regular school and didn’t have any friends, I used to go to sleep sometimes hoping I just wouldn’t wake up in the morning.” She glanced at Josh. “Did you ever feel like that?”
Josh nodded, picking up a twig that was lying on the top step and twirling it in his fingers. “I used to wish that all the time. I always felt like maybe my mom would be better off if I hadn’t been born.”
“That’s how I felt, too,” Amy agreed. “But I don’t think I ever thought about killing myself. I mean, that’s kind of different from just wishing you wouldn’t wake up, isn’t it?”
Josh shrugged uncertainly, and the twig fell from his fingers as they went to the scars on his wrist. Amy, seeing him touch the still-fresh scars, hesitated, then asked him the question she’d been thinking about ever since Saturday afternoon, when Mr. Conners had spent an hour talking with all the kids about what had happened. When the teacher had asked if they had any questions, Amy had remained silent. Now, alone with Josh, she said, “Did it hurt? I mean, when you cut yourself?”
Josh hesitated, trying to remember. It was funny — he could remember holding the knife in his hand, and he could remember the blood spurting out after he cut his wrists, but he couldn’t remember actually doing it.
Nor could he remember whether or not it hurt.
“I don’t remember,” he finally replied. “I mean, if it did, I’d remember it, wouldn’t I?”
Now it was Amy who shrugged. “I–I wonder if Adam felt anything when the train hit him,” she said pensively. “I mean, I guess being dead wouldn’t be so bad if you weren’t ever happy about anything. But if dying hurts—”
“I know,” Josh said. “That’s what I keep thinking about. And once you’ve done it — well, it’s not like you can change your mind, is it?”
Amy shook her head. “I don’t think I could do it,” she decided. “I mean, no matter how bad things were, I think I’d be too scared even to try.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a car turning through the gates and starting up the long drive. As he watched it approach, Josh suddenly recognized it.
It was his mother. What was she doing here?
And then his heart sank. She’d heard what had happened to Adam, and she’d changed her mind about him being here. She’d come to take him home.
His first instinct was to go and hide somewhere, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. If she’d come to take him home, they’d find him no matter where he was, and then he’d just be in trouble. So he stood nervously where he was, watching while his mother parked the car and got out, already waving to him. A moment later she ran up the steps and swept him into her arms, hugging him as if she hadn’t seen him for a year, instead of just a week.
“Jeez, Mom,” Josh complained. “Put me down! What if the kids see? They’ll tease me for the rest of the year!”
Despite the reason for her visit to the Academy, Brenda couldn’t help laughing at her son’s embarrassment. “And what’ll they think if your mother doesn’t give you a hug when she sees you?”
“You don’t have to pick me up,” Josh groused. “I’m not a baby anymore!”
“Right,” Brenda agreed, setting him back on his feet. “You’re all grown up, and ready to go out and start earning a living so you can support your old mother, huh?”
“Mo-om,” Josh groaned.
Brenda turned to wink at Amy Carlson. “Does your mom embarrass you as bad as I embarrass Josh?”
Amy shrugged. “I guess,” she said. Then, voicing the thought that had been in Josh’s head from the moment he saw his mother’s car: “Are you going to take Josh home?”
Brenda’s smile faded, and she gazed down at Josh. “I don’t know,” she admitted. She dropped down onto the steps, suddenly feeling the fatigue of the all-night drive. She’d only heard the news about Adam Aldrich yesterday afternoon, when Hildie Kramer had called, and she still wasn’t quite over the shock of it. Of course she’d barely known the boy, but after last weekend she’d already come to think of Jeanette and Chet Aldrich as friends. All through her shift at the cafe she’d thought about whether or not to make the drive up to Barrington, and she’d set out as soon as she’d gotten off work at midnight.
In the end, of course, she realized she had no choice. It wasn’t just for the funeral, which was going to be at ten o’clock that morning.
It was Josh.
She had to see for herself how he was doing, make up her own mind how he’d dealt with the suicide of one of his schoolmates.
Most important, she had to see how he was reacting to the school. And she decided if he wasn’t happy there, she was prepared to pack him up and drive him home that very afternoon, taking him away from the Academy even more quickly than she’d put him in.
For if Adam Aldrich hadn’t responded to the school, and followed up his unsuccessful suicide attempt with a successful one, what was to say that Josh wouldn’t do the same thing? Just the thought of it had made her blood run cold. Through the long hours of the night, as she’d driven across the desert and into the San Joaquin Valley, she’d been certain that the school had been a mistake.
But as the sun had risen and she’d driven up Highway 101 toward Salinas, she’d begun having second thoughts.
Josh wasn’t like Adam — no two of the kids at the Academy were exactly alike. Even Adam’s twin brother was completely different from him.
And hadn’t they told her that suicide was a problem among their students?
But they’d failed Adam Aldrich. They hadn’t been able to see what was coming, and head it off.
Back and forth she went, arguing every point with herself, her mind finally reeling with exhaustion. As she’d driven into Barrington and started up toward the Academy, she’d made up her mind simply to watch Josh and talk to him, and decide for herself how he was doing.
Now, as the serious little girl with bright red hair and thick glasses stared earnestly at her, she managed a smile. “I guess I’m kind of worried about him,” she said.
“Because of Adam?” Amy asked.
Brenda blinked at the stark honesty of the question. “I–I guess so,” she stammered.
“We were just talking about it,” Amy told her. “We don’t think we could ever do anything like that.”
“You don’t?” Brenda asked. She felt her head spinning. Could she actually be sitting here in the bright morning sun discussing suicide with a ten-year-old girl? And yet Amy, and Josh, too, seemed to think it was the most natural thing in the world.
“We’ve been talking about it a lot,” Amy told her. “And the trouble is, if you do what Adam did, you can’t change your mind later. I mean, once you’re dead …” Her voice trailed off.
“Besides,” Brenda said. “Killing yourself is wrong.”
“Why?” Josh asked.
Brenda’s eyes shifted to her son, who was gazing steadily at her, waiting for an answer.
But did she have one? She realized she didn’t know. She’d just always accepted that suicide was wrong. But why? “Well, because God doesn’t want you to kill yourself,” she said, remembering what the Catholic Church had taught her years ago, before she’d stopped going.
“My father says there isn’t any God,” Amy told her. “He’s an atheist.”
“I see,” Brenda said, though she didn’t really see at all. How could anyone not believe in God? Although she hadn’t been to church in more than ten years, she still believed in God. She was still trying to figure out how to respond to Amy’s statement when Hildie Kramer appeared at the front door, rescuing her.
“Mrs. MacCallum? I thought that was you.”
Hurriedly, Brenda got to her feet. “I just couldn’t stay away,” she explained. “I decided to drive up for the funeral.”
Hildie had spent most of the last two days on the telephone with the parents of nearly all of Barrington’s students. Now, she managed a tired smile. “I’m glad you did,” she said. “And I’m especially glad for Josh’s sake. It’ll give you a chance to see how well he’s doing.” She reached down and ruffled Josh’s hair, chuckling as he ducked away from her hand. “Why don’t you two go start making yourselves look decent, okay?” she suggested, pointedly looking at her watch. “The service is going to start at ten, and we don’t want to be late.”
“But it’s not even nine yet,” Josh protested.
“How long are you going to have to wait for a shower?” Hildie countered. “And don’t try to tell me you
