Downfall And Rise Page 4

  “The entire team won't knock me around,” I replied. “About half of them will just avoid me or sneer at me in the halls. The other half though, the hardcore idiots, keep trying to push or trip me in the halls.”

  “You're saying that's the reason you've been falling so much all these years?” My friend was incredulous.

  I shook my head.

  “A lot of the times I've fallen just because I'm clumsy. They've only counted for like half of those times. And this year I've gotten better at dodging them.”

  “That's still terrible!” Christina shouted angrily. “Why hasn't anyone done anything about this?”

  “I don't know,” I said with a shrug. “Teachers can't be everywhere at once. The coach has promised to put a stop to it, but I still have to watch out for myself.”

  “What about Chris?” she demanded. “Does he know about this?”

  Chris had never pushed or tripped me himself, because he's not stupid enough to risk his image on something he can get his friends to do on their own. But how did I say that to his new girlfriend in way that she would believe?

  “Wes,” Christina demanded. “We've been friends since fifth grade. You stood up for me back when I had braces and extra weight and everyone else was making fun of me for it. Tell me the truth about this.”

  Here goes nothing.

  “Christina, Chris is probably the reason behind it all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean Chris and I got into it really bad at a party three years ago. As far as I could tell, it was the right thing to do, but everyone disagrees with me, including the girl I stood up for at that party. Maybe I was wrong, and maybe I should have minded my own business. But Chris and I have never gotten along since, and the players I have to watch for the most are the ones that Chris hangs out with. So accept that I might be biased, but Chris Rhodes is the smartest, strongest, most accomplished, most careful and most cunning slime-bag I have ever met. Please be careful around him.”

  I hadn't meant for that last part to sound like a pitiful beg. But it did.

  Christina said nothing for a moment. The hum of students eating, talking and laughing all around us filled my ears.

  “Um, Wes?”

  “Yes?” I said, dreading her response.

  “I've never heard you say that about anyone. Like ever. Not even my old body shamers.”

  “They were jerks too back then. But no,” I shook my head. “I stand by what I said about Chris, and that you should be careful around him. I hope we still can be friends.”

  “Well duh!” Christina said to my eternal relief, almost smacking my arm but pulling her hand away at the last minute. “I'm not going to give up one of my friends just because he doesn't like my boyfriend! You know me, Wes. I'm not one of those idiot girls that doesn't heed the warning signs about a jerk until it's too late.”

  “Right, sorry,” I said, still unable to hide my relief. And thank God, I thought to myself, meaning it literally for the first time in a while.

  “Now I'm not saying I'm going to immediately break up with him,” Christina continued. “I'm going to have to make my own decision about him. But if he's as bad a guy as you say he is, I'll find out about it. And I'll be smart about it too, I promise. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said with a smile. “Thanks for hearing me out.” I looked at the clock. “Hey, I gotta go get ready for my tests, but it was really good seeing you. I'll try to make it to church next weekend.”

  Christina smiled at me.

  “Sure thing. It was good seeing you too. Keep us all posted, okay? Go team Wes!” She flashed the bracelet at me.

  I grinned back, gathered my things, and headed out of the lunchroom.

  Chapter 4: Downfall (Again)

  I washed my hands in the restroom sink, then grabbed my cane by the wall. I reflected on everything today so far.

  One: I had pulled off a world-first in a video game. Now sure, it was just a video game, but I had done so in a challenging fashion and in a way to get noticed. That wasn't even my main goal for this morning, but it happened. Since my condition didn't inhibit me in the game, it proves that without it, I can still excel. My illness was not me.

  Two: I've been able to walk around today almost completely on my own power. I could even go a couple steps without using my cane if I wanted to. My dizzy spells have been almost non-existent, my limbs barely shook at all, and my headaches were the mildest they've been in years. I'd been getting better ever since I began playing in the simulator and I had every reason to believe I'D keep improving.

  Three: I’ve already aced one test. None of the material seemed unfamiliar and I felt pretty confident about all my answers. My memory was getting better. My brain was coming back. If I could make it here, I should be able to make it through college.

  And finally, I have way more friends than I thought I did. I've been too bitter, for too long. It was time to make more effort to connect with people.

  I smiled as I stepped out of the restroom. Today really is a good da-

  “'Scuse us, cripple-head!”

  Two large idiots dashed down the halls, curving to run into me.

  They almost caught me by surprise. I had to lean back suddenly, and the hand of the one closest to me narrowly missed me as they dashed past. The sudden movement still made my head swim for a minute. Even though they had missed, the jerks jeered at me from further down the hall.

  “Made you flinch cripple-head! Ha! Ha!”

  Who says the actual word “ha” out loud? I thought as I stepped back in the hallway. Except for the idiots further down the hall, I was clear. The incident had cost me time though. I had better hurry before-

  “Oops!” a voice shouted from behind a hallway locker. “My book slipped!”

  Crunch.

  I had tried to duck, tried to dodge as soon as I heard the voice. But it was too late. I had the brief impression of something block-ish and heavy slamming into the back of my helmet before I felt the leather padding cave in completely, and the rest of the impact went right on through.

  Pain exploded behind my eyes. The ground and the hallway started spinning in two different directions at once. Someone started cheering that they had finally gotten me, and shouted ‘ha’ a few more times.

  Then the floor reached up and punched me in the face.

  My forehead landed with enough force to bounce, and then everything went black.

  I don't know how long I was out. I think it was only a few seconds. When I woke up I glanced around looking for a clock on the wall. Wait, I thought. Where are the walls now?

  I tried to used my hands to get up, but all they could find was empty air. It was if the whole world was spinning and I had no chance of ever catching or grabbing any part of it. My legs just quivered when I tried to move them.

  And everything- I mean everything- hurt.

  There were loud noises all around me. I think someone was shouting and running. Maybe they were running towards me. The noise intensified the throbbing in my head.

  “Wes! Wes!” The deep voice was familiar. That didn't make the loudness hurt any less.

  “Noise... hurts,” I croaked.

  “Sorry man.” Davelon's voice whispered gently. I could barely make out his tall brown form over me. “Can you move?”

  I tried to get back up, but still couldn't find the floor with my hand.

  “Here man,” my friend slowly moved his hand to grasp mine. “I gotcha. I'm gonna try and pull you up, okay?”

  “Sure.” I took a deep breath, and tried to ignore all the spinning. “Ready.”

  Davelon carefully hauled me back to my feet. I took a step forward and nearly fell down again. Every organ inside me suddenly tried to trade places with each other.

  “Wes! Wes, stay with me!” Davelon urged. “Are you okay?”

  Head down, I opened my mouth to answer and vomited instead. Everything in my body was still hurting and quivering. I was lucky I hadn't lost control of any other funct
ions.

  Davelon swore- a rare thing for him.

  “I can't believe they did this to you,” he growled. “Don't worry man, they're not getting away with this. Not this time. Let's get you to the nurse.”

  “No,” I gasped. He didn't know I couldn't do that. Not right now.

  “Don't be crazy man,” my friend said patiently. “You're throwing up and you can't walk. How can you possibly not need to go to the nurse right now?”

  “Test.”

  I was managing one word at a time now, so I must be recovering. Davelon seemed to disagree.

  “They will let you retake the test, dude. Seriously, this is special circumstances. I saw them run off after attacking you. I saw a friggin' textbook by your head. I'll vouch for you.”

  “Won't... work,” I said, finally getting a second word out. “Happened... before.”

  Because it had. I had fallen down and hit my head, the result of another push that no one did anything about, just before I took the test a second time. When it became clear that I couldn't finish the test, the program said they will allow me to retake it one more time, but they would not be able to reschedule the final retake under any circumstances, no matter how valid. They explained that they were already being more than generous and that if I had to retake a test four times in a row despite having accommodations, then I probably wouldn't be able to handle college anyway.

  Even dizzy, I knew all of this. I couldn't let my future slip away.

  “Please,” I begged Davelon, having trouble articulating from both the pain and the shame of being so helpless. “Test. Please.”

  Davelon sighed and shook his head.

  “Look man, I'll make you a compromise. I'll swing by the classroom and show the teacher how messed up you are right now, and how you were just attacked. But when he tells you that you can retake the test on account of being knocked unconscious, because someone assaulted you, then I'll take you straight to the school nurse- and possibly make sure you get to the hospital. We clear?”

  I nodded.

  “Yeah...clear...and...Davelon... thank you,”

  My friend shook his head again.

  “If you weren't all banged up right now, you'd remember that you used to take care of me back when I got hurt. Now come on.”

  Gradually I was able to walk with Davelon's assistance. Everything still spun, but not as fast, and I could make out hallways and doors. We finally made it to the classroom that was holding my science test. Mr. Jammers looked up from his desk. He was still a little blurry, but I still recognized him as the pale, skinny, brown-haired teacher in his mid-thirties. I also noticed he was glaring at me.

  “You're late,” he said. “The bell rang a minute ago. Report to the office to get a tardy slip.”

  “Mr. Jammers, he's hurt,” Davelon said. “He got jumped in the hallway.”

  “So why did you bring him here?” the science teacher demanded. “Go tell the office. He's got to get a tardy slip anyway.”

  The world was just swimming around now, not spinning. I could tell more about what was going on. When I carefully turned my head, I saw that Davelon was still staring at Mr. Jammers. He took a deep breath and tried again.

  “Mr. Jammers,” Davelon said patiently, but urgently, enunciating key words very clearly. “He's hurt. He was attacked in the hallway. I saw it happen. He made me take him here because he was afraid you'd disqualify him for the test. I need you to tell him he's being irrational and that you won't fail him just for being injured against his will, so that I can take him to go to see the nurse and find out if he has a concussion or not.”

  “The nurse isn't here on Friday afternoons,” Mr. Jammers said irritably. “Everyone knows that. And the exam's out of my control. They've given all the accommodations they'll willing to give him.”

  “But Mr. Jammers, look at him...”

  “I see him,” Mr. Jammers said dismissively. “He looks like he does every time he takes this test and can't finish it. They're not going to care a third time.” Then he waved his hand like he was shooing a fly. “But if I'm wrong and he's as knocked up as you say he is, I don't have to waste time pretending he could ever pass the test to begin with. Get him to the office so that he can get a tardy slip and get picked up by his mother, and I can leave and go grade papers.”

  “Oh my God,” Davelon was so surprised he almost dropped me. He turned his head to look me. “You're not crazy. You were telling the truth.”

  “Is okay,” I slurred, then repeated it more confidently. “It's okay. I'm good now. You can let go.”

  “But I just said you weren't crazy,” Davelon retorted. I shook my head and transferred my weight from his arm to my cane.

  “Everything's starting to clear up. I can walk now.”

  “Is this you or the concussion talking right now?” Davelon was still staring at me. “Because I don't think I'm supposed to listen to the concussion.”

  “It's not the concussion,” I said, shaking my head carefully as a test. Everything still swam and hurt a little, but I told myself I could work with it. “It's me trying to keep my scholarship. You heard him. This is my last chance.”

  “You don't have a chance period,” Mr. Jammers retorted angrily. “You were late. You have to go to the office and get your tardy arrival reported. And I have better things to do than spend my valuable time on a test you couldn't be bothered to be lucid for.”

  Bewildered and seeing me starting to move on my own, Davelon let me slide off his arm and limp carefully over to a seat. I saw his jaw and fist clench though, as he stared at my teacher.

  “Davelon,” I said. “Don't worry. He's always like this. Can you go to the office and report on my tardy for me?”

  Davelon blinked again, then nodded at me. “Yeah. Yeah man, I can do that.”

  “You can't report on another student's tardy!” Mr. Jackass- my private name for the jerk- shouted.

  “Maybe not, Mr. Jammers,” Davelon said, hands still clenched. “But I can tell them he was jumped and hurt, and that you tried to not give him his test. I'll be going now. Wes,” he turned and looked at me. “Good luck. We're rooting for you.”

  He raised his wrist and for the first time I saw the 'Team Wes' bracelet on his arm. I gave him a fist bump in solidarity as he left the room, giving the teacher another glare as he walked out.

  “That bracelet's against dress code!” Mr. Jackass shouted. He turned back to glare at me. “And I thought of told you to get out of my classroom.”

  “You did, Mr. Jammers,” I replied with practiced patience and taking a No. 2 pencil out of my bag. “But with all due respect,” I paused for a moment because the room tried to spin again. “I'm not leaving this classroom unless I have a shot at completing the test or you physically remove me.”

  “I'm calling security,” he snarled, stomping over to the phone. He picked up the phone and began dialing and shouting at it.

  In case it is not as wretchedly, painfully obvious to everyone else as it is to me, Mr. Jammers is a bad teacher. I have never met anyone so angry about doing their job as this man, which is ironic because he always taught classes with the fewest students and they were all advanced placement, meaning the kids always cared more about learning the material than he did about teaching it. And it showed. Every time someone asked him to re-explain something, or clarify a question that will be on a test, or, God forbid, ask to come in after school and get some help on anything at all, he'd be furious over the extra work. Half of the information he taught contradicted material we've learned in our previous classes, and whenever anyone brought that up in the classroom Mr. Jammers would throw a screaming fit right then and there. When enough students pointed this out to their parents Mr. Jammers suddenly had fewer classes to teach. At one point, when I asked how Mr. Jammers was allowed to teach at all, one of the other teachers privately told me that he had gotten his certification by a program run by a school board member. Specifically, the member that was his dad. I never figured out how that w
orked out legally.

  And yes, he didn't seem to like me. Now I know every student says that about a teacher they have problems with, but so far I have heard at least ten people ask “is it just me, or does Mr. Jammers friggin' hate Wes?” within my hearing.

  As far as I could tell, he thought I was faking the whole “severe head injury” thing so that I could get sympathy and distraction from what my father did.

  And for some reason, even though I didn't have him as a classroom teacher anymore, he was chosen to administer the Math and Science portions of the tests for me. Every single time.

  Mr. Jammers finally finished shouting into the school phone and hung up. He glared at me, then stomped over to the desk holding my test paper.