Maybe I Will (19 page)

We decided that I could go home on Friday morning. My parents really wanted me to go to taekwondo on Saturday morning, but I decided I could figure out how to get out of that Saturday morning and arguing over it before I got out of the hospital might only keep me in the hospital that much longer. We also decided that once I got home, I would call Troy and see if he, and maybe even Cassie, might be willing to meet with me at Doc's office sometime over the weekend so that we could talk before I returned to school on Monday.

Saying goodbye to Luke turned out to be much harder than I'd expected. We exchanged e-mails and promised to keep in touch, but we were headed in opposite directions, and I seriously doubted our paths would ever cross again. He gave me a hug, and without really meaning to, I hugged him back. When we let go I could feel the tears in my eyes. “Break a leg, kid,” Luke said.

“Mine or yours,” I asked, wiping my eyes with my sleeve.

“I knew it!” Luke laughed. “You are a comedian.”

Break a leg, kid.
The words echoed in my head.
Kid. Why is it that everyone I want to be friends with thinks I'm just a kid?

When I finally got home, it felt good to settle back into my own room. Mom said she needed to go to the office, but Dad stayed with me. I took a long, hot shower, put on an old sweatshirt and jeans, and then texted Troy. I let Dad read the text before I sent it. “Hi Troy, I'm home. Please call me. Your friend, Sandy.” I thought the “your friend” thing sounded a little cheesy, but Dad liked the idea of letting him know that I was reaching out as a friend to kind of break the ice or set the tone or whatever, so I added it.

Dad made us some lunch. I was really happy to be home from a food standpoint. I had been eating cold cereal for breakfast each morning and nothing but macaroni and cheese for my other meals because that was the only thing that even looked edible to me.
Rich kid,
the game boy's voice muttered in my mind.
No, I just happen to have taste.

After lunch Dad asked if I wanted to watch a movie. “Let's watch
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
,” I suggested.

“The Christmas DVD?” Dad asked. “Are you serious?”

I nodded. “You dig it out while I make popcorn.”

Dad didn't argue with me. At first I could tell he was watching me instead of the show, though. When Hermey appeared, I jumped off the couch and pointed to the TV. “There!” I shouted. “Doesn't Hermey look just like Luke?”

Dad laughed. “The resemblance is uncanny,” he admitted. After that he relaxed and watched the rest of the show with me. When it was over, he asked me if I was feeling like a misfit.

“Maybe,” I answered. “I mean, I think I can fit in when I want to. I'm just not sure anymore where I want to fit in.”

Dad sighed. “It amazes me how far ahead you seem to be from most of my sophomores in college . . . and you, still a sophomore in high school.” He gave me a hug. “I love you, Sandy,” he whispered. “You fit in our family just fine.”

We were looking through the other Christmas DVD's and Dad was trying to convince me that we should watch
It's a Wonderful Life
next, when Mom called.

“Fine,” Dad said to her. Then, “okay” and “How long?” The only other thing I heard before he hung up was, “we will,” and “I love you, too.”

“She's on her way home,” Dad told me.

“Does she want to watch
It's a Wonderful Life
, too?”

“No,” Dad replied. “She's bringing a visitor for you.”

“A visitor for me?” I looked at my watch. Troy and Cassie would still be in school. Shanika might not, though, since she worked for her dad in the afternoons. I closed my eyes.
Please don't let it be Shanika.

Dad came and sat beside me on the couch. “Sandy?” he asked. “Are you okay?” He waited.

“Who's coming?” I asked as evenly as possible.

“I think your mom kind of wanted it to be a surprise, but maybe we're better off with no surprises.”

“No surprises,” I agreed.

“It's Don Goldman,” Dad said quietly. He watched me carefully as he said it.

“The District Attorney?” I asked. “Why is the D.A. coming to our house?”

“Your mom said he wants to talk to you,” Dad replied.

“Why would he want to talk to me?” I stuffed the last handful of popcorn into my mouth.

“I'm not really sure,” said Dad. “The cynical side of me thinks he wants to make sure we don't sue the detective for police brutality. Or maybe it's a professional courtesy he's extending to your mom.” He started packing up the Christmas videos to put them back in storage. “I guess we'll know soon enough.”

“I'll be right back,” I said. I went upstairs to my bathroom to examine my forehead. The lump was nearly gone, but the bruise was still a deep purple. There weren't any mirrors in the psych ward, so I really hadn't looked at myself all week. I splashed cold water on my face, patted it dry with a towel, and then stared at myself again.
I'm still not sure if I like what I see. But I'm tired of feeling afraid, and I'm done hiding. Bring it on.

I stepped away from the mirror, stood at attention, bowed, and recited my taekwondo pledge to no one but myself. Then I went to my room and went through all of the orange belt steps I know. I was in the middle of white belt form when I heard the garage door opening. I finished the form, and was through two of the three sparring steps when I heard someone coming up the stairs.

I'd left my door open, but Mom knocked anyway.

“How are you doing?” she asked. I nodded, and she came in. She hugged me, and softly kissed the bruise on my forehead before letting go. “Don Goldman is here with me,” she said. “You remember Don?”

I nodded. He and his wife had been to dinner at our house before he was the elected prosecutor. He and Mom both graduated from Duke Law School, and she had supported him in his campaign. “Why is he here?” I asked.

“He just wants to talk to you,” Mom said. “And I think he has something for you.”

When we came downstairs, Dad and Mr. Goldman were sitting at the dining room table. Mr. Goldman stood and held out his hand when I walked in. “Hi, Sandy,” he said. “It's so good to see you again.” He was even taller than I remembered with dark curly hair and blue eyes that seemed to see right through all false pretenses. He waited until I sat down before sitting back in his chair. “I thought you were great in the musical last week,” he said. “You probably know my niece Grace. She was one of the lost boys.”

“Thank you,” I said in exactly the good-manner voice my parents had taught me to use when someone paid me a compliment. “I didn't know Grace was your niece.”

He nodded. “My sister's daughter. She was thrilled to actually get a part as a freshman. Great program Hamilton runs there at the school.” His voice trailed off. He cleared his throat and reached for his briefcase. “I have something for you,” he said, placing his briefcase on the table and popping it open. He handed me the notebook the police had taken from me. “I believe this is yours.”

“Thank you,” I said again, using the same good-manner voice. I tried to figure out what this was supposed to mean. “You don't need it anymore?” I asked.

Mr. Goldman shook his head. He pulled a file from his briefcase and set it on the table. Then he closed the briefcase and put it back on the floor beside his chair. He laid both of his palms flat on the file in front of him and looked me directly in the eyes. “First, let me tell you how really sorry I am that this happened to you. I'm sorry that Aaron Jackson assaulted you, and I'm sorry that Detective Morales gave you that nasty bruise on your forehead.”

I felt my ears burning and resisted the urge to reach up and touch the bruise.

“You didn't deserve any of this. I want you to know that I have read all of the reports, and I absolutely believe that you told the police the truth, and I really wish there were something I could do to make this all right.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and pulled a stack of papers out of the file. He handed them to Mom.

“These are the reports the Detective sent to my office for charging purposes. I promised you copies, and here they are.”

I could see Mom clenching her teeth as she looked through them. “Theft . . . Minor in Possession of Alcohol . . . Obstructing Justice . . . Perjury . . . Resisting Law Enforcement . . . Battery to a Police Officer . . . “ She shook her head angrily. “Some of these are felonies!” Mom exclaimed. She shuffled through the papers again. “Did I miss anything?”

“No,” Mr. Goldman replied. “That's all six charges the detective submitted against Sandy.”

Dad pounded his fist on the table. “You think Sandy is the criminal here?”

Mom held Dad's arm and tried to quiet him. “Don knows Sandy is not a criminal. He wouldn't be here if he thought that.”

Mr. Goldman nodded. “Sandy's definitely not the criminal here. I won't be filing any of these charges. I know the sergeant had Detective Morales prepare these reports just to cover her own butt and protect the police department.” He took a deep breath, and Dad did the same. “I don't agree with it, but I also know the detective was probably within the department's reasonable force continuum guidelines when someone tries to take evidence from a detective.”

Dad didn't look happy about this last statement. “So why are you really here?” he asked accusingly. “Just to make sure we don't sue the police department?”

Mr. Goldman shook his head. “My primary purpose in coming here personally was to explain to Sandy why I won't be filing any criminal charges against Aaron Jackson, even though I have absolutely no doubt that Aaron committed a B felony sexual assault and deserves to spend the next 10 to 20 years in prison. I firmly believe that our community would be safer if Aaron Jackson were registered as a violent sex offender.”

“If you know he did it, why don't you charge him?” Dad asked. “And you can charge him for raping Shanika Washington, too, while you're at it.”

“I'd love to, Bill. I have probable cause for both charges, but I don't believe there is any way at all I could get a conviction on either count. I don't mind filing a long shot and letting the chips fall where they may, but I think if I tried this to 100 juries, I'd lose 100 times.” He looked at Mom to see if she agreed. She nodded. “I can't justify the expense to the taxpayers, and I can't believe you'd want to put Sandy through that either.”

“Sometimes it's better to just move on,” Mom said. She looked at me and raised her eyebrows inquiringly. “What do you think, Sandy?”

I was thinking about Aaron actually raping Shanika. I was wondering why she didn't tell me that herself. I was gathering that Mr. Goldman did not intend to file any criminal charges of any kind against Aaron, and that's why he was giving me my notebook back. Mom seemed to think this was for the best. Dad wasn't happy about it.

“I don't know,” I replied weakly. “I don't know what I'm supposed to think anymore.”

Choose your own company, and command what cost
Your heart has mind to.

—Antony and Cleopatra
, Act III, Scene iv, Lines 37-38

T
ROY CALLED JUST
as Mr. Goldman was leaving. “Hey, Sandy,” he said. “I got your message. How are you doing?”

“Better,” I said. “I have a huge bruise on my forehead from where the detective threw me to the floor, but aside from that, I'm good.”

“So is that why you were in the hospital?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I had a concussion, so they wanted to observe me for a few days.”

“So how'd you get crosswise with a detective?”

“I just wanted my notebook back. Trying to grab it from a police officer wasn't a very bright decision on my part, though.”

“So did you get it back?” Troy asked.

“I did, so I guess all's well that ends well, right?”

“I guess,” agreed Troy.

After a moment of silence, I decided it was time to launch into the little speech I'd practiced with Doc. “I've been going through a
lot lately, and I've really missed you. Mom and Dad have sent me to a counselor, and I want to talk with you about everything that's happened, but I'm still feeling a little afraid.” I took a deep breath. Troy didn't say anything. I wondered if he was still there. “Anyway, I was hoping that you'd be willing to meet with me and my counselor so I can tell you about what I've been going through.”

“You want me to meet with you and your counselor?” Troy asked.

“Yes.” I said.

“When?” asked Troy.

“Sometime this weekend,” I replied. “Any time before I have to go back to school on Monday.”

“What about Cassie?”

“I was going to call her next.”

“Can we both come at the same time?”

“Sure,” I said. “I'd like that.”

“I'm pretty sure she has a date with Aaron tonight. What about tomorrow morning? Not too early, like maybe 10:30?”

“Let me check with Doc,” I said, “but I think that should work. Do you mind meeting me downtown at her office?”

“I can do that. Text me the address as soon as we hang up, okay?”

“You got it. And Troy . . . “ I hesitated and had to swallow hard. “Thanks. I really appreciate this.”

“No problem,” said Troy. “It's been pretty weird without you lately.”

I let Mom and Dad know that I'd talked to Troy, and we confirmed the time with Doc. “Are you ready to call Cassie?” Mom asked. “Do you want me or your Dad to make the call for you?”

Just when I was thinking things with Cassie couldn't possibly get any worse. A call from my parents now, and she'll write me off forever.
I shook my head and took a deep breath.