like a camera lens. “Hold on, guys. I think I may need a minute. Sorry.” I leaned heavily against the wall, using it for support.

“Thanks for standing up for us,” Riley whispered, her voice laced with respect. I forced myself to smile for her benefit but the grin felt wrong. Yes, I’d stood up for what I believed, but did it really matter? I’d only made it worse and taught the students that fists were better than words. I hung my head with shame. When would I get this modeling thing right? Tears gathered at my eyes, and I brushed at them with my fingertips.

“Why cry?” Kyle asked with his nose scrunched up in disapproval.

“Listen, don’t ever do what I did. It wasn’t brave or right, or just. It was stupid. Plain, old stupid, okay? I’m not saying you shouldn’t stick up for what you believe in. You should–but not with violence. Use words. Promise me.”

“Karate is bad, then?” Kyle blurted out, obviously confused. I gave a small laugh, and ruffled his brown hair. I welcomed the change in subject matter with open arms.

“In general, no, karate is not bad. Using karate to get back at someone or something because you’re angry is bad.”

“That’s good, because I like karate,” Kyle beamed, striking a pose as he lashed out with his leg playfully. “I’m going to be a karate master someday.” He giggled at the thought and fisted his hands around the handle of the recycling bin.

“Well, you’ll have to practise real hard, Kyle. Are you up for the challenge?” I looked at him quizzically.

“You bet!”

“Good. Now, could you please let Jamie have a turn pushing the bin?” The boy resisted at first, his head bent forward to display his upset. “Keep your chin up. They’ll be plenty more Fridays for you to have your turn. Okay, buddy?”

Grudgingly, Kyle released the handle and moved back to let Jamie pass. I felt a smile dance across my face as I watched. At least I was doing something right. Yeah, I’d made my mistakes, the fight that happened just minutes ago being one of the greater ones, but eventually I’d figure out how to make good choices most of the time. I would learn.

“Thanks,” Jamie whispered to Kyle, and we walked on forward, the past haunting me like a twisting shadow that I couldn’t shake off; a chain I couldn’t break loose; and a nightmare I couldn’t escape. I couldn’t erase what I’d done–that was the worst part of the scenario. But I could and would do better.

I waited anxiously for Cecilia and Mary at my locker, the place we usually met for lunch, because it was the closest one to the cafeteria. I’d only been waiting for a few minutes when I interchangeably started to chew my fingernails and bite my bottom lip.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath as I felt a dribble of blood slide down my chin. I quickly brushed it off with the end of my sleeve, and shoved my hands into my jean pockets. I didn’t entirely know why I was worried. Was I afraid of my so-called friends seeing the person I was while in the CLP classroom? Did I actually care about what they thought? I guess, in a way, I did care. That was the scary part. I wanted Cecilia and Mary to like the people I shared my days with. More than their liking of the students, I wanted my friends to understand where I was coming from when I spoke about the students. I dared to believe in my friends, in their ability to accept the extraordinary.

I nearly leaped out of my skin when Mary shouted, “Hey!” from down the hall. Jeez, I hated when she drew attention to herself, and for that matter, me! Her other half, Cecilia, was right beside her, their arms linked. Under her other arm, Mary had a huge case–was it a guitar case? I nearly fell over with embarrassment as they skipped forward. What were those two going to do in the CLP classroom? I shivered internally at the thought. God, kill me now, please.

“Where’s the party at?” Mary exclaimed rodeo style, practically dancing down the hall as she swept closer and closer. You’d think that by then I would have seen practically anything from those two. Not so, I guessed.

“It’s not a party, Mary!” I scowled, absolutely furious with Cecilia. “What in the world did you tell her?” I asked angrily, my eyes like laser beams on Cecilia. She cowered slightly, and then regained her composure.

“God, Case, chill out, would you? Need a cold one?” She feigned digging in her bag for a drink and then laughed uproariously.

“I hope you’re kidding me, Cecilia!” I ran a sweaty palm across my forehead and sucked in a gulp of air. “You know what, just forget it, okay? Save us all the misery.”

Cecilia’s brows merged, and then she frowned, fidgeting with her hair. The red mane was almost down to her butt. “We’re just worried, Case. Give us a break. We don’t know what to expect. Seriously, please.”

“What about you, Mary?” I asked, still hesitant and cautious.

“I’m with her. What she said times two.” She smiled very hugely then, and hitched her case tighter under her arm. I still wasn’t buying what they were saying. “I’m being serious here, too. Well, I’m trying. Just one chance, Case–it’s all we’re asking for. If we screw up, we’ll never see each other again, deal?” I knew she was just being dramatic.

“Fine, let’s go.” I forced a small smile through my apprehension, and then pointed us in the right direction.

“Uh, Mary, what’s with the case?” I ventured as we neared the door, my heart beginning to sound like a drum. I could feel the beat everywhere, even in my fingertips, though especially in my ears.

“It’s for my third period music class, silly!” I swallowed a sigh of relief. The last thing I needed was for Mary to break out in song while I was trying to introduce them.

“One chance,” I whispered through my teeth with as much firmness as I could muster. I figured that if I put our friendship on the line, they’d smarten up, hopefully.

They made a solemn nod, and we opened the door. We had fifty minutes until lunch was over. My friends had brought their lunches with them, and I’d quickly shoved a sandwich and juice into my sweater pocket. Crossing my fingers for luck, I headed over to the kitchen located on the left and encouraged Cecilia and Mary to sit down. Most, though not all, of the chairs were already occupied with the students. Smiles of acknowledgement flooded over to me, while curious glances met the eyes of my friends.

“Hey y’all,” Mary ventured, her voice calmer and more nervous than I thought her capable, so much so that I nearly spit out my juice. I hacked for a minute and apologized for my rudeness on more than one account.

“These are my friends, Cecilia and Mary,” I explained helpfully.

Mrs. Grave’s eyes trailed over to mine and then to each girl in turn. “It’s nice to meet you both. Not many people visit during lunch . . . It gets pretty lonely at times, especially for the students. Sometimes, we take everyone to the cafeteria to get a hot lunch and mingle, but as you can likely imagine, it’s difficult.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, and bit into my sandwich. Cecilia was at my left, then Mary. To the right, I found Travis scooping up what looked like, quite honestly, baby food. I’d never seen the students eat their lunch before. “What you got there, Travis?”

“Food!” he exclaimed, misunderstanding my line of inquiry, and he shoved in another mouthful of the brown mess.

“It’s blended roast and potatoes. He has trouble managing anything that’s not chopped up into little bits or almost a liquid,” Mrs. Graves explained. I balked, hardly able to imagine such a diet.

“Well, that sucks,” Mary blurted out obnoxiously, pulling out a banana. Inside, I was screaming. It was an awfully good thing that at that moment I had a good chunk of sandwich crammed inside my mouth.

Mrs. Graves frowned with disapproval at the comment but didn’t say a word.

“I mean, for you,” Mary continued awkwardly. I think she realized then that, yeah, she’d said the wrong thing. Maybe it’d teach her to watch her mouth. “Having to blend the food and stuff all of the time.”

“It’s not really any trouble. I wouldn’t want him to choke.”

Mary nodded and fished inside her lunch pail once again. “I have a yogurt. Can he eat that?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“Do you like yogurt, lil’ buddy?” she said slowly, her words gentle and reassuring. I watched as Travis eyed the foreign food and smiled.

“Me?”

“It’s raspberry flavour.” Mary double-checked the label to be sure, and then handed the cup to the boy with a spoon, which he took gladly.

“What do you say?” Mrs. Graves inquired of Travis, her eyes questioning.

“Thank-you!”

“Good man.” She patted his back and smiled proudly. I knew exactly how she felt. Every word Travis spoke, and each step he took forward, was the result of her coaxing and effort. His successes were also her victories.

There was a silence for a few seconds, and I glanced around the room awkwardly until my eyes locked on the music case. Suddenly an idea sprung into my head.

“You know, Mary, Travis loves music too.” I almost laughed as her eyebrows shot up. I knew the feeling. “Didn’t you bring a guitar or something?” I prompted.

“Yeah, you did!” squealed Cecilia happily. She hadn’t said a word until then. Was she simply taking the students’ world in? I’d never seen her so quiet before.

“Do you know anything about the guitar . . . ?” Mary asked, her sentence hanging like a loose end.

“No, piano. Sing, too.” I watched as Mary’s eyebrows inched higher up her forehead, and I forced back a giggle.

“I mentioned Travis to you before,” I reminded her as I sealed up the bag that had contained my sandwich.

“Huh?”

“You know, at the start of the year?”

“Um, okay.” I sighed with slight annoyance. She totally didn’t recall the conversation at all! Mary continued to gape, her mouth hanging open like a door.

“Why don’t you show us this guitar of yours?” Mrs. Graves asked, her voice snapping Mary out of her reverie.

“Huh? Oh, sure thing. One minute.” The girl clumsily leaped out of her chair. She laughed quietly at herself and then hurried over to the door to grab the case she’d leaned against the adjacent wall. She towed it over and snapped the lock open.
Glancing around the table, I took in the familiar faces: Jamie over in the corner smiling at me; Carlos and Amelia to the left of him, their hands twisted together like they were born of the same tree; Kyle, his eyes locked on his chocolate bar; Jasmine at the other corner, to the right of me, sipping apple juice; and, finally, Henry, a boy I didn’t often see, at the head of the table, eating some kind of pudding. I figured the other students were in Mrs. McGuire’s classroom. I couldn’t get over how quiet the teenagers were. Could they be as nervous as Mary and Cecilia? Their fear seemed plausible.

As soon as Mary tugged out her guitar and slipped the strap over her shoulder, I heard Carlos suck in a breath of air and Travis let out a squeal of pleasure.

“Sweet!” Carl shouted, his voice trembling, both with excitement and because of his condition. His disorder was eating away at him; just a few days ago, he had had to get a new wheelchair – one that was automatic. His hands were giving up on him, and he could no longer push himself. Even thinking about the situation made my stomach squeeze. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. “That guitar is sick!”

“Why, thanks!” Mary smiled full-on, her eyes sparkling with the compliment. She stroked the surface lovingly. The guitar, I had to admit, was really quite something. Though I had little knowledge of instruments myself, I could see the beauty. The guitar itself was huge and sleek, the wood a light colour, and the sound, Mary had told me, was perfectly in tune. “Want to hold it?”
Carl’s lips turned up, and he reached out his shaking arms, his feet kicking out with a thrill he couldn’t contain. I watched silently as Mary slowly made her way to the boy’s side. I knew that this was a great step for Mary, entrusting her instrument with someone she hardly knew. He could drop the instrument very easily. One look in her eyes, and I realized that she knew the risk and didn’t care. Just like me, she saw the dream shining in the boy’s eyes, the silent wish to be the carefree boy he used to be.


The boy accepted the instrument gracefully, braced over his knees and under his arms, as Mary slipped the strap over his frail shoulder. “Thanks,” he nodded.

“It suits you–the instrument, I mean,” Cecilia suddenly piped in, her hands clasped under her chin, eyes full of wonder.

I turned my head to glance at the others and found Travis pausing, his yogurt in the air, halfway to his mouth, as his eyes locked on the guitar with interest.

“Will you sing for me?” Amelia barely whispered. When she saw that I’d noticed, she giggled shyly at her words and covered her mouth.
“Yeah, but I can’t play . . . ,” Carlos said, his head bent with disappointment.

“Sure you can,” Mary interjected cheerily. “I’ll help you. Travis, you come over here, too. You can sing with . . .” She paused thoughtfully and then eyed the boy with the guitar speculatively.

“Carlos,” I answered.

Travis finished off his yogurt and then quickly sprinted around the table to stand beside the other boy. He stood impatiently, already tapping the desk in front of him as though it were a piano.

“One second, guys. Don’t start yet,” I said, practically leaping off my chair as I made my way over to the other room and yanked out the piano, pushing it over to Travis. The boy held his hands together and let out an excited scream. “Shhh, calm down, buddy,” I said, patting his back.
Mary’s eyes lit up at the sight of her quickly forming band. I silently led Travis in front of the piano and gave his shoulders a comforting squeeze. With a quick sense of déjà vu, I saw a flashback of Kathleen doing something quite similar before. I was getting more comfortable each day.

“What song would you like to sing?” Mary inquired of Carl. I smiled to myself as I watched Carl whisper into my friend’s ear. She nodded, almost imperceptibly.

I wasn’t sure what she was intending since the guitar was still nestled in Carl’s lap. My question was answered promptly when Mary gracefully took the boy’s hand and pressed his thin fingers around a pick. They would play, together.
The notes bounced off the strings as their fingers worked as though belonging to a single hand. Travis listened with closed eyes, his hand slapping the air until he was sure he had the tune locked in his head. It was merely seconds until recognition flashed across Travis’s face and his fingers danced across the keys professionally.

Carl sang, “I took a long hard look at my life/Lost my way while I was fighting the tide . . .” His voice flowed through the room like an undulating wave, peacefully but powerfully, just like the man who’d penned the song. It was the track “Invincible,” from Hedley’s album. The song, I realized, was more than just words for Carl; they were his life. He closed his eyes as he sang, tasting every note with his senses as he continued. I noticed his voice break a couple of times, his emotions getting the best of him. I caught Amelia watching with admiration and love, her hand curling around his free one whenever his voice broke. It’s going to be okay, she seemed to be saying when she squeezed his palm.


I could feel tears brimming like hot lava behind my pupils as I listened to the music. Even Mrs. Graves’s eyes were transfixed on the scene. All of the other students were watching, too. Jamie was rocking back and forth to the beat; Jasmine moving her hands over her head like she was waving in the air. I found myself nodding along, and caught Cecilia moving out of her seat to sway to the music.

It wasn’t long before the other classroom piled in to hear what all the commotion was about. Andy walked out alongside Riley and asked, “Hey, are we having a party?” He smiled at the sound and bobbed his head along.

“I don’t see why not,” Mrs. Graves smiled. “Every day is a celebration.”

She couldn’t be more right.

Communication with my friends was so much easier after the lunch we’d spent together in the classroom. The tension between us had dissipated like evaporated water. It was like something had finally clicked, and suddenly, we had so much to discuss. I was so pleased with the way they had handled the experience in the CLP classroom, Mary especially. Cecilia, though less comfortable than Mary, felt compassion for the students as well.

What was intended to be a single outing turned out to be a daily venture. Several days throughout the week we headed over to the classroom and ate our lunch there. Sometimes Mary brought her guitar; other times we simply talked. It didn’t really matter what we did – our smiles came naturally, and they felt just right.
I’m not saying that it was all smooth sailing between my friends and the students. There were setbacks. One day, Henry became frustrated because he was having trouble walking, and he began to scream loudly. Mary had let out a terrified yelp, though to her credit, she didn’t flinch the next time it happened. Another time, Cecilia had nearly tripped over Carla who’d been standing in front of the fridge, pulling on the handle. Man, could that girl eat! We had to really watch at lunch: the girl would tip the garbage toward her and push her upper body inside, digging around for a pop can. She was a lot smarter than people gave her credit for; that’s was for sure.

My friends were even becoming acquainted with Kathleen, who stopped by for lunch ever so often. Kathleen and I were gradually becoming closer. It was almost like we could read each other’s minds and what one of us didn’t think of, the other did. We were like a pair of parents. She’d keep her eyes trained on one teenager while I focused on another. In more ways than one, we were essentially a team. I couldn’t imagine CLP class without her. I couldn’t visualize anyone else being with me every day.

***



It was on November 11th that Kathleen and I thought we had our work cut out for ourselves. How on earth would we explain war to the students–these innocent teenagers who barely knew what the world’s people were capable of? I kept my fingers crossed, just praying that the teachers would take over the lesson and merely let us watch. I knew that I was being a coward, but I just couldn’t be the one to watch their smiling faces crumple like punctured balloons. Even the thought sent a shudder through my body as I made my way down the hall to my locker, feet dragging.

I knew the usual ceremonies. Our school, Mayfield, held an assembly to celebrate the veterans who had died in their struggles to save the lives of everyone else; especially those they left behind at home. Usually a veteran or two from the Second World War would come to speak a little, and then the choir would sing out to the crowd that usually wasn’t even paying attention. It was as though people didn’t care, like they didn’t give a shit that they were blessed with a free country. Yet I’m sure these very same teenagers would be begging for some kind of resolution if they were trapped in the middle of a war. They’d be the first ones to cry out at the world and wonder, “Why me?” That’s why I felt sick every single time I entered the gymnasium on November 11th. There was nothing like having the student body be shushed by the principal whilst some student who actually did give a crap spoke out the words to “In Flander’s Fields.” Why was an event that was so incredibly important and sincere treated like a joke?

I was beginning to believe that the soldiers had really died for nothing. What was a deed if it wasn’t recognized? What was anything, for that matter, if it was ignored? I’ll tell you: that thing or action would be nothing and, of course, consequently, something that was nothing simply didn’t exist.

Boys our age and younger, and even girls, had literally thrown themselves into the line of fire so that we could breathe easily. Didn’t these people–children–deserve to be praised to the heavens? Where was our gratitude, our respect, our hearts?

I already knew that the same crap would go down this year, and I literally dreaded the ceremony. But I couldn’t think like that. I had to quiet my thoughts and focus on my work until then. Though it was anything but easy to focus with a bright red poppy over my heart, which seemed to burn through my skin with its presence.
Being the emotional train wreck I was, as soon as I passed by the CLP classroom and caught a glimpse of all the red plastered on the walls, along with the poppies clipped to the students’ shirts, my fingers had to brush back tears. Suddenly all of my fears seemed to engulf me like a raging hot fire, and I was forced to run to the bathroom.

Glancing up in the mirror, I faced my saddened expression. Honestly, I looked like a mess with my hair hanging limply at my shoulders, eyes tearing up, and my hands trembling at my sides like they weren’t connected to the rest of my body properly.

It took me several minutes to gather my thoughts. I took a deep breath and kept telling myself that I would be able to comfort the students. I’d find a way somehow. Kathleen would know what to do; she always had the answers. I pressed my lips together and quickly ran trembling fingers through my knotted hair. Once I swallowed the lump in my throat, I urged myself back to the classroom.

Kathleen was already sitting in between Kyle and Jasmine with a number of students. Her blue eyes were droopy, and her mouth was set in a firm line as she motioned for me to join them.

“Sit here,” Jamie said, patting the chair next to him. I didn’t say anything; my thoughts were already teasing the borders of unconquered fears. I couldn’t imagine Jamie’s response to the lesson. My jaw clenched, and I curled my hands into fists so Kathleen couldn’t see my fingers twitching. Misunderstanding my reaction, Jamie added softly, “please.” The two hazel pools, which matched mine entirely, carried a tentative but also pleading expression. Before I could speak, the anxious teenage boy began to rock his body back and forth in his plastic chair, a compulsive motion that usually soothed him.

I forced a smile, acquiesced, and found my seat. Jasmine was on my right side. Within seconds, she linked her arm through mine and rested her head against my shoulder. I could feel the brace on one of her legs pressed against my own leg. She glanced up at me with her small, porcelain face and smiled.

Before I asked what the plan was, Kathleen dragged herself out of her chair and shuffled over to the Smart Board at the front of the classroom. My heart plummeted as if I’d tossed myself out of a building when I realized that Kathleen and I were on our own for the lesson.

There were no unoccupied teachers who could assist us. With flushed cheeks, I observed Kathleen. She shouldn’t do this presentation alone. With a start, I darted toward the front of the large room to step beside the slender girl. I caught a faint smile on her lips as she nodded at me with relief.

Wetting her lips, Kathleen took a shuddering breath and said, “As you all likely know, today is Remembrance Day. It’s a day of sorrow, love, appreciation, and, most significantly, remembrance. In the twentieth century, men and women of all nationalities and ages–though most were quite young–came together to fight for our country, Canada. It was–”

“Why?” Jamie interrupted, his head tilted to the side with utter confusion as wrinkles formed on his forehead and his brows furrowed. A sudden pang pinched the depths of my stomach. His eyes demanded an answer from me.

Taken aback, I stood stock still for several seconds, grappling for the right words, until suddenly, they struck me like lightning: “Sometimes people don’t get along, and people have to fight to save what they believe in, Jamie. Usually disagreements can be settled peacefully, but sometimes there’s no easy answer. When people become angry and feel threatened, they attack and struggle for something to hold onto–often their families.” The words seemed to flow from my lips like a fountain, the sentences coming together of their own accord. I had no idea where they came from. I looked at Jamie to measure his reaction. His eyes were vacant, as though he had escaped to a secret place.

Kathleen glanced at me and continued speaking hesitantly. “It was both the most terrifying and extraordinary event the world had ever seen. People were ripped away from their homes and families, and, at the same time, people came together. People worked toward mutual goals while confirming their belief as a nation.” Kathleen paused, fidgeted with her ponytail, and gazed at the high school students to see if they were attentive.

Curious, I dragged my eyes across the sea of faces. Most of the students were staring blankly ahead. However, I did think that a few students, such as Kyle, had some grasp of the concept. Peering closely at the boy, I found his lips pursed into an “O” shape. He characteristically slid his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and moved closer to his friend, Jasmine. There was no way to know if what Kathleen was saying had sunk meaningfully into the students’ minds.

Kathleen released a shaky cough and then continued, “Mrs. Bailey gave us a video for you to watch. The tape shows people’s experiences of war. I know it’s scary, so if you feel upset you may leave the room. You won’t get into trouble.”

I felt my jaw drop. A video? I prayed silently that it wasn’t the one we watched every year in the gymnasium, because that video was graphic and intense. More often than not, I wiped away the tears falling down with the bodies on the screen. I couldn’t take the blood. The way the liquid shot out, so uncontrollably quickly. Fear crawled up and down my back as sweat saturated my skin. At the sight of the men and women racing forward amid the flying bullets, I doubled over. It was as if I was there, living the moment alongside them. My heart also became a bright pulsing flame that refused to be smothered by the onslaught of pandemonium.
My body quaked, but there was nothing I could do or say. For all I knew, it could be a different film. I hoped it was toned-down. Perhaps the barriers of light and time created by the video would prevent the students from forming an emotional connection. However, images were a lot more vivid than spoken words. Words could be ignored, but pictures were always in people’s faces, screaming for attention, and often people couldn’t look away.
The images erupted across the Smart Board. I took a seat next to Jamie and sucked in a breath. Shots rang out as soldiers plodded forward through the sludge. Their bodies were covered with debris as they hurtled over severed limbs, which lay dead on the ground. Friends leaped in front of each other, taking bullets that seared through their skin like white-hot fire as blood spilled out in streams. The sky poured tears of despair. One after another, people fell like broken angels. Their bodies twitched until they remained motionless. The dead were blown apart by bombshells. Their bodies smacked hard against the soldiers behind them. People clutched at their bodies and prayed that the blood drenching their clothes wasn’t their own.
The flashing glare threw ghastly images across the walls of the classroom as the startling sounds from the speakers exploded inside my ears. I pulled my eyes away from the Smart Board to squeeze them shut as I tried to calm down. When I finally dared to open my eyes again, my breath hitched in my throat as if a bullet was lodged inside. I could feel my mouth open as my eyes widened. Jamie gazed on at the screen with an understanding I could hardly comprehend. The images fixated his gaze. Every shot from the guns reflected in his hazel eyes as they shrunk at the sound. His body jerked back as though he was struck. The film’s depictions were invading the room as if the soldiers had pushed through the thin screen to enter the present.

I didn’t want to believe he could grasp the reality that people were dying before his eyes, because I didn’t want him to be hurt. But the truth was as clear as an empty glass. He understood it all. Tears beaded in the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t brush them away. Instead, he spoke: “Dying–” he said. His voice cracked. “People fighting–it’s sad.” He wasn’t looking at me while he spoke. His gaze remained ensnared by the flickering black-and-white screen.

I cried soundlessly. I’d realized that I could cry. It was okay, because the people around me also understood. Although the others weren’t crying, I could see the despair on their faces. Their eyes trembled like pulsing seas. Isn’t it human nature to cry when your own kind are being killed? These people–students with disabilities–seemed to be more attentive to their own feelings than the teenagers in the mainstream student body. Maybe they were less intellectually inclined and perhaps they were physically less capable, but what did that matter in the grand scheme of life? Mrs. Maureen had been right. There was so much we could learn from people who faced difficulties in their lives.
I often hear the saying that humans are the greatest beings on planet Earth. We’re supposed to be such incredible creatures, because we can actually communicate through language. What is the point of us having tongues if we don’t convey what gnaws inside us?

Yet, among these dark thoughts, there was a fervent light peeking at me–Jamie. The boy’s bright eyes were glassy with the enormity of what he’d witnessed. His head shook slightly, almost as though he wanted to forget. I reached out my hand to his and he curled his shaking fingers tightly around mine with a grim, almost imperceptible nod.

After seeing the reactions of the CLP students in response to Remembrance Day, and having to compare it with the bored expressions of the other students in the gymnasium, I could only confirm what I’d begun to see. It became painfully apparent that the situation wasn’t changing; the mainstream students were just becoming increasingly oblivious to the trials and tribulations of others, including those involved in past wars. If they weren’t individually affected by another’s troubles and these troubles weren’t in the present, well, they refused to care. I couldn’t understand the reasoning behind their ignorance and lack of recognition.

I was still mulling over my thoughts as I hastened down the hallway to the CLP classroom the next day. I was irritated with everyone and everything, terribly agitated by what I’d seen–actually, more like by what I hadn’t seen. Was everyone forgetting what it was like to actually feel for another human being, someone besides themselves? When had this all begun?

Clasping the cool metal bar that opened the classroom door, I signed heavily and forced myself to quiet the distilling thoughts that were madly tearing at my mind. I wasn’t even in the classroom for five minutes when I heard a commotion outside in the hallway–a sharp banging sound. I turned my head to find a tall figure approaching the door in a mad rush.

The person was Jake. “There’s been an accident!” The boy shouted through the doorway, his voice so loud and strained the tendons in his neck were big and ropy. Accident? I felt my breath whoosh out of me like someone had reached their hand down my throat and fisted their fingers around my windpipe, hard.

Thoughts racing once again, I demanded, “Show me, right now!” Jake motioned to follow him with his hand. “No, one second,” I mouthed at him as I pelted into the CLP office room and then shouted, “Mrs. Bailey!”

“Not now, dear.” From behind her, I could see that she had a phone piece jammed in her ear. God, did she ever put that stupid thing away? There wasn’t any time!

“It can’t wait!”

“What could be so . . . ?” Mrs. Bailey paused as she took in what was probably my pale face and trembling hands. “I have to go,” she whispered hurriedly into the speaker and then tugged the piece out of her ear.

“One of the kids is hurt,” I explained, my nerves coiling up inside me as painful images exploded inside my mind: Riley, trembling on the floor from one of her seizures; Carla, trapped inside an open elevator; or worse, Carl, falling out of his chair. The possibilities were endless. I chewed the inside of my cheek, forcing myself not to scream at the thoughts chasing around each other inside my head.

Mrs. Bailey gave me a quick nod, and together we sped out of the classroom without saying another word. Speech escaped us as we followed Jake, hardly able to keep up with the boy despite his being on crutches. I realized absently that he was more of a man really, his face already rough with hair and his upper body strong and powerful. It was about time that I began to see the students as equals in every right. I wasn’t above him just because I was his Peer Supporter–not in the least. He deserved more credit than what I was giving him. The guy was twenty years old!

All I could hear was our panting breaths and the loud drum of my ears as I pumped my arms, trying to move more quickly. I felt as though I was moving through quicksand, like time had slowed to a crawl. We were halfway down the hall when Mrs. Bailey hung a sudden left and I nearly fell into her. Her body was ramrod-straight. She sucked in a despairing breath.

My mouth went dry as my eyes locked on a small body lying crumpled on the stairs above me, the girl’s limbs small and thin. I recognized the shock of shoulder-length black hair like my own face.

Jasmine.

I was on the stairs, feet pounding with urgency as I fell down beside her and took Jasmine’s hand. She flinched at my touch as though I were someone else–like I was a stranger. Then she screamed, and her voice was ragged and breathless. I jumped back as though I’d been slapped, too shocked to say anything.

Sweat beaded on her forehead in streams, tumbling into her hair and forming thick rivulets. Her legs were shaking and she reached for them, almost instinctively, with both of her tiny ivory hands.

I realized instantly what the repercussions of a fall could mean for her, especially if she didn’t get care quickly enough. Jasmine could permanently be stuck in a wheelchair–like Carl–or worse. But I couldn’t think in such a way. I needed to be brave for her.

So without deliberation, I reached for her again, my fingers a breath away. Before I could touch her, she yelled out again and turned away from me to shield her body.

Sadness washed over me like an ice bucket tossed into my face. I told myself that I shouldn’t cry at being rejected, but I did cry. Why wouldn’t she let me near her?

“It’s not your fault,” a voice choked out from somewhere above me. Kathleen. “It’s mine.” She was seated a few steps above us, her hands clutching the rails desperately, trying to hold onto something as she looked on at the shaken girl. Kathleen’s eyes were full of tears, her cheeks reddened from her sobbing. I’d been so overwhelmed that I hadn’t even noticed my class partner. I could hardly believe that Kathleen, the girl who always knew what to do, was breaking down. What were we ever going to do?

“Mom! I want my Mommy!” Jasmine hollered; her face twisted into a mask of agony, her legs trembling violently. Tears poured out of her eyes like rain as lightning bolts of pain seared through her.

“Honey, it’s going to be okay,” Mrs. Bailey reassured, coming up beside me on all fours so that she was eye-level with Jasmine.

“No!”

“We’re going to call your Mom, sweetheart. But first we have to get you out of here, okay? Can you let us help you?” Jasmine shook her head with disapproval, her eyes widened with pain and fear. She looked so small and incredibly weak, her body covered with braces and her face sunken in like she’d been punched repeatedly.

I tried to think, but I couldn’t gather my thoughts properly. It was almost like I was incapable of thought, my vision filled with Jasmine and her pain. Time seemed to elapse for hours, every minute stretching into the next. Mrs. Bailey continuously tried to coax the girl into a state of relaxation, whispering words of comfort. Nothing seemed to be working very well. The students’ teacher heaved a huge sigh and began to search for the best way to get her arms around Jasmine.
Finally resolute, Mrs. Bailey shouted a command to me, her voice in control: “Go get Mrs. Graves, Casey. Now! I can’t carry her myself.”
I was only too pleased to leave, and yeah, I felt ashamed of my feelings, but every scream tore through my heart like a knife stuck through my chest. I pounded the ground with my feet, putting distance between the tortured cries and me.
Mother . . . I want my Mom! The words were my own, inside my mind, but I heard Jasmine’s lisping voice shout them. I realized then, with a startled sound, that in the same position I would have yelled for exactly the same person, and the truth shattered any lingering doubt I had about how alike all people were.

I’m going to get you to your Mom, Jasmine. I swear if it’s the last thing I do.

“Mrs. Graves! Mrs. Bailey needs you!” I screamed the words through my tears, tasting salt in my mouth. The younger woman followed me close on my heels, her breath shaky and loud. She hadn’t said a word, her eyes seeing all she needed to know in my own.

It took both women, Kathleen, and I, to manage Jasmine safely down the steps. While the women carried Jasmine, we brought up the front and rear, watching closely to make sure no one fell.

Once we were back on flat ground, I ran back to grab Henry’s extra stroller so Jasmine could be pushed back into the classroom without jostling her too much. She’d begun to calm down, her tears the only reminder of what had passed. When I attempted to hold her hand again, while she was seated at her desk, she took it gladly and squeezed hard. I knew that I hadn’t done anything wrong the first time; her pain had made her fearful. Though her initial reaction towards me still hurt, I knew that I couldn’t imagine what she’d gone through.

“What happened?” I finally managed to ask Kathleen. My Peer Supporter partner placed a juice box into Jasmine’s hand and took a seat diagonal from me. Kathleen slapped her hands over her face and let out a quiet sob as her shoulders heaved. When she took her hands away, her eyes were red-rimmed again, her blue eyes trembling with uncertainty.

“We were collecting attendance when suddenly she just fell, like her leg gave out or something. Her hand was in mine, so I felt it right away–the jerk. I broke some of her fall but not enough . . . It’s my fault! I should have held her more tightly, been paying more attention–something!” She took in a strangled breath, and then buried her head in her arms on the desk.
I curled my fingers around her arm gently. “You can’t blame yourself, Kathleen! Please, don’t. You couldn’t have known what would happen!”

“It doesn’t matter, don’t you see? It did happen, and I was unprepared! How will her parents ever forgive me?”

I was in complete shock. What was there to be forgiven? Kathleen had tried her best to help Jasmine, to save her from the fall. Could Jasmine’s parents really blame Kathleen? Surely the school itself would be held accountable, I reasoned. To be honest though, I really had no clue.

“It’s going to be all right, Kathleen. Seriously, just take deep breaths. Jasmine might get upset if she continues to see you like this.”

Kathleen nodded her head with resignation; she wiped away the last of her tears like they were dirty cobwebs formed over her eyes. She took a shuddering breath and smiled weakly. Jasmine returned a small, almost imperceptible smile and whispered, “Me okay.”

My partner brightened at the word, though only fleetingly, for suddenly we both heard the main door swing open with a thunderous bang. Jasmine’s parents had arrived.

It turned out that only her father had made it to the school; her mother had not picked up her cell at her workplace and the former wore a beeper that could easily be paged. Her father was tall and lean with a cropped cut of grey hair. The middle-aged man was at his daughter’s side within a heartbeat, his arms wrapped around her in a tight hug as tears pricked at his eyes.

“My baby girl,” he whispered, and Jasmine cried softly against him, overcome with emotion. Her fingers were fisted tightly into her father’s jacket, hair plastered against his cheek as she leaned her head over his shoulder. For several moments, the two clutched onto each other; him kneeling on the floor and Jasmine nestled in Henry’s chair like a small, beautiful bird.

When he let go, he meticulously inspected Jasmine’s legs, moving them gently in varying degrees to gauge her injury. His blue eyes were both thoughtful and hard at the same time. He relaxed slightly after his inspection, the tightness in his shoulders loosening. Jasmine smiled up at her father with the pleasure of simply seeing him, though she did ask if her mother was coming.

“Sorry, honey. Mommy’s at work, and I think you’ll be all right. To be sure, I’ll take the day off and we’ll go to the doctors. Is that okay, sweetie?” The man raised his brows in question, honestly asking for her consent. I was bewildered by the way he spoke to her. He was gentle and kind, and yet also respectful and understanding. I knew that she couldn’t have a better father to take care of her.

When he finally turned away from Jasmine, I heard Kathleen swallow hard with nervousness, like she was desperately trying to submerge a large object that had been lodged in her throat.

Before she could utter any form of apology, Mrs. Bailey appeared in front of Jasmine’s father to say, “Why don’t you come into my office?”

Looking into the man’s eyes, I knew that he was not one to lay blame, especially when it was not justly do. Seeing him face-on, I noticed the bags that had gathered under his eyes like blooming purples bruises and the frailness of his frame. He looked so old with the premature wrinkles on his face and the way his knees bent forward ever so slightly when he stood, almost as if he was carrying something on his back or an invisible finger was pressing against him from behind.

I figured it couldn’t be easy having a child with a life that was hanging so precariously. Stress clearly filled his waking and dreaming life, but he bore the weight with a hidden strength. His eyes were determined, focused on the future. Jasmine’s father’s life was written in those eyes.

He pinched his nose with his forefinger and thumb. Then he closed his eyes briefly. “Yes.” He heaved a heavy sigh. The man took his daughter’s fingers in his hand for a moment and kissed her cheek. Then he followed Mrs. Bailey into the other room, his feet dragging with fatigue.

I cocked my head to the side to find Kathleen staring back at me wide-eyed. “Mrs. Bailey will have to tell him everything. Then he will hate me.” She shuddered at the thought and then ran shaking fingers through her hair to tighten the elastic of her ponytail.

Chewing my bottom lip in thought, I said, “I don’t know, Kathleen. He doesn’t seem like the type.” The girl considered my words hopefully, and somewhat reassured, she turned to Jasmine to help with her juice and try to make her laugh. I knew she was struggling to hold on to her sanity and not freak out, feebly trying to blot out what had happened. I was, too.

It was some time, though I couldn’t say how long for certain, when Jasmine’s father entered the room once more. His eyes darted over to us two girls, and I immediately saw Kathleen stiffen like a board.

“Which one of you is Kathleen?”

I was all at once frightened for Kathleen, watching her lips tremble and hands fist together. “Me,” she whispered, her head bowed.

“You saved my daughter’s life.”

Kathleen’s mouth fell open as her eyes widened, startled. She quickly regained her composure and clamped her mouth shut. “I don’t think you quite understand,” she began thoughtfully, her eyes avoiding his.

“Are you not the girl who held onto Jasmine’s hand even as she buckled beneath you, breaking her fall? Are you not the girl who sent Jake to find help? Are you not the girl to stay by my daughter’s side?”

Kathleen swallowed thickly. “I–,” she began, wetting her lips.

“You’re a hero,” Jasmine’s father said simply.

Kathleen was absolutely flabbergasted. She didn’t believe herself to be a hero. The girl stared blankly back at Jasmine’s father, her hands shaky with a lingering fear.

“I don’t know how to repay you. All I can really say is thank-you. Thanks for being there for my baby.” The man’s voice hitched on the last word, and I saw him struggle to hold back tears that threatened to overwhelm him. He obviously knew that his daughter was never completely safe, but still he couldn’t shake the terrifying thought of actually losing her. She was his everything.

“I’m glad she’s all right,” Kathleen managed to squeak; she looked at her toes with a shyness I hadn’t thought her capable of having.

Though I must admit that I’d been jealous of Kathleen in the past, I wasn’t envious of her being titled as a hero. She really was brave and strong. I couldn’t deny that she was a better Peer Supporter than me, and that was okay. I knew that I still had so much to learn, and I was more than willing to be patient. Yes, I was growing, like a small plant that had finally taken root, and I was starting to believe that I could be the person I dreamt of becoming.
The sun was in my view; all I had to do was reach towards its burning light.

“Are you Casey?” Jasmine’s father suddenly inquired of me, his voice snapping me out of my reverie.

“Yes.”

“Mrs. Bailey said you helped, too, so I’d like to say thanks to you as well. You both were amazing.”
I felt my cheeks redden like bright tomatoes, and I shoved back a loose strand of wavy hair with nervous fingers.

“It was all Kathleen, really.” My words spoke the truth, and I wanted Kathleen to hear it. The poor girl was so distressed; you could blow in her direction and she’d bend like a strand of grass. I figured it was the after-effects of the accident that were getting to her, but I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps I’d made her feel worse by drawing further attention to her.

The man said nothing; he only gave a hesitant smile and placed a hand on each of our shoulders. Finally, he whispered, “Thank-you” one last time, and then with a slow nod he turned around to leave.

“Bye,” Jasmine cried out to Kathleen and I as her father pushed her out of the classroom and into the main hallway. I gave Jasmine a quick wave and wished her well at the doctors. Though I tried to sound positive for the girl’s sake, I couldn’t ignore the sickness that clutched at my stomach with invisible hands. Would she be okay? I hoped–prayed–that the doctor’s inspection would prove just as positive as the one her father had quickly performed.

I caught Kathleen heaving a sigh as I turned back towards her. Her hands were fisted about the edge of a desktop, knuckles bone-white as she leaned her back against it.

“I hate Mondays,” she said, laughing awkwardly at the end of her sentence and shaking her head disapprovingly.

“Yeah, I can’t argue with that.”

“I feel so exhausted already; I’ll be no use today.”

“Why don’t we do something different?”

Kathleen arched a brown eyebrow and gave me a confused look.

“Let’s do something fun with the students. I’m sure they’re all tired of practicing writing their names and doing puzzles. I mean, wouldn’t you become annoyed with having to do the same stuff every day?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t bring any activities with me today.” She was referring to the colouring pages, word searches, crosswords, and toys we brought in for our monthly assignment. Mrs. Maureen would come in to the classroom to see how much planning we’d done and how well we interacted with the students. Then we were graded based on these observations. We’d already had our last activity day for the semester.

“That’s okay . . .
Why don’t we take them outside for some fresh air? Maybe it would do us all some good.”

“I’d like that, very much.” Kathleen smiled at me, her eyes telling me just how grateful she was for my understanding.

Mrs. Bailey grudgingly agreed to my plan, though she warned me that I’d have to pay close attention to any ice patches outside as the grounds were covered with snow.

“Only take a few students,” she had conceded, her fingers at her head, kneading at the wrinkles forming there. She must have had a killer headache, and I could just imagine how badly she needed us to lighten her load of responsibilities.

When I entered the so-called “lower functioning” room, Kathleen was already gathering up a group of students to follow her outside. Travis, Braden, Kyle, Cara, Henry, and Jamie were all gazing at us with interest.

“Get your coats on everyone! We’re going to make snowman!” I proclaimed, forcing excitement to flood the room. It wasn’t like I was trying to erase what had happened that morning, because I wasn’t. No, I was trying to make the best of a terrible situation. I was trying to celebrate the lives standing before me so miraculously.

“Snowman?” I heard a voice call out in wonder. Jamie moved forward toward me, his eyes questioning.

“Come, I’ll show you,” I whispered, my arm outstretched. His hand found mine without hesitation, a smile turning up his soft lips as dimples pinched his cheeks.

“For Jasmine?” he asked.

“Yes, we will show her tomorrow.”

Kathleen and I dug around in the fridge for a carrot to make a nose and then headed to the storage room to grab a container of buttons, finding Mrs. Graves sifting through some toys. We quickly informed her of our planned venture. She was still shaking a bit from the incident, but she was more than eager to come with us to get her mind off what had happened.

“There is too much pain in this world,” she whispered. “We have to balance it out with joy.”

We were outside quite quickly, with Mrs. Grave’s help. The students were bundled up with coats, snow pants, hats, gloves, and all. The students looked like they’d gained weight with all of the extra padding. They were all thrilled to be going outside; hoots of contentment and laughter soared through the hallway like free birds.

“Outside,” Braden said, while tugging on a blue Maple Leafs hat, his eyes so focused I had to look twice to be sure I’d seen them correctly.

“Yes,” I said with an encouraging smile.

It was quite cold outside; snow sheeted the ground like a big white carpet. The yard really did look like the clichéd Winter Wonderland; the back row of trees were painted white and the field was barely recognizable with all of its markings covered in the cotton-white clumps of snow. There was a slight breeze, the wind’s breath slapping our backs occasionally, like a gentle push forward.

Kyle was the first to explode with happiness, jumping through the high snow as though he were a frog. Kathleen raced after him, laughing hard.

Even Henry seemed pleased, his hands clutching at each other as he yelled out to his teacher. “We’ve got work to do,” Mrs. Graves told the boy, whispering in his ear. The teacher fell to her knees, working a hunk of snow into a ball. She continued until the ball was half Henry’s height. “You can do it,” she said to him.

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, and I couldn’t stop myself from being surprised by the intelligence I found buried within his eyes, the complete understanding he possessed. With both hands, he pushed alongside Mrs. Graves, crying out simultaneously, but for once, not with pain or frustration. Henry was happy.

A giggle sounded from behind me. I turned to find Jamie bent over laughing, his hands fisted around his stomach. “Carla!” he said, and he toppled onto the ground in a fit, landing on his bottom with a thud.

“Carla!” It was my turn to call out her name. The girl was seated on the snow, her hands holding balls of snow that she was shoving into her mouth delightfully. “You can’t eat that!” I scolded her playfully as she landed another handful in her mouth. She looked like she was in heaven, her eyes crinkling as unintelligible words passed through her mouth. “Seriously!” I reinforced, though I was undeniably laughing inside my head.

Kathleen pulled Carla up from the ground and handed her a carrot. “Try this, sweetie.” Carla’s fingers latched onto the bright orange vegetable; she sucked on it for a minute before biting off a chunk and chewing.

It was a few minutes before Jamie was able to calm down enough to stand upright without falling back down. “Help me?” he asked finally, his hands reaching towards the ground.

“Sure.” Together we urged a clump of snow to grow, pushing it along the field, and leaving a trail of green behind us.

“Magic,” the boy said fondly. “The snow gets bigger.” He spread his arms wide and smiled.

“It’s packing snow, Jamie,” I tried to explain, struggling against the size of the ball. Ours was huge!

“No, magic,” he argued, his arms folded across his chest with resolution.

“Kind of,” I amended thoughtfully, leaning my weight forward as we hauled the gigantic mass next to Henry’s smaller one.

“It is,” the boy insisted, his words clipped.

I said nothing, thinking to myself. Maybe he was right. Snow did have a magical quality that many people didn’t always see. The fluffy stuff seemed to cleanse the world, covering the land like a blanket, and bearing a silent promise: the return of spring.

Suddenly, everything seemed to be all right; I was surrounded by friends and standing in snow that glittered like a thousand stars in a night sky. In that moment, alongside Jamie, I felt like anything was possible, as though the world was our snow globe and all we had to do was hold it tightly in the palms of our hands without letting go. Only I would have to let go, eventually. God, it was already December. The semester was practically over, along with my adventures with the people I’d come to love. The sudden realization caused me to worry at my bottom lip, my eyes to trap on Jamie’s as he shoved Henry’s snowball on top of ours.

I didn’t want to let go. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to focus on the present. It wasn’t easy to forget these terrible thoughts, but I decided to put them off–at least for a while. There is time, I told myself silently, but some part of me knew that, like all things, this life with these people would end. Life itself was impermanent. Nothing ever stayed the same in this world and the reality was horrifying. I couldn’t accept it.

“Here’s the head,” Kathleen said, her voice jarring me from my thoughts. She was giving a ball of snow to Kyle to place on top of Henry’s. Shaking my head, I entered back into the present once again, and I helped the students pat the snow together. Travis leaped forward and snuck in front of me to push in a row of coloured buttons, just as Braden expertly pressed a carrot nose into the centre of the head. I watched as Mrs. Graves hoisted Carla up to form a button mouth that grinned back at us with a huge smile.

“Just the eyes now,” I whispered, glancing in awe of our snowman. It was absolutely amazing, so tall and round. I felt a strange sense of pride erupt inside me as I saw Jamie step forward to add two blue button eyes.

“Like this?” he asked, turning towards me. He smacked his hands together to get the snow off and then glanced at me once more, his eyes almost demanding approval.

“Yes, it’s perfect.” He broke into a huge, dimpled grin and then glanced at the ground, suddenly shy.

“I’ve never done this before.”

I swallowed thickly, my heart thudding. I loved how I’d given him something that he wouldn’t experience any other way. It wasn’t fair for him not to have the same opportunities as other people. I’d been making snowmen since I was small–I couldn’t imagine not knowing how to make one. I wondered what else he’d missed in his life. I liked to think that I understood him better than I actually did. It wasn’t like I went home with him after school. I’d never been to a group home. He talked about “staff,” not “family.” We lived in two different worlds, despite what I wanted to believe.

“Now you have, and you can make more if you like.”

The boy grinned at the thought and then paused, thinking. Before I could say anything more, he fell to the ground and picked up a hunk of snow, fisting it into a ball between his palms.
“What are . . . ?” I began, though I was cut off by a whirl of snow that slammed against my stomach. I reeled back with surprise.

“Jamie!” Mrs. Graves exclaimed, her brows drawing together.

“Gotcha!” Jamie shouted, his hands reaching for another clump of snow already.

“Don’t you dare pick that up!” Mrs. Graves demanded harshly. “Someone could get hurt! You know the rules!”

“It’s okay,” I claimed. “He’s just playing.”

“Casey, I don’t know if this is a good idea . . .”

“You only live once. Can we really deny the students the freedom to be kids?”

“I–” Mrs. Graves looked at me, turning over my words thoughtfully. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt . . . Just not big snowballs.”

Those words were all Jamie needed to start flinging snowballs at me. I pivoted away from the onslaught and ducked behind the snowman for cover, knowing that Jamie would steer clear of our creation. Kyle got the same idea, and he leaped to the ground beside me.

“Jack and I used to do this,” he giggled, shoving his glasses up his small nose. He peeked around the snowman to glance at Travis, who had joined Jamie in tossing the snow. Carla was taking a beating; she didn’t seem to mind, seeing how some of the snow dove into her mouth.

The snowball fight didn’t truly get underway until Mrs. Graves finally got struck by the weapon and fell behind the snowman as well. She began to laugh hysterically. It was then that the three of us strategized against our opponents, leaping out all at once and tackling with an entourage of snow. Jamie’s eyes became marbles; Travis yelled out in surprise; and Carla face-planted in the snow. Kathleen and Braden were the only people who managed to dodge the attacks.

It was some time before we all fell onto our backs with fatigue. Glancing around, I could see more green than white. So much snow had been hurtled that the field was beginning to look like a field again. It was depressing.

“I guess we should get back inside, before Mrs. Bailey storms out here,” Kathleen whispered beside me, her breath forming small rings in the air.

“Do we have to?” I heard Jamie utter from someplace close.

“I’m afraid so, buddy,” I responded, gazing up into the gray, cloudless sky. “Don’t worry; the snow will be around for a while.”

“Will we do this next year?” Kyle ventured.

I swallowed hard, caught off guard by the question. Not with me, I thought to myself sadly. Would future CLP Peer Supporters take the teens outside? I didn’t want to think that far ahead; it was too hard to entrust my friends with strangers. I didn’t want to share them with anyone. I knew I was being selfish, and I didn’t care.

“Maybe,” I said. It was all I could trust myself to say. I wasn’t in the mood to ruin our time outside by having to explain what had been nagging at me for the past hour or so. Besides, Kyle seemed satisfied with the answer; he said nothing more. He simply shoved his arms behind his head, eyes on the canvas above.

“Why ‘maybe’?” Jamie asked, turning his head to face me, his big brown eyes burning twin holes through mine.

This honestly can’t be happening, I thought to myself, hands hiding my face like a child. Why was life so cruel? Moreover, why was I being so selfish? Jamie had hardly anyone or anything to call his home, and there I was stepping into his life, knowing that I’d have to walk back out. I should have been thinking about the feelings of the people around me instead of my own. God, I hardly knew how to explain the fact that I spent time with him because I was in a course, and that because the class was over, I wouldn’t be able to see him anymore. That would make it seem like I’d spent time with him simply because it was my duty. Maybe that had been the case originally, but it had become a choice. I wanted to be here.

I couldn’t hurt him; it would be too painful. None of the students deserved to be treated poorly, but I couldn’t erase the fact that this time we had together would inevitably end, and it would be my fault. I would have to walk away from what I’d started. Sure, tons of past CLP Peer Supporters had been forced to do the same thing, but I knew by the wrenching pain gripping my stomach that I would feel guilty. So many of the students wouldn’t understand why I was no longer in their classroom. I would cause every single one of them pain. I didn’t want to bear that burden on my sleeve, but I had to own to what I’d set everyone–including myself–up to. The situation would be anything but easy. I realized then that the least I could do was give a reasonable explanation. Not at the moment, but before I was gone.

“Casey?”

I locked my gaze on Jamie’s, my eyes tracing the trail of freckles across his face as I whispered, “I won’t always be here.” My voice came out so quietly, I wasn’t even sure he hear it–at least until I saw him leap to his feet, brush off his pants, and jog back to the school, slamming the door behind him.

The bang seemed to rattle the bones in my body, and I shivered at the emotion packed behind the strength of his thrust against the door. He hates me now.

“Jamie!” I yelled after him as I jumped to my feet and pounded through the snow after him, nearly falling several times.

Suddenly, I felt someone grab the back of my coat, tugging me back.

“Let him go, Case.” The voice was Mrs. Graves. She gave me a grim look and then continued, “He was going to find out eventually.”
“It’s not fair,” I breathed, falling against the wall of the building, my legs wobbly.

“I didn’t say that it was. He’ll come to peace with reality. The students always do.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“Give him time.” She patted me on the back and then glanced around at the other students, who were circled around us.

“Where’d Jamie go?” Kyle asked; either he hadn’t heard or he didn’t understand like the older boy did.

“He’ll be all right,” I whispered, more to myself than to Kyle. “He’ll be all right,” I repeated.

Jamie was acting out–nothing unusual. He was a boy and a teenager; so yes, he wasn’t perfect. Just because I placed a halo above his head didn’t mean that there wasn’t a pitchfork hiding in the back pocket of his pants. I’d seen the little devil rear his ugly head before, though admittedly, he hardly ever misbehaved.

Most of the time, I could blame his disorder for his actions. After all, his disorder was the culprit. I disciplined like a scolding parent rather than a friend or teacher. I often surprised myself with the way my voice would carry over to him; it was like listening to my own mother! I couldn’t decide whether or not that was a good thing or not. I’d never even thought of being a parent figure before; in those moments, I felt like I could be a mother. Moreover, I came to see that I wanted to have children someday. The thought scared the shit out of me. After all, I still felt like a child.
I had no clue what my relationship to Jamie was. It was as though my role was constantly shifting. Sometimes, I was simply a friend, giving guidance and being with him every step of the way. In other situations, I was like a protective sibling, watching his every move and making sure he didn’t get hurt. Then there were those strange times, like this one, where I was a motherly figure, wanting to send him to his room. Talk about role-confusion!

It was nothing new when I found Jamie misbehaving as I entered the classroom one Wednesday morning. He’d done several inappropriate things in the past; all of which had been dealt with and then promptly forgiven. My patience was great with Jamie, so it was difficult to tell him that he was doing something wrong. When he laughed at himself, I literally had to bite my tongue so I wouldn’t laugh right along with him. Undeniably, my smile came easily with him. He was the sun, and I was the moon. We were always in sight of each other, almost like some great, unearthly force was pulling us close.

But today was different, and not because of what Jamie was doing. He’d spat all over the floor before; he thought it was the funniest doggone thing ever. Weird, I know, right? I could understand him wanting to wash his shoes every time he went outside because he thought they were too dirty to wear; I could forgive him for asking me questions day in and day out because he was curious; and I could even let it slide when he started to pull apart the television set to play with the wires (he was obsessed with all things electrical). I could not tolerate spit. There was no reason for this behaviour; his disorder had absolutely nothing to do with it. In the past, when spit had dribbled out of his mouth, almost unexpectedly, he’d always apologized. Now, he was spitting all of the time, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was my fault. Was he trying to get back at me for walking in and out of his life so casually?

“Jamie, stop that!” I exclaimed from the other side of the room. Kyle giggled. “Don’t encourage him!” I told him, my voice feigning furious. I sucked at being angry when I wasn’t. I was more disgusted with myself than anything. If Jamie’s good nature went down the tubes, well, it’d be my fault, and I just didn’t think I could live with that.
“Listen to Casey,” I heard Kathleen reinforce as she passed through the door to the hallway, Jasmine in tow. They were going to do laundry in the Family Studies section of the school.

I tried to ignore Jamie, busying myself with some shelves that needed tidying, hoping that he’d stop if he thought I wasn’t watching.

He didn’t. When I turned around, I found blobs of spit all over the floor, like the ceiling had sprung a water leak. Wiping a clammy hand across my brow, I heaved a sigh and glowered at Jamie, forcing myself not to break into a smile under his playful gaze.

“Funny!” he shouted; his voice was high like a girl’s.

“No, it’s not!” I countered angrily. “Just stop!”
He glared–actually glared–back at me. Then he opened his mouth slightly, saliva pouring down his chin like an awful waterfall. He just stood there!
Something inside me snapped. Without as much as a thought, my hands curled around the top of a chair, and I slid it into a dark corner in the room. “Get over here!” I cried out to the boy. He shrunk back in response, and I had to swallow hard at his reaction. There was no going back. “It’s time-out!” Jamie blinked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. I had to force myself to stop glancing up and into his face. Those eyes would break me. The seemingly innocent big brown pools framed by thick, long black lashes could make me forget what I was doing. I felt like I was kicking a puppy. I thought I was being cruel.

I was doing what I was supposed to, whether I liked it or not. Sometimes, a puppy needed a good spanking, every once in a while.

“On the count of three!” I finally yelled. Suddenly, Mrs. Graves had looked up from the game she was playing with Henry. Surprise was clearly present in her eyes as she nodded with approval. I didn’t know how she had the strength to discipline. I felt as though I was the meanest person, ever.

Jamie finally got the hint, and he slammed into the chair with a huff. I realized then that he didn’t even look the same; his eyes appeared . . . lopsided. His pupils looked wrong, like no one was home. Yeah, he’d seemed dazed before, lost inside a different world even, but I’d never noticed this expression before, and I was concerned. Had I caused him so much pain that he was trying to hurt me in return, and consequently, inflicting himself? I honestly didn’t know how much I meant to him–if I was important to him at all. It wasn’t as if he spoke his feelings. In the CLP classroom, I learned a lot about the students’ thoughts by their behaviour rather than through their words.

Guilt nagged at me. I was totally blaming myself for Jamie’s actions. I couldn’t think of any other explanation for his odd behaviour. Confining the boy to a chair made me feel worse, especially since, technically, if my theory was correct, his being there was my grievous fault. These students were people with feelings that were extremely vulnerable; it was unfair of me to build close ties and expect that severing the bonds would make for a clean break. It was impossible.

When Jamie’s time-out period had come to an end, I strode over to find him sitting patiently, his head bent low. He was massaging his left hand with his right, a soothing gesture. My heart squeezed. I felt as though I were a villain. The boy had probably never been in a time-out before. He was a good person. I almost apologized right then and there, but I knew that doing so would make me a hypocrite. If you started something, then you better finish what you began. I said he was wrong; I couldn’t change my mind, because then my word was, for all intents and purposes, crap.

“Did you think about what you did, Jamie?” I asked, kneeling in front of him so that my eyes locked on his. His eyes were normal again. Had I imagined the funny look inside them before? Was I trying to find a reason for his behaviour that didn’t lead back to me?

“Yes.” He rubbed at his mouth to make sure all of the spittle was gone, and then he gave me a grim smile.

“You okay?” I asked, my brows narrowing. I had to make sure he was all right. I didn’t want him to be hurt, physically or emotionally. The boy had already been through so much, and admittedly, I had a soft spot for him.

“Okay,” he repeated back at me, rocking forward in his chair.

“Good . . . Please don’t do this again.”

“I’ll try,” was all he said.

I didn’t know how to respond, so I simply watched him stand up and walk away from me. He didn’t stop to look back at me, as he so often did.
It was like I was already saying good-bye.

December was in full swing when Mrs. Maureen urged Kathleen and me to pay her a visit. I was both excited and saddened by the prospect of our get together. We were going to discuss the final touches for Kathleen’s and my final project; it was an assignment in which we had to plan some kind of trip or activity day for the students. As partners, we’d decided to host a holiday party, one that would involve a series of crafts, games, and festive activities. Seems pretty fun, right? Well, the sad part was that, being our last project of the semester, there were merely days left before my CLP course would end. Tears pricked at my eyes just at the thought.

I wiped at my face, feigning fatigue as Kathleen and I passed through Mrs. Maureen’s office door. The room was small, but large enough that I felt comfortable. Our teacher, Mrs. Maureen, sat behind a long, mahogany desk that was neatly arranged with sticky notes, books, a computer, and pictures of her family.

“Hey, girls!” she greeted us. “Take a seat.”
Kathleen shut the door behind her and sat to the right of me, smiling at our teacher across from us.
“How are the preparations for tomorrow? Do you have everything together?” Mrs. Maureen linked her hands, leaning her chin on top.

I realized that the questions were mandatory, making sure that as students, we were doing our job. They weren’t actually necessary. We’d been planning for weeks, months even. Kathleen and I were nerds.

“Everything is ready to go. I still can’t believe that a party has never been held for the students before!” Kathleen was all grins.

“I know, right? I don’t know why it never entered my mind before . . . Maybe it’s because most students choose to do a trip rather than an activity day. I can’t wait to see how it all turns out! I don’t think I could have two better students running the day. Obviously, I have high hopes.”

I felt my cheeks blush bright pink, and I giggled nervously while Kathleen simply nodded, as if say, ‘Yep, that’s right.’ Kathleen and our teacher were both so confident. I didn’t know how they could be so carefree. I was always so strung up, worrying over all of the things that could go wrong. It wasn’t as though I were a pessimist. I simply liked to prepare myself for the possibility of failure.

So maybe I was a bit worried. I mean, who wouldn’t be? Over thirty percent of my grade was riding on one freaking day, and not just that, but almost twenty kids had high expectations as well. No pressure. Yeah, right.

I told myself that I simply needed to have fun; indeed, as long as everyone had a good time, I figured nothing could go wrong. No matter what I said to myself, fear blossomed within me, like a patch of roses pricking me inside-out. The strange part was that I couldn’t pinpoint the source of my weariness. Was I that worried over my grade, or were my own hopes for the day far too great?
“We’ve picked out some really adorable prizes for the games, Mrs. Maureen! There’s this one stuffed bear–you just have to come and see tomorrow!” Kathleen gushed, her high squeal piercing my thoughts. I wasn’t sure whether she was literally that excited, or if she was trying to kiss Mrs. Maureen’s feet. Though Kathleen was genuinely super nice, she also knew how to wrap teachers around her finger like a big, flashy ribbon.

“I’ll be there. I have to grade you, and I wouldn’t miss the first party ever, of course!”

“Great!” I said enthusiastically, just for the sake of going along with them both.

“Oh, and I almost forgot to mention that I have all of the gifts for the students wrapped. The picture of all of the students and their Peer Supporters was a great idea. This way they’ll always be able to remember the year they spent with you girls.”

“Yeah, and Jan is going to come in as Santa. I told him to stuff three pillows in his costume. That boy is such a rail!” Kathleen giggled at what was obviously her own mental image of Jan. The boy was scrawny, though full of personality. You had to have personality to let grown teenagers sit on your lap.

Mrs. Maureen bent her head forward, laughing hard along with my class partner. “Well, it seems like everything is set. I’ll let you two go, but if there’s anything else that you need, just stop by and I’ll see to it right away. Okay?” She straightened up a few papers on her desk that we’re already neat and then smiled at us once more. She was one of those people who were always perky and optimistic. It wasn’t in an annoying way either. Her smile was seriously contagious, and even with all my silent worries, I was able to grin back at her truthfully. I had to take a chill pill like my friends told me so often to do.

“See you tomorrow, Mrs. Maureen,” I said cheerfully. We hurried out of her office so she could get back to work. She was one heck of a busy person; being that nice had caught more than just a few students’ attention. Whenever a teacher made a pupil cry or break out into a swearing fit during class, the student eventually made their way over to Mrs. Maureen’s office. She seriously must have heard a million complaints and sob-stories a day, not to mention one including a junior boy who was absolutely devastated when he found out that grape pop was no longer going to be sold in the cafeteria machines. I didn’t know how she coped with everyone else’s troubles without breaking down herself. It took a special kind of person to listen patiently around the clock, which was one of the reasons why I respected her so much. She was more of a friend than a teacher. Though I personally never said much to her–I clammed up in front of teachers–I still felt like she silently understood me. That said I wanted the party to be perfect, not just for the students and myself, but also for Mrs. Maureen. She deserved a break.

As soon as Kathleen and I were back in the hallway, I asked, “So, everything is actually together?” I figured that it was, but I just had to double-check everything, or else my nerves would scatter my brains.

“Yeah, don’t worry, Case.”

“Good, that’s great!” I tried, my words failing to convince myself.

“Seriously, it’ll be amazing.”

“God, I hope so.”

***


Just have fun, Casey, I told myself as I pushed open the CLP classroom door alongside Kathleen. We had a difficult time getting the door open, seeing as we both had our hands clasped around the handles of several bags. Inside, we’d piled in lots of holiday streamers, activity books, and an assortment of several other items. Luckily, Kyle came running up to relieve us.

Of course, he peeked inside the bags before fisting his hands around the handles. “Oooh,” he said. “Look at the colours! This is going to be way cool!” He glanced up at us from under his huge, round glasses, a smile turning up his lips.

In that moment, watching Kyle delight in such a simple thing, I knew that everything would be all right, because these kids didn’t have great expectations. All they really wanted was a good time, and indeed, that was something easy to give.

“Can we put these up?” the boy asked shyly, his eyes locking on Kathleen’s in that special way he saved only for her. I caught a small blush tease her cheeks as she grabbed his hand. He yanked her forward, running through the rooms, and I heard her yell with excitement.

I chuckled in spite of it all, the laughter bubbling out of me. After a minute, I regained myself and hiked the remaining bags up my arm once again, only to find a handful of students racing towards me.


“Man, this stuff is sweet!” cried Andy, a boy I didn’t see as often since he was in Mrs. McGuire’s class (the “higher functioning” one), while tugging a Santa hat down over his ears. He looked freaking adorable. He had such a sweet voice and personality, he was difficult to find fault with.

“Need some help, Casey?” he asked, and I nearly dropped my bag, shocked to realize that he actually remembered my name. I would never give these teenagers due credit; the students surprised me too often.

“Sure.”

I noticed then that Rachel, Jake, and Jasmine were moving towards me, their eyes alight and curious.

“Let’s get this classroom decorated!” I exclaimed, passing a few bags around.

“Yeah, let’s do this!” Andy shouted, pumping his fist into the air as he took off towards a barren wall, shoving up several different colours, testing each to see which he preferred. “Come on, Rachel! Help me decide!”

“Okay,” the girl responded, fingering her braids out of habit. “I’ll try.”

I smiled at them both, the grin coming so easily it was like breathing. I didn’t even realize that Jasmine was still waiting patiently for instruction until I felt her hands curl around my sweater.

“Oh, Jasmine, what would you like to do?” The girl raised her arms and shrugged, her face drawn with worry. She pointed at me frantically and I understood. “You want to help me set up some party music?”

She nodded her head vigorously and then clasped her hand in mine. “Let’s get Jamie, too. Maybe he’ll want to help set up the CD player. Knowing him, he’ll want to plug in the chord.” I giggled, guessing that it would send Jasmine into a fit of her own. I wasn’t wrong. She chuckled as well and leaned her head against my side.

Jamie was seated and picking at something on his shoe. “Hey, buddy!” I said, walking over to him with Jasmine practically attached to my hip.
“Hey,” he said, drawing out the word as he gazed from his shoe to me.

“Want to help with the CD player?”

“Yeah.” Suddenly, his shoe was a forgotten thing as he practically leaped out of his seat. “Where? Where?” he kept asking me; he was absolutely determined to help both as quickly and efficiently as possible.

“Here,” I finally said, once we were at the back of Mrs. Bailey’s classroom. There was an old black CD player; it was a bit dusty but not bad. Before I could say anything, Jamie had popped the chord into the receptacle. I pressed in the CD of holiday songs I’d made a week earlier, and Jasmine turned up the music.

Almost immediately, Jasmine began to clap and sway her upper body from side to side to “Jingle Bell Rock” as the song sounded through the speakers. I clapped alongside her. Jamie crossed his arms and tapped his foot to the beat.

“Don’t tell me you forgot how to dance, Jamie?” I scolded playfully, shaking my head at him.

“No.”

“Like this,” I said, taking his hands in my own as I swayed musically and moved my feet rhythmically.

The boy tried to pull his hands free and shook his head. “I can’t,” he decided, his head bent low.

“Sure you can,” I whispered, my hands squeezing his, urging them back to mine. “Trust yourself.” Jamie said nothing, simply chewed his bottom lip.

I wasn’t going to give up on him. Forgetting everything else, I stepped closer to him, directing his hands and asking him to watch my feet. His palms were cool and clammy against mine, his eyes big and brown as they fixed on mine.

“You’re getting it!” I exclaimed animatedly. He was no longer watching my feet; his own were moving in time with the beat. Jamie looked down, surprised, and then he smiled, his mouth gaping open. I let him go then, and he broke out into a different dance, one he’d thought up himself. He threw his head back and laughed, hard. “Great job, Jamie!”

“I like this!”

“I’m glad!” I replied, my hand finding his shoulder for one beautiful moment. I’d taught him something that maybe his own parents never would. I felt proud that he’d learned something else from me, whether or not it was as small as dancing. He seemed to glow with happiness. It made me feel good, seeing him so content, especially since I’d been unsure about his feelings towards me after the time-out I’d put him through. I hoped that all was forgiven. I couldn’t imagine him hating me.

“Are you setting up?” someone suddenly called out to me over the music.

“Huh?”

“Don’t forget the activities and cookies!” Kathleen shouted from inside Mrs. McGuire’s classroom, her hand cupped around her mouth.

“Right!” I yelled back, suddenly remembering. “I have to set up, guys. Why don’t you take a seat?” Jasmine nodded and hurried over to the other side of the classroom, Jamie following her reluctantly. “You can sit on the sofa by the music, if you want,” I amended for Jamie. The boy turned and grinned back at me, dimples and all. Without a second thought, he plopped on a leather sofa and bobbed his head along to “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer”.

I ran back to the desks in Mrs. Bailey’s section of the classroom and emptied out the bags containing the materials for the activities. I’d packed a few mini-trees that were literally as tall as a cat and their matching ornaments, along with garlands. This way the students could, in groups, decorate a tree. I found the bag containing the trees first. In another bag, I found the holiday colouring books I’d picked up at the nearest Dollar store. Next, I dug out the ingredients I had purchased to make cookies. Finally, my hands clasped around the bingo game that Kathleen and I had made, along with the stuffed toys we’d bought as prizes.

It took me several minutes to set up everything, but with the help of a few students, time passed quickly. I set up several different sections for the different activities; this way the students could rotate when they’d finished their activity.

“That looks great, Casey,” Kathleen said over my shoulder, her hair falling onto my shoulder. It was so weird seeing her hair down, spewing around her small face. She looked different, but in a good way.

“Thanks. We should explain the day to the students.”

“Oh, right.” Kathleen thought for a brief moment and then glanced around the room. “Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” she asked, her voice breaking through the chatter.

All at once, a dozen or so heads snapped over in our direction, the students’ faces glowing like festive lights. Kathleen quickly informed the students of our schedule for the day and then urged them all to have fun. When it was my turn to speak, there really wasn’t much left to say. I simply nodded along at what the other girl had said and gestured for the students to begin.

I didn’t even notice Mrs. Maureen slip into the classroom–that’s how busy I was. I was making holiday cards with Jamie, helping him spread a clump of gold glitter around the front of his paper in a thick border.

“There you go, buddy,” I said, stepping back to glance at our work fondly. On the front, he’d drawn a picture of the snowman we’d make a few weeks ago. I knew it was ours by the two stick figures on either side of the piles of snow; there was a boy and a girl.

“You,” he said, sliding the card in front of me. I felt a pang deep inside my gut, and I squeezed back tears. The memory was sweet but sad. I loved being a part of the creation of his first snowman, but I absolutely hated the way I’d hurt him that day.

“It’s a perfect card, Jamie,” I said, my hand squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. I placed the card back in his hands.

He shoved it back at me, curling my fingers over the card. “No, you must keep it. Please.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I placed the card gently into the front pocket of my sweater and beamed back at him. “Thanks–for everything.” I didn’t know if I’d ever said that before. He’d given me so much, and I’d never openly appreciated him before. He deserved to know how much our relationship was two-sided. I loved him, too, whether he understood that or not. My feelings for him would never change. He’d fisted his hands around my heart in a permanent hold, and I desperately wanted to do the same. There had to be some way that I could hold on to him, too. I’d just have to find some way to lead him back to me when I was no longer at his side.

The boy smiled at me grimly, and for one fleeting moment, I wondered if he understood what I was trying to say. Everything would be so much easier if he did.

I didn’t have the chance to find out. Mrs. Maureen had draped her arm around my shoulder. “This all looks absolutely, completely stunning!” she exclaimed, gesturing at the classroom.

“Yeah, it turned out pretty well,” I said agreeably, turning to face my teacher. She had her hair hiked up high in a ponytail and she was wearing one of those long flowing sweaters, which draped around her like a blanket, showing off her incredibly lean frame. I felt incredibly dull standing next to her.

“You two have outdone yourselves.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, not sure what else to say. Don’t get me wrong–I liked compliments–but I didn’t know what to do with them. “You can make a card, if you’d like,” I suggested out of the blue, pulling out a chair. Mrs. Maureen sat down gratefully and pulled out a bright red card. “I have to go check on the others,” I said, almost to myself.

“Don’t worry about me. You go on ahead.”

“Okay.”

I gave Jamie a silent good-bye and headed off into the other main room to find one half of the room working on their trees; the other was busying themselves with activity booklets. I walked over to the former group.

“Like our tree?” Andy asked, holding it up like a trophy. “She’s a beauty, if I do say so myself, and, of course, I do!” I laughed at his bravado and then took in the splendid tree. It was laden with all sorts of ornaments and garlands, the top boasting a striking gold star.

“Awesome job, guys,” I complimented, gazing into Andy’s, Rachel’s, and Jake’s eyes, all in turn. “Keep up the good work.”

At the other side of the classroom, Carl and Amelia were poring over a connect-the-dots image. I could hear Carl counting out the numbers while Amelia drew in the lines. Standing over them, I watched as the image transformed into a startling angel.

“It’s you,” Carl whispered to the girl, his fingers finding hers.

Amelia laughed, saying, “No, that’s cheesy!”

“It’s true!” Carl argued, his head shaking even more with feigned anger.

“No, no!” Amelia continued to laugh, falling forward on the desk in a fit of giggles. Carl wrapped his arm around the girl’s tiny shoulder and she clasped this hand over her chest, pressing it to her heart. “Well, maybe,” she amended thoughtfully, her head lolling against his chest.
Carl chuckled to himself and whispered, “You’re an angel.”

“If I am,” the girl paused and continued, “then you are, too.”

The boy said nothing, simply placed his head above hers, his breath playing at her cheek.

I felt like I was intruding, peering over their shoulders without them even realizing. So, without a word, I snuck away from them and out of the room, a smile creeping up over my face. I knew the two were getting closer day by day, but I’d really had no idea at all. Suddenly, Mrs. Bailey’s early concerns seemed justified. Yeah, they had disabilities and disorders, but they were teenagers with feelings they wanted to share. I seriously believed that what I’d witnessed was love, and I hoped that maybe someday I would be loved and have the chance to give that love as well. Wouldn’t that be something else?

As soon as I headed back into the other main classroom, I was hit with a wave of aroma. Cookies! I sucked in a breath, almost tasting the soft, hot goodness in my mouth. In a flash, I was in the kitchen, gulping in the sweet smell.
Mrs. Graves was standing over Jasmine, her hands directing the others.

“Case, Case!” Jasmine cried out, running towards me. I bent down, on impulse, as the girl leapt into my arms, her hands covered in cookie batter. Her hair tickled my face; she felt like a doll against me, so fragile she could break.

“Hey, where’d my little helper go?” Mrs. Graves said, crooking her forefinger finger at Jasmine. The girl reluctantly pulled away from me to glance at her EA.

“Sorry,” I apologized, taking my arms away from the girl.

“Oh, it’s quite all right.”

“Come, come,” Jasmine urged, pointing out her place at the table.

“Okay.”

Sitting down beside Jasmine, I worked at the dough until we had several unbaked cookies. Jasmine’s cookies were a lot smaller than mine and we laughed, together, at the comparison.

Mrs. Graves put the cookies into the oven once they were ready and set the timer. Then she took a seat beside Henry to help him. He was struggling with his hands, the batter caking his fingers so completely they couldn’t even move. Mrs. Graves washed them, and then watched him carefully, coaxing him gently.

I was watching Jasmine help Travis when I felt knuckles rapping against my back. I turned to find Kyle waving in my face excitedly while licking the dough off his right hand.

“When will the cookies be done?”

“Soon, I think.”

“Can I take one home for Jack?”

I almost said no, the image of his brother filling my head with a sour memory. “Sure you can,” I decided to say, not wanting to hurt the boy. His brother didn’t know what he had. Kyle thought the world of Jack–that was clear. Jack liked to take advantage of his younger sibling’s innocent nature.
It was literally a few minutes later when the cookies came out of the stove, Mrs. Graves announcing the arrival of the new batch. A cheer erupted in the room, and I hurried over to pass the cookies around. Several of the students took more than one. I had lost count of how many Carla crammed inside her mouth. Eventually, Mrs. Graves had to urge her into Mrs. McGuire’s classroom so she wouldn’t be tempted.

I managed to eat three cookies, which was a lot for me. Two was usually my limit. I shut out my conscience with a playful slap. This only happens once a year, I reminded myself.

I stuck around in the kitchen for a while, paying close attention to the students by the stove and making sure that no one choked on their food. It was easy for one of the students to swallow without chewing properly; you could never be too careful, especially with teens like Travis, who couldn’t eat anything that wasn’t broken down thoroughly.

It was some time before all of the students had eaten their cookies and settled down into either Mrs. Bailey’s or Mrs. McGuire’s classroom. We held two different games, one in each classroom. Correspondingly, I was in charge of the bingo for the former’s class; Kathleen lead the bingo in the latter’s class.

“Does everyone have a card?” I asked loudly, trying to grab the students’ attention. The cards were decorated with holiday images, such as presents, reindeer, and bells.

There were a series of nods, and I reminded the students to place a chip on their ‘free space.’ Reading out the numbers proved to be more enjoyable than I would have guessed; all eyes and ears were on me expectantly.

Jasmine won the first game, though she didn’t notice it. Mrs. Graves gave her a slight poke in the side and the girl automatically threw up her hand. “Bingo!” Mrs. Graves cried, and Jasmine repeated the word enthusiastically.

“Congratulations!” I exclaimed, handing her a stuffed horse. The girl pulled the animal close to her face and smiled bashfully at all of the attention she was receiving.

The second game dragged on–no one won right away. I kept checking Jamie’s card, hoping that maybe he would win. I wanted him to be able to take something home, an object that was his alone. Countless times during the semester he’d asked, “Can I take this home? Is it mine?” Before I had a chance to reply, he’d answer his own question. “No, you can’t take it home. It belongs to the school,” he’d say, making an ‘X’ with his arms to make a point. His response always made my stomach squeeze. With the number of times he’d asked, I’d begun to wonder if he owned anything. Maybe all he had were necessities like food, water, and clothes. I didn’t want to think that I was right–but if I was, then I wanted him to have something to call his own, even if it was just a stuffed animal.
“Bingo,” someone finally said, and I felt my heart flutter against my ribcage.

Jamie. I squeezed back happy tears; indeed, I was extremely surprised. I couldn’t imagine the day going any better. The last few hours all seemed so surreal, like I’d jumped into a different world. I was so completely content, I felt as though I radiated the sun’s rays.

“Come, pick out a prize,” I told the boy, my voice trembling with the excitement I found in his own eyes. Understanding filled his face as he begun to realize that he was due a prize.

“Really?” His eyebrows jumped upwards in question.

“Yes, really,” I whispered, as he dug his hands inside the mysterious bag that I held. The jaw-string bag was a deep periwinkle colour and sparkly like magic.

Jamie pulled out a soft gold teddy bear, which had a Santa hat on its head–the toy I’d picked specially for him, with the hope that he’d win. My fingers trembled with pride as I watched him curl his fingers around the bear’s chubby stomach. He rubbed it against his face as though he were still a child, closing his eyes.

“Mom,” I caught him whisper, and I sucked in a breath, utterly surprised. Surely he wasn’t talking about me?

“What did you say?” I ventured.

“It’s soft like my mother’s arms around me,” he said, his eyes looking at me, though I could tell he was someplace else entirely. “When she hugs me,” he continued, his gaze switching back to the bear.

I didn’t know whether I should be relieved or upset by the fact that Jamie meant his real mother. I felt like I was his parent, as stupid as it sounds, so in a way it was like a punch to the gut. Though some distant part of me knew that he had a family, people who came to see him, I’d never realized that his family actually did care, and the epiphany caused my heart to swell with an inner glee I didn’t expect. Jamie was loved. Wasn’t that what I’d wanted all along? To know that he was safe when I had to leave him should have been a relief, but it also hurt, too. I enjoyed feeling as though I were needed, like someone counted on me. I liked to believe that what I did for the students, especially Jamie, was completely selfless, but honestly, it wasn’t. I felt fulfilled as a person. Spending time amongst these teenagers with disorders and disabilities made me feel like a better human being, so yes, I spent time with them for me, too. It was difficult to admit the reality, but I couldn’t deny that I had flaws. I wasn’t perfect.

“Can I take him home with me?” Jamie’s words punched a hole in my thoughts.

“Yeah, of course you can. He’s yours now.” The boy broke out into a sweet grin and hugged the bear closely to his chest, his hand fisted tightly around the toy. “Can I put him in my locker? I don’t want to lose him.”

“Sure. I’ll help you,” I offered. We’d finished two games and Jan had already stopped by earlier–the students had absolutely loved him as Santa! The only thing left to do was some dancing to the holiday music. “Everyone else, you can head to the couches and rest by the music,” I said, raising my voice to address the people around me. The students didn’t need any further instruction; the teenagers took off at the speed of light.

Jamie didn’t say a word as we bounded off to his locker; he simply ran his fingers through the soft fur of his bear.

“Did you have fun today?” I asked, trying to clear the silence.

The boy said nothing for several minutes as we found his locker. I felt embarrassed for having said anything at all. I couldn’t understand why he’d suddenly clammed up. I thought he’d been pleased with his gift. Had I been that far off base? My mind frantically struggled to come up with words that may dispel the awkwardness between us. It was like trying to see through fog–impossible.

“Yeah. I can’t believe this is mine.” He fingered the bear with his left hand as he spun open his lock with his right. Pushing aside his gloves, he found a place for the stuffed toy on the top shelf, and then, with a final, long look at the bear, he closed his locker and heaved a heavy sigh. When he turned to face me again, I swallowed thickly at the sadness in his face. Something was wrong, and I didn’t think I was responsible for the emotions dragging him down like a tidal wave. “Nothing is ever mine. At home, we share.” I stared at the boy for several seconds, trying to take in his words.

“Sharing is good, too, you know? But now you have something to keep you company, always.” I gave him an encouraging smile and touched his shoulder on impulse, almost sensing that he needed to know that he was important.

“Thank-you,” he whispered quietly, glancing down at his shoes. He immediately wrinkled his nose at what he saw, and his head snapped back up to face me.

“My shoes are dirty, again!” He fell to the ground to inspect them further.

Bending down, I took his hands and pulled him up, urging his eyes back to mine. “Shall I throw them in the wash?” I inquired, my eyebrows raised quizzically.

Jamie frowned, honestly considering. I laughed uproariously and the boy glanced up at me in surprise. “Could you . . . ?”

“We’ll see,” I amended, knowing he’d forget about the shoes as soon as I got him dancing again. Jamie smiled at my words, and I slung my arm around his shoulder like he was the brother I never had.

“Casey, could you come here, please?” Mrs. Bailey yelled over at me, her voice tired and worn. It had been almost two weeks since the holiday party. I wondered if the teacher was stressed out with having to come back to her hectic schedule at school after what was probably, to her, a horribly short Christmas break. Even I felt incredibly drained. It was like my body had just started to unwind when I’d had to get ready to go back to school. Life seemed incredibly unfair at the moment. All I wanted was to return home and curl into a ball in my bed. I think that was the general consensus amongst three-quarters of the school body that day. The CLP students were cranky compared to usual, and several had bags under their eyes from staying up too late.

So, I could understand why I found Mrs. Bailey hunched over her desk. She looked like she was going to collapse. I stood at the foot of her desk for several awkward moments until she noticed me.

“Did you have a pleasant holiday break, dear?”

“It was fine, and you?” I still sucked at these little conversations we had.

“It was too short, unfortunately.”

“Oh, that’s no good, Mrs. Bailey.”

“Yeah, and then I come in here to find an email on my computer saying that Jamie punched holes through the walls in his room at the group home!”

I gasped as though I’d been hit in the stomach. What? Jamie? Why would he do such a thing?

“Why?” It was all I could trust myself to ask. I was too shocked to think clearly.

“He was trying to get at the wires! That’s all that boy ever thinks about!” She ran a hand through her brown hair, shaking her head with annoyance. “They’re going to have to re-plaster the wall, for goodness sakes! The last thing I need is him shoving his hands through walls here, too!”

I felt then, in that moment, that it was my responsibility to admit to my fault. It was because of me that Jamie had started acting out. He hadn’t forgiven me for what I was about to do. I knew somewhere within myself that I’d broken him.

“I think I know why he’s acting this way . . .,” I began, resigned. I had to tell Mrs. Bailey the truth, no matter how much it hurt. The teacher looked up at me from under the hand she’d shoved beneath her bangs, honestly curious.

“You do?” she asked.

“Yeah, um, I kind of told him that I’d be leaving soon–when the semester is over.”

Mrs. Bailey threw back her head and actually laughed! I frowned in dismay, totally surprised at her reaction. What was so funny?

“Why are you . . . ?” I let the sentence dangle in the air.

“Oh, it’s just that you’re so off base, dear! Jamie isn’t misbehaving because of you.”

“But he only started to act this way after–” I tried.

“Well, that must be purely coincidental,” Mrs. Bailey interjected. She frowned suddenly and then paused thoughtfully. Finally, she took a deep breath and said, “I really shouldn’t be telling you this since it’s confidential, but I don’t want you to blame yourself . . . Jamie is taking a new medicine to control his compulsions and other behaviours. Clearly, he’s reacting negatively to the drugs.”

“What?!” I demanded, speaking without being asked. A million thoughts were racing through my head, slamming into each other like bumper cars.

Mrs. Bailey held out a hand to halt my speech and then continued, saying, “His parents have agreed to this, and there’s absolutely nothing we can say or do about it. He’s simply adjusting to the medicine. Give him time.”

“But–,” I tried again.

“Casey, I don’t want to hear it. You’ll just have to be supportive. It’s not as though I like it either.”

“I understand,” I lied, screwing my face into a grim smile. What the hell was she talking about? How dare someone dope him up with so much awful medicine that he wasn’t even himself anymore! I felt like screaming; my entire body seemed to be vibrating with anger. I absolutely hated feeling helpless, like there was nothing I could do to change the situation. It made me feel trapped, as though I were stuck inside a nightmare I couldn’t escape.

“Thanks, Casey. Please keep this between us, okay?”

“Yes.” I slipped out of her office, shut the door behind me, and leaned against it with a sigh. I ran a sweaty palm across my forehead and took in a shaky breath. How will I ever be able to leave Jamie? He needs me now more than ever. Okay, maybe I needed him. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t let him go–not yet.

Some small part of me wished that Jamie’s behaviour was the result of him hating me for what I was doing to him. It would have made it so much easier to leave, knowing that he couldn’t stand to look at me. Yeah, it would have felt like he’d slapped me, but at least I could have broken away from him without looking back. When I did leave, it really would be hell.

I nearly shouted when Jamie was suddenly standing before me; it was as though I’d just woken up and found someone inches from my face. I flinched back, away from him. His eyebrows narrowed in slight confusion, but then he grinned, his smile lopsided.

“Can we go to the janitor’s office to help with the wires?” He worried at his bottom lip with apprehension.

“Jamie, I kind of think you’ve had enough action in the electrical department for a while,” I said, feeling cruel for denying him, but knowing that it was for the best. I didn’t want to encourage his obsession.

“Why?” His voice sharpened defensively, and I caught a flicker of anger within his eyes. I’d never seen that look before, and it frightened me.

“Let’s do something else, like a puzzle.”

“We do that all of the time!”

“No, I don’t think so,” I said, fibbing. I chewed the inside of my cheek, a terrible habit. Why wouldn’t he just drop the conversation? Why was he being obstinate?

“I’m going with or without you!” He started for the door, glaring back at me.

“Come back here right now, young man!” I barked at him, my voice sounding so utterly foreign I clapped a hand over my mouth.

“You can’t make me; you’re not my Mom!” Jamie shoved the door open, watching my reaction. Suddenly, I knew he wouldn’t leave. He was testing me.

“Fine, go then!”

“I will!” The boy sprinted through the door, and I literally balked for a minute or two before bounding after him. I had seriously underestimated him, and I felt like an idiot.

Jamie wasn’t even halfway to the janitor’s room when I trapped my hand around his wrist. “Please, stop!” I gasped. “Not today, Jamie.”

“I have to,” he claimed, trying to pull away from me.

“No, you don’t. If you do, I’ll have to tell Mrs. Bailey, and then you won’t be able to go to the fire hall next semester.” I couldn’t believe I’d stooped so low that I was threatening him. I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I was grasping at straws, desperately searching for a way out of this mess.

It worked. I felt Jamie’s body stiffen at what I’d said. He glanced forward and then back at me, his eyes obviously trying to find out whether or not I was serious. I hardened my own on his, forcing myself not to break under his gaze. It was like we were having a staring contest.

“Tomorrow?”

“We’ll see how today goes first?”

“I guess,” he amended thoughtfully, his features smoothing over into his usual innocent-like face.

“Good. Just think about the fire hall. It will get you through.”

“What do mean?”

I swallowed, realizing that I was treading on dangerous waters. I seriously needed to watch my tongue more carefully. “I mean, there are plenty of good things in this life to dispel any disappointments you may face.”

“Oh.”

“Come on, let’s get you back to the classroom, okay?”

“’Kay.”

It was the dreaded last day of the semester. Inside, I was breaking like shattered glass. My body seemed heavy as I urged myself forward to the CLP classroom for one final time. I could feel my heart throbbing wildly as I took it slow down the silent hallway, which seemed to swallow my body whole. I’d procrastinated, lingering in the halls, and chatting nonsensically with Cecilia and Mary. For some reason, I felt like as soon as I was in the classroom I’d truly lose it because I’d know that it was all really going to end.

I knew that all things eventually died away, but it didn’t make it any easier in the least. I had a terrible feeling in my gut that I just couldn’t ignore: it was telling me that this–me leaving the students behind–wasn’t right. Maybe, one day, departing from them would feel okay. In that moment, my throat tightened like a rope had been knotted around my windpipe. I struggled to breathe, the walls seeming to blur into a million shadows of black and white.

I fell against the CLP classroom door, my head whirling from the punch to my forehead. It was only a slap, but it seemed as though I’d hurtled myself off a staircase and face-planted on the ground. One would probably think I was being ridiculously silly. I mean, the students were just a group of teens with problems, right? No, it wasn’t like that at all. They were people with hopes, goals, and dreams. I wanted to be there for everything–all of their successes and failures. Who else would be there to take Jamie to the fire hall? Who would listen with patience while Jasmine spoke for herself, without the use of some stupid technology? Who would keep building snowmen with teens like Kyle? Who would take my place?

I didn’t want to be replaced. I couldn’t imagine anyone else doing what seemed to be my job. It was almost like I was getting fired.

Maybe I was exaggerating, my emotions spiralling out of control, but at the time I truly believed that I was doing something greatly magnificent inside that classroom. Every smile and laugh was a little miracle that I’d created. I couldn’t bear to watch it all disappear as though it had never happened.

Forgetting was probably my greatest fear. It was one thing to experience something but that special something could be wiped clean if you didn’t purposely etch the scenes inside your mind like a portrait. How could I even guarantee that I wouldn’t lose the memories I’d made? Even if I did always keep the images, would I be able to trigger them to the forefront of my mind? I was too afraid to find out.

As the door swung open under my weight, I shoved a sweaty hand across my forehead, trying to ease the pain. Immediately, several of the students were in my peripheral view, and I had to suck in a breath of air that rasped through my lungs.

“Oh, Casey, I have a few things for you!” Mrs. Grave’s voice swept over to me from across the room, and I dropped my hand to my side, refusing to show weakness in front of everyone. I paused for several moments, knowing I had time, seeing as the teacher was puttering around the classroom doing who knew what. I took a shuddering breath and let it out. As a child, I’d thought it was such a stupid thing to do in order to calm down, but I figured that nothing could make me feel any crappier.

I was dead wrong. Mrs. Graves was suddenly embracing me, her arms wrapped around my body like a cocoon.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving us!” she exclaimed, and then she pulled her head back to glance into my eyes.

I looked down, too afraid of revealing the depth of my feelings. I figured I’d be staring at my shoes a heck of a lot that day.

“Yeah,” I mumbled. “It’s crazy.”

“More like dreadful! What on earth are we going to do without you and Kathleen?” The woman gave me another tight squeeze and then pulled away.

“Have fun?” I said, feigning a joke as I shrugged my shoulders lamely.

“No, no way.” Mrs. Graves paused and then nodded in confirmation. Then she said, “Well, I still want you to enjoy your last day with us, so don’t you fret too much. Besides, like I said, I have a few things for you.” The teacher signalled for me to follow her into the kitchen with a beckoning hand. On the table was a holiday plate that I’d made with Jamie for the party. She’d obviously touched it up a bit and sprayed the plate so the paint wouldn’t wash off. She handed it over to me inside a plastic bag, sealed with a green ribbon. Around the rim of the plate, I noticed that she’d written in black ink, “Every time a bell rings, an angel gets their wings.”

“The saying . . .” I started, my voice quiet as I worked out the hidden meaning.

“You walked into the students’ lives–especially Jamie’s–like a sounding bell, giving them wings to fly. They’ve been so much happier ever since you came.” Mrs. Graves smiled fondly at me, her brown eyes soft.

Glancing down at the plate, which displayed a large snowman passing out wings to several other miniature snowmen, I wiped a hand across my eyes, saying, “I don’t know about that.”

“It’s true.”

“Thanks.” I paused. “For the gift,” I amended.

“I didn’t do much.”

“Sure you did.”

Mrs. Graves shrugged and then simply smiled. “I’m glad you like it, Casey.”

“Where is everyone?” I asked suddenly.

“Oh, Andy brought a movie in today. They were all heading in to Mrs. McGuire’s room to watch it, last time I checked.

“Oh,” I echoed, suddenly glum again. The students are watching a movie? Will I even get a chance to make a proper good-bye?

“Don’t worry; I doubt that the film has already started. You should be able to slip in without notice.”

“That’s a relief,” I lied, playing along.

I left the plate on the table to pick up later, and then I hurried into Mrs. McGuire’s room to find the classes combined, all of the students circled around the screen. Up was playing on the screen. I’d heard of the film before. It was a comedy. How ironic that the students be laughing on what was, in my mind at the time, going to be the worst day of the year.

I managed to get a seat behind Jamie, with Jasmine to the right and Carl on my left. Jasmine beamed at the sight of me and then laced her fingers through mine.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Carl asked sarcastically, jabbing a finger into my side. I bit back a small laugh as I wiped away a tear that had slipped through the lids of my eyes.

“To make your life miserable, what else?” I remarked playfully. “Besides, I’m under strict orders to watch you two lovebirds!” I added, gesturing at the boy and his girlfriend, Amelia. I was desperately trying to forget my expiry date for the course, acting as teasingly as I always did with the students.

Carl shifted uncomfortably in his chair, muttering, “We are not lovebirds.”

“No?” Amelia asked; her brows narrowed as she turned to glare at Carl.

“Thanks a lot, Casey,” Carl muttered, pointing an incredibly shaky finger at me. “Of course we are, baby,” he crooned at his girlfriend; then he glared back at me, shaking his head disapprovingly.

I wasn’t worried in the least. He’d forgive me in a minute or two. The boy was terribly laid back, and he knew I was just teasing him.

Amelia curled her fingers around Carl’s as if she were trying to still their inevitable tremble. “Lovebirds,” she giggled up at him and the boy grinned.

Turning forward, I found my gaze resting on Jamie’s profile. He appeared to be completely entranced by the film, his eyes steady and strong. Somewhere inside my chest, I felt a sharp pang. He wasn’t thinking about me at all. I wasn’t sure whether that was a good or bad thing. It would be a hell of a lot easier to leave if he didn’t care; on the other hand, if he didn’t care, had I really touched his life at all?

I mulled over my thoughts as the movie progressed. The screen flickered with colour and action, but I wasn’t paying attention. My thoughts were swirling before my eyes like an entrancing kaleidoscope. I couldn’t shake off the images that coalesced inside my mind in a blur, one crashing into the next. The whole semester seemed to flood my vision with memories. It was almost like that feeling people say they get when their life flashes before them, just when they think they’re doomed to die.

Time was passing by remarkably quickly. Glancing forward at the plain clock stationed high up the wall, I found that there was merely twenty minutes of class left! Are the teachers just going to let the movie play until the bell rings? How am I going to say good-bye? I let my head drop into my hands with a sigh. No one even noticed; they were all laughing at the characters darting across the screen.

Suddenly, on the brink of tears, I darted from the room and fell into one of the leather couches in Mrs. Bailey’s room. The whole world seemed to be crashing down around me, and no one was there to stop the pain. In that moment, I felt completely and utterly alone. It was like I was trapped inside a glass box, banging on the panes, but only able to watch the people I loved walk past.

I didn’t even notice the footsteps coming up behind me, my eyes covered by my hands. It wasn’t until I felt a hand on my left shoulder that I leaped upwards, startled.

“Hey, it’s just me,” Kathleen said, flashing her palms.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you there.” I brushed a sweaty hand across my eyes and took a strangled breath.

“I saw you while I was watching the movie. Are you okay?” The girl fingered her long cardigan as she glanced at me with earnest worry.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I shrugged weakly and sighed, fingers splayed across my forehead, massaging the headache forming at my temples.

“You’re not the only one feeling this way, Casey. I think you forget that I’m your partner sometimes. I feel everything that you do, and it’s only selfish for you to think otherwise.” The girl suddenly frowned, almost angry.

I felt like she’d slapped me, and I felt my face crumple like a paper plane. I wasn’t being selfish, was I? Ugh! I grappled with my frustration.

Kathleen shook her head and sighed. “I guess I shouldn’t have said that. Initially, I came out here to help you, and that’s what I plan to do. I feel like crap just like you, but we can get through this pain. We’ve had fun here, and now it’s time to move on. I know it’s easier said than done, but it’s the way it’s got to be.” Kathleen worried at her bottom lip and then gave me a hesitant smile, jamming her hands into her jean pockets.

“I know you’re right. But it doesn’t make it better when no one seems to care that it’s our last day here. It makes it feel like this–everything–was all for nothing!” I crossed my arms, frustrated again.

“They probably don’t realize that it’s the final day of the semester! To them, every day is just another day. You have to think about their thoughts and feelings. You’re forgetting what you’ve learned already, Casey.” She gave me a sympathetic look and stepped up beside me.

“No, I’m–okay, maybe I am. I’ve been trying to avoid this day for weeks and now that it’s suddenly here, it’s as though I haven’t prepared myself for the consequences.”

“Now you’re being too hard on yourself. Just try to enjoy yourself, okay? This is all the time we have left, and you’ll be kicking yourself even more if you don’t savour every moment. Besides, Mrs. Bailey already told me that we’ll be announcing our departure in the last ten minutes of class, so it’s not like we won’t have a proper good-bye.”

I felt my body relax at Kathleen’s words, but I couldn’t help but feel as though nothing had actually changed during the semester. Who had I been kidding? I was still selfish and second place to Kathleen. She’d always be better than me. That wasn’t envy talking, either. I resented myself because no matter how hard I tried, I wasn’t as understanding and good-natured as I wished to be.

“Yeah, I guess,” I finally amended.

“What do you say about finishing the movie with the students?”

“All right.”

Inside the classroom, I scanned the students’ faces as I struggled to commit each to memory. I couldn’t bear forgetting any of these teenagers. I wanted constant reminders of the people who had changed my life.

I gazed at Jamie’s sweet and youthful face. My eyes trailed the length of his small nose and skipped along the golden dusting of freckles on his cheekbones. Finally, my sight arrested on those orbs of chocolate brown which always rendered me speechless. It was as if I were glancing at winking stars. However, the rail-thin boy didn’t look back at me, no matter how long I observed him. I felt my heart squeeze as the minutes ticked.

I was still painting an image of Jamie in my mind when Mrs. Bailey swung open the door, flicked on the lights, and turned off the DVD player. Several of the students groaned at the black screen. Others simply stared.

“What did you do that for?” Andy asked. His black brows rose. “It wasn’t over, Mrs. Bailey.”

“Your Peer Supporters have an announcement to make, and I’d like you all to listen,” Mrs. Bailey called out over the din, her voice a muffled clap as she entered the room.

“Um,” Kathleen began, and she pulled herself up beside me.

The lights were suddenly daggers pointing down at us. Their bright beams froze Kathleen and me into time-captured statues. I wet my lips while Kathleen ran a hand through her long ponytail.

“This is our last day here for the semester,” I started, my voice cracking. I swallowed the rise of emotions in the back of my throat. Mentally, I grappled for purchase of the appropriate words. Before I had a chance to think any further, Kathleen interrupted the scrambling of my thoughts.

“We’ve had a wonderful few months getting to know everyone, and we’d like to thank you all for your warm welcome. We wish you well for the future and hope to see you next semester!” Kathleen’s blue eyes were glassy like the sea.

We were observed by most of the students with confused expressions, though some frowned deeply. The room became silent for several seconds, almost as if the students were waiting for instruction. I glanced around, my eyes falling on a collage of brightly coloured drawings that had been pinned on a sideboard. The artwork was from the holiday party Kathleen and I had organized for the students. I felt my heart swell.

“We love you all!” I blurted. A few of the students broke into a roaring applause.

“Well done, girls!” Mrs. Bailey, Mrs. Graves, and Mrs. McGuire chorused from the doorway as they clapped enthusiastically.

I felt tears prick my eyes, but I pushed them back. Kathleen could barely keep herself together. Her hands were balled into trembling fists. She was breaking inside, even as she tried to stay calm.

Every bone in my body shuddered as if I’d been stripped of my flesh and a wheeze of cool air had slithered between the gaps. I felt as though I could crumble into an insignificant pile of dust. Had I even made an impact on the students? How could there be no time left to make a difference? Disconcerting thoughts bloomed within my mind; in response, I felt my shoulders sag.

As Kathleen and I reluctantly trudged out of the room, each of us received numerous high-fives. The kind gestures were treasured, but none of them compared to the expectations I held for one person: Jamie. He stared at me as I brushed past him. We were so close that he could have grabbed my arm.

I lingered beside Kathleen outside the main door. The slap of glass separated one world from another. The teachers gave us several more big hugs. Mrs. Graves brushed away tears rolling down her face, Mrs. Bailey handed Kathleen and me each a bouquet of flowers, and Mrs. McGuire thanked us repeatedly.

Kathleen pulled away first and disappeared with a tear-streamed face. I couldn’t stop myself from looking back into the classroom as I waited for the boy I’d come to adore.

He didn’t appear, and I couldn’t wait. I slipped through the door as I fought the impulse to return and tears slipped down my face. I was halfway down the hallway when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around, annoyed because I was upset. “Not now, Kathleen–,” I began. “Jamie?” I cried.

On impulse, the boy laced the fingers of his right hand with my left. He held my gaze for what could have been seconds or eternity. We simply stared at one another. Neither of us said a word, but a collection of memories seemed to lace us together in an invisible twine that bridged two very different lives, blending them into one.


I felt his hand slowly slide away as my throat constricted painfully. He glanced up at me in wonder, his brows merged with worry. I felt a stinging tremor hurtle through my spine. It was as though a twisting and tightening ribbon was coiling around my vertebrae. Suddenly, I was incredibly numb. What am I doing? I don’t want this experience to become a shadow I have to chase. I want to stay with Jamie. I wish to remain the person I become when I’m with him.
“Do you have to go?” he asked. His forehead creased with immediate and startled confusion. I had no answer. Indeed, the right words were stars beyond reach. His patience–the quiet stillness of his body–startled me. How could he be strong when I was inexplicably weak?

If only he knew, or on some level understood, the emotions that were hammering me like a splintered nail into the ground. Fear seemed to stretch around me in an elastic band. It teased me with a glimpse of a world beyond its borders. I was moving on, but he had to stay behind. It was that simple, but so difficult. He had become both a friend and brother in my eyes. He was a part of me.

“Did I do something wrong?” These words fisted around my heart. Done something wrong? How could he have? It was I. He had to remain in the classroom because this was where he belonged. But I belonged somewhere else. As much as I wanted to be there for him, I could not. I had to return to a steady diet of regular classes. There would be no more fantastic trips to this classroom. The semester was over, and I would have four new classes in less than a week. Besides, I wouldn’t even be a high school student in less than four months. Another excursion was only steps away. Its foreign land loomed before me like a tumultuous sea.

I had watched him grow, one milestone after another. The strange thing was that his disorder never stood in his way. He seized life with a kind of happiness only children seemed to embody. His heart beat the same as the one thumping against my ribcage, and he had dreams like every teenage boy. And still, he was not seen for who he really was. Sometimes, it was as if only I could see him. His presence swirled in the air like a brilliant breeze. He was so beautiful, and I felt as though I would collapse into a tight ball at the sight of such pain inflicted on his innocent face.

“Stay. Don’t go. I need you.” Fresh tears, like iced buckets of water, splashed down my face. My fingers shook in the frightening distance between us. No, I would not leave him. There was little time, but enough. I would find a way to stay with him and embrace every last moment. One day there would be someone else to resume my position, to help guide him. Someone who could understand and see him for who he was–not how he was labelled. I could only hope. For now, I would stand at his side.

With renewed strength, our fingers knotted together. Inexplicably, there seemed to be an understanding burning in his eyes.

“Someday,” he whispered.

“Yes, but not yet.”

I could only hope I was telling him the truth.

Kathleen and I were in another one of those meetings that were held every so often by Mrs. Maureen. All of us CLP Peer Supporters were crammed around a small wooden table in the Guidance office, the place where the majority of the meetings were held.

At the moment, Mrs. Maureen was passing around Kathleen’s and my final project papers. Seeing Kathleen flip through the pages, to glance at our teacher’s comments, I pulled back the last page to glance at a grade that made pride swell my chest. The grade was incredible, and I was pleasantly surprised. I could hardly believe that it was the last mark I’d ever receive for this course. The realization sent my mind reeling with confusion and pain. I bit back a sob. How could it have been four months already?

The grade hardly seemed like the trophy it would have been, say, a year ago. Yeah, grades were important, but it wasn’t like a person could be measured by their intelligence alone. I mean, wasn’t our worth as human beings measured by the sum of our parts? Intelligence was only one thing, and it sure as heck didn’t qualify me as a good person.

Nonetheless, I was pleased with the grade, to a certain extent. I had worked hard, so yeah, I thought I did deserve to be rewarded. I only wished that the prize would allow me to remain at Jamie’s side.

“So, how is everyone?” Mrs. Maureen asked, pulling our attention away from the percentages.

“Good,” several people said, though I simply smiled. It wasn’t Mrs. Maureen’s fault that the course was coming to a close, but I couldn’t trust myself to speak without breaking down in front of my peers.

“I think I have handed back all of your assignments by now. If you’re missing something, please don’t hesitate to stop by my office later. I’d be happy to look for your work. You all did very well, and I’m really proud of what we’ve accomplished as a group.” Mrs. Maureen glanced at each of us in turn, her gaze lingering on Kathleen. I wasn’t even fazed by the extra attention. The girl was extremely likable. Besides, I was too enveloped with other emotions to care.

“The days have just flown by,” Kathleen spoke up, looking at Mrs. Maureen.

“I know, right?” Marcy agreed.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I’d wanted to avoid this kind of conversation. I didn’t want to have to think about second semester. Miley’s words angered me, too. I couldn’t imagine her having any sort of real connection with the students. She was too impatient and self-absorbed to really care about the teenagers. There was only a mere flicker of sadness in her eyes. She couldn’t even begin to understand the way I felt. It was like the world was collapsing around me, and I was at the center of the chaos, in the eye of the tornado. No matter how hard I tried to cling on to something–anything–there was nothing but darkness. It didn’t matter how loudly I screamed inside–no sound escaped from my lips. I felt like I’d been lying to Jamie earlier. His face kept gnawing at me. What would I tell him? That I’d lied to him? My stomach seemed to drop inside me like a rock.

“Speaking of next semester, I don’t even know if we’ll have enough CLP Peer Supporters!” Mrs. Maureen heaved a sigh just as a flutter of hope banged against my ribcage. They don’t have enough people signing up for the course? This could be my chance! No, don’t get your hopes up, Case. You already took the course, and it’s not like you can take it again . . . Or could I? Suddenly, I was incredibly impatient. I wanted the meeting to end quickly; then I could approach Mrs. Maureen alone and ask her the question that was burning on my tongue. I had to clasp my hands together under the table just so I wouldn’t drum my fingers on the tabletop.

“Oh, that’s strange,” Kathleen murmured as her eyebrows narrowed.

“No, it’s not really. There aren’t many people who could handle what you all experienced this semester. I mean, this course is not for everyone.” Mrs. Maureen looked up glumly and fingered some papers that she’d scribbled notes on. “But what can you do?”

Me, take me! I wanted to scream, but I knew that I couldn’t say a word. What if Kathleen jumped at the chance to take the course again, too? Surely, Mrs. Maureen would choose her over me.

“How many people have signed up?” Alex, the boy more interested in sports than actual school, asked.

Mrs. Maureen looked down at her chipped fingernails as she muttered, “Two girls. They’re seniors.”

Alex’s mouth fell open slightly, and I couldn’t help but balk. They’d never be able to manage a class of almost twenty teens with two inexperienced girls. Who would be there for the other class periods of the day?

“Can I make a suggestion?” Kathleen suddenly piped in as she ran a troubled hand through her mane of brown hair.

“Sure.” That was Mrs. Maureen.

“Well, I know this guy–Adrian–who wants to be a nurse when he finishes school, and he’s a really nice person. Maybe he’d be interested?”

Mrs. Maureen’s face lit up as she said, “That would be lovely! Could you ask him, dear? In fact, if any of you know of anyone, it would be very helpful if you sent them my way.”

There was a series of nodding heads and quiet murmurs of agreement. Mrs. Maureen leaned back in her swivel chair and slapped her hands against her cheeks. “This is great news! I was getting worried about what we’d do.”

“I’ll get back to you about Adrian as soon as possible,” Kathleen said reassuringly.

“Great! Well, I think that concludes our meeting–all of our meetings for this semester, to be exact. It was such a pleasure meeting all of you. I hope you took away a lot from the experience
. . . Oh, and don’t forget to study hard for all of your other courses!” Our teacher stood up to officially conclude the meeting. Several of the CLP Peers Supporters gave her a hug.

I made sure that I was behind everyone else so that I would be the last to leave. I had to wait several minutes before the guidance office emptied out, Kathleen lingering the longest. I gave the girl a small smile as she finally passed through the door.

“Casey, it was great having you in my class!” Mrs. Maureen beamed, her arm slung around me. I couldn’t help but blush awkwardly as I pulled back after a few moments.

“Yeah, thanks. Um, about next semester, seeing as you have so few students signed up, could I maybe, uh, take the course again?” I swallowed thickly, sweat running down my back in a disgusting mess. My palms felt hot and sweaty as my head began to pound. Please, please!

Mrs. Maureen took a step back and shoved a hand under her chin before saying, “Come into my office for a second.” She waved me inside and shut the door.

“Are you serious about this?”

“Absolutely.” I nodded enthusiastically. “Can it be done?”

“Well, it’s never happened before. Technically, you can’t take the same course twice . . .” My heart sank like the Titanic being pulled beneath a crush of rolling waves. The sound was almost deafening, and I had to fist my hands inside my sweater to calm the storm ravaging inside me. “But I could change the course code–basically I’d be creating a new class. I mean, essentially it would be the same–you’d still help the disabled students and everything–but, instead, I’d assign different projects and such.” Mrs. Maureen propped her head up with her hands again, contemplative. I felt my heart jump inside of me, gasping for breath as though I’d been pulled ashore from drowning.

“Would I still graduate? Like, the course would count?”

“Yes, of course. I’d make the preparations. We really do need more students, and your experience could make up for our lack in numbers.” Mrs. Maureen’s large brown eyes fixed on mine. Then she sat up straight in her chair. “Is this that important to you? You’ll have to drop one of your second semester courses to make room for this one. You know that, right?”

“It is. I can’t let the students go, at least not yet. Besides, I’m only taking Fashion next semester because I didn’t know what else to take. Could I drop that class and simply add this one? . . . It would mean the world to me.” I leaned forward to convey my eagerness and then I locked my gaze on Mrs. Maureen’s, silently begging for her help.

“Well, it seems like you have your mind made up, and I certainly don’t have any issue with your proposition. I’ll handle all of the paperwork, so don’t you worry about that. Simply do as well as you did this semester in the next one and we’ll call it even, okay?” Mrs. Maureen put out her hand as if to shake. It took me a few seconds to catch on, my mind whirling from it all. I felt like crying with relief. I forced back the tears that pinched at my eyes and smiled outright.

Then I took Mrs. Maureen’s hand and shook it. I’d just been given a second chance.

Looking down at the timetable clutched in my hands, I wasn’t surprised to find that I had CLP class third period, right where Fashion used to be. My hands trembled with excitement as I passed through the hallways that lead to the CLP room. I could feel my heart flutter within me. Inside, I felt so alive, like anything was possible if you only believed.

I clasped my hands around the familiar metal door handle as I wet my lips. Taking a quick, deep breath, I made my way inside.

Obviously, I wasn’t paying enough attention–I slammed into a gangly boy, pinning him to the floor.

“So sorry!” I exclaimed, leaping off the boy. His shock of black hair was the first thing I saw, the ends curling at the base of his neck. When he turned around, I felt my mouth go dry. He looked more like a boy than a man, his limbs stick-thin and his body on the smallish side.

“Uh, it’s okay,” the boy mumbled, brushing off his jeans. I realized then that he had startling blue eyes, framed by thick black lashes that seemed almost girly.

“I didn’t catch your name.”

“It’s Adrian.” He jammed his hands down his front pockets.

“Oh,” I said. So, he was Kathleen’s friend. I didn’t know how to feel and, worse, I had no clue as to what I should say.

“I just got here like two seconds before–” He cut off abruptly and then chuckled awkwardly.

“Yeah,” I said, blushing. “You want to meet everyone?”

“Sure. I’ve only been here once with Kathleen–do you know her?” He glanced up at me from under his lashes like a child peeking out from under a blanket. I couldn’t decide whether I found him cute or not. He seemed too young. I decided it would be wrong to crush on him. It’d probably feel weird. Besides, I’d never even complimented a boy my age before. I wasn’t a flirt like most girls. I was one of those people who liked to glance from afar and dream silently.

“Yeah, she was my partner last semester–I’m taking the course again since not many people signed up.” We passed through the room and into Mrs. Bailey’s classroom.

“We’ve known each other for like ever. So, you must like this course a lot?” He wasn’t looking at me, his eyes trailing around the room, absorbing everything. To me, it all seemed to be so surreal. I could barely wrap my head around what was happening. In my head, I was giggling like a little girl.

“I love it,” I breathed. “There’s Braden over there with Jasmine,” I pointed out discreetly, not wanting to make the students feel uncomfortable. “Oh, and the woman there is Mrs. Graves. She’s Jasmine’s EA. In other words, Jasmine’s personal teacher.”

“That’s cool.” He walked past the two students and in the direction of Henry, who was piling up some coloured blocks in accordance with a pattern. Worry snaked up my back and I almost pulled my new partner back the other way. Henry was difficult sometimes, and I didn’t want him to be frightened the way I was the very first day of classes.

“Um, where are you going?” I asked.

“To see Henry,” Adrian said, totally relaxed. His lack of fear or surprise took me for an unexpected loop. How could he be so completely cool? Why was he so good at this? Thoughts exploded inside my mind in a rush.

Before I could respond, Adrian pulled up a chair across from Henry and took his hand, guiding it to the right pieces. I felt my eyes pop open with shock, my mouth gape wide with astonishment.

“You’re really good at this,” I said, not even trying to compliment him as I stood behind him.

“No, not really,” he laughed. “It’s just that I know Henry. I’m good friends with his sister, May.”

“Oh.” I felt my mouth close slowly; my eyes slide back into their correct position. To an extent, I could see where his expertise had come from. Even so, I had to say that he genuinely had a knack for helping others. There was no judgement in his blue eyes; no frown on his thin lips; and certainly no contempt in his face.

I was so entranced by Adrian that I barely felt the small hand gently squeezing mine. I turned to find Jasmine looking up at me and waving with her other hand. “Case, Case, you’re here!” she cried, burying her face against me.

“Yeah, I am!” I squealed back, sending the girl into an even greater frenzy. The air tasted like sweet honey and I sucked in great gulps as I laughed.

The girl tugged on my arm once again, and I followed behind her. “You okay for a sec?” I nodded at Adrian.

“Yeah,” he said, turning back to Henry and giving the boy a sweet smile.

Jasmine trailed over to a desk and picked up her DynaVox to press a button. “Can I show you something?” Mrs. Grave’s voice asked through the speakers.

“Jasmine, you’re still using that? You know I like to hear the real you,” I said, scolding her gently. She shook her arms with defeat. “I know you have to listen to the teachers. It’s not your fault, sweetie . . . What do you want me to see?” I’d have to speak to Mrs. Graves about that stupid hunk of technology once and for all. I just couldn’t see her trading in her voice for a fake one. I’d been given a second chance to be here, and I wasn’t about to sit back when I could make a difference. No, I was tired of simply going with the flow. Some things needed to be changed.

Jasmine pulled out an old yearbook and started fingering through the pages desperately.


“Wow, slow down there. Why don’t you sit down?” I pulled out her chair, and she almost fell into it in her rush.

“Case, Case!” she cried, her finger jabbing at a picture. “You! You!” she continued. I picked up the yearbook, not really sure what she was talking about. She slapped her hand against the page and beneath her splayed fingers, I found myself staring at a younger me. Absolutely flabbergasted with Jasmine’s intelligence, I gave her a hug and exclaimed, “You’re right. When did you get so smart?”

“I don’t know,” she mouthed, her eyes going huge and round, honest puzzlement creasing her forehead.

I laughed and then grinned. “I’m proud of you.”

“I think we all are,” Mrs. Graves suddenly said, coming up behind us. “How are you, Casey? I could hardly believe it when I heard the news from Mrs. Bailey. Congratulations on earning another semester! Now you’ll be able to help us with the Snoezelen Room and Special Olympics.”

“Snooze–what?” I asked, totally dumb-founded.

“You haven’t heard?”

“Um, no?”

“Oh, you just have to see it, dear. Jasmine, you stay here and look at your book. Come, Casey.”

“What about Adrian?” I asked, suddenly remembering.

“Adrian, come here, please!” Mrs. Graves exclaimed across the room. The boy bid a quick good-bye to Henry and then fell in step behind us.

“I was just telling Casey about the Snoezelen Room, and I thought maybe you’d like to see.”

“Sure,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

We stepped up to the door next to Mrs. Bailey’s office, a room I’d never been in before. I’d seen it and speculated about its contents but never actually had the courage to ask.

“It’s not set up yet, but you’ll be able to get an idea of what the final product will look like.” Mrs. Graves pushed the door open. What I saw took my breath away.

Inside, my eyes fell on Jamie’s face. He was pulling pillows out of their packaging alongside Kyle. Jamie’s mouth was formed into a hard line and his eyes were focused completely on the task at hand. He looked exactly the same as he used to–before the new medicine. I felt my heart do a little dance inside of me.

The boy didn’t look up, and I didn’t want to interrupt his work, so I simply glanced around the room. I let out a breath at what I saw. The large square room’s walls were covered with what looked like glowing stars, the floor sheeted with mats for comfort. There was a huge white net-like hammock hanging from the right wall and a bed set before it, which resembled an air mattress.
Though the room was far from complete, it was obvious that it was a place for the students to catch up on some rest. I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t figured it out by the title.

“Hey,” Kyle said, waving his hand at us as he swept what floor wasn’t yet covered with mats.

“I’m Adrian,” my partner said. “This looks great so far,” he commented, his gaze running up the walls.

“You like karate?” Kyle asked, just as Jamie rose to meet our faces. Jamie’s eyes locked on mine and he smiled, those adorable dimples pinching his cheeks. I wasn’t offended that he kept on working. It wasn’t like I expected him to run into my arms. He was too shy for that. Besides, though he did understand to an extent what I had accomplished in returning to him, he wasn’t entirely aware of the process. Still, honestly, I would have loved a hug.

“Uh . . .” Adrian looked at me for help, chewing his lip.

I laughed at my partner’s worried expression. Turning to Kyle, I said, “I think that maybe you should just do karate with your brother. Besides, your karate is pretty good already.” I hit my fist against Kyle’s playfully and the boy smiled as he broke out into a pose.

“That’s true.”

“Yeah, I’m not so good at karate,” Adrian admitted, looking down at his sneakers. “I like swimming, though.”

“Do you like animals? I have horses at home–oh, and lots of cows.” Kyle said, continuing to sweep.

“Yeah, I like animals, too.”

“Yes!” the boy said, pumping his fist into the air. “Want to help me?” he said, gesturing at another broom.

“Okay.” Adrian glanced back at me and then grabbed hold of a broom.

That’s when Jamie swept up beside me, his eyes finally meeting mine. They were the deep brown I remembered.

“Missed you.”

“Me, too.” I missed him incredibly, but I was too embarrassed to say so with Mrs. Graves standing right behind me. Anyways, I hadn’t lied in the least. I also missed the person I was when I was with him. That girl was my destiny, and I couldn’t wait to see what she’d do this semester.

Most of third period, on that first day back, we hung out in the Snoezelen Room. Jamie showed off some new toys the school had purchased for the room, while Kyle talked Adrian’s ear off. It was like I was still with Kathleen–almost. I wondered if Adrian would develop a soft-spot for Kyle just the same. Adrian was practically as calm as Kathleen had been on her first day. I was beginning to think that I couldn’t be any more surprised with him, when Riley came in to take a look at the Snoezelen Room.

Adrian leaped to his feet and helped the girl inside, making sure she didn’t trip over the mats.

“Thanks,” the girl mumbled, taking in her surroundings. “Hey, Casey!” she smiled at me as I glanced up at her. Jamie and I were assembling a toy on the floor, the instructions splayed out before us. “This looks really good . . . When will it be done?”

“A couple of weeks, I’m guessing,” I replied, though I was still watching Adrian. I noticed then that he was as small as Riley.

“Oh . . . Mrs. Bailey wanted me to tell you that everyone can have a break and play on the computers.”

“Thanks for letting us know, Riley.” I nodded in approval as Adrian helped the girl back out of the room. He lingered on the other side of the door for a minute or two. I wondered what he’d thought of to discuss with Riley. He was starting to fascinate me in more ways than one, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

“Come on, guys,” I said, urging the boys to pack up what they were working on. Jamie was extremely hesitant to leave, but I didn’t want him to obsess over what he was doing.

“Back later?” Jamie asked as his brows rose with expectation.

“Maybe tomorrow,” I amended.

Back inside Mrs. Bailey’s room, the students bounded over to the computers, Kyle in the lead. There was a line-up of computers on the left side of the room. Amelia and Carl were already seated at two of them, their hands interlocked.

“You again?” Carl quipped, looking at me from over his shoulder.

“Yeah, you again?” Amelia mimicked, giggling shyly.

“You bet, ladies and gentlemen,” I said, bowing my head with a soft chuckle. Carl and I had an interesting relationship, for sure. I didn’t mind though–it was all in good fun.

“Well, I can see how this semester is going to go,” Carl laughed. Amelia snorted with laughter, slapping a hand across her face in embarrassment.

“Funny,” I said. “I’m keeping both eyes on the two of you, so no smooching behind my back!”

“Shh,” Carl responded, a finger pressed to his lips. “Someone might hear!”

“Oh, is kissing a secret?” I asked teasingly.

Carl shook his head at me and turned his head back to the monitor. Amelia followed suit.

I walked over to stand behind Jamie, my hands clasped around the top of his chair. He was still on the main log-in screen.

“Can you type your name in, buddy?”

“I don’t know if I remember. It’s been a while.”

“Sure you do. Wait a sec,” I said as I made my way over to his desk and fingered through a bucket to find his name card. Once I had the paper in hand, I placed it in front of his keyboard. “Just match the symbols,” I urged him. “It will come back to you. I promise.”

The boy took a shaky breath and then gave me a small smile. It took him several tries to log-in. I’d had to remind myself to be patient with him. He’d been getting the hang of it the last time we’d practised. It made it seem as though I’d been wasting my time, since he barely recalled anything he’d learned. I had to focus on the fact that he had logged in by himself, eventually. It was okay to be pushed back three steps, so long as we moved forward again. I told myself that only when we came to a standstill should I be concerned. Every time he did something correctly, it was a miracle, and I couldn’t forget that.

“Good job,” I commended him. “Do you want to play a computer game, maybe?”

“Songs?” he asked.

“Sure. Click there, on Google,” I said, pointing out the symbol. It took me several minutes to lead him through the steps. The process was trying and took all of my patience, once again, but we made it through, together.

Once we were on YouTube, I asked, “What songs do you like?”

“I don’t know.”

I paused, thinking. I didn’t want to play anything with swearwords in the lyrics–that eliminated numerous possible songs. Finally, I settled on the Backstreet Boys’ song “I Want it that Way.” Jamie nodded along as he shoved his headphones further up his head.

“I like it,” he said, his fingers tapping the desk in front of him. I sat down beside him and Kyle, watching each in turn. Kyle was playing a game that had a funny-looking rabbit hopping about the screen enthusiastically.

It was a few minutes before Jamie gave me a slight poke in the side.

“What?”

“Song over,” the boy complained.

“Want to watch it again?”

“No.”

I sighed and then took the mouse from his hand. Glancing through some YouTube videos, I settled on Leona Lewis’s “Bleeding Love.” I didn’t choose the song for any particular reason; it simply happened.

I watched Jamie’s face as the music filled his ears. He actually closed his eyes, his head moving in time with the sound. A minute or two into the song, I heard him speak quietly. Just as I was about to ask if he needed something, I found him mouthing the lyrics to the song. I’d never seen him so into music before. The realization made me feel happy inside.

“Want to listen?” he asked.

“That’s okay. You go ahead.”

“No, please.”

“All right,” I agreed.

The boy shoved his chair right up against mine and fitted the headphones around my ears. He raised his brows in question, and I gave him two thumbs up. He smiled in return, saying, “I love the main part.”

“You mean the chorus? Yeah, I do as well.” I didn’t want to tell him that I’d heard the song several times before. I wanted him to feel like it was a song that we’d discovered together. It kind of was ours in a weird way. From then on, every time I heard the song, his adorable face filled my mind.

We spent at least twenty more minutes flipping through songs, Jamie nodding appreciatively at some and shaking his head at others. He didn’t like any other Leona Lewis songs–just “Bleeding Love.” Nonetheless, he did appreciate The Fray, especially the song “You Found Me.” It was difficult to pinpoint why he liked some songs and not others, though, with some surprise, I realized that we shared a similar taste in music. I couldn’t help but wonder if he liked songs that held more emotion or had some deeper meaning woven into the lyrics. It was fun watching his expressions change as he listened.

I barely noticed when a hand poked me on the shoulder. “Just a second, Jamie,” I said.

“It’s me,” Adrian called.

“Oh, sorry. What’s up?” I yanked off a pair of headphones and let them dangle around my neck as I turned to face my partner.

“Mrs. Bailey called me over. Apparently, Jamie and Kyle have some paper duty or something?” The boy shrugged, unsure.

“Hmm, okay. Log off your computers, guys. We’ve got some work to do.”

“Ugh, do we have to?” Kyle complained, leaning back against his chair, yawning.

“Yeah, you guys have some kind of paper work?” I asked as I watched Jamie log-out.

“Paper! Yeah, we’ll show you, Casey! You have to see!”

Adrian glanced at me, his eyebrows raised, though he said nothing.

“I’ll get the cart!” Jamie exclaimed, walking briskly to the games room.

“Are you sure you guys know what you’re doing?” Adrian asked Kyle as he leaned over the boy’s chair to look at him.

Kyle wrinkled his nose, indignant. “Yeah, ‘course we do!” He shoved his glasses up with his forefinger and snorted.

“Okay,” Adrian said, drawing out the word as he widened his eyes at me. I simply shrugged.

“If Kyle says they know what to do–well, then I believe him.” Kyle slapped his palm against mine in a big high-five and then jumped out of his seat to follow Jamie.

“So, do we like monitor them?” Adrian whispered, his head bent close to mine.

“Pretty much,” I replied. “Just remember to give them some leash. They’ll surprise you, trust me.”

He didn’t respond. We trailed after the two boys, nodding to Mrs. Bailey as we passed by her office; she smiled and waved. Jamie and Kyle led us to one of the Janitor’s rooms on the main floor. Kyle pulled a key from somewhere on the cart and shoved it into the keyhole. Inside, we found several stacks of paper lining the walls, all the way up to the ceiling. I couldn’t imagine how many trees had been slaughtered for this room alone.

“We need eight-and-a-half-by-eleven sized paper,” Jamie explained, already fingering through the packaged stacks. He had to stand up on his toes to inspect some of the shelves.

“Be careful, Jamie,” I scolded him. Jasmine’s accident from last semester seemed to flash before my eyes. “Let me do that,” I said, changing my mind. I didn’t want him to get hurt.

Being the same height as Jamie, I struggled on my toes, searching feebly, while Adrian checked the lower levels with Kyle. “Got a couple,” I finally said, carefully pulling down a few stacks. Adrian immediately came to my side, helping me ease the stacks onto the cart.

Once the cart was all loaded up, Kyle locked up the room and we passed through the hallway and off to the main office.

“In there,” Jamie said, pointing a skinny finger at the doorway.

“That’s the office, buddy. Are you sure?” I looked at him, my gaze hard. I didn’t want to walk in to the principal’s office by accident.

Jamie nodded. “I’m sure.”

Adrian glanced at me, reluctance in his eyes, but he followed behind me nonetheless. Within the room, we passed by several teachers strolling through the office and nodded at the secretaries, both of which busy at work. Just when I thought that we were definitely in the wrong place, the room branched off into a small hallway that lead to two large printers. There were two matching tables on either side of the machines, both almost bare, though a few stacks of paper remained.

“Okay, so maybe you were right,” Adrian recognized, pulling off a few stacks on the cart.

“I told you so!” Kyle beamed, giggling. I watched silently as Jamie and Kyle worked together. I noticed that they seemed to have a system going: Kyle took the stacks off the cart and passed them to Jamie, who then neatly stacked them inside the shelves. It seemed simple, but I knew that it was a great accomplishment for the boys to be working as a team. They didn’t argue as they went about their work. Indeed, they took their duties so seriously that they hardly spoke to one another.

Adrian leaned against the wall, his body so close to mine that I felt strange butterflies in my stomach. I took a few moments to analyze him as he watched the boys. He wore a thin black tee and ripped blue jeans that were slung low on his waist, along with torn black sneakers. I felt my mouth go dry from watching him. There was something about him that appealed to me. No, Casey. He looks like a freshman. That’s disgusting. Besides, what would he see in me? Just forget it right now–before you invest in any feelings that you may or may not have. I must admit that my mind gave me pretty sound advice. If only I would listen.

Before I was done contemplating, Jamie and Kyle had already switched turns with the cart and were heading off to do the next set of printers, wherever they were.

We loaded up several more printers until we came to the last set, which were on the second level and in the staff room. Luckily, the room was empty, so we didn’t have to stop and make small talk with any teachers.

It was another fifteen minutes or so before we made it back to the classroom and plopped onto the couches in Mrs. Bailey’s room. I think we all were tired from the first day back to class; it was always so difficult to return to school after a break. I could hardly attempt to try to understand what it was like for the CLP students, especially those who didn’t completely understand what was happening, like Braden, for instance. Being autistic, the boy had a very firm schedule that he stuck to at school. He always became extremely upset whenever he was asked to deviate from the rigid sequence of events. I’d seem him really upset once before when we’d had an assembly, which had, inevitably, set his schedule off whack. He’d made a high-pitched sound at Mrs. Bailey and then burst out crying. At first, I hadn’t been able to understand what the big deal was and had thought his emotions to be out of line. However, as I had started to pay closer attention to him, I’d discovered just how much of his world was dictated by a special sequence of events. This schedule relaxed and comforted him; it was essentially the only thing that made some sort of sense in his eyes. If I were him, I couldn’t begin to imagine the despair that would envelop me at the thought of not knowing what was about to happen. I hated unpredictability. Life was too messy to even think about trying to make sense of it all.

I was about to follow Jamie over to his desk, when I found Mrs. Graves loading up the washing machine in the kitchen with Jasmine. I figured that now was as a good a time as ever to try to talk some sense into Mrs. Graves about Jasmine’s DynaVox. It seemed like it was a now or never kind of deal. I didn’t want to back out. I gave the boys a curt nod and padded over to the girls. Immediately, Jasmine waved up at me and nodded at their work.

“That looks great!” I applauded Jasmine, patting her back gently. Jasmine smiled up at me and fisted her hands around another clump of dirty clothes. I could see that most of the pile consisted of Carla’s pants and underwear. She was always so impatient when it came to using the washroom–though I must admit that she was getting a lot better. The machine wasn’t nearly as full as it used to be.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Graves?”

“Huh? Casey?” The teacher cocked her head to face me with wide brown eyes.

“Could I speak with you when you have a minute?” She said nothing, glancing down at the pile of clothes at her feet. “If you’re busy . . .”

“No, I’ll just be a minute. Besides, I’d like a break anyways. Could you put on a pot of coffee?” Mrs. Graves resumed her work with new vigor as she urged Jasmine to continue.

“Sure.” I nodded and jumped on the task.

The teacher was already seated at the kitchen table by the time the coffee was done. I hurried over, set down a cup, and then pulled out some juice from the fridge for myself. I only liked coffee in a latte–the other stuff they threw inside the drink pretty much drowned out the coffee taste. Besides, I was too young to actually like coffee straight, I reasoned.

Mrs. Graves sipped at her drink, wrapping her hands around the cup when she placed it down on the table.

We stared at each other for a few minutes, drinking quietly. It shouldn’t have been awkward; we’d done this before, but it felt strange. I think it was me. This was the first time I’d ever questioned an authority figure. I was so used to just nodding along and being the sweet girl everyone believed me to be. I felt like if I said anything, my reputation would be pulled out from underneath me. However, I also knew that there was a time and place for everything. It wasn’t like I was going to tell her how she should do her job. No, I would only make a friendly suggestion. I’d been silent so many times, but now was a time for words.

I gulped down the last of my orange juice and swallowed, hard. “Mrs. Graves, this may sound kind of out of the blue . . .” I let the sentence dangle in the air.

“Shoot.”

“Well, I’ve noticed that Jasmine’s still using her DynaVox–,”

“Isn’t it just amazing? She’s adapting to it so well!” Mrs. Graves interjected, fingering her cup.

“Um, well, I suppose,” I amended, caught off guard. Casey, just get to your point! I pleaded with myself. “But that’s kind of the problem,” I said, releasing a breath.

“What?” Mrs. Graves appeared as though I’d just hit her, her head snapping back with personal offense.

“No, no! It’s not like I don’t think that the DynaVox isn’t a great thing! I think that it’s wonderful for people who can’t speak on their own. It’s just that, well, Jasmine isn’t one of those people. She has a voice, and she’ll lose it if she’s always having a piece of technology do all of the talking for her. I always thought that, here at Mayfield, we focused on abilities and not limitations.” My words came out in a big rush and my voice was shaky. I’d never been so uncomfortable with Mrs. Graves. I absolutely adored her. She had a stunning personality and an ear for the students–but that didn’t mean that she didn’t make mistakes, just the same as everyone else. Above all, I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. I trusted her to make the right decision, whatever that may be, but it didn’t make it any easier to tell her that I thought she was wrong.

Mrs. Graves’s frown gradually dissolved as she thought, a hand pressed against her cheek. She didn’t say a word for what could have been seconds or several minutes, her eyes staring straight at mine, appraisingly.

“Why didn’t you approach me sooner?” She finally asked, catching me off guard.

“Um, I didn’t feel like I knew you well enough, and I didn’t really know if it was my place to say anything,” I replied thoughtfully, my hands laced together under the table. I had no idea what was passing through Mrs. Graves’s mind, and I didn’t want to jeopardize our relationship as friends.

“Well, I appreciate your honesty. I can respect that, especially in someone so young.” She leaned back against her plastic chair and pursed her lips, thinking once more. “I don’t doubt that Jasmine can speak.”

“So . . . ?”

“You see, the problem is that in the real world people aren’t patient enough to try and comprehend whatever she’s thinking. Today’s society is all about what’s fast and efficient. It doesn’t matter for people like you and me who will take the time to piece together her words and hand-motions to gather what she’s saying.”

“Couldn’t she learn to speak better?”


“I would have said yes a year or two ago, but now that she’s constantly using the DynaVox she’s probably lost some ability to speak, and I just don’t know if we have enough time . . .”

“She hasn’t been using her DynaVox much when she’s with me,” I admitted.

Mrs. Graves frowned, slightly peeved. She quickly regained her composure and continued, “I’ll reassess her speaking ability and then approach her parents if I see any hope of her improving. If all goes well, I expect you to help her, since it was your idea.” Mrs. Graves smiled, completely serious.

I gaped. Me? I don’t know if I can do this! Jasmine has a voice, and she can’t just let it go! Look at what you just got yourself into, Case! Her parents will be so disappointed if I don’t succeed. I could hear several voices inside my head, warring with one another.

“I–,” My mouth went bone-dry.

“You won’t be alone. I will be assisting you. I just want you to be invested in the process, Casey–that’s all. That’s to say if I even agree with attempting this feat. I’ll let you know soon.”

“That’d be great,” I said, unsure of what else to say.

“Good.”

“Thanks.” I felt a whirl of emotions kick up inside me, twisting and spinning out of control as they collided into one giant mess of hope, fear, relief, and desperation.

I will do this, I told myself. I trust in Jasmine’s ability and my determination. If I fail, at least I tried. Nothing is a lost cause, not unless you let it be.

It was barely over a week when Mrs. Graves had approached me with her consent to go ahead with helping Jasmine. Her parents, though at first reluctant, had eventually come through. They’d initially been afraid of hoping for something more. “She’s alive,” they’d said. “We don’t want to push her if it will strain her too much.” Mrs. Graves had then showed Jasmine’s family the results of her tests, pointing out that she had not lost too much experience with speaking. If we began right away, there’d still be a chance for her. It had been Jasmine’s father who had eventually come to the conclusion that it would have to be Jasmine’s choice, because only she knew what she could handle. Besides, if she wasn’t willing, it would never work, he’d reasoned.

Jasmine was, of course, thrilled to shove aside her DynaVox when I told her the news after accepting, once again, my duty as her language teacher. She would still have to use the technology occasionally, so she wouldn’t have to re-learn how to use the DynaVox if we failed. I tried to not even consider the possibility. I told myself that having a one-hundred percent positive attitude was the only way to approach this endeavor. How could Jasmine believe in herself if I didn’t even have faith in me?

I realized that I had to explain the situation to Adrian so that he knew why I would be spending so much time with Jasmine. I didn’t want him to think that I was trying to avoid the other students.

Right after I finished speaking with Mrs. Graves and Jasmine, I found Adrian working on a puzzle with a few of the boys.

“Hey, can I speak with you?” I asked, motioning for him to come with me.

“Uh, okay,” he said, his brows rising. “I’ll be right back, guys,” he explained to the boys over his shoulder. The students nodded and continued quietly, though Jamie waved at me.

I directed Adrian over to a corner and leaned against the wall. He stood right in front of me, hardly any space between us. All I could think was: Crap! What am I doing? He probably thinks I’m going to hit on him or something! Why the heck did I pick a corner?!

Apparently, I didn’t know Adrian very well yet. He rocked back on his heels, his hands hanging at his sides. “Are you okay?” he asked. He didn’t attempt to move any closer, to my relief.

I managed to slip out of the corner casually, without making it seem like I felt strange standing so close to him.

“Um, yeah, it’s all good. Better than good, actually. Great even,” I fumbled, dancing around my words. Adrian glanced down at his shoes, and I caught the shadow of a smile turn up his lips as he listened to me stutter. I wondered if he knew, in that moment, how embarrassed I was.

“Because . . . ?” he urged.

“I’m going to work with Mrs. Graves to help Jasmine learn how to speak on her own.”

“Really?” Surprise lit the soft features of his face.

“Yeah, so I don’t know how much time I’ll have with the other students . . . I still want to make time for Jamie, though. I’ve made some promises to him.”

“Oh. Can I help, with Jasmine, I mean? She probably needs all of the support she can get. I’ll still oversee the other students, too, of course.” He ran a hand through his hair in a way that struck me as a nervous habit. Why is he nervous?

“That’d be super.”

“Okay, when do we start?”

“Now.”

***


Jasmine was excited to begin her lessons, clapping her hands and making what could only be enthusiastic sounds. Adrian seemed surprise by her upbeat nature. His lips kept lifting upwards at the sides, and his eyes widened frequently. I couldn’t help but watch him fondly, seeing him engrossed in something that also meant so much to me. I’d never met a boy with so much sentiment and patience. It was admirable.

“So, why don’t we all discuss our weekends with each other?” Mrs. Graves suggested, my thoughts shattering at the sound of her voice. “Jasmine needs to speak, but she also needs to listen so that she can gain vocabulary. Besides, conversation is a part of daily life,” Mrs. Graves explained to Adrian and me. My partner nodded in agreement.

“I’ll go first,” Adrian offered, raising his hand like a student and then pulling it back down. “Well, on Friday I hung out with May–Henry’s sister–at her place. We watched a movie and then went for a walk. Saturday I hung out with my twin brother, Aiden. We went to see my mom and sister in Chelsea, a place that is a couple hours away. It was really fun. I don’t get over there enough . . . Sunday, I did homework.” Adrian was quite bubbly when he mentioned hanging out with May, but I noticed a pang of sadness enter his voice as he discussed his mother and sister. I knew it was nosy of me, but I wondered why he seemed almost to have a sense of longing at the mentioning of the town, Chelsea. I’d been there once or twice before to stay at one of their hotels that had waterslides, but I wasn’t really familiar with the area.

“Sounds great,” I told him, smiling.

“Yeah, you do fun things, Adrian!” Jasmine applauded, still giggling with excitement as she leaned forward over her desk, holding on to our every word.

“I’ll go next,” I offered. “On Friday, I went to see a movie with my mom and sister, Sabrina. It was a comedy. Then, on Saturday, I studied for some upcoming tests. Finally, on Sunday, I went to mass and then visited with my grandparents. I was actually pretty busy most of the time.”

Mrs. Graves nodded at my words, watching Jasmine soak up the conversation like a wet sponge. Finding Adrian’s cerulean eyes looking at me wonderingly, I suddenly felt nervous. I couldn’t tell if he was simply attentive or if it was something more . . . I wagered his intense expression was due to the former, ruling out the possibility that he could ever so much as like me. I didn’t see myself as having anything special that would stand out to someone. What was that people always said? ‘You have to love yourself before you can love someone else.’ Yes, that was the saying. I believed it to be true, seeing as it made sense. I liked myself to an extent, but I was still at the stage where I felt like my flaws stood out like blemishes on my face. I wanted, more than anything, to recognize the person I saw staring back at me in the mirror.

Jasmine didn’t say anything in response. She simply nodded and then glanced expectantly at Mrs. Graves, waiting patiently for her EA to contribute.

“Sounds great, you two! On Friday, I took my sons to a hockey game–our team won! Then, on Saturday, I puttered around the house. Sunday, I went out for a nice dinner with my husband. We ordered steak dinners and fancy drinks.” Mrs. Graves turned to Jasmine, making sure she was still paying close attention. Jasmine nodded quickly after Mrs. Graves stopped speaking. Then, almost instinctively, she reached a small hand inside her desk, searching for her DynaVox.

“Oh, no, Jasmine,” I said, touching her hand. “You don’t have to use your box, remember? Use your words, please.”

Jasmine’s forehead wrinkled with confusion at first, but then, after a minute or two, she realized her mistake, pulling her hand back out from her desk. “Right, Case, Case.” I never knew why, but she always loved to say my name twice. Maybe she just liked the way my name sounded, or perhaps she had grown used to the nickname. Either way, the manner in which she pronounced the word–high-pitched and quick–made me wonder if I was her best friend. I desperately hoped that I meant a lot to her. She was so important to me. For such a little thing, she was so strong and determined. Nothing stood in her way when she wanted something. I had learned a lot from her.

“Go ahead.” I heard Mrs. Graves speak the words as though she were halfway across the room and not right beside me. It seemed like I was always slipping in and out of reality, jumping between two different worlds. I was a very thoughtful person, always pondering and questioning, especially when real-life bored me. Though, at that moment, I was pulled back into reality, intrigued by what Jasmine would say.

“Friday, I make cookies with mommy. Sunday, I spend time with Annie, my sister. Saturday was no good. We go to doctors.” Jasmine motioned with her hands as she spoke, almost as if she were desperately trying to convey her thoughts in any way she could think of. I listened intently and watched closely.

“Jasmine, Friday and Sunday sound like they were pretty great! You seemed excited just talking about it! Maybe next time you share something, could you use your hands a bit less so you can don’t get too overexcited and can focus more clearly on what you’re saying? It may feel weird, but it might make conversation easier.”

“I noticed that, too. Casey might be on to something, Jasmine. Could you try her suggestion?” Mrs. Grave’s approving words made my heart skip a beat. I was right? It was just a hunch. I wasn’t so much truly thinking as I was speaking my thoughts aloud. I just wanted to find a way to make it easier for Jasmine to string her words together. Just by hearing those first few sentences, I knew that there was quite a bit of work to be done, but I also recognized that Jasmine was an even greater speaker than I’d anticipated. Her DynaVox had not caused as much damage as I’d first supposed, which was relieving. “Here, I have a question to ask you, Jasmine,” Mrs. Graves said, folding her hands together on top of the desk. “What did you and your sister, Annie, do together?”

“Our mommy takes us to mall!” she exclaimed, her hands and arms waving about as she recalled their experience. Mrs. Graves automatically narrowed her eyes and put out her hand, as if to say ‘stop.’ It took Jasmine a moment or two to catch on before she reluctantly let her arms hang loosely at her side. Then, more calmly, she continued, “Annie and I got shirts! I bought a pink one; Annie, a yellow one. So busy there–full house!”

“Much better,” Mrs. Graves whispered to Adrian and I as we regarded Jasmine with encouraging smiles.

Yes, things would keep getting better. They just had to. There wasn’t such a thing as third chances. I knew that these five months would be all I had. I wouldn’t let the days escape without putting everything I had into them. When I finally walked away, I wanted to leave a trail behind me.

I believed that if someone made a promise, they should hold themselves to it. Promises were like a double-edged sword, beautiful but deadly. A promise always held some great expectation, a hope. So when that promise was denied, the trust woven into the words fell apart at the seams.

As a child, I’d always held people to what they said, especially when they swore to it. Though I’d been disappointed several times–mainly by kids my own age–I still firmly thought it pertinent that people only make promises that they could keep.

Lately, I’d been making several vows that I held myself totally accountable for. Helping Jasmine every single day was only one of many, though admittedly, it was more difficult than I’d figured. It was so painful having to push Jamie away when I was too occupied with Jasmine. I had to keep reminding myself that it was completely necessary. Besides, I reasoned that I needed to put some distance between the boy and myself in order to have the strength to eventually leave him. The thought still shook me to the core, fear whirling through me like someone had breathed cool air down my spine.

One promise that I’d made had been nagging at me for days–one that I’d made to Jamie. It was last semester when I had originally told Jamie that I would take him to the fire hall, so long as he took his studies seriously and behaved like a man.

Time was passing quickly. I’d already been working with Jasmine, alongside Adrian and Mrs. Graves, for several weeks.
The spring season was bursting all around the school, flowers shooting up from their pots on the windowsills outside. It was only March, but winter had come quickly and passed fleetingly, like a tumble of leaves falling all at once. The students were all very excited because they were able to take gym classes outside. It was of course still cool outside, the wind pushing the air up our thin coats. Occasionally, the sun would peek out from behind a cloud, only to fall back into the shadows.

It was a beautiful day one Friday. Though the sun was still hiding, there was no breeze to make anyone cold. It’s absolutely perfect, I thought to myself, peering out a window. I’d been thinking about my promise to Jamie a lot lately. Though he had not said anything, I knew that I couldn’t forgive myself if I forgot, again. Additionally, Jamie had been behaving exceptionally well, even with me spending less time with him and more with Jasmine. I felt like I owed him some time together.

Before approaching Jamie, I decided that it’d be best to approach Mrs. Bailey or Mrs. Graves about my plan. I’d already spoken to Adrian about the idea. He’d be supportive in that quiet way of his.

“Mrs. Bailey?” I called, peering into her office. I figured that Mrs. Graves was in the washroom with one of the students, since I couldn’t find her. I knew that she would definitely be a while.

Mrs. Bailey was glancing over the students’ planners and writing in comments to keep the parents informed about their teenager’s strengths and weaknesses. She glanced up at me after a few minutes, raising her head questioningly.

“Can I help you, dear?” I didn’t know how she did it, being so patient when she was loaded down with several things to do, always on the go.

“Um, Jamie has been very good this week. I was wondering if maybe I could take him to the fire hall.” I worried at my bottom lip, hoping that Mrs. Bailey would give me the OK. I didn’t want to have to postpone the day, especially with the weather in our favour.

Mrs. Bailey leaned her arms atop her desk, pulling off her pair of reading glasses to chew at the end in thought. “I suppose so. I mean, I don’t see why not.”

“So, that’s a yes?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Bailey. I appreciate it.” The teacher waved me off, slipping her glasses back on, and once again, fixing her eyes on the pile of planners before her.

I nearly slammed into Adrian as I did a one-eighty turn.

“I didn’t see you there!” I exclaimed, stepping back, embarrassed.

“Oh, it was my fault. What did she say?”

“It’s fine,” I said, wondering if he’d been waiting for me.

“So, when do we leave?”

“Uh–well, it’s kind of just Jamie and me.” He pursed his lips into a silent “O,” and I felt my stomach flip-flop inside me like a fish pulled out of water, struggling to breathe. He wants to come with me? No, it must be that he wants to spend time with Jamie.

“Right, I’ll see you later, then?”

“Yeah, guess so.”

He stood there looking at me for a minute, like he didn’t know if he wanted to say something or not. Finally, he must have decided against whatever it was, because he suddenly did that nervous thing of his where he reaches behind his head and drags his fingers through his curly black hair. “Bye, then.” He turned abruptly, not allowing me the chance to say anything more.

“Bye,” I whispered into the nothingness, the boy already too far to hear the word. My eyes raked down the length of him, soaking in his image. I felt a breath escape me. He was cute in that boyish kind of way. I didn’t know why I hadn’t seen it before; or rather, why I hadn’t seen it to the degree that I was now. I liked the way he walked, so loose and confident, but it wasn’t even that. His personality must have been what had hooked me. I’d heard of people who hadn’t felt anything–attraction wise–to people until they learned about their personality. It was like the person’s personality heightened the attraction. Was that what was happening to me? How else could I explain the flush of pink I felt on my cheeks when he came near me?

Before I could contemplate the emotions stirring up inside me, I was pulled back to reality when I heard Mrs. Graves yank open one of the bathroom doors.

“Hey, Casey,” she called out to me, her hand wrapped around Carla’s.

“Hello, Mrs. Graves. Carla.”

“What are you up to?”

“Well, I was just going to look for Jamie. Mrs. Bailey agreed that I could take him to the fire hall.”

“That’s exciting news! He should be at his desk. You go right ahead. It’s a short walk to the hall . . . You know where it is?” Mrs. Graves straightened Carla’s shirt with one hand; the other she used to point a scolding finger at the girl for sucking on her hand.

“Yeah.” I saw the fire hall everyday. It was only across the road, though it was partially hidden by some large trees.

“Well, have fun. If Jamie misbehaves, be sure to bring him right back.”

“Okay.” Mrs. Graves nodded, and I hurried over into Mrs. Bailey’s classroom to find Jamie rocking his body back and forth in a chair.

“Hey,” he said, looking slightly bored. Excitement was just what he needed.

“So, Mrs. Bailey said you can go to the fire hall today–,” I began, leaning against his desk.

“Really?” he interjected, his head snapping up to face mine.

“Really.” I repeated, a smile playing at my lips teasingly.

“When do we go?” He stood up in his chair, crossing his arms out of habit.

“How about now?”

“Yeah.” Jamie grinned and shoved in his chair. I didn’t have to say anything more–he was already heading out the door and into the hallway.

“Wait up, buddy!” I called after him. He seemed all legs as he strode over to his locker and spun the dial. I helped him zip up a light jacket. I had a little hoodie and dark skinny jeans on, so I would be all right.

Outside, the weather was picture-perfect–the sun was high in the sky, there was a slight breeze, and the grass was a bright green beneath our feet.

Jamie was quiet for a few minutes, his gaze hard and focused as he treaded forward at my side. Luckily, there weren’t any gym classes outside for the moment, so we just cut across the football field and through the parking lot.

“I bet you’re pretty excited, huh?” I finally asked Jamie, punching a hole in the silence. It wasn’t like it was an awkward silence, but I wanted to know what he was feeling inside. He’d been working towards this visit for months. He must have been feeling quite a lot, I figured.

“Yeah, we’ll see red fire trucks for real.”

“You’ve never seen one before?” I asked, puzzled.

“Not up close.”

“Hey, there it is, Jamie! Do you see it?” I pointed across the road and to the left. The boy followed my finger and let out a small sound.

“Wow,” was all he said. Hurrying forward, he slipped off the curb and onto the road, a blur across my field of vision. My heart slammed against my throat and I lunged forward. Luckily, I was able to swiftly reach forward and yank him by the arm, pulling us both back down onto the grass in a pile of arms and legs.

“You okay, Jamie?!” I hollered from under the crook of his thin elbow, my heart still beating way too fast.

“Yeah, I think so.” The boy leaped off me, slapping his jeans.

“You have to be careful! You could have killed yourself!” My voice escalated, sounding almost shrill in my ears.

“I–I’m sorry. I got excited.” I noticed then that Jamie was shaking like a leaf, his body trembling from the impact of the fall. He wiped at his face, upset.

“Jamie, I’m not mad at you. I was only worried,” I explained, touching his shoulder reassuringly. “I don’t want you to get hurt
. . . Maybe we should just head back to the school.”

“No! I have to see the fire hall! Please!” Desperation filled his voice as he struggled to convince me.

“All right, but at least take my hand, then.” I was such a push-over. He got to me like no one else I knew–not even Adrian. Jamie was too easy to love, and love made you do stupid things. Not to say that this adventure was stupid, because it wasn’t. It would have been if I hadn’t enforced the rule of him holding my hand as we crossed the road. I couldn’t trust his emotions completely. I had to remind myself that, in some ways, he was a little boy.

His hand felt cool and soft in mine as we walked up the driveway to the fire hall. The building and garage were painted a bright cherry red. There was a huge yellow and red sign above the building, which bore the image of a Dalmatian in a fireman’s suit with his thumb raised. Around the sign read the words, “Be safe and keep your fire alarm batteries replaced!” It was a catchy little saying for kids. I encouraged Jamie to try and read the sign, but he didn’t recognize any of the words. At least he tried.

The garage doors were wide open; inside, we found a few young men washing up some of the trucks. Jamie’s hand escaped mine as he bounded up to the closest man, a guy with short spiky brown hair and light blue eyes. He appeared to be in his late twenties. The man automatically jumped back.

Jamie halted in front of the man, turning to face the huge truck before him, which was freshly cleaned.

The man glanced over at me, a question sparking in his eyes. I sucked in a breath as I hurried over to explain.

“We’re from the Community Living Program at Mayfield High,” I began, taking a breath. “This is Jamie . . . Didn’t Mrs. Bailey call you or something?”

“Right! I forgot. We’re not used to this kind of . . .,” he paused, searching for an appropriate word.

“That’s okay,” I interjected thoughtfully. “I can watch him, if you like. He just wants to see the trucks and stuff.”

“No, I can show him around. It’s no trouble, really.” The guy wiped off his soapy hands with a towel.

“That would be great.” I smiled up at him, expectantly.

“Oh, I’m Derek,” he said, finally catching on. He put out a calloused hand.

“Casey.”

“You know, we haven’t had many calls, and there are lots of guys in today . . . Maybe Jamie would like to take a ride in one of the trucks?” He glanced from me to the boy, who was fingering the hose attached to the side of the bright vehicle.

I hated how he was referring to Jamie in the third-person, but he seemed like he was truly trying to make an effort to be kind, which I found to be quite amicable.

“Me?” Jamie asked, spinning around to face us both, his eyes wide-eyed.

“Yes, you,” Derek said, smiling. “Come on,” he urged, directing us to follow him as he lead us to the front doors of the truck. “You’ll have to sit in the middle, Jamie,” he said as he leaped up and into the driver’s seat.

I lead Jamie over to the other side of the truck, standing close behind him, bracing myself in case he slipped. He made it inside with one slight jump. I slipped in easily beside him, yanking a seat belt around us both. He was so scrawny it made my stomach squeeze.

The seats were warm and felt like leather. Looking across Jamie and at Derek, I realized that the wheel was massive.

“We’ll just go for a short ride, okay? There’s plenty to see at the station, too.”

“What do you say, Jamie?” I asked, my voice taking on a teacher’s slight edge.

“Thanks!” he grinned at Derek.

“No problem. Just please don’t touch any buttons, unless I say so.” Jamie nodded vigorously, his eyes locked on the huge glass dashboard.

“Ready?” he asked us both.

“Yes,” we chorused in unison. I couldn’t get over how large the truck was. Three grown men could easily have managed to fit inside the front. It was quite incredible, really. I could hardly believe that I was sitting inside a bright red fire truck. Every day seemed to become more and more surreal.

Glancing around, I found several strange looking buttons and gadgets. There was also a large speaker that resembled a walkie-talkie, which I presumed was used to communicate back and forth with the station.

Jamie seemed to be most pleased with the view out of the truck. We were so high above ground; in comparison to a car or even bus, it was strange. He leaned forward in his seat, stretching our joint seat belt taut as he looked down through the glass, his mouth open.

“Sweet view, huh?” Derek asked, spinning the wheel casually as we turned through the streets at random.

“How do you make the sound?” Jamie asked, pulling back to take a glance at the array of colourful buttons and switches.

“Well, it’s this special one right here,” the man answered, pointing. Jamie made a move to touch it–my hand snaked out to grab his wrist. The boy turned to look at me. “I didn’t say you could touch that, Jamie,” Derek explained as my fingers remained clasped around Jamie’s small hand. I wasn’t trying to upset him, but I also didn’t want to anger the fireman who had so kindly taken us for a ride.

“Oh, right. Can I?”


“Maybe I’ll let you when we’re back at the station. Not right now though, because I don’t want anyone to have to pull over their cars for no reason . . . Just enjoy the ride.”

Jamie frowned and then nodded, resigned. He sat back against the seat and began to relax. I let his hand slip from my own as I peered out the window, watching as trees and houses blurred before me in blots of green and brown. It was exhilarating. I could feel the wind blowing in from the side window, tousling my hair into a mess. The truck itself felt warm around me, like a cocoon. Jamie’s body pressed up against mine made me feel happy. He was finally living one of his dreams. I couldn’t help but notice the pride I felt swelling inside me. Jamie had set a goal, and I’d helped him succeed. I couldn’t fathom experiencing anything greater than this shared moment.

Jamie busied himself with asking Derek several questions as we made our way back to the station. I sat silently, listening to the two go back and forth with the conversation. I was quite pleased with the way Derek handled the discussion. Anyone else likely would have told Jamie to quit talking. He liked to ask ‘Why?’ a lot. Like, “Why are there so many buttons? What does this button do? Why are you a fireman?”

By the time we pulled into the station, I thought Derek would ask us to leave so that he could get back to his work. He didn’t tell us to scram. Instead, he yanked out a hose from one of the adjacent trucks and handed it to Jamie. The boy reacted automatically, fisting his hands around the hose tightly as a grin broke out across his face. Then Derek reappeared from behind the truck with two buckets full of soapy water. He handed the one pail to me and kept the other locked in the grasp of his opposite hand.

“You guys mind helping me out? Mrs. Bailey said you liked to clean, Jamie?”

“I do good job,” he confirmed, moving to turn on the hose.

“Great, ‘cause we’ve got to make this truck shiny again.”

“Thank-you,” I mouthed to Derek. This was a perfect opportunity for Jamie to prove that he was maturing into a responsible young man, which was exactly what Mrs. Bailey was aiming for as his teacher.

“No problem,” Derek mouthed back, wringing out a cloth in his bucket.

Derek and I washed meticulously, slathering on the soap quickly but efficiently. It took longer than I expected; there was a lot of body on the truck to cover.

“Go ahead!” I hollered over to Jamie. The boy squeezed the trigger on the hose, a burst of water exploding over the truck in a wave. Jamie broke out in contented laughter, his shoulders rising and falling as he worked.

“Awesome!” Derek shouted, pumping his fists into the air and landing a high-five with Jamie. I knew he was acting overly excited for the boy, realizing just how important the experience was for him. I had to give the guy some credit; he was a genuinely nice person.

Once the truck was completely hosed down, Derek asked Jamie to inspect the wheels to make sure they didn’t need to be pumped up. Without having to be asked a second time, Jamie spun on his heel and made a thorough walk around the truck, pausing at each wheel and squeezing to check the firmness.

“All good,” he declared, smacking his hands together.

“Perfect, Jamie. You’ve been a real help today. I wonder . . .” Derek trailed off, his expression thoughtful. “Just give me a sec, okay?”

“Uh, sure,” I said, thrown for a loop. Where was he going? The broad-shouldered man stepped through a doorway and disappeared. Glancing down at my watch, I realized that we’d better be leaving soon–there was only fifteen minutes of class left.

Derek returned promptly, a smile playing upon his lips as he reached Jamie.

“Jamie, did you have fun today?”

“It was the best!”

“How would you like to work here, say twice a week? Like Mondays and Fridays? We could pay you a little . . .” He trailed off, watching Jamie’s expression deepen into an even greater smile.

“Yes!” Jamie exclaimed, jumping on his feet. “I can do this!”

“What about Mrs. Bailey’s–,” I began uncertainly.

“I just called her. She’s pleased with the idea,” Derek said, cutting me off. “You start Friday. Don’t be late!” The fireman pointed an forefinger at Jamie, stressing the seriousness of Jamie’s new job.

“I won’t be,” Jamie replied, shaking his head.

“Good. See you around, kid,” Derek said, waving a hand as he slipped back through the doorway and into the station.

“Bye!” Jamie waved.

“Thanks for everything!” I called after Derek, unsure of whether or not he’d hear me. I hoped he did. My heart had practically leaped into my throat at the wonderful news he’d delivered to Jamie. What a splendid afternoon!

I couldn’t help but notice the way Jamie carried himself on our way back to the classroom. He seemed to walk more confidently, his head facing up instead of towards the ground, and his legs carrying him forwards at a brisker pace.

It was difficult to keep up, my legs bounding slightly behind him. I couldn’t wait to tell Adrian the good news. I just knew that he’d be proud, like I was.

I hadn’t expected him to be hurt. “What?” he exclaimed back in the classroom, his brows shooting upwards. “I knew I should have come anyways.” He stomped off in the other direction, shaking his head, clearly upset.

“I’m sorry!” I called after him, my voice quiet and sad. Why is he making such a big fuss about this? I’ve known Jamie for the whole year, so why does he care? I’d been selfish again, disregarding another person’s feelings. I didn’t know it at the time, being all-consumed with my own affairs.

“What’s with Adrian?” Jamie asked, tilting his head to face me.

“I honestly don’t know.”

It was a week or so after Jamie’s field trip to the fire hall when Mrs. Bailey announced to Adrian and I that the Snoezelen room was complete. We’d been working tirelessly on the room for a few weeks now. Though I hadn’t yet seen the finished product, I was sure that it would be amazing. Last I’d checked, the room was covered floor-to-ceiling with paraphernalia, including colourful glow-in-the-dark toys, automatic beds that moved at the flick of a button, and hammocks that made it seem as though you were sleeping on air.

“Would you like to see it?” Mrs. Bailey asked us both, her hands clapping together with enthusiasm.

“Yes,” I said, intrigue lacing the word.

“Totally,” Adrian agreed, refusing to look at me straight on. His voice was still soft, though, when he had spoken to me–he wasn’t angry. I took that as a good sign.

Mrs. Bailey opened the door to reveal a lightless room that glowed like a million stars. Upon closer inspection, I found that there was a lot of tiny glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the walls. In the back, there was a huge projector that displayed images across the wall. Currently, there was an image of dolphins leaping into an ocean, turtles and fish swimming beneath the deep blue.

Stepping inside, I could hear sound bounce off my eardrums. It was coming from a speaker attached to the small projector. There was the rushing sound of waves and the high-pitched echo-like sound of several dolphins.

The room was beyond cool. I’d never seen anything else look more inviting than this. For goodness sakes, there was even a small disco ball hanging from the centre of the ceiling!

So caught up in my exploration of the Snoezelen room, I almost tripped over a body. My foot had pressed against Riley’s thin leg; she was curled up on a small foam-like mattress and breathing softly.

“Sorry,” I whispered instinctively. The girl didn’t even move. She mustn’t have felt a thing.
As I moved forward, I caught sight of Carl sprawled out on the hammock, his legs dangling off the side lazily.

“How?” I asked, turning to Mrs. Bailey, my brows raised in question. Carl would never be able to step into the hammock by himself–he was getting worse every day.

“Mrs. Graves and I lifted him up and into the hammock,” Mrs. Bailey explained quietly, nodding to the boy with a small smile. He looked so completely at rest, his body still for once. You wouldn’t know that he had muscular dystrophy at all. He looked like any ordinary teenager. The thought was comforting but also saddening. It was a terrible illusion, a picture that would be turned upside down as soon as the boy awoke.

“Could you both watch the students?” Mrs. Bailey asked, nodding at Riley, Carl, and Braden–who was playing with a toy in the left corner, facing opposite to us, completely absorbed with what he was doing. “You can rest, too, if you’d like,” the teacher added as an afterthought.

“Sure,” I agreed. I turned to see Adrian nodding at our teacher reassuringly, his hands shoved down deep inside the front pockets of his jeans. He looked adorable, standing there with a small, almost imperceptible smile hiding in his eyes.

“Great! I’ll be letting in some more students later. I figure that it will be best for the students to swap so that everyone will get a chance to have a nap,” she explained, then passed through the door with a quick nod.

Except for the soft sound of the students’ breathing, Mrs. Bailey’s departure killed all sound. Adrian walked over to the nearest untaken bed and laid down on top, his arms crossed behind his head.

So that’s how he’s going to be, huh? Well, two can play this game. If he won’t talk, neither will I. Slightly annoyed by the silent treatment, I found a bed at the other side of the room and sprawled out on top, feeling the air mattress sink beneath me. I could watch Braden quite easily from where I was. So intrigued with the glow-in-the-dark shapes, the boy paid me no attention. That was all right; I felt exhausted. I was almost asleep, the soft sound of the dolphins playing like a lullaby in my ear, when I heard Adrian’s voice slip into the quiet.

“Casey?” he whispered. I opened my eyes and gazed up at the starry ceiling as I contemplated the idea of fake sleeping.

“What?” I asked; my voice was clipped. I hadn’t meant for the word to come out in such a manner–I was hurt, too. I couldn’t figure out why he was being such a stick in the mud over the whole fire hall situation. It wasn’t like I’d tried to hurt him. I didn’t think he would care. Besides, we both couldn’t have gone anyways. Someone needed to stay behind to take care of the rest of the students.

“Nothing,” he said, changing his mind. I could see him turn his head to face the other way, tufts of his curly black hair standing on end.

Silence passed between us for a few awkward minutes, neither of us trying to make amends. As much as I thought he was throwing the situation out of proportion, he was my partner and I did like him to an extent, so I figured it was my obligation to at least try to make things right again.

“Adrian,” I began, wetting my lips as I continued to gaze upwards at the stars above me. The stars were winking down at me, and the blackness surrounding them seemed to comfort me with the knowledge that Adrian wouldn’t be able to watch the emotions passing over my face as I spoke. “You’re my partner for this course, and I don’t want to have unspoken feelings between us. The tension will only hurt the students and our grades. I promise I won’t take Jamie–or anyone else–anywhere without asking you first. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, and I’m really sorry.” I let out the breath I’d been holding and braced myself for his response, wondering what he’d say.

There was a long pause, and for one terrible moment I wondered if he’d fallen asleep on me, not hearing what I’d said at all.

“It wasn’t about Jamie. Not completely, anyways. We’re a team, like you said, and I thought we were close enough that you’d tell me what was happening. So, yeah, it did hurt knowing that you hadn’t even planned on asking me to join you. I thought we were friends–more than that even.” I heard him take a quick intake of breath, his hands covering his eyes as though he knew he’d said too much. His arms fell to his sides in defeat as he looked up at the ceiling.

“I like you, too,” I whispered, my voice shaking with the admittance. “I just wanted to share the moment alone with Jamie because I’d promised him way back in September. I felt like I owed him that much.”

“Oh . . . So, are we okay?”

“Yeah, whatever we are,” I muttered, laughing lightly.

“About that . . .” he began, turning to face me. “I don’t want to make our friendship awkward.”

“Then let’s just be friends,” I said. “But I do like you,” I added, trying to get that point across. Adrian said nothing, though I caught a smile forming on his face, even with only a slight glow lighting the room.

“Yeah, I think you’re pretty great, too.” He rolled over onto his side, the bed squeaking beneath him. His bed continued to rock on the mat as he fiddled with something in the corner. “How do you make this bed move anyways?” he asked, sitting up with his elbow as he fingered a remote control.

“Just a sec,” I said, slipping out of my bed and sitting down beside him as I fiddled with the rectangular box. Finally, I found a switch at the side that made the bed vibrate like a machine.

“Where did they get these beds?” I laughed as Adrian shook on top of the bed, the mattress trembling beneath him.

“I don’t know, but I like it. My bed at home doesn’t do anything!” He chuckled softly and then fell onto his back, getting comfortable. Being so close to him made me think about the words that had just passed between us. He likes me? Boys don’t like me. I’m way too plain. How could this happen? My mind grappled with the idea, struggling to understand what seemed to be a lie. I didn’t want to believe that something so wonderful could happen to me. I didn’t want to get hurt.

“Mine neither,” I added, a little late. “I’m not surprised that everyone else is asleep. It’s pretty nice in here. The ceiling is absolutely stunning.”

“Yeah, I agree. See the Big Dipper, right there?” he asked, pointing out a series of stars thoughtfully. “It looks like Mrs. Bailey really does like to be precise,” he laughed.

I laid down beside him on one of the mats, following his fingers as he traced out constellations. “How do you know all this?” I inquired, daring a glance into his blue eyes.

“My mother and I used to do this all the time, especially when I was little.”

“What happened?”

“Huh?”

“You said ‘used to,’” I quoted, my voice polite but also curious.

“Well, I grew up for starters. Then my parents divorced and I decided to stay back with my brother and Dad. I mean, my whole life is here. I couldn’t just walk away.” He seemed to be lost in the past, his eyes facing upwards as he recalled his memories.

“Oh,” I said, unsure of what to say, my fingers clenching and then unfurling with nervousness. I hadn’t meant to upset him, again.

“I miss her–my Mom. My Dad and I don’t really get along.” He coughed uneasily and then rubbed at his eyes, as though he were tired. I knew that he wasn’t. I couldn’t imagine living away from my own mother. She was all I had.

“You should see her more,” I encouraged, looking up at the stars again, unable to look at him straight on. It was the first really personal conversation we’d ever had. It was both exhilarating and troubling at the same time.

“I think I might move up to Chelsea when I’m finished my senior year. Everyone else will be moving on anyways.”

“That’s a good plan. You said before that your sister is with her?”

“Yeah, she went when my Mom left. I miss her, too.”

“Do you think Aiden will go with you?”

“I doubt it–we’re very different people. Besides, him and my Dad are close.”

“That must be awkward for you,” I said, speaking my thoughts aloud.

“Sometimes . . . Anyways, let’s talk about you. It’s just you and Sabrina, right?”

“Yeah, we’re kind of like night and day, too, but we’re super close. She’s like my best friend. My Mom and I are pretty tight.”

“You probably don’t realize how lucky you are.”

“I think that I’m beginning to.”

The semester was unfolding more quickly than I ever could have imagined. Jasmine had already been practicing her speech for just over four months! She was learning incredibly well, her DynaVox becoming an almost forgotten thing. Though we still had a long ways to go before she would be speaking grammatically correct sentences, she was able to convey messages to a stranger and have them understand her clearly, which was something I considered to be a success. I was incredibly proud of her dedication and confidence along the entire journey so far. Even on days when we seemed to be moving backwards, she pulled herself together and kept trying to push forward. I believed that there would be enough time for Adrian, Mrs. Graves, and I to teach her enough so that she wouldn’t lose her new knowledge over the approaching summer break. Besides, her family would only encourage her to continue practicing.

I could hardly even think about the school year coming to an end, which was insanely odd for me. It was the strangest feeling, wanting to go to school some days. It wasn’t like I enjoyed the redundancy of school life, or the headaches that came with the piles of homework. Rather, it was my third period CLP class that was keeping me on my toes in excitement. There was just so much happening; it kept pulling me inside the school with a sense of eagerness.

I was gradually beginning to feel my attitude shift from one of blatant negativity to positivity. I even worried less, which was, in my case, saying something. No longer was I biting my nails or chewing my lip at the drop of a hat. For the longest time, I couldn’t decide what had changed. Finally, I realized that it was simply I who had changed. It wasn’t any one thing that had flipped my life upside down; it was a host of little things all strung together. Jamie was definitely responsible for a part of my transformation.

It was almost like I was wearing a different set of eyes, seeing a world full of colour, instead of a strictly black-and-white one.

As much I’d changed, I still had a long way to go before I could completely trust the girl looking back at me in the mirror. I was still judgemental and afraid to give my heart completely, along with several other flaws that stood out like blooming purple bruises on my body. I knew that I couldn’t erase them all, and I didn’t want to. I wasn’t perfect, and I sure as heck didn’t believe that I ever could be. That was all right. I needed something to work towards. If people couldn’t grow into better people, what would be the point in trying anything at all?

Speaking of trying, Jamie was giving his all at the fire hall, working as a handyman for the firemen twice a week. For the first few weeks, I’d gone with him for support, to make sure that he wasn’t struggling with any of the tasks. Quite honestly, I mostly watched as he washed the trucks and emptied the trashcans. Sometimes, he would get really lucky and be able to do something different, like clean up the office or wash the firefighters’ suits. He particularly enjoyed the latter since he was getting rid of the “dirty,” as he liked to put it. The clothes always looked brand new once he was done with them and, of course, the firemen were extremely pleased. As much as I enjoyed simply sitting back and making sure Jamie was all right, Mrs. Bailey had asked me to start simply dropping him off and picking him back up on his fire hall days. She’d said that it would give him a sense of independence. I could hardly argue with that, though I was openly disappointed. Consequently, I’d spent more time with Jasmine and the other students.

Adrian was someone else who had slowly become more a part of my life. We did everything together, and not just because we were partners. We were totally in sync with each other, even more so than Kathleen and I had even been. It was incredible to have finally met someone who I could laugh alongside without being afraid of being myself. He seemed cuter to me each passing day, his personality shining through in all that he did. I couldn’t get over how genuine he was in the way he spoke to the students, his face so open and carefree. There was no judgement or fear in his eyes, only hope for the future. He seemed to be almost too perfect.

As much as I felt that things could only get better, I realized that as the days passed, eventually I would run out of time for good. I felt as though I had a rope slung around my neck and was just waiting for the ground to be pulled out from under me. I knew without a shadow of doubt that when I fell it would be beyond painful. Like last semester, I tried to put a lid on my thoughts, just living in the moment as I promised myself that I would. It didn’t make it any easier though. Eventually, I would have to accept the inevitable. I felt terrified, knowing that I still wasn’t ready to leave. I didn’t think that I’d ever be ready. All I could do was find a way to make the pain bearable.

Time’s passing gave me an even greater wake-up call that day, when Mrs. Bailey bounded over to Adrian and I as we entered the classroom, our bags still slung over our shoulders.

“Good news, good news!” she exclaimed, a smile breaking out across her face.

“What?” Adrian and I asked in unison, our bags dropping to the floor with a thud.

“You two are just in time for Special Olympics training. It starts today!” She clapped her hands together with joy, doing a ridiculous little dance on her feet. I’d never seem the prim and proper woman make such a show before.

“Huh?” I asked, flabbergasted. I’d heard of the Special Olympics once before, but I had no clue as to what it entailed.

“No one told you?” she asked, absolutely aghast. She calmed down abruptly, like we’d just popped her balloon with a pin. Slapping a hand across her face, she said, “That Mrs. Graves! She must have forgotten! Anyways, Special Olympics represents a series of games–like the World Olympics–in which students from all over Ontario come to compete. As CLP Peer Supporters, you two are responsible for helping them train so that they can do their absolute best when we go the stadium at the University of Wesley.”

Adrian and I glanced at each other, excitement flooding our expressions. There are Olympics for the students? I could hardly believe my own ears. I totally encouraged anything that both insisted on the normalcy of the students’ dreams while celebrating their differences. It was almost too wonderful.

“Wow, that sounds pretty awesome.” Adrian smiled ear-to-ear.

“Do we get to go?” I pressed as soon as I had the chance to speak. “To the final games, I mean,” I amended.

“Of course you do! You two will be matched up with a student and train with him or her every day until the games, which will be held on the first of June.”

“Do you know which student we’ll be helping?” I asked, intrigued.

“Well, I was going to ask you both to pick up the sheet with the names from Mrs. Maureen’s office. She’s matched all of the past and present Peer Supporters with a student. It will be kind of like a nice reunion when we’re all at the Olympics in June!” Mrs. Bailey smiled at the thought as she leaned against her office door.

“Yeah, it will be,” I agreed, nodding.

“So, could you guys go get that paper?”

“Like, right now?” I asked.

“Yes, right away,” she said, her voice taking on her typical authoritative tone. “Please,” she added as she opened her office door.

“Yes, we’ll leave now,” I said, reassuring her that we’d be as timely as possible, though I did remind her that we might get held up by Mrs. Maureen, seeing as how she like to talk. Mrs. Bailey only waved us on, shutting the door.

“You heard her–let’s go,” I said to Adrian, laughing. He chuckled and pushed the door open for me, a complete gentleman.

“What was that all about?” he asked, as soon as we were out of earshot from the classroom, his mouth close to my ear.

“I don’t know. Maybe Mrs. Bailey is a bit looser than we ever realized.”

“Could be, but I doubt it. Summer must be calling to her. It’s just around the corner, really.”

“Don’t say that!” I scolded, poking him in the side. “She is a wonderful lady, and I think she just wants to see the students succeed. She is their teacher. Just because she’s busy and stressed out, doesn’t mean that she doesn’t enjoy her job when it really matters.”

“True, but she could come out of her office more often,” Adrian remarked, raising his brows at those last words.

“Whatever! Let’s just get that paper! I want to see who we’re partnered with–don’t you?”

“Yeah, of course I do. Maybe we’ll get Kyle or Jamie.”

We followed the hallway to the right as I said, “I hope so.”

When we reached the guidance office and slipped into Mrs. Maureen’s own personal room, Adrian rapped his knuckles on her door.

“Come in,” Mrs. Maureen’s voice called out.

Inside, our teacher was glancing over a pile of papers that could only be the plans for the Special Olympics.

“Hey!” She exclaimed at the sight of us, looking up with a full smile.

“How’s it going?” I asked conversationally.

“Well, I’m just finishing off the partnering for the CLP Olympics. I’ve got to admit that it takes a lot of planning.” She continued to pen in a few names as Adrian and I took a seat at the foot of her desk.

Then she raised her head again, her blonde ponytail falling against her neck and making her seem like a teenager. I could never get over how young she appeared. Maybe it was due to the fact that she was such a tiny person.

“Can you tell us who our student will be for the games?” Adrian asked anxiously, leaning forward on the desk, glancing down the list of names.

“Uh, sure,” Mrs. Maureen agreed, running a finger down the list. “Ah, here we are,” she mumbled, her face so close to the paper that we couldn’t see. “You two are with Travis.”

Travis? Why Travis? I felt disappointment sweep over me like a dash of cold water. I barely knew Travis at all, in comparison to some of the others–like Jamie. I couldn’t help but wonder if Mrs. Maureen had made a mistake.

“Oh,” I managed to say, realizing that our teacher was looking at us with her wide, brown eyes. I tried not to sound let down, but it was pretty impossible when I’d been so sure that it would be Jamie, or at least Jasmine or Kyle.

“Is that okay?” Mrs. Maureen asked, catching my emotion. She glanced at me and then Adrian. He appeared neutral. I guessed that he hadn’t gotten his hopes up like I had.

“Yeah, totally,” I said, nodding my head.

“You thought I’d place you with Jamie or Kyle, didn’t you?” she asked out of the blue, startling me.

“Kind of,” I admitted sheepishly.

“Well, to be honest, I purposely put you with someone else.”

I balked at the woman’s words, confused. Why would she do such a thing? How could she hurt me like this? I felt Adrian shift in his seat uncomfortably, surprised as well.

“Why?” I managed to ask, my tongue feeling like a foreign creature inside my mouth.

“I did it because there are only a few weeks of school left, and you both need to start pulling away from the students–especially you, Casey.” She locked her eyes on mine, trying to hold my gaze. “I know you don’t want to let go. I’m just trying to make it a bit easier.”

“But–,” I began, mortified.

“It’s for the best,” Mrs. Maureen cut me off, her voice more firm than I’d ever heard it before.

“I know,” I finally agreed, slouching back in my seat. “It doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want to let go. I don’t even think that I can,” I added, dropping my head in defeat.

“You will be able to when the time is right. You forget that there will be other people next year who will help the students the same way you did.”

“Yeah, but what if there isn’t anyone willing to stand up for the students and make their lives better?”

“There will be, Casey . . . It’s not like I’ll be replacing you or Adrian. No one can fill the space you will leave behind, but there will be people to make the transition easy for everyone. You can believe that. Trust me, please.”

“I do,” I said, my voice barely audible as I shoved a hand across my damp face. I hadn’t realized that I’d started crying. In front of Adrian, too! I could already imagine what he’d think of me. Before I had the chance to search his face, I felt his hand slip into mine, tracing small circles on my palm.

“We’ll get through this, together,” he breathed, pushing back a strand of my dirty-blond hair and tucking it behind my ear. I would have thought the action to be incredibly romantic had I not been all-consumed by the pain clutching at my stomach like talons sheering through paper.

“We will,” I agreed, my breath playing intimately upon his cheek, totally forgetting about Mrs. Maureen watching us.

“Well . . .” Mrs. Maureen said, dragging the word out to grab our attention.

We broke apart like we’d been slapped at the same time, wiping at our faces, embarrassed. I didn’t even know where we’d been going. Would Adrian have kissed me had he had the chance? The thought sent a plume of butterflies fluttering inside my belly.

“I don’t want you guys to start stressing about the year ending. I want you both to enjoy what time is left. Besides, you guys still have to plan your trip for the students. Speaking of such, have you decided on a location?” Mrs. Maureen tidied up a few sheets of paper and then shoved them together with a paperclip as she looked at us appraisingly.

I glanced at Adrian, wanting his approval. He nodded reassuringly and then turned back to face our teacher with a smile.

“We were thinking about taking everyone to Great Bend,” I explained.

“What a fantastic idea! I never thought of that before. You know, Mrs. Graves has a restaurant in Great Bend . . . Maybe the students could eat there?” Mrs. Maureen beamed at the thought.

“What would the students do?”

“Well, we were thinking maybe some shopping, then lunch, a scavenger hunt, and a walk along the water,” Adrian further explained, appearing to be just as excited as I suddenly felt. See, it’s not over yet, Casey, a voice inside my head cheered. Eventually all time runs out, like sand slipping between your fingers, another voice contradicted meanly. I wrestled feebly with my thoughts, trying to be positive but feeling torn between two completely opposing mindsets. I was so confused.

“I like what I’m hearing!” Mrs. Maureen replied with her hands folded under her chin. “You’ll have to tell me all about it later on. Here are the finished papers for the Special Olympics. Do yourself a favour and have a good time with Travis. Live your lives without any regrets.”

“Thanks,” I said, unsure of how else to comment. I took the pages from our teacher and stood up with Adrian at my side.

“We really appreciate your time,” Adrian added as we walked out the door and pulled it closed.

“Travis?” I asked once again, unable to stop myself from being letdown. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Travis, but Jamie was the world to me.

“Guess so. It’ll still be great. Besides, just as Mrs. Maureen said, we’re getting too attached. We need this.” Adrian reached out for my hand, swinging it gently between us as we made our way back to the classroom.

“Thank-you,” I whispered into the silence, my voice more quiet than usual, timid even.

“For what . . . ?”

“For sharing this experience with me,” I replied, daring a glance into his eyes. There was a wonderful softness to them; it was like looking at a child’s innocent face.

He didn’t say a word, only glanced at me from under his eyelashes, like Jamie always did, appearing shy. Then he leaned forward, his mouth a breath away from mine, and for one delicious moment, I dared to believe that he was going to kiss me in the empty hallway.

Adrian didn’t kiss me. He was so close, and I could almost imagine the way his lips would press against mine, teasing them open. So, it was easy to be disappointed when he suddenly pulled back and cleared his throat, changing his mind.

“No problem,” he said, his voice quiet like my own had been. “I couldn’t imagine being in this course with anyone else.” He leaned his head forward again, like he was sure this time . . .

Then, out of nowhere, Mrs. Bailey stepped out of the CLP classroom, almost smacking into us. “Where have you two been for so long?” she squawked at us, her arms pinned to her hips.

Adrian fell against the lockers, surprised. I yanked at his arm, pulling him beside me awkwardly.

“Mrs. Maureen got talking,” I explained, just praying that Adrian had regained his composure.

“Yeah, what she said,” he agreed, gesturing as he glanced between me and Mrs. Bailey.

“Uh-huh,” the teacher said; her brows rose quizzically. I couldn’t tell if she knew what we’d been up to, or if she was trying to figure out something else entirely. “Are those the papers I asked for?” She pointed to the papers still dangling from my left hand.

“Oh, right. Here you are,” I said, handing the sheets over.

“Well, I’ll see you both inside.” She nodded to herself and slipped inside.

Once the door closed, I sighed heavily and fell against the wall, wiping a sweaty palm across my forehead.

“She scared the crap out of me,” I admitted, laughing weakly.

“You and me both,” Adrian gave an uneasy laugh as he pushed the door open with one scrawny arm. It still felt strange to like someone who seemed to be younger than me, even though, in reality, he was the same age. Though, I did have to credit him with the way he had started to mature. He was beginning to get some muscle on him and the planes of his face were becoming more angular, like a man’s. It wasn’t as if I cared what he looked like, because I quite honestly wasn’t superficial, but I didn’t want to feel as though I were more of an older sister than a friend or possible girlfriend–that would be awkward.

Inside, we were overwhelmed by a horde of mainstream students, who were mingling with one another.

“What’s going on?” I asked Adrian, sticking close beside him. I hated crowds almost as much as I hated school presentations.

“It looks like the Special Olympics training has just begun.”

I looked around, taking in the masses of people, realizing that Adrian was quite right. Several of the students seemed familiar. All of the teenagers were decked out in their Peer Support outfits–grey and black long-sleeved shirts and matching black sweats.

“Hey,” I said, nodding to a few and coming up short when I bumped into a short blond-haired girl.

“Mary?” I asked, my mouth dropping open. “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you, too, Casey!” she scoffed, folding her arms across her chest and shaking her ponytail with attitude. “Just kidding!” she added, slapping me on the shoulder. “Mrs. Graves, or whatever her name was, said they needed some more Peer Supporters to cheer on the students. We thought we’d help you out!”

“‘We?’” I asked, arching a brow.

“Yes, ‘we.’ Cecilia!” she called, smudging on some red and black paint across her cheeks–Mayfield’s school colours.

“You know this is just a practice day, right? I mean, what’s with the face paint?”

“I know, I know. I’m just being supportive! Will you lay off a little, Case? Jeesh!” She pulled her hair into twin ponytails just as Cecilia sprinted up beside her.

“Who’s that?” Cecilia asked, pointing behind me. Turning around, I caught sight of Adrian glancing at me, just a few feet away, stuck in the crowd. Shoot! How could I forget Adrian?

“Err, that’s Adrian,” I mumbled, not wanting anyone else to hear what we were speaking about.


“The Adrian?” Cecilia gushed, peering over my shoulder to get a better view.

“Yes, the Adrian,” I mimicked. “Would you quit staring at him?”

“Wow, he’s cute!” Cecilia squealed and then waved at him.

I slapped a hand across my face and sighed. It was going to be an awfully long day–that was certain.

“Hey, let me see!” Mary chimed in, complaining as she struggled to see over Cecilia. “Your butt is in the way!” she grumbled, pushing the other girl aside with a firm shove.


I internally rolled my eyes at the scene unfolding before me, a headache forming at my temples.


“Damn! He is pretty sweet. Isn’t his brother Aiden, or something of that nature?” Mary asked, looking at me.

“Oh my god, there’s another cute guy in his family? I want one!” Cecilia cried dramatically.

“Really, guys?! He’s not a piece of meat, for heaven’s sake!” I let out the breath I’d been holding. “You two are impossible!”

“No, we’re just intrigued. Introduce us to him already!” Mary demanded playfully, glaring at me.

“Fine, but please don’t embarrass me. He’s really special . . .” I trailed off uncertainly, running a nervous hand through the hair I’d straightened that morning.

“La-day-dah-dah,” Mary droned. “Whatever. I’ll call him over. Handsome!” she shouted through the crowd. Thank god for the number of people; it was almost impossible to hear over the din. Most of the teenagers were meeting up with their student partners and signing the latter up for appropriate activities.

Unfortunately, Adrian must have had good ears. I watched with dread as he made his way through the crowd, excusing himself as he pushed through the waves of bodies. He was coming straight towards me, a smile creeping up over his face. I returned a tentative smile and then turned back to shake my head at Mary. She only grinned mischievously, trying to hide her laughter.

“Hey,” Adrian said when he finally reached us. “Oh, are these your friends?” he asked, suddenly timid. He swept a hand over his head, letting his fingers glide through his short curly black hair–a nervous habit I hadn’t seen him perform in weeks.

“Why, hello,” Mary slurred, flipping her blond hair to her back. “You’re Adrian, so people tell me.”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“I’ve heard so many things about you,” she crooned, leaning forward.

I thought I would die then, or at the very least, faint. Luckily, neither happened; though, I figured that I was on the brink of the latter. God, I liked my friends, but could they be any more embarrassing?

“Only good things, of course!” Cecilia piped in, nodding vigorously.

Adrian gave me a sidelong glance, a quizzical expression on his face. Man, he was being so cool about this!

“What kinds of things?” he asked me, his tone playful but also incredibly daunting.

“Lots and lots of things,” Mary said secretively.
I barked out a laugh–this conversation was getting too ridiculous! “The blond is Mary; the ginger is Cecilia,” I said, gesturing from Adrian to my so-called friends.

“Hey, that’s so not fair!” Mary complained, huffing.

“Pleasure to meet you both,” Adrian smiled, reaching out a hand in formality.

The three shook hands alternately, both of my friends resigned with how close they’d come to truly embarrassing me.

It wasn’t even a minute after the introductions had concluded when Mrs. Graves appeared out of thin air.

“You guys should be getting outside by now. Travis is waiting over there.” She pointed to the boy. “If you need anything, I’ll be at softball with Jasmine.”
“Okay, thanks,” I replied, nodding to Adrian.

“Travis!” Mary exclaimed enthusiastically. “I remember him!”

“Yeah, wasn’t he the kid who played the piano while Mary sang with that Carl dude?” Cecilia inquired thoughtfully.

“Yes,” I said, trying to shut them up. They were driving me nuts.

“We have to cheer him on!” Mary concluded.

“Okay, fine, but Adrian and I have to focus.”

“We’ll keep our cheering to a reasonable level. You ain’t got anything to worry about, girlie!” Mary reassured me.

“Fore sure!” Cecilia agreed, shaking her head of pom-poms.

I shook my head at them both. “Why don’t we meet you outside?” I suggested.

“Ugh, fine!” Mary decided. “Come on Cecilia!” Mary raced out of the room and into the hallway, Cecilia trailing after her like a little puppy dog.
Once they were out of sight, Adrian bumped shoulders with me and then said, “Nice friends.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“Really,” he said; his face was completely serious. “They care about you. They wouldn’t be here if they didn’t.”

I gnawed on his words. Could he be right? I’d underestimated our strange friendship before. Did he see something that I’d missed?

“Hey, Travis!” Adrian called out to the boy as we approached him. He was glancing over a colourful book. He barely looked up at us.

“Hi,” he said quietly, fingering his book carefully.

“Are you ready to practice for the Olympics?” I asked him, ruffling his hair playfully.

“Yeah.”

“Well, come on then,” I encouraged, helping him to his feet. The tiny boy curled his fingers around mine. It was a sweet gesture.

Adrian and I lead Travis outside. We were immediately hit with a series of loud screams that reverberated inside our ears. I didn’t even have to look up to know that Mary and Cecilia were perched on the bleachers outside, cheering for Travis.

Immediately, the boy heard his name. He looked up to find my friends waving at him. He waved in return, a huge smile encompassing his small face. Maybe it was a good thing my friends had come after all.

Travis became excited as soon as he saw the softballs in a bucket at the other end of the football field. He took off running; Adrian and I charged after him, catching up quickly. Softball was the only event he’d be able to participate in. Travis didn’t like to run and the other tasks were too difficult. If only this was a talent contest instead of a sports one. Travis was an amazing pianist, and everyone knew it.

I demonstrated to Travis how to curl his hand around the softball properly and then gave him pointers on how to throw it well. He only seemed interested in pitching the ball his own way. It didn’t really matter how he threw the ball; he was having fun. Adrian and I applauded his efforts at each throw and reinforced the idea that it didn’t matter how far he could make the ball go, so long as he was pleased with himself. His happiness was what mattered most. It wasn’t like the regular Olympic games, where people only cared about winning and the attention they received. I liked these games so much better–they had heart.

The training for the Special Olympics passed so fast; it seemed as though it was over in the blink of an eye. It was almost too difficult to believe that I was already sitting at the games, my legs dangling off the bleaches at Wesley University and the sun on my face.

Travis was sitting beside me, licking an ice-cream cone, the chocolate dribbling down his face like hot fudge. He was smiling widely, his two hands fisted tightly around the cone as he let his legs dangle from his seat.

“You sure you don’t want a bite?” Adrian asked me, shoving his strawberry ice-cream in my face.

“I’m good,” I assured him. I turned to watch a few CLP students race forward on the field, their legs moving wildly as their arms pumped at their sides.

“Come on Case, just one bite.” Adrian repeated, waving his cone before my eyes.

“I’m really all–,” I began, shaking my head.

That’s when he shoved the ice-cream into my face, the strawberries squishing against my mouth. It was so cold, and I knew that Adrian would keep the food pressed to my lips until I succumbed.
I licked hungrily at the ice-cream, swallowing down a mess of strawberry chunks.

“Good, right?” he asked, taking a bite from the place where my lips had just been.

“Perfect,” I agreed, wiping at my mouth with my hand.

“Now it is,” he said, grinning cutely.

A horn suddenly blew, drawing our attention back to the field. Another group of students had lined up at the starting line. It was the four hundred meter.

“Who’s in this one?” I asked Adrian, my tongue still licking my lips. That really had been a good ice-cream. I hadn’t wanted to spoil my appetite; it wasn’t even lunch time yet.

“Uh, I’m not sure. You might have to go down closer to see. I’ll stay with Travis if you’d like.”

“Could you?”

“No problem.”

“Thanks.” I padded across the bleacher and took off down the stairs; the students had already begun to run.

Without so much as a single thought, I bounded down the steps as fast as my feet could carry me, the wind whipping my hair in my face. I didn’t know why, but I had the gut feeling that Jamie was out there. I could hardly explain it; indeed, I didn’t even need a reason for what I was doing. All I could hear was the sound of my panting breath, thudding in my ears like a drum, and the throbbing pulse of my heart in my neck.

It seemed to take forever for my feet to meet the bottom bleacher. When I finally did, I slammed against the railing and screamed madly. “Go, Jamie!” I yelled, picking him out easily. I pumped my fists into the air as Kyle always did, wiping away strands of hair from my face with my opposite hand.

Although Jamie didn’t turn to find me in the crowd, I knew he’d heard my scream–he suddenly picked up his speed, his legs pushing even harder and his arms moving like a powerful set of wings. I watched with eagerness as he pulled neck-and-neck with a muscular boy. It was going to be incredibly close, that was for certain.

Come on, come on! You’ve got this, Jamie! Don’t let up! I nearly fell over the rail, trying to keep my eyes locked on the bright white finish line. I didn’t want to miss the result.

As Jamie and the other boy entered the final one hundred meters, the entire stadium seemed to break out into pandemonium, people screaming and pushing at each other to get a better view. I could no longer hear my own voice, and I was yelling as loud as I possibly could. It was tormenting, watching the boys take turns pulling ahead of one another.

“Go!” I continued to scream, my hands cupped around my mouth, funnelling out the sound. I desperately wanted him to hear me cheering him on, but it was clear that I’d become one of a million voices. Not a single voice could be distinguished from another. The voices simply rose together in giant swells like roaring waves. Eventually, the wave would come crashing down, and it was going to be awfully soon.

Jamie suddenly revealed another burst of energy as he threw his body forward. I gave out an excited yelp. My excitement was, unfortunately, short-lived.

Pushing himself too hard, Jamie plummeted forward as though he’d tripped over something, face-planting in the sand like a load of bricks, his body rolling on the ground from the impact.
My hands automatically slapped over my mouth in complete shock. No! Oh my God, Jamie! Get up! Get up!

A horn blared out across the stadium like thunder as the other boy threw himself over the finish line. The other side of the stadium rose up in a giant wave and broke out into a wild cheer as they clapped their hands loudly. Our student body stood up as well, cheering nonetheless.

I was too stunned to move for a few minutes. Mrs. Bailey was running out across the field in a tracksuit, falling down beside Jamie to check his leg. Finally, shaking free from my reverie, I leaped off the bottom bleacher, racing over to Jamie. A million thoughts exploded inside my head as my heart seemed to leap into my throat. He was obviously hurt; he hadn’t stood up yet. I shouldn’t have screamed so loud! I pushed him too hard! This is my fault! I had to blame someone, and I was good at pointing an accusing finger at myself.
Mrs. Bailey turned, hearing me panting beside her.

“Is he all right? What happened?” I choked out, clutching my sides as worry creased my forehead.

“He’s going to be fine. Calm down, Casey,” she said, dropping her hands in the air slowly, trying to tell me to relax.

“It’ll never go away!” Jamie yelled, his hands clutching his left kneecap.

“What? What’s going on, Jamie?” I asked, still freaking out.

“Oh, for goodness sakes!” Mrs. Bailey cried, shaking her head disapprovingly as she stepped aside for me to see.

“It won’t come off!” Jamie complained, fingering the clump of dirt that covered his knee. He spat on it and then smoothed it over the dirt, scratching and pulling at it.

I couldn’t help it: I laughed shakily. Jamie wasn’t hurt; he’d received a small cut, sure, but he was only really concerned about the dirt collected on his knee.

“Casey!” he whimpered, suddenly noticing me, though not stopping to pick at his leg.

“Jamie, you frightened me half to death,” I scolded, falling down on my knees beside him in the middle of the track.

“Huh, why?”

“I thought you were injured!”

“Oh, I’m okay.”

“Clearly,” I muttered, shaking my head, both relieved and slightly annoyed. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up in the washroom,” I said, sticking out my hand.

“Sure,” he said, climbing to his feet.
I wrapped my arm around him to keep him steady, saying, “You ran great! You could have won.”

“How far is the washroom?”

“Not too far,” I laughed, walking alongside him. The race was already a forgotten thing, as far as his mind was concerned.

Suddenly, Kathleen pulled up beside me, wrapping an arm around the boy on the opposite side of me.

“Oh, hey,” I said, surprised.

“I’m one of Jamie’s partners,” she explained, her voice breathy from running. “I’ll take it from here.”

“Huh?” I said, annoyed.

“Let’s go, Jamie. I bet that dirt doesn’t feel so good.”

“But . . .” I began; still holding on to Jamie’s other arm.

“Let Kathleen do her job,” Mrs. Bailey said to me, brushing off her pants. “Besides, Travis has to get over to softball soon.”

“Um, right,” I said thoughtfully, sad to see Jamie go off with someone else. I couldn’t help but feel jealously gnaw at me as Kathleen helped the boy over to the washrooms. She knows how much he means to me . . . No, this is good for you, another voice inside my head whispered. I felt as if he was being ripped away from me, like I was losing a friend, brother, and son, all at once. I also felt incredibly stupid. I wasn’t any of the aforementioned things. I was just me–an ordinary teenager with far-out hopes and dreams that couldn’t become reality.

***


Travis was finishing the bottom of his ice-cream cone when I pounded back up the bleachers to meet him and my partner, Adrian. The latter looked at me sadly, his eyes revealing how much he sympathized with how I felt.

“It’s going to be all right,” he said, helping me sit down to catch a breath.

“No, I don’t want to hear it!”

His head snapped back like I’d struck him with my fist, and I turned the other way, ashamed. “Sorry,” I mumbled, wiping at the tears forming at the corners of my eyes. “Kathleen just walked away with him. He wanted to be with me!”
Adrian slung his arm around my gently, leaning his head against mine, his soft curls pressed against my cheek.

“You have to have faith that everything will work out,” he whispered against my face. “It doesn’t matter what you and Jamie want–it won’t change anything,” he said, his words harsh but conveyed in a respectful tone. “I’m not saying this to hurt you; the truth always hurts. I won’t lie to you.”
“I know,” I sniffled, wiping at my face again. I probably looked ugly right now, my eyes puffy and red, tears smudging my make-up.

“You have done all that you could. No one cares as much as you do. You just have to tell remind yourself that you did make a difference in every single one of these students’ lives, and that no matter what happens, what you have done can never be erased. Their lives will have been touched forever.”

I smiled slowly at the thought, chewing on Adrian’s words. He was right as much as I didn’t want to admit it. I had fulfilled my purpose; it was time to move on and see where the rest of my life would lead me.

“What if I forget along the way?” I asked suddenly, my head turning slightly to peer into Adrian’s beautiful eyes.

“You won’t, and you know why? You’re not the kind of person to forget.”

“You really think so?” I asked, my one hand tracing circles on his arm.

“No, I know so,” he replied. Then he bent his head down to kiss me on the lips.