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I sat there for a while just staring at my hands, trying to understand everything that Ms. Anderson had told me. I must’ve been pretty lost in my thoughts because I didn’t notice that my dad had sat down beside me until he took one of my hands into his own. “What are you doing by yourself?”
I wasn’t sure what to say, so I mumbled, “Nothing. I’m just bored, I guess.”
“They need some help with the snacks,” he said. “Would you like to do that?”
“Sure.”
He led me to the party room. It had gotten steamy hot in there over the past hour. That explained why all of the partiers had left the room to go bowling or play arcade games. Against one wall was a table full of cookies, cake, punch, and soda. Ms. Julia, one of the teaching assistants, stood behind the table looking a little frazzled. Her stringy brown hair was up in a messy ponytail, with strands hanging down and stuck to her neck with sweat. The front of her t-shirt and jeans were sopping wet, and her hands were stuffed with punch-stained napkins.
“Do you need some help?” I asked her.
“I could use a break,” she said. She wiped her forehead, but it left a streak of cherry-colored punch there. “Do you mind helping out for a bit?”
“She would love to,” my dad answered for me.
Ms. Julia scooted out from behind the table and dropped her napkins on the over-stuffed trashcan where they tumbled off and to the floor. She reached out to hug me, but I backed away. That made her laugh as she looked down at her sticky hands. “Thank you so much! You’re saving my life!”
While my dad and I cleaned up the spilled punch and got the snacks back in order, I chewed on my lip, trying to figure out how to phrase what I wanted to ask him.
“Just blurt it out,” he finally told me. I guess it was pretty obvious I had something on my mind.
I took a breath and started in. “Ms. Anderson said that Donald was going to need someone to help him his whole life.” I paused, kind of afraid of the words forming in my brain. I lifted my eyes to his. “What happens when you and Mom are gone? When you can’t take care of him anymore?”
“That’s a big subject,” he said to me. He took the paper cups out of my hand and put his arms around me for a hug. “Your mom and I plan to be around for a long, long time.”
“I mean, I know you’re not . . . But someday . . . Donald is a lot younger than you . . .”
He continued to hold me, my face pressed against his chest. “Years and years from now, hopefully at least forty or more, when you’re all grown up and we’ve finally gone, we’ll have a plan in place for your brother’s care.”
My stomach clenched. Mrs. Anderson wasn’t kidding. Donald’s disabilities were life-long. He’d need someone to be helping him even when he was an old man. Here I’d been spending all my time freaking out about how I was going to get through junior high and high school without being embarrassed by my brother. Picturing Donald and myself as old people was too hard for me to grasp.
My dad lifted my face with his finger and looked me in the eyes. “Don’t worry your head about this now, sweetie. We’ve got plenty of time. Life is long, and when changes come, it’ll be okay.”
Would it?
Dad gestured to the snack table. “Can you handle this for a little while?”
“I got it. Yeah.” Dad kissed me on the forehead and went back out to join my mom and the bowling lanes.
Taking charge of the snack table was a great distraction because the students and staff stopped by constantly to get treats. My job was to pour sodas or punch for people who needed help and to put plates of goodies together so no one would have to take a lot of time making decisions about what to eat. This was also a great job because I got to sneak a lot of snacks for myself.
Kathryn and Claire came in after I’d been in there about twenty minutes, giggling so hard at each other that I could barely understand what they were saying. Something about a boy that was “so hot!” Kathryn kept blushing and covering her face with her hands. Happy feelings bubbled up inside of me at the sight of them, and I wanted to be included in their joy.
“Who is it?” I asked.
Kathryn turned to me and, with the biggest grin I’ve ever seen, shouted, “This boy! Oh, my goodness!”
Claire jumped up and down a hundred times while shouting, “He asked me to dance with him!”
“Well, if you’re that excited about it, why aren’t we dancing?” came a boy’s voice from the door. “You just ran off.”
“Oh, my goodness!” Claire squealed. I’ve never seen someone turn redder in the face. She grabbed Kathryn’s hand and ran past the boy out to the bowling alley, squealing some more.
“There she goes again.” The boy watched the two girls run away. I watched him. He leaned so casually against the door frame. He wasn’t tall, but his reddish-brown hair was soft and long on top, probably giving him an extra inch. His face was freckled, and he sported a mouthful of braces. Even so, he was really cute. I could see why the girls were gushing over him. He turned his face fully toward me, and I felt the color in my own face deepen.
“Hi, I’m Russell,” he said, stepping up to the table and snatching a chocolate chip cookie off one of the plates. If Russell was in high school, then whatever his disability was made him look really young. From all appearances Russell looked my age or maybe just a touch older.
“I’m Heidi,” I responded. “You’re supposed to take the whole plate.”
“Oh.” Russell picked up the plate and balanced it on one hand while he picked through the goodies with his other. I had seen people struggling all evening with that very same task, and he did it as if it were nothing. I wondered what his disability could be.
“Um,” Russell said, holding up a vanilla wafer, “I don’t care for these. Can I trade you for another of those pink frosted ones?”
“I guess so,” I said with more amazement in my voice than I wanted to reveal. He was so good with words. So clear. I handed him the cookie he wanted. “I like those frosted ones too. I think I sneaked most of them out of the bag already. You’re lucky you got one at all.”
Russell laughed and held the cookie out for me. “You can keep it if you want. My gift to the hard-working.”
“It’s all right.” I blushed and waved the cookie away.
He munched it down in one bite.
“You don’t know how to eat cookies right,” I said. “You boys all swallow sweets. You need to enjoy the taste.” I picked up the last frosted cookie. “Watch and learn,” I said and ate a small bite of it, tilting my head back to catch any crumbs that might break loose, chewing it slowly and letting each bit of the sugar affect my taste buds before swallowing. It took three bites like to finish the one-inch delicacy. “See?”
“That’s really something,” he said. “Too bad there aren’t any good cookies left to practice with.” He popped a whole Oreo into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. Then he looked at me and spread his hands defensively. “What? I suppose you’re the break-it-apart-and-eat-the-middle-first kind of gal.”
“No,” I said. “I’m a dunker.”
“Will you use any drink or just milk?”
“Just milk,” I said. “Or coffee.”
“Eww! You drink coffee?” He made the most awful face.
“Aw, it’s not so bad,” I said. “You should try it.”
“I have. It smells better than it tastes. Like popcorn.”
I frowned playfully. “Don’t be putting down popcorn.”
“Never,” Russell returned. “I couldn’t see a movie without it. I’m just saying that it smells wonderful, but the taste is always a disappointment.”
“I guess I’ll have to agree with you.”
Russell glanced out the door where someone was waving for him to come over. “Oh, my lane is open. I gotta go.”
“Oh.” I wanted him to stay. “Well, I’m like the bartender tonight, so if you want anything, you know where to find me.”
Russell smiled, revealing a charming dimple in his left cheek, and dumped his plate in the trashcan. He started to walk away.
“Hey, Russell,” I called after him. “Where do you go to school?”
“Franklin Junior High. I’m in seventh grade, and my brother is one of your brother’s best friends.” He saluted me. “Bet you didn’t know any of that, did you?”
“No,” I admitted. “You’re way ahead of me.”
“Maybe after my game, which I’ll no doubt win, we can talk more about what you like to eat at the movies.”
I grinned unashamedly. “Sounds good to me.”
Later that evening Russell brought his brother over, a guy named Alex. He didn’t look like he had any problems like Donald, but the way his eyes never stopped moving and he kept looking over his shoulder clued me in to the meaning of short attention span. I didn’t tell him that Donald had never mentioned him because it seemed very clear from the way he talked that Alex really valued their friendship. It was decided that Alex, Donald, Russell, and I would all go to the movies—at a new movie theater —the following weekend.
After the dance, I was in a daze as I rode home with my family. Who would have thought that I would meet the perfect boy at an event like that?
I was so busy daydreaming about Russell that I didn’t hear my father shout. Only my mom’s agitated response came through my haze.
“I don’t know, honey! Heidi said the kids at school were planning a trick.”
I looked out the car window. Our house was covered in toilet paper. Not only draped with it, but someone had hosed it down with water so that it would be even harder to clean up. My stomach flipped, and all the cookies and punch threatened to rise up.
“Oh, no,” I moaned.
“Oh, no is right,” Dad growled. “What kind of kids would do this? First Donald gets beat up, and now this?” Dad pulled into the paper-lined driveway and stopped the car. He smacked the steering wheel. “We should call the police.”
“Oh, honey,” my mom said. “It’s just a prank.”
“And those kids beating Donald yesterday? Was that a prank? Some sort of joke?”
“No,” Mom said quietly.
“Well, I’m sick of this!” Dad shouted. He jammed his finger so hard into the remote to open the garage door that I was surprised it didn’t break. With the engine still running, he put his hand on Mom’s headrest and twisted around to look at me. “Do you know who did this?”
“I have an idea, but I don’t know for sure.”
“We’re going to call their parents,” he said to my mom.
That sick feeling worsened. “No, Dad! Please! That’ll make it worse!”
My mom sighed. “Why do you kids always think it’s going to get worse when we talk to other adults about you being bullied? Their parents need to know.”
“You don’t understand,” I told her. “Please let me handle it.”
Dad hit the gas to drive the car inside and then hit the brakes so hard that the car screeched on the concrete. Donald immediately got out of the car and walked out to the driveway. He lifted his head and took in the whole scene, his overly large Adam’s apple bobbing up and down wildly and that crazy nervous smile of his plastered on his face. He walked over to the mailbox and began pulling the toilet paper off. “Daryl and Matt?” he asked me as I came over to him and took the paper out of his hand.
“Not this time,” I said. “These were my bullies.”
“You have bullies too?”
Yes, thanks to you. I bit that thought down. It was mean, and he didn’t deserve it. Not to mention the fact that Dad and Mom were in earshot and would probably punish me forever. I nodded at him and noted the sadness in his eyes. Donald showed some sympathy for me. I’d never seen him do that before. Without a word, he started to grab at the toilet paper again, but I took his hand to lead him back to the house. I put my arm around him.
“We’ll get it in the morning, Donald. Don’t let it ruin this evening for you.”
“Okay,” Donald said, but he kept wadding up paper anyway as he made his way back up the driveway.
“Not tonight, Donald.”
“But . . .” His fingers twitched and snapped. I knew it bothered him to leave the mess like it was, but it was too late at night to start cleaning it up.
“I know. It’s a mess,” I said to him, fully aware we’d be spending most of Saturday morning tearing that mess down.
“It could be worse,” my mom said.
“How?” asked my dad.
“They could have used eggs or broken our windows.”
“Oh. Well. I feel so much better now.” Dad threw up his hands in defeat and marched through the garage and into the house. I was about to follow him when I noticed something stuck to the front door of the house. I walked over to see it better.
YOU CAN RUN, BUT YOU CAN’T HIDE.
Stuck up there in strips of wet paper. At that point I knew this was only the first of many tricks to come. Something had to be done to stop them, and soon. They were right. I couldn’t stay out of school forever. Come Monday morning I’d have to face my enemies, and I needed to have a plan.
Thankfully, a much-needed letter from Bobby was waiting for me in the mailbox.
Dear Heidi,
Sorry everyone’s being so mean. Sometimes people get scared of what they don’t know, and then they do stupid things to pretend that they’re not scared. Kirk doesn’t deserve to go out with you, so don’t even think about him. Cathy isn’t a good friend either. I wish I could be there for you, but you know how it is. All I can say is maybe you can teach them what it’s like to be Donald. That might help, you know? And I hope you meet a friend who is cool enough to see how much fun Donald can be. I sure miss playing in the park with you guys. Take it easy, and write soon.
Bobby
I hugged the letter to my chest after reading it several times, grateful that we made a pact to write real letters instead of emails. You can’t hold and hug an email. I folded it up carefully and stuck it in a special pocket of my backpack so I’d be able to sneak a peek at it at school for some extra comfort.
My parents helped me clean up the house in the morning. Dad got up on the ladder and pulled down the paper that had reached the roof and tops of the trees. Mom focused on cleaning the windows while I was in charge of the paper all over the grass and bushes. She told Donald he didn’t have to help and to stay inside. After an hour, though, she changed her mind and called him to come out and join us. “He’s come to the door to check on us at least two dozen times,” she told Dad and me. “If he’s so eager to part of this, then so be it.”
I shook my head at my brother as he came outside with a giddy smile on his face and immediately started gathering up toilet paper. If it were me, I think I’d have stayed inside and watched TV. He’s a better person than me.
It didn’t take long before Donald and I had turned cleaning into a game. We pretended we were cleaning up after an alien attack, and we wound up having fun. Sadly, there wasn’t enough time to go to the park like he wanted to, but in the late afternoon we rode our bikes to the store to get ice cream sandwiches as a treat.
I ate my ice cream and thought about Russell’s freckles and Bobby’s sweet note, trying to savor this happy moment because I knew Monday morning I’d have to go back to school and face Jackie and her friends.