Because of Mr. Terupt: February–March

I resolved (dollar word) to get him.

I was already standing at the top when I saw Lexie making her way up the side. I thought about how she’d been really quiet lately, like she was down in the dumps. Maybe that was why I thought knocking her into the snow would snap her out of her trance.

A monstrous hill of snow loomed right in the middle.

A monstrous hill of snow loomed right in the middle.

Naturally, we all sprinted toward it and clamored to the top.

Peter seized the opportunity and sent Alexia flying down the side of the mountain. She landed on her back, all splayed out.

Alexia sat up and I could tell how mad she was by the lines in her contorted face.

Suddenly I thought of a way to get Peter. He wouldn’t expect me. He’d be keeping his eyes on Alexia, expecting her to retaliate.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” I said. It wasn’t a suggestion, more like I simply told them how my ingenious plan would be executed.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” I said. It wasn’t a suggestion, more like I simply told them how my ingenious plan would be executed.

Peter came running toward us and scampered right up the side.

Danielle threw her shoulder into Peter, knocking him off balance. He wavered. I blasted him with my shoulder, coming from the opposite direction.

The one-two-three punch was too much for Peter to handle. He squawked like a dying seagull as he flailed through the air, landing facedown.

Alexia kicked snow in Peter’s face. He griped and whined as he sat up to wipe the snow from his eyes.

“Let’s get him, Lukester,” Jeffrey said. I felt like a couple of snipers (dollar word) sizing up our target.

“Let’s get him, Lukester,” Jeffrey said. I felt like a couple of snipers (dollar word) sizing up our target.

This reversal (dollar word) of typical roles, with me being the victor, felt awesome. It was one of the greatest upsets (dollar word) of all time.

I don’t think any of us were malicious in our attacks on Peter.

It was the sudden onslaught that made him throw that snowball.

I still remember Alexia’s scream. Piercing. Horrified.

It’s been a few weeks since Mr. Tempt went into a coma.

We were given some silly worksheets to keep us busy, but no one could concentrate—not even Luke. Instead we stared blankly at the papers, or out the windows—each of us lost in an ocean of thoughts and a roller coaster of emotions.

My mom and dad didn’t think it was a good idea, but I wouldn’t listen. I didn’t stop pestering them about it.

I felt some of them look at me and my mom, but I just kept walking until I saw his name on the door. TERUPT. Room 404 (a palindrome, just like our classroom).

His eyes stayed closed. He didn’t move. Not an inch. Only his chest rose up, then fell down, with each frail breath.

The smell of disinfectant had lingered in the hallway.

Instead of the chatter of schoolkids arriving after a summer vacation, the only thing I could hear was the incessant beeping of those scary machines.

I gripped and squeezed and fidgeted with the book in my hands, Al Capone Does My Shirts.

Mr. Terupt’s door stood slightly ajar, so I slowly pushed it open and stepped into his room.

“I’ve never been to California,” she blubbered. “My mom threw my dad out of the house last year. He never got sick.”

The power of Mr. Terupt, even in his coma, made something huge transpire.

“My goodness.” Mom placed her hands on my cheeks and spoke softly. “Anna, I consider myself lucky to have you. I would endure all that pain again in an instant so that I could have you. I’ve never blamed you, nor will I. You’re everything to me.”

I’ve been trying to figure out why the accident happened. Every night I pray and ask for help making sense of the tragedy.

“Mr. Terupt did a lot of wrestling while growing up, and even into college,” he started to explain. “It turns out he had to give it up because he suffered multiple concussions along the way. These concussions have weakened his brain in certain regions. The snowball that was thrown hit one of these weaker areas—the temporal [dollar word] region, to be exact—and it cracked his skull.”

“Mr. Terupt did a lot of wrestling while growing up, and even into college,” he started to explain. “It turns out he had to give it up because he suffered multiple concussions along the way. These concussions have weakened his brain in certain regions. The snowball that was thrown hit one of these weaker areas—the temporal [dollar word] region, to be exact—and it cracked his skull.”