The Size of Your Dreams, - [good books for high schoolers txt] 📗
- Author: -
- Performer: -
Book online «The Size of Your Dreams, - [good books for high schoolers txt] 📗». Author -
“Nor you to me,” I said. “Baking dessert tonight was your idea.”
“I guess, but you’re so much more approachable now.”
A month ago, if anyone asked, I would have said that Megan preferred to be on her own. Had she just felt rejected by me?
“So what changed?”
“If I tell you, do you promise not to laugh?”
She agreed, but within a minute she’d broken her promise. Yet, rather than getting upset, I found myself laughing along with her.
“Generosity Man?”
“Oh yes, I’ve even got a spandex outfit I put on when I read it. Want to see it?”
She laughed and said yes. I ran upstairs, but of course, I had no spandex outfit. Instead, I threw on a pair of green pajamas and, taking a page from Darnell’s book, used tape to put a giant ‘G’ on my chest.
Megan cracked up when she saw me. “These brownies are going to be so disgusting. Why don’t we just make the cookies now?”
I agreed. While she mixed in the fluorescent yellow ‘flavor pack,’ I said to her, “Would you want to try the notecards? I can help you create your own set.”
Megan shrugged. “That’s OK.”
I didn’t push. The desire had to come from her.
We ate our desserts while watching the countdown to the New Year. Shockingly, we liked the brownies more than the cookies. We ate a chocolate chip apiece for each of the final ten seconds. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
“Happy New Year!” Megan leaned over and planted a kiss on my cheek.
“Happy New Year, Megan.” I hugged her. “Now what do you say you get ready for bed?”
“Fine…” She rolled her eyes, then shot me a grin and headed upstairs.
Once I’d finished the dishes, I went to my room. I knew that Megan was struggling socially, and though she wasn’t ready to make a notecard, that didn’t mean there was no way I could help her. While I normally emailed if I had anything to write her about, this time I pulled out a piece of stationary and a good pen. I wrote:
Dear Megan,
I had such a great time spending New Year’s Eve with you. You are funny, interesting, intelligent, and sensitive. I know that not all of your friends can see the beauty in you, but I want you to know that I do, and if you’re able to see it as well, then I’m sure it will not be long until others take notice.
Love,
Kelvin
I slipped the letter under her door and returned to my room. I’d had the best New Year’s of my life, but now that I was no longer occupied with my sister, I found my mind wandering back to my classmates and their New Year’s parties.
Had I told my parents that I wanted to go to one of the parties, they could have easily gotten a babysitter. Yet, the truth was that I knew I wouldn’t be so welcome. Even if they had let me in, I probably would have just sat in a corner on my own, just like Jarod predicted.
I thought over Mr. Griffin’s question: what would I be willing to do to fit in? If smoking a cigarette would make it easier to be accepted by others, would I do it? What about drugs? At what point would I back out? Drinking and driving?
Mr. Griffin had called drinking and driving an example of the wrong end of Asymmetrical Risk/Reward, with high risk and little reward. But sitting alone in my room at 1 am on New Year’s Eve, I found myself falling back into all too familiar patterns of thought and wondered, was the reward really so low? I must be pretty close to the oldest person in the high school to never have a relationship. If I could finally have a girlfriend, wouldn’t that be a pretty amazing reward?
Of course, that was just the upside of fitting in. That did nothing to diminish the risk side of the equation. Just thinking of drunk driving brought up thoughts of Christy’s coach. A mother of a nine-year-old. Struck down.
Funny how the reward side of the equation would be all mine, but the risk gets spread around. Christy’s coach got no benefit from the alcohol. She was just driving home to be with her family. She died, but I heard the drunk driver survived. As my eyes grew drowsy, I found myself wondering what benefit he’d gotten from drinking. Was he also doing it to fit in? Or was it an escape?
Drunk driving. Fitting in. Christy’s coach. The words floated around as I drifted closer to sleep.
Christy. Drunk driving.
Somehow, at 1:15 am on New Year’s Eve, those ideas fused in my mind. Just thinking of drunk driving, the image that came to my mind was Christy’s face.
Not her coach. I’d never seen her coach. Never made it to a swim meet.
Christy. Drunk driving.
Drunk driving. Christy.
And then, as if some cosmic hand was behind the whole thing, my cell phone rang, slapping me fully awake.
I sat up and looked at the number.
It was Jarod. Why would he be calling me now? I looked out the window—there was no snow. “What’s up, Jarod?”
And then he told me the news.
Rubberwoman
Christy showed up at Derek’s funeral in a wheelchair. I wouldn’t have recognized her if it weren’t for Mrs. Mendez pushing her into the church. Christy’s face was swollen and bruised, and her long, black hair had been shaved back on one side to be replaced with stitches and bandages. Her broken leg lay straight out in front of her. Apparently, the doctors hadn’t wanted to release her but gave in when she insisted on attending the funeral.
The pastor talked about what a tragedy it was to lose someone so young, with so much life ahead of him. But no matter what my notecard said about sensitivity, I shed no tears for Derek. He’d been a bully in school and hazed the incoming freshmen as though it were his duty, yet his last act had been by far his worst. The only good thing I could say about him was that he’d only managed to kill himself, though one of the injured from the other car was still in critical condition.
School had been canceled for the day, yet I wouldn’t have come to the funeral if it hadn’t been for Christy. Not that I was feeling too sympathetic toward her either. She bawled her eyes out; whether it was for Derek’s loss or her own injuries, I couldn’t say.
How could she have been so stupid?
It was bad enough hanging out with a jerk like Derek to begin with, but to get into his car when he’d been drinking? After what happened to her coach?
Derek’s mother spoke about what a kindhearted and enthusiastic boy he’d been. It took all my willpower not to groan in disgust as I stomped out the back of the church.
* * *
The next day only Darnell and I showed up to math class. Mr. Griffin told us we wouldn’t speak about Christy, not without her present.
I had no interest in speaking about sensitivity, generosity, or any of those other traits today, so when Mr. Griffin asked for updates, I deferred to Darnell. If he was upset about Christy’s accident, he hid it better than I did, for he cheerfully went on about the progress he’d made. He’d dropped five pounds since Christmas by spending around two hours a day on his treadmill while watching documentaries and YouTube videos on cooking and nutrition.
Of course, it had been Christy’s cooking and her suggestion to get himself an education that led him down this path. She ought to have been there to hear the impact of her feedback and offer suggestions for how he could go farther. And then we could help her figure out how to get her swim team to the state championship. Instead, she was lying bruised and broken, her swim season lost.
I was still thinking about Christy on my way home from school when Jarod’s truck pulled up. “Get in, I’ll give you a ride.”
I climbed into the cab. “Where were you today?”
“Visiting Christy.”
“You ditched school to go see her?”
“Yeah. She’s home now, just lying in her room all day. She’s got plenty of people coming by after school, but both her parents work, and she could use the company during the day. I don’t want to miss too many days in a row, though. You want to take tomorrow?”
“Me? Why not one of her friends?”
Jarod groaned. “This crap again? Kelvin, you are her friend.”
We both knew that wasn’t true. Sure, I’d done her a favor with the swim team video, and she’d paid me back by helping Darnell and I cook, but that was about it. “Trust me, she’d prefer someone else.”
“Actually, I think I’ll trust Christy. I asked her who she wanted to come tomorrow, and she chose you.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“Cause I…”
“Cause you’re not Mr. Cool? Come on, Kelvin, grow up. Think about what Christy’s just been through.”
The initial shock wore off, and it all made sense. I was the one who always gave without looking for anything in return. Even when I asked Christy for help, it wasn’t for me, it was for Darnell. Visiting her would mean ditching school, something I never did, but I couldn’t refuse, not to someone in her condition. “Fine, I’ll go.”
“I’ll text you her address. Be there by eight in the morning so her mom can let you in before she goes to work.”
* * *
Mrs. Mendez opened the door immediately after I knocked. All teary-eyed, she wrapped me in a tight hug and said, “Gracias divino, gracias.” She pointed me toward Christy’s bedroom, then slipped past me to get into her car. The house was barely a quarter the size of my own, colorfully decorated, and immaculately clean. I knocked on Christy’s door, and she called out, “Who is it?”
“The White Gringo.”
“Come on in, Kelvin.”
I couldn’t remember the last time I entered a girl’s bedroom, not counting my sister’s. I was expecting a lot more pink. Also absent was any sign of stuffed animals or lace. Instead, I saw turquoise walls adorned with posters of the US Swim team, Shakira, and a curly-haired Latin singer the poster announced was Carlos Vives.
Christy lay in her bed looking even worse than she had at the funeral—her many bruises having turned a greenish-purple. “So glad you’re here,” she said. “You’re just in time for my sponge bath.”
“Uhhh…” was all I managed to say.
“Oh, sit down, I’m just kidding. Man, you blush easily.”
I plopped down on a green pouf on the floor and realized I was going to be here all day yet didn’t know what to say for even the first minute. “So… how are you feeling?”
“Never been better.”
I had taken Christy’s joke about the sponge bath as an indication she was in high spirits, but I’d misread her completely.
“What did our venerable teacher say about me and the accident?”
“He said we shouldn’t talk about you without you in the room.”
“I bet he thinks I screwed up. I did, didn’t I?”
That was an understatement. But how could I say that?
“Come on, Kelvin. Say something.”
I started untying my laces, mainly to buy time to think of a response. Yet, by the time my shoes were off, I’d gotten no further. She no longer wore that smile that welcomed me into the room. Her eyes were bloodshot and sagging, her
Comments (0)