We were both wearing knee-length denim skirts—by coincidence, not design. As we reached the top of the stairs, I put my crutches in my right hand to free the left for holding the railing, and prepared to hop down, one step at a time. Sarah offered to take one or both crutches. At that moment, Dick, Stoner, and Bad Ass came up from behind us and said, “Let us help you poor little girls down the stairs.” (I think Dick did the actual talking.) The next thing I knew, Sarah and I were in a heap at the bottom of the steps. I landed on Sarah, so I wasn’t hurt, but I was afraid Sarah was.
As it turned out, Sarah twisted her right ankle, so by lunchtime we were a more-or-less matched bookend set in our denim skirts, crutches, and wrapped-up ankles. We may have looked cute together, but we didn’t feel cute. Mr. Pierson had threatened to have me arrested for trespassing, and blamed me for Sarah’s injury. When I tried to show him that my suspension was bogus, he told me that he didn’t want to play any more games with me. I told him to tell my dad and mom why the school handbook didn’t matter, and why Dick Winston and his friends weren’t being punished for what they did. He sent me to the library, but Mrs. Byrd said I had to go to my next class to get a library pass (it was now second period); however, she let me hear her call Ms. Smits (my English teacher) and tell her that I had to stay in class and not come to the library. “If Mr. Pierson has a problem, tell him to talk to me,” said Mrs. Byrd.
I got called to the office again during my T.A. period. Mr. Lambert refused to let me go, saying it was unsafe. Mr. Pierson threatened to come up and get me; Mr. Lambert told him that was the only way he would let me leave his room. “Why don’t you have your meeting in the department office so that Miss Ross doesn’t have to go down the stairs?” Mr. Lambert suggested.
The social studies department office had a door leading directly into Mr. Lambert’s classroom, so my conversation with Mr. Pierson, though behind a closed door, was just a few feet away from Mr. Lambert himself. I felt like I had a “home-court advantage.” Mr. Pierson told me that I was responsible for Sarah’s fall, that I was lucky she was still my friend, that he planned to have me arrested if he saw me on campus during my suspension, that my seeing anyone else push Sarah down the stairs was irrelevant since I was trespassing, and a bunch of other crap. He did not know that Sarah herself had seen those who had pushed her, and I didn’t plan to tell him. He also did not know that, despite the closed door, just about every word he said was heard through an air vent that was left open above the door to Mr. Lambert’s room. After our stupid little conversation, I went back into Mr. Lambert’s room, while Mr. Pierson, not wanting to confront Mr. Lambert, went through another door directly into the hall.
While I waited for my friends to escort me after school, Mr. Lambert said to me, “That fellow is a jackass.”
That evening, my parents got a call warning them that I would get hurt really bad, and so would Sarah, if I came to school tomorrow. I called Sarah and told her about the call, then I called Mr. Lambert and asked for his advice. He told me that if the school could not protect its students from violence—in fact, refused to do so—then I had no choice but to stay home.
The next day, half the students stayed home from school. This included all the girls in my class, and all of Mr. Hambert’s freshman students. Mr. Hambert, Mrs. Byrd, and all of my other teachers called in sick. Two of the three secretaries in the office had family emergencies. It was to be a hell of a day—or a day of hell.