get a grip.
I now have to tackle the stairs, and I have to do it with dignity. I try to remember, crutches or foot first? I go to lower my foot first. No, it’s crutches first, obviously. I managethe first step. Then the second. The stairs are looking particularly steep this evening. I managed them earlier, but no one was watching me then, especially not Joel. I take the third step, but I suddenly have a vision of what would happen if I swung my weight down the wrong way on the crutches. I’d go head over heels, crashing all the way to the bottom. Then I’d have a fractured neck, and not just a sprained ankle.
I feel my cheeks burn. I have no idea how to proceed. Who is this nervous stranger that has invaded my body?
“You can do it, Katie,” Joel encourages.
His gentle voice relaxes me, and I become aware of how ridiculously I’m behaving. Who am I trying to impress? “Forget this,” I tell them. I send one crutch sliding down the stairs, and then the other. Extending my injured ankle out in front of me, I sit on the third step and bounce my bum the rest of the way down.
“Katie, you’ll wear a hole in your jeans,” my mom scolds.
Joel just laughs and passes my crutches back to me. “I like your style,” he says.
He holds the front door open while I clomp outside. I try to ignore Mom’s goofy grin. For a woman who has always warned me about making hasty first impressions, she’s decided Joel is a good guy awfully damn fast, and all because he liked her cookies.
“Have fun you two,” she calls as we’re getting into the car.
“We will, Miriam,” Joel assures her. “And we won’t be too late.” He waves as we pull out of the driveway. Mom waves back.
“You just want more of her cookies, Mr. Suck-up,” I tease.
“Damn right,” he agrees, and we both laugh. I can feel myself descending back to that easy place we were at this afternoon. I sink into the seat and breathe deeply. Joel hums to the tune on the radio and lightly taps the steering wheel. Why had I gotten into such a tizzy over this? I find myself rubbing the bead that’s on the chain around my neck.
“Still got yours?” I ask.
He glances over to see what I’m talking about. “Of course.”
“You never know.”
“You’re right. Forty people have lost theirs.”
“Really?” That’s a lot more than Paige told me about. “How do you know?”
“Warren has set up a group page on Facebook with all our names on it.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. It’s great. If you get tagged you leave the group. Then the rest of us know who is still in.”
“Who else has lost their beads?”
“Did you hear about Michelle?”
“Yep.”
“Kerry?”
“Uh-huh.”
“How about Taia?”
“No. Who got her?”
“Anthony. Marc told her that he knew for sure that Caitlin had her name, so when Anthony phoned her andasked if he could come over and borrow her English notes, she thought it was safe. Turns out Anthony actually paid Marc ten dollars to tell her that.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yep.”
“I’ve only heard about girls who’ve lost their beads. Are there any boys?”
“Yeah, a few. You’ll have to check for yourself.”
“So, with this group page, what keeps people from saying they’re out when they’re really still in?”
“Why would they do that?”
“So that their victims would let their guard down when they’re around.”
“Hmm.” He thinks about that. “I guess people could do that, but someone else would post a rebuttal. There’s a lot of people posting notes on the wall.”
“But you wouldn’t know which one of them was lying.”
Joel glances over at me. “You’re not a very trusting person, are you, Katie?”
“Not when it comes to Gotcha,” I tell him.
He nods. “Yeah, I guess the proof is in the beads. You can either show them or you can’t.”
We drive along in comfortable silence for a minute or two. Then Joel asks, “So, do you have any strategies you’re willing to
I now have to tackle the stairs, and I have to do it with dignity. I try to remember, crutches or foot first? I go to lower my foot first. No, it’s crutches first, obviously. I managethe first step. Then the second. The stairs are looking particularly steep this evening. I managed them earlier, but no one was watching me then, especially not Joel. I take the third step, but I suddenly have a vision of what would happen if I swung my weight down the wrong way on the crutches. I’d go head over heels, crashing all the way to the bottom. Then I’d have a fractured neck, and not just a sprained ankle.
I feel my cheeks burn. I have no idea how to proceed. Who is this nervous stranger that has invaded my body?
“You can do it, Katie,” Joel encourages.
His gentle voice relaxes me, and I become aware of how ridiculously I’m behaving. Who am I trying to impress? “Forget this,” I tell them. I send one crutch sliding down the stairs, and then the other. Extending my injured ankle out in front of me, I sit on the third step and bounce my bum the rest of the way down.
“Katie, you’ll wear a hole in your jeans,” my mom scolds.
Joel just laughs and passes my crutches back to me. “I like your style,” he says.
He holds the front door open while I clomp outside. I try to ignore Mom’s goofy grin. For a woman who has always warned me about making hasty first impressions, she’s decided Joel is a good guy awfully damn fast, and all because he liked her cookies.
“Have fun you two,” she calls as we’re getting into the car.
“We will, Miriam,” Joel assures her. “And we won’t be too late.” He waves as we pull out of the driveway. Mom waves back.
“You just want more of her cookies, Mr. Suck-up,” I tease.
“Damn right,” he agrees, and we both laugh. I can feel myself descending back to that easy place we were at this afternoon. I sink into the seat and breathe deeply. Joel hums to the tune on the radio and lightly taps the steering wheel. Why had I gotten into such a tizzy over this? I find myself rubbing the bead that’s on the chain around my neck.
“Still got yours?” I ask.
He glances over to see what I’m talking about. “Of course.”
“You never know.”
“You’re right. Forty people have lost theirs.”
“Really?” That’s a lot more than Paige told me about. “How do you know?”
“Warren has set up a group page on Facebook with all our names on it.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. It’s great. If you get tagged you leave the group. Then the rest of us know who is still in.”
“Who else has lost their beads?”
“Did you hear about Michelle?”
“Yep.”
“Kerry?”
“Uh-huh.”
“How about Taia?”
“No. Who got her?”
“Anthony. Marc told her that he knew for sure that Caitlin had her name, so when Anthony phoned her andasked if he could come over and borrow her English notes, she thought it was safe. Turns out Anthony actually paid Marc ten dollars to tell her that.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yep.”
“I’ve only heard about girls who’ve lost their beads. Are there any boys?”
“Yeah, a few. You’ll have to check for yourself.”
“So, with this group page, what keeps people from saying they’re out when they’re really still in?”
“Why would they do that?”
“So that their victims would let their guard down when they’re around.”
“Hmm.” He thinks about that. “I guess people could do that, but someone else would post a rebuttal. There’s a lot of people posting notes on the wall.”
“But you wouldn’t know which one of them was lying.”
Joel glances over at me. “You’re not a very trusting person, are you, Katie?”
“Not when it comes to Gotcha,” I tell him.
He nods. “Yeah, I guess the proof is in the beads. You can either show them or you can’t.”
We drive along in comfortable silence for a minute or two. Then Joel asks, “So, do you have any strategies you’re willing to
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