Addieâs Story Chapter One
I stand at the curb and stare straight ahead. I am trembling all over. This is no exaggeration. My knees are shaking. My hands are shaking. My fingers are dancing, and there is nothing I can do to calm them. I am like a little kid shivering after being in the water too long, except that my lips arenât blue and my skin isnât wrinkled like a prune. Also, Iâm nowhere near the water, even though I feel as if I am drowning. I can barely breathe.
âMaybe this isnât a good idea,â my dad says. Heâs been saying it for days.
I shake my head. âWe agreed.â
âI think youâre underestimatingââ
âIâm not.â I snap the words at him like rocks launched from a slingshot. And there it isâa combination of anger, tension and terror. If I close my eyes, I am sure I will see a question flashing at me in neon lettersââWhy are you doing this?â
Everyone has been saying the same thing to meâmy mom, my dad, my brother by email from university, my grandma down in Phoenix, my doctor. âAddie, donât.â Theyâre like a chorus.
But if I donât do this, where does that leave me?
Who will I be then?
Iâm late, but not really . It was planned this wayânot by me, but by my dadâso I would get there without everyone staring at me. I went along with it, relieved.
âMaybe we should go in together,â my dad says.
âWe talked about this.â Mostly I had done the talking. âIâm going alone.â
Before my dad can say another word, I walk away from the curb, across the wide interlocking-brick patio, past the row of garbage bins and toward the entrance. My hand is still trembling when I reach out to push open the center door. My stomach heaves when I step into the empty foyer lined with glassfronted displays of athletic trophies and team photographs. I hold my breath when I get close to the school office.
The entire outer wall of the office is glass. I could look in if I wanted to, but I tell myself I donât want to. Still, my head turns automatically, and I spot Ms. LaPointe, one of the viceprincipals, standing behind the counter. She sees me and nods. Then she turns to look at Mr. Michaud, the principal, who has just come out of his office. He follows her gaze to me. He seems surprised, even though he was told I would be here today. Maybe he thought I wouldnât show. Maybe he thought I wouldnât have the nerve. Who can blame him? I wasnât sure myself until a couple of minutes ago.
I walk up the stairs to the second floor, trying to ignore the shakiness in my knees and the churning in my stomach. The hall is deserted. Classroom doors on both sides are shut. Everyone is already inside.
I donât go to my locker. I have everything I need in my backpack. The classroom Iâm headed for is at the end of the hall. As I walk toward it, the hall seems to get longer and longer, as if Iâm in a nightmare and no matter how far I walk, Iâll never get where Iâm going.
My head spins.
I am in a nightmare. Iâve been dreading this for months. Iâve been praying this day would never come. But thatâs not the way it works. Itâs the day you wish for that never comes, not the one that terrifies you. That day rushes at you like a runaway locomotive.
Chapter Two
Mr. Graysonâs head swivels around when I open the door to his classroom. My mother calls Mr. Grayson a fussy man. Mostly, the male teachers at this school dress in chinos or jeans. Mr. Grayson doesnât. He always wears a suit and tie, and nine times out of ten he has a vest on under his suit jacket. He carries his lesson plans and test papers in a leather briefcase. No backpacks for him. He is a real stickler for propriety. And for the rules, most of which he made up and apply only to his classroom.
Rule number one is always be on time. Be in your seat on time. Hand
I stand at the curb and stare straight ahead. I am trembling all over. This is no exaggeration. My knees are shaking. My hands are shaking. My fingers are dancing, and there is nothing I can do to calm them. I am like a little kid shivering after being in the water too long, except that my lips arenât blue and my skin isnât wrinkled like a prune. Also, Iâm nowhere near the water, even though I feel as if I am drowning. I can barely breathe.
âMaybe this isnât a good idea,â my dad says. Heâs been saying it for days.
I shake my head. âWe agreed.â
âI think youâre underestimatingââ
âIâm not.â I snap the words at him like rocks launched from a slingshot. And there it isâa combination of anger, tension and terror. If I close my eyes, I am sure I will see a question flashing at me in neon lettersââWhy are you doing this?â
Everyone has been saying the same thing to meâmy mom, my dad, my brother by email from university, my grandma down in Phoenix, my doctor. âAddie, donât.â Theyâre like a chorus.
But if I donât do this, where does that leave me?
Who will I be then?
Iâm late, but not really . It was planned this wayânot by me, but by my dadâso I would get there without everyone staring at me. I went along with it, relieved.
âMaybe we should go in together,â my dad says.
âWe talked about this.â Mostly I had done the talking. âIâm going alone.â
Before my dad can say another word, I walk away from the curb, across the wide interlocking-brick patio, past the row of garbage bins and toward the entrance. My hand is still trembling when I reach out to push open the center door. My stomach heaves when I step into the empty foyer lined with glassfronted displays of athletic trophies and team photographs. I hold my breath when I get close to the school office.
The entire outer wall of the office is glass. I could look in if I wanted to, but I tell myself I donât want to. Still, my head turns automatically, and I spot Ms. LaPointe, one of the viceprincipals, standing behind the counter. She sees me and nods. Then she turns to look at Mr. Michaud, the principal, who has just come out of his office. He follows her gaze to me. He seems surprised, even though he was told I would be here today. Maybe he thought I wouldnât show. Maybe he thought I wouldnât have the nerve. Who can blame him? I wasnât sure myself until a couple of minutes ago.
I walk up the stairs to the second floor, trying to ignore the shakiness in my knees and the churning in my stomach. The hall is deserted. Classroom doors on both sides are shut. Everyone is already inside.
I donât go to my locker. I have everything I need in my backpack. The classroom Iâm headed for is at the end of the hall. As I walk toward it, the hall seems to get longer and longer, as if Iâm in a nightmare and no matter how far I walk, Iâll never get where Iâm going.
My head spins.
I am in a nightmare. Iâve been dreading this for months. Iâve been praying this day would never come. But thatâs not the way it works. Itâs the day you wish for that never comes, not the one that terrifies you. That day rushes at you like a runaway locomotive.
Chapter Two
Mr. Graysonâs head swivels around when I open the door to his classroom. My mother calls Mr. Grayson a fussy man. Mostly, the male teachers at this school dress in chinos or jeans. Mr. Grayson doesnât. He always wears a suit and tie, and nine times out of ten he has a vest on under his suit jacket. He carries his lesson plans and test papers in a leather briefcase. No backpacks for him. He is a real stickler for propriety. And for the rules, most of which he made up and apply only to his classroom.
Rule number one is always be on time. Be in your seat on time. Hand
Similar Books
