After the Death of Anna Gonzales (9781466859524) Read online

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  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Lisa McNair

  Principal Barron

  Damon Reingold

  Manuel Ramirez

  Kathleen Hays

  Jason Foley

  Francine Bradishio

  Ricky Stevens

  Lauren Reynolds

  Debbie Hill

  Darrith Evans

  Andrea Brensk

  Chad Alexander

  Mitch S. Foster

  Andy Gotchalder

  Mrs. Johnson, Algebra Teacher

  John Morgan

  Sharlee Williams

  Kimmy Nelson

  Carrie Sells

  Eric Sueffert

  Tammy Billet

  Alexis Jimers

  Martin Martinez

  Lynn Helter

  Shannon Delany

  Mandy Krantz

  Tiffany Gibson

  Jenna Etkin

  Ms. Mason, English Teacher

  Aaron Sherman

  Randal Mallander

  Mike Bradler

  Karen Covington

  Kendra Jones

  Lanny Laring

  Michelle Magden

  Jeff Cook

  Ms. Standring, Attendance Secretary

  Jermaine Clements

  Julio Contraros

  Leslie Leiberman

  Sean Saunders

  Kinderlyn Hovoticich

  Jordan Smythe

  Andrew Stevenson, Security Guard

  Jamie McSully

  Anna Gonzales (the Note)

  About the Author

  Copyright

  To Life

  With love for those

  who make my life special:

  Mom, Rick, Lori, Larry, and Jeff

  And with gratitude for

  excellent manuscript advice from

  Erin Murphy, Christy Ottaviano,

  and Rick and Jeff Fields

  Lisa McNair

  I can feel

  The whispering of the hallway walls

  Growing louder as the groups gather.

  Each clique adding its morning input.

  “Did you hear?”

  “Who told you?”

  “Do you think it’s really true?”

  New at this school,

  I stand alone.

  Watching …

  A group of girls plot

  For Homecoming only days away.

  “He might ask…”

  “Try to run into him.”

  “No one is wearing purple.”

  “But if Julio goes with Gina, then…”

  Seeing …

  A brown-eyed boy aim a slight nod and slow smile

  At a green-eyed girl.

  Who seems not to see him but somehow moves closer.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself.”

  Hearing …

  A boy beg for finished algebra homework to copy.

  Hoping someone will save him.

  “No time to do it.”

  “Impossible anyway.”

  “Teacher’s a witch.”

  My first week at this school.

  Seeing but not really being seen.

  Trying to figure out how I will fit in.

  Listening to the rhythms of this new place.

  Already I am able to pick up some familiar refrains.

  Yet sandwiched among this morning’s murmurs

  Today’s hallway hints at something more horrible.

  “I heard…”

  “Who was it?”

  “How’d she do it?”

  “Wonder if it hurt?”

  “Anyone know why?”

  The gossip gets grabbed by Senior Square.

  “Found out it was just some freshman.”

  “Did she leave a note?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Probably not true.”

  “Stupid.”

  “I think about it once in…”

  The blaring of the bell.

  Lockers slam.

  Students scatter.

  And I start another day at this new school … wondering.

  Principal Barron

  Thirty years in education.

  I’ve broken up fights.

  Fired a teacher.

  Failed a student.

  But not this.

  This is too much to ask.

  “Volleyball practice has been moved to 5:00 P.M.

  The chess club will meet today in

  Mr. Malkin’s room.”

  Thirty years in education.

  I’ve learned school law.

  Listened to angry parents.

  Located lost school buses.

  But not this.

  This is too much to ask.

  “Congratulations to the JV football team on last

  night’s 14–0 win against the Raiders.

  Student Council will be selling spirit T-shirts

  during both lunch hours all week.”

  To make a difference.

  To better kids’ lives.

  That was why I went into education.

  So how does this happen?

  How do I …

  “Mr. Barron, announcements are almost over.

  Do you still have a special?”

  I trudge toward the camera.

  “And now for a special from our principal.”

  Words caught in unwilling voice.

  “I am sorry to tell you of the death

  of one of our students.”

  Must continue.

  Rumors always worse than truth.

  “Anna Gonzales took her life last night.

  Our sympathies to her family and friends.

  Grief counselors will be available all day.”

  Robotlike move off camera.

  As a chirpy voice concludes,

  “And those are today’s announcements.

  Have a nice day.”

  Damon Reingold

  The game doesn’t always go your way.

  I know.

  You can go to every practice

  Even when your shoulder aches

  Your ankle throbs

  Your homework waits.

  You can do 100 hand-offs

  1,000 free throws

  10,000 reps

  And still sit on the bench

  While

  You watch Darrith Evans

  Slack off

  Skip practice

  Showboat for Debbie

  And still be part of the

  Starting five.

  The game doesn’t always go your way.

  Forget fair.

  Feel forgotten.

  But damn it, Anna,

  You don’t stop playing.

  Manuel Ramirez

  I’m on my way to class.

  Tardy bell hasn’t even rung.

  When Mrs. Bernstein, the scholarship aide,

  Stops me and calls me into her office.

  “Manuel,” she says, “do you think of yourself as mature?”

  “I guess…”

  “Do you think of yourself as intelligent?”

  I shrug—“My grades are pretty good.”

  “Do you think you’re a good representative of this school?”

&nbs
p; I have no idea what she’s getting at.

  “Well, we do,” she continues.

  School announcements start.

  Mrs. Bernstein turns them off.

  “What I’m trying to tell you is

  That’s why the faculty submitted your name

  For the National Future Leader Award.”

  “The what?” I ask.

  “Remember I asked you for your government essay?

  We submitted it and five faculty recommendations.

  I didn’t say anything to you because

  We’ve never had a winner here before …

  “But, Manuel, you won!” she says.

  “You’re going to Washington, D.C., for a whole week, all expenses paid.”

  “Wow!” I manage to croak.

  I’ve never even been out of this city before.

  “Congratulations!” She smiles and hands me a stack of papers.

  In a daze, I walk into my first-hour class,

  Put the pass on Mrs. Johnson’s desk,

  And feel my face flaunting an ever-growing grin

  As I begin what has already been

  The best day of my life.

  Kathleen Hays

  My brother was seven

  When they told us the bad news:

  It was a tumor

  That had bloomed in his body

  Like a weed.

  Seven surgeries, and still he smiled.

  We had his eighth birthday party in the hospital.

  He said he could feel that he was almost well.

  And we celebrated.

  At nine, they said new cells had sprouted.

  The chemo was strong.

  The cancer was stronger.

  But … in spite of the pills and the pain,

  In spite of the surgeries and suffering,

  He chose life.

  And you, Anna, who had health,

  Chose death.

  How could you?

  Jason Foley

  “Life’s rough, and then you die.”

  That’s what the sign above the restaurant sink

  Says in big red letters.

  Only there’s a grease spot that covers the i.

  I work kitchen clean-up

  Illegally because I’m too young,

  But they pay me in cash

  And I hide most of it from my dad

  So he won’t drink it away.

  It took me seventeen days and three hours

  To earn enough

  For my fine new shoes.

  But they were definitely worth it.

  I don’t know who stole ’em—yet.

  But I will.

  Believe it.

  And when I do,

  I’ll take care of things.

  Know it.

  Meanwhile, I work and watch the big red letters

  That say

  “Life’s rough, and then you die,”

  And I think,

  Not me.

  Not yet.

  Francine Bradishio

  I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

  I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

  I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

  I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

  I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

  I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

  I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

  I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

  I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

  I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

  I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

  I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

  I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

  I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

  I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

  I will not talk when the teacher is talking.

  My wrist hurts.

  My thumb is numb.

  And the pain in my fingers is fierce.

  God … I still have 434 sentences to do before fourth hour.

  When Mrs. Ebert assigned them yesterday,

  She said, “I hope this teaches you a lesson.”

  And it has.

  There’s no way I’m getting in trouble for talking in English again.

  As soon as I get to class today, I’m going straight to sleep.

  Ricky Stevens

  Me.

  The one

  Who always does just what adults expect.

  Referred to as

  Responsible.

  Obedient.

  Boring.

  Until today.

  When I took the checkered flag.

  And left behind Mom and Dad’s

  Lists of “notes for when we’re out of town.”

  Which, by the way, never actually said,

  “You cannot take Dad’s new Corvette!”

  Now, as I sit through these never-ending announcements,

  I can still feel my hands gripping the wheel.

  My foot flooring the gas.

  I’ll be free again at three,

  To ease back into the soft black leather seats

  And downshift into the winds of

  Unpredictable.

  Incompliant.

  Exciting.

  Wonder if I should offer Lynn a ride?

  Lauren Reynolds

  Since September,

  I sat one seat behind Anna in algebra.

  Passed papers to her every day.

  Studied for tons of tests together.

  Though it often seemed impossible,

  Eventually,

  We always found the unknown for X.

  But not this time.

  This equation

  Bounces against my brain.

  And sneers at all attempted answers.

  I know I’ll re-examine the variables,

  And reanalyze the unknowns, maybe forever.

  But

  It won’t matter.

  Because, Anna—

  I know I’ll never figure out Y.

  Y you didn’t want to live—

  And Y I never noticed.

  Debbie Hill

  We agreed.

  Together, all ten.

  We’d stand in a line,

  And on the downbeat we all kick at exactly the same height.

  But not Emily.

  She always makes sure her leg lifts a little higher than mine.

  Does she think I don’t notice?

  She says she just doesn’t know why

  Her sweater fits so perfectly,

  And wonders why mine looks a little baggy.

  The answer is easy.

  She shrank hers until it became a second skin.

  She thinks she’s flashy.

  I think she’s trashy.

  She does her high kicks for Darrith.

  Let her.

  I don’t dance for him or anyone else.

  Music just makes me want to move.

  The downbeat begins,

  And the adrenaline rushes.

  The crowd becomes a blur.

  Oops, the announcements ended.

  So how come everyone’s just sitting here so quietly?

  It’s only English.

  Boring, but

  It’s not like somebody died or anything.

  Darrith Evans

  I can picture it all now:

  Me:

  Coach, I’m sorry, but I just don’t feel right about practicing today.

  Coach:

  But we’ve got a big game tomorrow.

  Me:

  Coach, I won’t let you down.

  I’ll be there.

  You can count on me.

  But today …

  I just can’t—

  I mean, Anna …

  Coach:

  I didn’t know you knew her.

  Me:

  (looking down at the floor—catch in
my voice)

  I do have a life outside of basketball.

  Coach:

  (putting his hand on my shoulder)

  I’m sorry, son.

  Skip the practice.

  Go be with the Gonzales family.

  Anna Gonzales, I never knew you.

  Although you were probably in the stands

  Watching me play.

  I’m sorry you took your life.

  But I can’t get it back for you.

  So you might as well help me.

  See, I just cannot make Coach understand

  That unlike most

  Of the guys on our team

  I don’t need all these practice sessions.

  I always come through in the games.

  So why can’t Coach just let me be?

  Andrea Brensk

  In seventh-hour Spanish,

  Anna Gonzales sat in the second row, second seat.

  How do I know?

  Every day, I wished I could trade places with her.

  Spanish is the only class I have with Chad Alexander.

  That most gorgeous and very shy guy.

  I don’t think Anna ever noticed him.

  Even though in group work

  She always got paired with Chad.

  Me—

  I’m stuck on the other side of the room.

  With god-awful Greg Mendez.

  And his ox-snorting laugh.

  So I’m wondering if today is too soon

  To ask Ms. Alvarez if I could switch seats.

  I mean …

  I don’t want anyone to think I’m insensitive.

  But I don’t want to miss the moment.

  And have someone else sneak into the seat that should be mine.

  I know that I could find the right language

  For me and Chad.

  If I could just improve our geography.

  Chad Alexander

  Anna Gonzales …

  There’s an Anna in my Spanish class.

  A million times we said “¿Cómo te llamas?”

  But we never answered with last names.

  Still, somehow I think it might be her.

  Suicide …

  Anna seemed normal enough,

  But how much can you know

  When working together to conjugate

  The present tense of hablar?

  If it is the same Anna, her seat’s gonna be empty.

  Not just absent empty—but forever empty.

  Weird.

  Very weird.

  Too weird.

  Maybe Mark could move into that seat.