The Year We Fell Down (20 page)

I headed for the Beaumont House dean’s office, just as I’d said I would. Unfortunately, I discovered that it was up three marble steps and through a narrow, hundred-year-old doorway under one of Beaumont’s gorgeous granite archways. On my crutches, it would have been entirely manageable. But I hadn’t gone home to switch. So I parked myself outside the door and called the office on my cell. I could hear the phone ringing inside, and the secretary answering. “Hello?”

“Hi,” I said. “This is Corey Callahan, and I’m right outside, but in a wheelchair…”

“Sure, Corey,” the woman’s voice was friendly. “Do you need to speak to the dean? I’ll send him right out.”

Only thirty seconds later he emerged, pad and paper in hand. Dean Darling wore a beard and a corduroy blazer, complete with collegiate elbow patches. He looked like he’d been born right here, amid the musty libraries and granite facades. “So sorry, my dear,” he said, his British accent thick and proper. “These old buildings…”

“I love these old buildings,” I cut in.

He sat right down on the office stoop. “Well, now. Is it something you can speak about in the open? Or shall we find a conference room somewhere…”

I shook my head. “It’s a little thing. I just want to swap one course for another, but I already turned in my schedule.”

“Not a problem,” he beamed, uncapping his gold pen. “What will it be, Miss Callahan?”

“Monday, Wednesdays and Fridays at ten-thirty,” I began. “Let’s drop the Economics and add a Shakespeare lecture, the Histories and Tragedies.”

“Ah, a fine course, I know it well,” he said, scribbling. “I’m sure you will find it delightful.”

“I’m sure I will too.”

“How are you getting on, Corey?” the dean asked, cocking his head. “Your preliminary grades looked wonderful.”

“Did they?” I couldn’t help grinning. Grades weren’t due to come out for another week, but I was hoping I’d done well.

He nodded. “Well done,” he said. “But how is the rest of it? We have you living over in McHerrin, I believe? I looked at the suite myself after speaking with your parents this summer.”

“It’s perfect,” I said. “And my roommate is terrific.”

His head bobbed happily. “Good, good. Now, I’m sure you’re off to lunch.” He looked up, in the direction of the dining hall. And then he grimaced. “The stairs! Oh, dear God.” He scrambled to his feet. “I was so focused on your living quarters…how did they assign you to Beaumont?”

“I
asked
for Beaumont. My brother was in Beaumont.”

His face was still creased with dismay. “But…where do you dine every evening, when Commons is closed?”

“Here.” I pointed toward the courtyard. “Adam Hartley and I discovered the freight elevator early on.”

“Oh!” the dean was flustered. “Into the kitchen?”

I nodded. “They’re used to me now.”

His color deepened. “I feel terrible about this. You could be reassigned to an accessible house, with a first-floor dining room.”

That wasn’t happening, because I didn’t want to lose Dana as a roommate. “It’s fine, I promise. Please don’t reassign me. I’m used to the place. Besides — I’m supposed to be learning to do the stairs on my crutches. I’ve been a bit lazy.”

He hesitated. “If you’re sure, Miss Callahan.” He cleared his throat. “If you are met with any other thoughtlessness on our part, will you please tell me? Any little thing.”

“I will.”

“Corey,” He held out a hand, and I shook it. “I always say that I learn from students every single day. And now you’ve wizened me even before tea time.”

“My pleasure,” I smiled.

That evening, I put on my bathing suit under a pair of tear-away exercise pants, and made it to the gym a good fifteen minutes before water tube practice was set to begin. I wanted to transfer from my chair to the pool without my teammates watching. Locking my chair, I removed my pants and then did a twist maneuver to slip to the floor. I took off my T-shirt and stowed my clothes in my pack. Then I unlocked the chair’s brakes and gave it a gentle shove toward the wall.

I was scooting my butt to the edge of the pool when I heard a voice behind me. “You must be Corey?”

I looked up to see a friendly face smiling at me. “Allison?” She extended her hand, and I shook it.

She knelt down on the pool deck just beside me. “Have you played before?” she asked.

I shook my head. “But I did a lot of swimming over break.” I cleared my throat. “I used to play a lot of ice hockey, actually. So, getting past the goalie is fun for me.”

Her eyes widened. “Awesome!”

“Is it okay if I get wet?”

“Sure,” she grinned. “We’ll get started in about five minutes.”

“Good to know,” I said. And then I aimed my shoulders toward the open water, tucked my head under and rolled forward, into the blue.

When I came up for air, I saw the rest of the Beaumont water polo team — a half dozen others — converging on the pool. Allison and another guy I recognized from the Beaumont House dining hall stretched a float rope across the pool, dividing it.

“We’re going to take this end,” the guy said in a very chipper British accent. I swam under the rope and over to the side near where he stood. “For anyone who doesn’t know me, I’m Daniel. And since we’re such a bloody well-organized team,” people chuckled at this. “I’m going to go over the rules for at least one or two minutes. And then we’re going to scrimmage. So everyone grab a tube…” he pointed at a pile in the corner. “And let’s get wet.”

Everyone walked toward the pile of tubes, and my pulse began to race. The tubes were about eight feet from the corner of the pool. It was going to be one of
those
moments, when I had to ask someone for help.

I hated that.

Stuck, I clung there to the side, watching everyone else get a tube and then wander toward the pool edge. Nobody seemed aware of me, which would usually suit me just fine. Allison and Daniel were the last two on the pool deck, and I fixed my eyes on her, hoping she’d look my way.

It worked. She stopped on her way back toward the pool and smiled at me. She pointed at the tube in her hands, and then at me. I nodded gratefully, and she tossed it. But just as I caught it, I saw Daniel’s gaze land on me. And then his brow furrowed, and he looked around, his glance landing on my wheelchair across the way.

Daniel scratched his ear, frowning. He knelt down by the side of the pool. “You know, this gets a little rough sometimes. It’s hard to stay in the tube.”

My face began to heat. “It’s fine,” I told him. “I’m a strong swimmer.”

But then, because there is always enough time each day for a moment of pure mortification, I had trouble getting into the tube. It was larger than the ones that aqua trainer Heather had found to practice with. So it took three tries to hoist myself up and over the edge. The rules — which Daniel began reading aloud — required that each player’s “derriere” be seated in the middle of the tube before taking possession of the ball. Furthermore, it was legal to tip any player holding the ball out of his or her tube, forcing that player to give up the ball.

“So now let’s mix it up,” Daniel called. “We’ll scrimmage, seven minutes a period.” He dug into a sack of pinny vests, tossing them to four players.

I didn’t have a pinny, so that put me on Daniel’s team. Allison was on the other. I recognized most of my teammates from the dining hall, but I didn’t know all their names. Daniel blew his whistle, and play began.

The other team got the ball and began passing. I figured out how to propel myself around with my hands as flippers. I noticed that only a couple of people managed to use their feet as well. You had to be pretty tall — with long legs dangling over the tube — to kick effectively. For once, having useless legs was not going to be much of a disadvantage. We were all flopping about like flounders, trying to maneuver. And more than one person began to laugh at the effort.

Inner tube water polo was not a game that took itself too seriously.

A lanky guy named Mike intercepted the ball, passing it to Daniel. I spun quickly, positioning myself in front of the net. “Open!” I called, lifting my arms. But Daniel passed it to another of our teammates, this one further from the goal. She shot and missed.

And then, that scenario repeated itself a dozen more times.

By the time Daniel blew the whistle, I was hopping mad. I knew the problem wasn’t that my teammates thought I’d drop the ball. There was plenty of that happening anyway. The trouble was that my Beaumont teammates — all of whom had seen me crutching and wheeling around the dining hall — thought I was fragile. They were afraid to put me in the position of being tube tackled. It was ridiculous. And I was so frustrated I wanted to spit.

“Hey, Daniel!” a voice called from the other end of the pool, where another team was having their own practice. “Wanna rumble?”

Daniel looked over his crew. “If
rumble
is a crass American word for
scrimmage
, I’d say we’re up for it.”

“Sure!” Allison said. “Let’s show Turner House who’s boss.”

The Turner captain, a skinny guy in a little Speedo, brought his people down to our end. “We’ve only got six tonight. Shall we play six on six, or do you want to send us a guy? Or a gal?”

“I’ll go!” I raised my hand.

The Turner guy nodded. “Great. Who’s keeping time?”

I paddled over to the Turner side, toward the faces of people I didn’t recognize. When the whistle blew, I put myself right into the center of the action. It only took a minute until one of my new Turner teammates saw me open and lobbed me the ball. I caught it — thank God — and passed. A couple of minutes later I caught a pass even closer to the goal.

Our Beaumont Goalie was a big, bearded guy called “bear.” He’d obviously been chosen for his girth rather than his skills. I faked to the left, and he totally went for it. While I had the ball, nobody on the Beaumont team made a move to dump me. I could have held onto that thing all day long. But I didn’t. With speed and authority, I nailed the ball into the right hand corner of the net.

My adopted teammates cheered, and I began to enjoy myself.

I passed the ball several more times after that, playing it safe. But when another window presented itself, I tried the same thing again. The only one who had learned his lesson was the goalie — he was a bit harder to decoy the second time. But I managed. The rest of the Beaumonters hung back again while I held the ball.

Fools. I scored twice more before they got tired of it.

On my next possession, Alison wised up. While I was lining up my shot, she sailed into my tube, levering me towards the water. I managed to pass the ball over her head before she upended me. I flopped into the pool with a splash. We were both laughing when I came back to the surface.

After that, the gloves were off. The Beaumonters stopped being afraid of me, and so I had to pass more often than I shot. Then, just before the whistle, the Turner captain flipped me the ball when I was right in front of the net. My hope fairy, dressed in a bikini, did a quick little cheer with silver pom poms. And I slipped the ball into the corner before the oaf knew what hit him.

Game over. Advantage Turner.

By the time it was done, I was waterlogged and panting. I heaved myself onto the side of the pool deck, twisting around to sit up. The Turner captain pushed out of the water right next to me. “Hey, thanks for playing on our side. I don’t like our chances half so well for the real game.”

I smiled. “That’s nice of you to say, but I was working an odd kind of advantage there at the beginning.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I noticed that. How come?”

I cocked my head toward the other end of the pool. “Actually, I could use a favor. That wheelchair down there belongs to me. Do you mind kicking it over here?”

He looked across the room and then back at me. Then he laughed. “Okay, I think I understand.”

I nodded. “People mean well. But sometimes they have to be taught a lesson. Sorry if I was a ball hog.”

He stood up, shaking water off his head. “Honestly, it was fun to watch.” He went off to retrieve my chair.

After I’d toweled myself off, and dried my hair against the January wind, I zipped up my fleece and wheeled myself out of the ladies’ locker room. Beside the elevators, captain Daniel leaned against the wall, arms crossed. When he saw me approaching, he straightened up. “Corey,” he said, his accent making my name sound more weighty. “I’m terribly sorry.”

Shrugging, I pressed the elevator button. “It’s okay. That sort of thing happens to me a lot.”

He shook his head. “Really, I feel like an ass.” The way he pronounced “ass,” was very British. It came out
ahs
. We boarded the elevator together.

“I hope you’ll come back for our game on Friday,” he said. “We need you.”

I gave him a sneaky grin. “What’s it worth to you?” I was actually
flirting
with him, and I had no idea why. But it was sort of fun.

“Well,” he scratched his chin. “Let me buy you an ice cream on the way home. I have a little addiction to Chunky Monkey which needs feeding.”