panic as they speculated on whom the vehicle was intended for. When he heard it was for Emma, all of the excitement, the joy of the day, drained out of him as if someone had pulled a plug from his big toe to release the emotions. In fifth period Mr. Lane told them what had happened. He said Emma had fallen down the stairs. He called it an accident.
Jonathan was in no state of mind to believe in accidents.
Â
When he got home from school, he called David, but his friend didnât answer his cell or the home phone. Jonathan felt so miserableâhis chest aching as if someone had punched through his ribs to bruise his heart and lungsâhe didnât know what to do. Emma. Jesus, it didnât seem real. She was beautiful. She was nice. She played jazz piano and wrote for the school paper. Shehad spoken to him that morning.
Finally. She had spoken to him, and now this.
Falling down the stairs. Heart stopping. Being brought back to life by old Mrs. Vierra. After Mr. Weaver. After Toby. What the hell was going on?
His mother wasnât home, so Jonathan logged on to his computer and went online. He surfed to Westland High Schoolâs website, praying to find newsâgood newsâabout Emma. He checked the schoolâs LiveJournal, and while dozens of kids had replied to the subject line A LL O UR P RAYERS FOR
E MMA , no one had any new information.
Jonathan went to the page for The Westie , the school newspaper. He scrolled through the newest issue until he found Emmaâs picture by an article she had written about teen dating. He didnât read the article. He looked at her picture, never wanted to stop looking at it.
The tears filled his eyes only a moment later. Everything just hurt too much. The light that carried him through his school days had nearly been put out. It wasnât fair. It wasnât real. Why the hell did everything have to be so bad?
Was life always going to hurt like this?
8
Jonathan didnât really sleep. He drifted off for an hour or two hours at a time, but the slumber was in no way restful. He kept picturing Emma at the top of the stairs in the library, stumbling, pinwheeling her arms for balance, then crashing downward.
At four twenty-eight he signed on to the high schoolâs website. He checked the LiveJournal. At three twenty, Megan Stevens, whose father was a doctor, had posted.
Â
Thank God! Emmaâs awake. Dad says she woke up at three and asked for a glass of water. I already told you about the X-rays, no seriousdamage. So I think we can all breathe a little better. Dad thinks sheâs going to be okay. Totally okay. Thank God!
Â
âThank God,â is right, Jonathan thought. A nightâs worth of tension fell from his shoulders. He smiled, even laughed a little with relief. He went over the post again and then again to make sure he had read the note properly, letting the wonderful news sink in and be real.
⦠Sheâs going to be okay. Totally okay.
Jonathan closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He signed off of the Web, shut down his computer, and went to bed.
Â
Friday night Jonathan stood at the counter at Perkyâs. His father had shown up at home late that afternoon seeming flush with cash. He gave Jonathan forty bucks and told him to âmake a night of it.â
Some night. All day heâd thought about visiting Emma in the hospital, but fear of embarrassment kept him away. He didnât really know her. They werenât close, no matter how badly he wanted to believe they could be. So heâd struggled withgoing, talked himself out of it, and then struggled some more. Finally heâd decided to stay away. Her real friends would be visiting; her family would be there. She was okay, and for now that had to be enough.
So he hadnât gone to the hospital, and he didnât know what to do. David already had plans. He was going to dinner with his parents. Jonathan didnât want to go to a movie by
Jonathan was in no state of mind to believe in accidents.
Â
When he got home from school, he called David, but his friend didnât answer his cell or the home phone. Jonathan felt so miserableâhis chest aching as if someone had punched through his ribs to bruise his heart and lungsâhe didnât know what to do. Emma. Jesus, it didnât seem real. She was beautiful. She was nice. She played jazz piano and wrote for the school paper. Shehad spoken to him that morning.
Finally. She had spoken to him, and now this.
Falling down the stairs. Heart stopping. Being brought back to life by old Mrs. Vierra. After Mr. Weaver. After Toby. What the hell was going on?
His mother wasnât home, so Jonathan logged on to his computer and went online. He surfed to Westland High Schoolâs website, praying to find newsâgood newsâabout Emma. He checked the schoolâs LiveJournal, and while dozens of kids had replied to the subject line A LL O UR P RAYERS FOR
E MMA , no one had any new information.
Jonathan went to the page for The Westie , the school newspaper. He scrolled through the newest issue until he found Emmaâs picture by an article she had written about teen dating. He didnât read the article. He looked at her picture, never wanted to stop looking at it.
The tears filled his eyes only a moment later. Everything just hurt too much. The light that carried him through his school days had nearly been put out. It wasnât fair. It wasnât real. Why the hell did everything have to be so bad?
Was life always going to hurt like this?
8
Jonathan didnât really sleep. He drifted off for an hour or two hours at a time, but the slumber was in no way restful. He kept picturing Emma at the top of the stairs in the library, stumbling, pinwheeling her arms for balance, then crashing downward.
At four twenty-eight he signed on to the high schoolâs website. He checked the LiveJournal. At three twenty, Megan Stevens, whose father was a doctor, had posted.
Â
Thank God! Emmaâs awake. Dad says she woke up at three and asked for a glass of water. I already told you about the X-rays, no seriousdamage. So I think we can all breathe a little better. Dad thinks sheâs going to be okay. Totally okay. Thank God!
Â
âThank God,â is right, Jonathan thought. A nightâs worth of tension fell from his shoulders. He smiled, even laughed a little with relief. He went over the post again and then again to make sure he had read the note properly, letting the wonderful news sink in and be real.
⦠Sheâs going to be okay. Totally okay.
Jonathan closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He signed off of the Web, shut down his computer, and went to bed.
Â
Friday night Jonathan stood at the counter at Perkyâs. His father had shown up at home late that afternoon seeming flush with cash. He gave Jonathan forty bucks and told him to âmake a night of it.â
Some night. All day heâd thought about visiting Emma in the hospital, but fear of embarrassment kept him away. He didnât really know her. They werenât close, no matter how badly he wanted to believe they could be. So heâd struggled withgoing, talked himself out of it, and then struggled some more. Finally heâd decided to stay away. Her real friends would be visiting; her family would be there. She was okay, and for now that had to be enough.
So he hadnât gone to the hospital, and he didnât know what to do. David already had plans. He was going to dinner with his parents. Jonathan didnât want to go to a movie by
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