Gotcha (14 page)

“Oh. Great,” I say, taking it from her. “I’ll finish it up on the weekend.”

She just nods, but she’s looking at me intently, like she really wants to say something.

“It’s okay, Mariah. I understand. I really do.”

I see her eyes well up just before she reaches out and pulls me into a hug. Then she turns and heads back to the cafeteria.

“Where’s your lunch?” Joel asks when we’re settled on the grass at the front of the school.

“It’s too hard to make a sandwich while balancing on crutches,” I tell him. “So I didn’t bother today. But I’m okay.”

“No you’re not,” he says. “Take this.” He hands me half of his.

I want to refuse, but it looks so good, stacked high with ham, cheese and lettuce, that I take it. “Thanks.”

“So,” I say, after swallowing a large mouthful. “Paige officially dumped me as her friend this morning.”

“Really?” Joel passes me his can of juice. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I am.” I take a swig of his orange juice and pass it back. “I’m surprised, that’s all. She always seemed to need me more than I needed her.”

Joel nods.

“And I don’t know where I stand with Tanysha. Mariah’s cool. But I guess Tanysha and I were never all that close anyway. She’s like a Paige groupie.”

Joel rubs my back sympathetically. I wish he’d never stop. “You know what they say, Katie. When one door closes, another one always opens.”

“Well aren’t you the wise one,” I tease. I look around the front yard of the school. “Funny, I don’t see any doors opening.”

Joel smiles. “Then you must be blind, Katie. A door has already swung wide open for you.”

“It has? Where?”

“You’re looking right at it,” he says. He leans toward me and brushes his lips against mine. I wish he wouldn’t stop.

“You’re a door?”

He laughs, and a shivery rush of goose bumps breaks out on my arms. “I’m your new friend!” he tells me. “One walks out and another walks in.”

“Oh, I get it.”

He bumps his shoulder against mine. I lean into him and marvel at how easy he is to be with. So unlike Paige.

“I should warn you, Joel. Paige says I’m a know-it-all and stuck-up.” I decide not to tell him she also called me frigid. No point putting notions in his head. “Maybe you should think about that before you get too friendly with me.”

Joels taps his cheek with his finger. His eyes are narrowed, as if he is thinking really hard. “She’s right,” he says. “You are those things.”

I push him away. “You’re a bum.”

He scoots back over. “I’m kidding!”

“Right.”

Smiling, Joel passes me the juice can again, and when I hand it back, he takes the last sip, walks over to the school and tosses it in a recycling bin. He smacks hands with a
friend, and I enjoy watching his easy gait as he returns to our spot on the lawn. Then he takes my hand in his.

“Thanks for not just tossing that can away,” I say.

He looks at me, puzzled.

“That’s what my old friend would have done, so I was always picking up after her.” Now, I realize, she’s tossed me away too.

“Sounds like you two were never the best match.”

“No,” I agree. “I guess we really weren’t.”

His hand squeezes mine.

“And I guess if Paige is no longer my friend, I’m free to help you get her bead.”

Joel studies my face. “Are you okay with this?”

“Yeah, I am.” I nod. And I’m going to enjoy seeing it happen, too.

Mr. Fetterly raises his hand, and the noise in the gym slowly subsides.

“Thank you all for coming today,” he says. “We have a serious matter to discuss, but before we do, there are some pictures I’d like you to see.”

There’s a computer sitting on a table near the podium. Mr. Fetterly walks over to it and presses a button. Someone dims the gym lights. On the wall a photo appears of a vaguely familiar-looking guy with his arm in a sling. Using a remote controller, Mr. Fetterly advances the presentation to the next photo, which is of a house with a smashed-in front window, and then the close-up of a girl’s face covered in lacerations and bruising. The most pathetic part of this photo is that the girl has tried to hide some of the damage by applying gobs of makeup, but it only creates the appearance of a gruesome Halloween mask. Next we see a guy lying in a hospital bed with a leg suspended in traction. He’s hamming it up for the photographer: his tongue is lolling out of the side of his mouth and he’s cross-eyed. A murmur of laughter ripples through the gym.

The next photo sobers the gym full of students again. This time it’s of a car wreck, and it’s clear that the vehicle involved is totaled. If the driver survived this crash, it would have been a miracle. Apparently it was.

The lights come back up and Mr. Fetterly shuts off the computer. “I’m sure you realize that the common denominator in all those photos was the game you call Gotcha. Those are the results of just a few of the incidents that have happened in past years, ones that I thought to capture on film.

“I have also brought a guest speaker to Slippery Rock to speak to you today.”

We watch as Mr. Fetterly walks over to the door. He pushes it open, and we see a guy in an electric wheelchair roll himself into the gym. There is a woman with him, who remains standing by the door. The guy’s face is pale and he has dark smudges under his eyes, but other than that he’s every bit as gorgeous as Warren, and he appears to be about our age. Mr. Fetterly directs him over to the podium, where he’s handed a mike.

“My name is Stephen Stewart,” he says in a shaky voice. He glances shyly at Mr. Fetterly, who nods, encouraging him to carry on. “I live in Twin Falls, a couple of hours away by car. I graduated from high school last June.” Stephen clears his throat. “Your principal asked me to come here today to talk about why I’m in a wheelchair.” He sits quietly for a moment, staring at his hands, and then he looks up. “Some of the grads in my school played a game called Bang Bang
You’re Dead, which is a lot like your Gotcha game, but we shoot our victims with water guns.”

There’s a murmur of voices and I suddenly remember the story that was all over the news a year ago.

“I was doing really well,” he says softly, “and I was one of the final dozen survivors. It was getting hard because everyone was being so cautious.

“One night I decided to hide under my victim’s car while he was at soccer practice. I thought it would be easy enough to roll out just as he was getting into his car, and I could get him.”

There’s a long pause. The gym is completely still. Stephen nods slightly. He raises the mike to his mouth, then drops it into his lap again. We can see him inhale deeply as he composes himself. Finally he clears his throat and continues. “It didn’t work out as planned. The car ran over me before I could get out.”

We wait, in pained silence. I wonder if he’s finished, but eventually he carries on. “I’ll never walk again, but I’m lucky to be alive.” He doesn’t look like he feels lucky at all.

I remember being horrified when I read Stephen’s story in the newspaper, but seeing him in person, and hearing him speak...I have to blink back tears.

Mr. Fetterly takes the mike from him. “Thank you, Stephen, for coming to Slippery Rock today and sharing your story. You are a brave young man, and I hope your story will help our students realize the potential danger in the game that they’re playing. With any luck, you’ll have convinced them that it’s time to stop once and for all.”

Stephen just nods, turns and steers his wheelchair back toward the woman at the door, probably his mother. We sit in numb silence. I wonder if we should be applauding, but what would our applause be for? The fact that he survived? The woman holds the door open for him and he wheels away. As soon as he’s gone, the quiet in the gym is disturbed by murmuring as grads discuss the incident. Joel, seated beside me, squeezes my hand.

“I brought Stephen here today, and showed you the photos,” Mr. Fetterly says, “to remind you why the administration at Slippery Rock decided to ban the game of Gotcha this year. We had hoped that the strong leaders in your grade would enforce our decision, but as you know, that did not happen.”

That hurts. I recall hearing this same slam on the class leaders from Mr. Bell.

“There have been complaints from parents about this year’s game. To my knowledge, nothing too serious has happened, with the exception of some hurt feelings, but I feel compelled to ensure that nothing does happen. For that reason, I’ve decided to suspend from school any student who continues to play the game. As well, students who break this rule will not be allowed to attend grad ceremonies, not the valedictory ceremony or the dinner dance.”

The quiet is again disturbed by muttering among the students. The sentiment is clear: Suspension is one thing, but taking away grad?

“Everyone’s money is to be returned to them,” Mr. Fetterly announces over the noise, “and the game is officially over.”

Uh-oh.

Over the noise, a voice hollers out. “I thought you said we were here to discuss a serious matter.” Tyson has risen to his feet and is confronting Mr. Fetterly. The gym goes quiet again. “I haven’t yet heard any discussion.”

“I guess ‘discuss’ was the wrong choice of words, Tyson, but I have made my decision, and I intend to stick by it. I’m sorry if you’re unhappy with that decision.”

“Unhappy is an understatement,” Tyson says. “And besides, I don’t know how you can suspend someone for doing something that has nothing to do with school. The game isn’t a school activity. We’re not playing it on school property. So what gives you the right to interfere with it?”

We all stare at Tyson, shocked at his disrespect, and then our heads swing back to Mr. Fetterly, who is managing to maintain his composure.

“Student safety is my business, Tyson. You’ve seen the pictures. You know what’s happened. That’s what gives me the right.”

I see a note being passed down the row of students toward Joel and me. When it reaches me, I’m surprised to see my name on the front. I open it and read the signature first. It’s from Warren. Glancing back down the row, I see him at the far end. We make eye contact, and he nods. I read the note.
Emergency grad council meeting, right after school, in the computer lab.
I look back at Warren and return the nod. He smiles and winks. I feel Joel glance at me. I just shrug and shake my head. No point trying to explain
the weirdness between Warren and me. And it’s only going to get weirder now.

Tyson is still arguing with Mr. Fetterly. He clearly has a lot invested in seeing the game continue. “Gotcha is just a game,” he says. “We’re not using water guns like at that other school. We’re just using beads. There are a lot of things we could be doing that are way more dangerous.”

“Tyson, the decision has been made.” I can see the veins bulging on Mr. Fetterly’s neck. “The game is over. Period. You are all dismissed.”

The buzz around me is angry. Despite the guest speaker, even those who are no longer in the game are mad. Everyone wants to see Gotcha carried on.

“Are you okay, Katie?” Joel asks. He’s handing me my crutches and is waiting to help me down the bleachers.

“Oh yeah, just ticked,” I say. Though the truth is, my stomach has seized up. Stephen’s story has really disturbed me, and what happens when people start demanding their money back? “And I have to meet with grad council,” I tell him. “That should be fun,” I say, thinking of Paige. I roll my eyes. “Not.”

I give up on the crutches as I struggle down the bleachers. Joel offers me his arm, and I lean on him and put some weight on my foot. I notice it’s starting to get easier.

“Do you want me to go with you?” he asks.

“Thanks, but I have to deal with it. She’s bound to get over herself at some point.”

Joel walks with me to the computer lab. “How are you getting home?” he asks.

“I don’t know. The only thing I can think of is to stay at school until my mom gets off work and can pick me up.”

“If I help you, do you think you could walk home?”

“Yeah, maybe.” I have noticed a huge difference in my mobility today. “That would be great, thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” he says. “I just needed someone to link with.”

I smack his arm and smile. How did I ever live without him?

Grad council is assembled and waiting for me. Paige has her arms crossed and is slumped in her chair. Warren grins when I enter the room.

“I hear a couple of council members are still scrapping.”

I just shake my head.

“And you’re still in the game, Katie?” he asks. “I didn’t think that was your plan.”

“Whatever,” I say. If he only knew.

He gives me his famous smile. I wonder how dazzling it will be when I tag him. “So,” he says, “we have to decide how to proceed.”

“This sucks,” Paige says. “We’re almost there.”

“I suggest we play it out,” Warren says. “There’s less than thirty people left, and Fetterly doesn’t have to know anything.”

There are nods around the room.

“But what about the people who want their money back?” I ask.

“I don’t think that anyone who signed on to this game will expect us to quit at this point,” Warren says. “We were banned from playing it in the first place, but look how many showed up, more than any other year We can’t stop now. We’ll just spread the word, quietly.”

I realize how much my attitude has changed in the past couple of days. A week ago I would have jumped at the chance to cancel the game, especially after listening to Stephen’s sad story. Now I desperately want to see it through. I want to see Joel get Paige’s bead. I want to look in Warren’s eyes as I tag him. But mostly, I don’t want anyone demanding their money back.

“I agree, Warren,” I tell him. “We’ve got to see it through.”

Paige gives me a sharp look. “I’m surprised to hear
you
saying that. As I recall, I had to convince you to play it in the first place.”

I can only shrug. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“You sure have,” Paige says, looking puzzled.

“Hands up if you think Gotcha should continue,” Warren says. “Excellent!” he continues, glancing around the group. “It’s unanimous. The game goes on, only no one is to speak of it.”