Behind the Falls Read online

  “The front doors are always locked from the outside but Mr. Harper doesn’t usually lock the band room. When you leave you can get out the front doors. They’ll open from the inside. It’s better to leave that way in case Mr. Harper comes back to the band room before lunch is over.” He sits in a chair in the front row and stretches out his legs. I hesitate for a moment then I join him.

  This is actually pretty perfect. Yeah, I’m not facing my fears but geeze, it’s my first day after all. The auditorium is dark, the only light coming from the backstage area where we entered. It’s quiet. Actually, it’s more quiet than quiet. I notice there are soundproofing tiles on the walls and ceiling and the floor is carpeted. When Max speaks again I notice that his voice doesn’t even carry. The silence, like the darkness, is comforting and almost soft like I can touch it. When Max talks the words just hang in the air between us, the room too deadened with soundproofing to let the words drift away.

  “So what’s your story, Noah?” he asks me. He slouches down in the chair and rests his head on the back then turns to the side to look at me. At this angle his bangs fall to the side and for the first time I can see both of his eyes completely. The vibrant blue of his eyes wars with his overall drowsy expression. It’s so odd, like he looks interested in what I will say but at the same time he looks like he could just as easily take a nap as hold a conversation.

  “Uh, my story?” I ask to stall for time. I have no idea what my story is if I leave out most of the truth and of course I have to leave out the truth.

  “Yeah, your story. Why did you move to Lansing? How can such a small school be so overwhelming that you want to spend lunch in a closet? Who are you, Noah?” Why does he even want to know? I’m not interesting at all. He’s interesting with his piercings and his skinny jeans and the wide studded belt slung low on his hips. He’s the one that looks like a rock star. I’m beyond normal. I’m fine with that. I wouldn’t mind being invisible.

  “My dad grew up here and my Gran lived here most of her life. She died in July,” I begin hesitantly. He doesn’t say “I’m sorry” for which I’m oddly grateful. Why do people apologize for something that’s not their fault?

  “Can you talk about it?” is what he says instead. He doesn’t offer platitudes. It’s as if he understands. It makes me think he must have lost someone important. He knows how it feels. He makes me feel at ease. I feel like I can talk to him in the soft, dark silence of the auditorium.

  “Well my dad is a college professor and he decided to take some time off to finally write the book he’s been trying to get started for as long as I can remember so since Gran’s house is paid for my parents decided to come here for a while. It’s actually the first time I’ve ever been to school,” I can’t believe I’m admitting this even as I say it. “I’ve been homeschooled my whole life.”

  “Well damn, no wonder you’re overwhelmed. This has got to be so different from what you’re used to.”

  “Uh, can I ask you a question?” I ask somewhat timidly. He shrugs and nods. “Why are you being so nice to me?” It makes me feel shitty that I question his motives, especially since so many other kids have been pretty nice to me as well but I just don’t trust people. Besides, as nice as he’s being he still looks pretty scary with his piercings and his studded belt.

  “Maybe I just want to take a turn with the shiny new toy,” he laughs. “No but really, I’ve been the new kid more than half a dozen times. I feel your pain,” he smiles. “Besides, when you were standing there against your locker the look on your face…You just looked a little lost. You looked like you needed someone to find you.” He looks at his watch. “If I don’t get to the café soon I’m going to get stuck with yesterday’s meatloaf…and it wasn’t that spectacular yesterday.” He claps his hand on my shoulder and gives a little squeeze before standing and stretching and then he makes his way up the aisle.

  “Thanks,” I call after him. A band of light falls on me as he opens the door into the hallway and then I’m in silent darkness once again. I’ve only got three classes left. I think I’m going to be able to handle public school after all.

  I keep an eye on the time and sneak out of the auditorium right before lunch period is over. I make it to my locker before the stampede out of the cafeteria starts. Sherrie is getting to her locker as I grab my backpack from mine and check my schedule for my next class.

  “I didn’t see you at lunch,” she says.

  “Oh, I was around,” I say. I find that we both have computer science next so we walk to class together. I’m starting to get more accustomed to the crowded hallways but it is easier to navigate when I’m not alone. Talking to someone takes my mind off of everything else. Sherrie keeps up a steady stream of conversation in which I only have to give brief answers and then we’re at our classroom.

  After computer science I have an art class. I’ve never had an actual art class. I’ve always loved to draw, dabbled a bit with paints but I’ve never had any formal classes. Mom is not artistic. When I get to art class I discover there’s not much formal about this class either. The teacher gave everyone several choices of subject and media to work with for this quarter and everyone besides me is already two weeks into their projects. I prefer charcoals and pastels so I decide to stick with what I know.

  The art room has a relaxed atmosphere. Students go here and there getting supplies, checking out each other’s work. It’s somewhat distracting. I never draw in front of anyone. When the teacher comes over to view my progress it’s all I can do to not cover my paper with my hands. She makes appreciative sounds and moves on to the next person. I don’t even notice Max until the end of class when I’m cleaning up from my endeavors.

  I use my fingers a lot for smudging and shading and I go to the sink to wash off the charcoal and that’s when I see him. His hands are covered in paint and he wears an art room smock over his own clothes and it too is full of paint. It makes sense then that I didn’t see him. The easels for painting are set up in the back of the room. He’s been behind me all through the class.

  “It’s good to know I’m not the only weirdo,” he says grinning.

  “Uh, weirdo?” I’m confused because he had been so nice earlier and weirdo definitely sounds like an insult. He laughs.

  “Not a lot of people have an aptitude for art and math,” he says.

  “Who says I’m any good at math?” I am good at math.

  “You wouldn’t be in AP calculus if you weren’t. Of course, I haven’t seen what you’re working on so you may suck at art. That remains to be determined,” he laughs and I can’t help but to join him. It’s nice I think that on my first day I met Max and Sherrie. Both seem to be nice and both are definitely friendly and it’s nice to have someone to talk to. I was afraid if I wasn’t being threatened that I would be ignored which while preferable to being beaten up would still kinda suck.

  Last period drags because by now I’m starving since I didn’t eat lunch and the class is sociology and is being taught by the most monotone teacher I’ve had so far. I’m practically nodding off at my desk by the time the final bell rings. My soc class is totally on the other side of the building from my locker so by the time I get there the halls are starting to empty out as people make for their buses or their cars.

  Mom is waiting in the pickup lane when I finally get outside. I throw my back pack in the back seat then slide in the passenger seat smiling.

  “Well you look happy,” she beams and I can tell she’s relieved.

  “It really wasn’t half bad,” I admit. “Maybe I should have done this sooner. I’m not saying I didn’t have a few moments of nerves,” I continue as she pulls out into traffic, “But I didn’t have a meltdown either.”

  “What was the worst part?” she asks, not because she wants me to dwell on anything negative but because she wants me to examine it, put it in perspective and move on from it.

  “Definitely just the number of people and the noise! God, in between classes the hallways are jus
t a mad house. That’s definitely the worst part,” I don’t mention skipping the cafeteria altogether.

  “You’ll get used to that. Soon you won’t even notice it anymore,” she says. I nod in agreement. “What was the best part?”

  “Everyone was really nice,” I say. “I mean, it’s like being a celebrity, everyone wants to talk to me, everyone wants to help me and at first it was just too much, too many people but by the end of the day I got used to complete strangers talking to me and I don’t know, I think I may even make some friends.”

  We stop at this Asian restaurant on the way home. They offer Chinese, Japanese and Thai food. It was always my favorite when we came here to visit Gran. I don’t know what made these people open an Asian cuisine restaurant in Noplace, PA but it’s awesome and it’s always busy. Mom called an order in before she left to pick me up so it’s ready when we get there. I wait in the car and I’m almost asleep by the time she gets back with the food. I’m hungry and it smells so good!

  “Did you get me Pad Thai?” I ask. She gives me a look like what kind of question is that? “Spring rolls?

  “Yes, Noah, Pad Thai and spring rolls. You really think I wouldn’t remember what my own son eats EVERYTIME we get carry out from this place?” she’s laughing when she says it. I guess it pays to be predictable. I have a really hard time stepping out of my comfort zones. It’s something Dr. Bachman wants me to work on this year. I’m supposed to be taking more risks or something.

  Dad is deep into his writing when we get home but he breaks to eat with us. Mom plates up their food but I prefer to eat mine right out of the container with chopsticks. I start out leaning against the kitchen counter because I still have too much nervous energy to sit still but Dad insists I sit at the table “like a human being” and so I have to join them. My leg bounces up and down rapidly as we eat. Normally I would have plenty of leftovers for a snack later but going without lunch has made me absolutely ravenous and I eat everything.

  “How did it go today?” Dad asks as he picks mushrooms out of his moo goo gai pan. I don’t know why he doesn’t just order it without mushrooms. When Mom puts them on her plate I realize I have my answer.

  “It was fine,” I say. “Honestly, I don’t know how much of that was just that it was really easier than I thought it would be or maybe taking the meds helped or maybe I’m just not a basket case anymore.”

  “Noah…” my dad says sternly. My parents hate it when I talk negatively about myself. I don’t understand how they can disagree with me though. I’ve spent the majority of my life dealing with mental illness and they’ve been there every step of the way. Don’t they just get tired of it? I wonder if sometimes they wish they’d never had kids, or at least not one like me.

  I mean I can’t even make myself get on the damned school bus. Mom says it’s not a problem to drive me but it’s got to be inconvenient. Or it will be after a year of doing it. Even moving here, the more I think about it the more certain I am that I’m really the reason we moved, not Dad’s book. They could have sold Gran’s house and lived off that money in Naperville while Dad wrote full time. They didn’t need to rent out the house. They’ve uprooted their whole lives for me.

  Suddenly I’m not feeling very good about myself. I excuse myself from the dinner table to go do homework in my room.

  “Don’t forget your fortune cookie,” Mom says as she tosses one to me. I catch it and take it to my room where it sits unopened on my desk. I’m a half hour into homework when my phone rings. At first I don’t even know what it is that’s making that buzzing noise then I remember the phone.

  I never had a cellphone. I never had a need for one. Mom and Dad got this one for me before we moved. They figured I’d need it in case of emergencies now that I’m going to school. We’re allowed to have phones at school but we aren’t allowed to talk or text during class and the ringers must be turned off. That’s what the buzzing was. It’s ringing with the volume turned off. I find it at the bottom of my backpack.

  Of course it’s my cousin Kimber. No one besides Kimber and my parents even has this number. Who else would it be?

  “Hello, snot,” I say cheerfully.

  “Hey, freak,” she says. Both of our moms would smack her upside the head for calling me that but she doesn’t mean it…much. She loves me in spite of my freakdome and in turn I love her for that. I wish she was my sister so she’d be here instead of back in Naperville.

  “How was your first day?” she asks. She started public school immediately at the start of the school year. She was nervous but excited. The first day she came straight to our house so she could tell me all of the details. She already has a group of friends that go to her school but the one demographic that she hadn’t counted on was the boys. After her first day she told me about classes and lockers and lunchrooms and school buses then she prattled on about boys for almost an hour.

  “It was good, better than I had any right to hope it would be,” I said.

  “Why? Why wouldn’t you have any right to hope it would be good?” she asks. I shrug even though she can’t see me.

  “You know…”

  “Noah, don’t sell yourself short. I know you’ve been really worried about this but you’ve been doing really well for a while now,” she says sternly.

  “Now you sound like my mom.”

  “Better than sounding like mine!” she says and we both laugh.

  “I didn’t go to lunch,” I admit to her what I can’t admit to my parents. I can’t tell them it wasn’t a complete success. I can tell Kimber anything though. It won’t go any further than this conversation and I know she won’t judge me.

  “I can actually understand that,” she commiserates. “The first time I walked into the cafeteria it was like OMG I know how Noah feels now.” I can’t help but laugh. “Seriously, it’s so loud and everyone has their little cliques and if you don’t know the right people, sit with the right people, act the right way you can destroy your social standing before you even have one.”

  “Great, thanks, Kimber, that really gives me something to look forward to,” I say dryly.

  “Oh it won’t be that way for YOU,” she tries the late save. “I mean, girls are just so MEAN.”

  “Girls are terrifying,” I agree. I’m sixteen and never even wanted to kiss a girl. First you have to TALK to them and that’s just too terrifying. I’ll probably die a virgin. As a matter of fact I’m convinced of it.

  “Boys aren’t much easier,” Kimber admits. “There’s this guy in my English class I could swear was checking me out but then I finally get up the nerve to talk to him and he blows me off but then I catch him checking me out like five minutes later. What is up with that?”

  I get sucked into Kimber’s drama about boys for the next hour. She should know it’s pointless to ask me to translate how guys act around girls. I’m not like other guys our age. I’m not a yardstick to measure anything by unless you want to know exactly how crazy you are. Finally I tell her I have to go do my homework. I’m actually almost done with it. I’ve been working on homework while I halfway pay attention to Kimber’s side of the conversation and am told that I’m no help in figuring guys out for her.

  “I’ll talk to you in a few days,” she says, “Love ya, freak.”

  “Love you too, snot.” After I finish my homework I realize I’m exhausted and I go to bed early. I don’t even bother to try to read a bit before I turn out the light. I barely got any sleep last night and today was just…well today was pretty good actually. I’m asleep before I can count to five sheep.

  ****

  The next two days of school are pretty much the same as the first. I still don’t go to the cafeteria at lunch even though Sherrie and Max both let me know the offer to sit with them is still open. At least I wise up and start bringing some granola bars and bottles of water in my backpack so I have something to eat during the day. I meet a few more people. I can’t say that they’re friends yet. I don’t know them well enough to think
of anyone here as my friend and I don’t trust people until I know them but it’s nice when people say hi to you in the halls.

  On Thursday Mom actually gets a substitute assignment in the junior high so we get to school super early. Likewise at the end of the day I have to wait for her to finish up at the junior high before she picks me up here at the high school. We used to have two cars but we sold one when we moved. Mom and Dad didn’t want to have to drive two cars from Illinois and it’s not like we really need two if Dad isn’t going to work and I can’t drive yet.

  I’m not sure if I’ll ever want to drive. It’s just one more thing to worry about. Most kids can’t wait to turn sixteen and get their learner’s permit but I haven’t even done that much yet. I mean, just the thought of the possibility of a panic attack while operating heavy machinery is too much and that’s before you consider the other drivers and freak accidents. No thanks!As a result of our one car status I’m waiting in the vestibule in front of the main office for mom to pick me up when I notice two people sitting on a bench down the hall a bit. It’s Max and the girl he calls Kitty cat. What is her real name? Is it really Kitty or Katherine or Kate? Who knows, she doesn’t seem friendly enough to warrant such a cuddly nickname. Well, not usually. She’s friendly enough now.

  I tilt my head down so my bangs fall in my eyes and I watch them through my curtain of hair. She’s sitting on the bench leaning against the back of it and he’s on her lap facing her. He’s got his legs on either side of her almost more or less kneeling with his butt in her lap so it’s not like she’s holding all of his weight. He’s pretty thin but she’s tiny. She’s teasing him with a piece of red licorice holding it almost close enough for him to bite it then pulling it away at the last second.