Unlocked : a Love Story Part 17

The memorial would take place in the gym Friday morning -first thing -and would be mandatory for all students. The choir and school band would perform, and Michael's parents would be in attendance. One of the girls in the band would play a flute solo in honor of Michael, and Ms. Richards would say a few words. But the main message would come from Ella.

She had a lot to say.

Today, though, belonged to Holden.

Before he arrived at the drama cla.s.sroom, she was setting up the stage, preparing for rehearsal, when Mr. Hawkins entered the room from his office. He looked different, less jaded somehow. "Ms. Reynolds?" He sat down at his desk and motioned to the chair across from him. "Do you have a minute?"

She hesitated, but only for a few seconds. "Sure." She hadn't talked to the drama teacher about Michael. On Monday everyone was too much in shock to say much, and rehearsal had gone by in a blur. But today she had a feeling Mr. Hawkins was processing Michael's loss. She took the chair and waited.

"I had Michael in cla.s.s for two years." Mr. Hawkins looked past Ella, to the open cla.s.sroom door and the kids walking past in the hallway. "I feel ... I feel there was more I could have done. More most of us could've done."

"Yes, sir. I feel that too." Ella's throat tightened. Michael's loss was so final. There was no way to go back and change a thing about how he'd been treated or how he felt about himself. It was the hardest part for all of them.

Mr. Hawkins breathed in deep through his nose and looked at Ella, renewed purpose in his expression. "I've thought about Holden. If you'll help me, I'd like him to play the Prince. I think ..." He paused, and his chin trembled a little. "I think it's the right thing."

Tears flooded Ella's eyes and she wanted to jump up and hug the teacher. Instead she clasped her hands and nodded. "Yes ... yes, I can help you." She wiped at a couple of happy tears as they spilled onto her cheeks. "He can do this ... I know he can."

"Yes." Mr. Hawkins cleared his throat. "If there was something we could've done for Michael ..." His voice trailed off. He coughed, struggling for composure. "We'll start today. We can ... adjust the script so he can sing. Whatever works." He nodded, his eyes damp. "We can take it slowly."

"Thank you." Ella dabbed her fingers beneath her eyes. She thought she probably understood the way Mr. Hawkins felt. Holden was still here, still alive and with them. They couldn't do anything for Michael, but maybe they could make a difference for Holden. Before it was too late.

Mr. Hawkins slipped back into his office then, and a few minutes later Holden appeared at the cla.s.sroom door. He hadn't talked to her since last week. All day Monday he did nothing but hum and quietly sing "Jesus Loves Me." He might not have understood suicide, but he knew Michael was gone, and he knew the kids around him were sad. Ella could tell.

Lately she didn't wait to start the music. Holden was best when the song was playing, so she started his favorite piece-the theme song. With the melodic instrumentals playing softly in the background, she called to him.

"Holden, can you come here for a minute?"

He looked up, straight at her. "Okay."

Relief filled her heart. She was afraid if he understood about Michael, he would withdraw again. They might've lost the ground they'd gained. But he was talking again, which meant G.o.d was still working a miracle for Holden. Please, G.o.d ... Today's a big day. Please, G.o.d ... Today's a big day. Ella breathed the prayer silently in her heart. She waited until Holden was on stage with her. "Mr. Hawkins says you can be the Prince in the play. That can be your part, okay?" Ella breathed the prayer silently in her heart. She waited until Holden was on stage with her. "Mr. Hawkins says you can be the Prince in the play. That can be your part, okay?"

Holden twisted his hands together and rocked for a few seconds. Then he turned toward the music and his agitation eased. His eyes found hers again. "I am the Prince, Ella."

"I know." She stifled a giggle. "That's what I told Mr. Hawkins."

"Can I sing?"

"Yes, Holden." The part didn't call for a solo. In the script, the Prince simply said a few lines and then danced with Belle and the cast finished with a reprise of the theme song. "You can sing the whole song."

"And we can dance?" A smile tugged at his lips and his beautiful eyes shone brighter than ever.

"Until the very end."

"We used to dance, Ella. Me and you on a green field with the sun s.h.i.+ning on our faces and laughter and 'Jesus Loves Me.' I remember that."

Just when Ella allowed herself to believe she was having a normal moment with Holden, he would say something that reminded her of the truth. There was nothing ordinary about him. Dancing on a green field? Did he really remember that or was the idea something from his imagination, a figment of the world he was emerging from? Either way, she wasn't about to challenge the concept. "That's nice. I'm glad you remember."

She moved to mid-stage. "You know the end of the play?"

"Tale as old as time ..." Holden sang his response.

"Okay, right." Ella would have to pray constantly. Holden wanted the part. He believed he was the Prince. But making it work for an audience was going to take G.o.d's help. She gathered her resolve. "So the Beast will be on stage with me, and it'll seem like he's dying. Then there will be fog and a curtain and the Beast will get up and leave. But no one in the audience will know. And you'll come in and it will be a happy ending." She wondered if she'd given him too much information at once."

Holden sang a line from Beauty and the Beast, Beauty and the Beast, a line about finding friends.h.i.+p when it seemed least likely. a line about finding friends.h.i.+p when it seemed least likely.

"Right." Ella bit her lip. Holden's voice made her weak at the knees, but it did nothing to convince her he understood the instructions. "Let's run through it." The music was still playing in the background as she pointed to the spot in front of her. "Be my prince, Holden. Okay?"

He nodded. "I'm your Prince, Ella." He stood across from her and held out his hands.

Ella grinned. This was a victory, because Holden had to understand at least a little of what she'd said. Otherwise he wouldn't have held out his hands. Tentatively, she took hold of his fingers and waited until the song was just about to start. Then she found her most professional stage voice. "It's ... it's you! You're alive!"

The script called for a kiss here, but Ella would never push for that. Holding hands was enough of a stretch for Holden. He maintained eye contact with her and at the exact right moment he began to sing. "Tale as old as time ... True as it can be."

Ella listened, caught up in the song and the message. If Holden could pull this off, it wouldn't be a traditional ending to the play. It would be better. She was wondering how to get him to start dancing with her, but as he reached the part about "ever a surprise," he began dancing her in a sweeping circle, full and beautiful, as if he'd been dancing all his life. He kept to the beat and continued to sing even as he led her around the stage.

Somewhere near the end, Mr. Hawkins entered the room. He stayed back, but he watched and Ella was pretty sure he was fighting tears. When the song ended, Ella hit the Replay b.u.t.ton, so that the music kept playing. Holden stopped, slightly breathless, and he looked at Mr. Hawkins. The first time Ella could remember him ever looking at the teacher. "I'm the Prince."

"Yes, Holden." Mr. Hawkins chuckled, and again he seemed to struggle with his emotions. "I believe you'll be the best prince we've ever had."

Holden nodded. "I will." Then he stepped off the stage and took his seat at the back of the room.

They were running that scene today, so later when the cla.s.s was in progress, Mr. Hawkins took the front of the room. "I'd like to announce a casting decision." He waited until he had their attention.

Ella glanced at Holden. He was looking at his hands, rocking slightly in his back-row seat. Please, G.o.d ... let him understand what he has to do ... Let this work for him. Please, G.o.d ... let him understand what he has to do ... Let this work for him. Never before had their cla.s.smates seen what Holden was capable of. She was pretty sure none of them would understand what Mr. Hawkins was about to say. "In light of my recent discussions with Ella Reynolds, I've decided that the role of the Prince will go to Holden Harris." Never before had their cla.s.smates seen what Holden was capable of. She was pretty sure none of them would understand what Mr. Hawkins was about to say. "In light of my recent discussions with Ella Reynolds, I've decided that the role of the Prince will go to Holden Harris."

The cla.s.s sat quietly, probably too stunned to move or speak. But from the back of the room, Holden began to clap. First softly, and then with more vigor. He finally stood, looking from Mr. Hawkins to Ella and clapping with great enthusiasm. Ella wanted to rush to his side and protect him from the sneers and mean comments that were bound to come. But before she could move, three girls in the second row began clapping, too, and at the same time a guy in the first row and a couple kids in the third row started to clap. In seconds, the whole room had erupted into raucous applause.

Mr. Hawkins seemed to catch what was happening about the same time as Ella. Holden wasn't clapping for himself. He and every other student in the room were clapping because Mr. Hawkins had done the right thing by giving a kid like Holden a part in the play.

So many wondrous moments had already happened this day, Ella was only a little surprised when they ran the scene and right on cue Holden came up onto stage and played his part -same as he'd played it before when the room was empty. As long as she lived, Ella would remember the astonished looks on the faces of her peers. Because she already knew what Holden Harris had inside him. But for them, this was their first time to see it. The truth was Holden wasn't a beast after all. No matter how strange or awkward or different he seemed.

He was a prince.

ELLA HAD NEVER TAKEN H HOLDEN HOME FROM SCHOOL BEFORE. She'd stopped by his house and visited with him and his mother. But today his mom and his cousin Kate were at the airport picking up Holden's dad. Holden's mother had explained about his routine. She'd stopped by his house and visited with him and his mother. But today his mom and his cousin Kate were at the airport picking up Holden's dad. Holden's mother had explained about his routine.

"Snack is first-it's in the fridge, all ready for him. Then the movie." She explained that Holden would know the timing of each step, and that he'd get worked up if the schedule was changed in any way. "The movie is in the player-it's the same one he watches every day. The same one he's watched for the last decade."

Being a part of Holden's routine was something Ella had looked forward to all afternoon. Already this had been a day full of milestones-moments she couldn't wait to share with his parents. She found Holden's snack in the refrigerator, just like his mom had promised, and she sat next to him while he lined up his raisins and ate them one at a time.

"You're going to make a very good prince." She folded her arms, watching him.

He didn't look up right away.

"The whole cla.s.s was proud of you."

He sang another line, this one maybe most poignant of all, the part of the song that explained how it was possible to change, possible that first impressions could be wrong.

Ella studied him, amazed. This wasn't some random part of the song, the way it might seem to someone who didn't know Holden. He was telling her something deeper than his love for music, his love for the play they were performing. The idea of Holden Harris having so much inside him was probably bittersweet and strange to their cla.s.smates. But the truth was, people could miss the beauty inside someone. The way they had missed it with Holden.

"Yes, Holden." She nodded, her eyes watery. "That's exactly right."

When snack was over, they walked to the living room and Holden went to sit on the floor, the place where his mother said he always sat for the movie. But this time he stopped and instead took the place on the sofa beside Ella. He didn't say anything, just focused intently on the blank screen and waited.

Ella used the remote and started the movie. She hadn't asked Mrs. Harris what movie Holden liked to watch, but she a.s.sumed it was a cartoon or a Disney film. Something comforting to take the edge off a long day at Fulton. But instead, the pictures that came to life on the TV were clips of home movies. Ella might not have known who the children in the film were, except that she'd found their old photo alb.u.ms a few months ago.

A little boy and a little girl were running around, chasing each other, and it took only a minute for Ella to understand what she was seeing. The children were her and Holden. She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. This was the movie Holden watched every day? Home movies of the two of them as children? Every day for the last ten years?

A rush of tears made her throat tight, and she blinked so she could see clearly. The images changed, and now she and Holden were holding hands and singing. They were singing "Jesus Loves Me." Holden turned and looked at her. "Our favorite song."

"Yes." Tears ran onto her cheeks, but Ella barely noticed them. The film clips changed again and now she and Holden were on a sunny green hillside and they were laughing and singing and Holden stopped and took her hands and ...

And they were dancing.

She and Holden with the sun s.h.i.+ning on their faces and laughter and "Jesus Loves Me." Just like Holden remembered. This was the friends.h.i.+p they had shared when they were children, the friends.h.i.+p Holden had replayed in his mind every day for ten years. The life he lived locked away deep inside him.

Again he turned to her. "That's our dance when-" He stopped and searched her face.

She felt embarra.s.sed, not wanting to disrupt his routine. He couldn't possibly understand why she was crying, how she was processing all that this movie told her about the past and about the friends.h.i.+p they'd both lost. There was more to Holden than anyone knew, but the complexity of her broken heart was beyond him. She was sure of that.

But even as she was convincing herself, Holden reached out and took hold of her hand. For a long time he looked at her, the way he had only just learned to do. Not at the Ella Reynolds she was today, but at the little girl who had lost her friend when she was three years old. He held her hand for the rest of the movie, and by the time the film came to an end, Ella knew she was wrong. Holden understood.

Maybe more than anyone else in her life, Holden understood.

Twenty-Seven.

NOW THAT H HOLDEN WAS WILLING TO SING, ELLA FIGURED OUT quickly that his ability to perform knew no bounds, no limits. Music was in Holden, where it had always been. And now -in their quest for a miracle-they had found it in a song. For that reason, Ella and Holden worked with the school band Wednesday and Thursday after cla.s.ses, and by the time Friday's memorial service for Michael came around, she and Holden were ready to surprise the entire student body. quickly that his ability to perform knew no bounds, no limits. Music was in Holden, where it had always been. And now -in their quest for a miracle-they had found it in a song. For that reason, Ella and Holden worked with the school band Wednesday and Thursday after cla.s.ses, and by the time Friday's memorial service for Michael came around, she and Holden were ready to surprise the entire student body.

Ella arrived early and greeted Michael's mother. The woman wore dark gray, not quite as dark as the circles under her eyes. She hugged Ella and thanked her for putting the memorial together. "It makes me happy... that someone cared." She sniffed, her eyes red from what had probably been days of tears. "That Michael had at least one friend."

"He had more than one." Ella remembered LaShante-and her determination to hear Michael play the flute. "People cared about him. We just... we didn't know how to show it."

The woman nodded. "Anyway, thank you." She took her seat in the front, a few feet from the podium. Ella sat three seats down, next to Holden and his parents. His father was still in town, a nice, quiet man who thanked Ella every time they were together. Holden still hadn't talked to his father, but that would come. Ella believed completely. G.o.d was only getting started where Holden was concerned.

A few minutes later the cla.s.ses began filing in. Ella sat back in her seat, watching, listening. Most of them were quietly uneasy, entering the gym in a more somber fas.h.i.+on than usual. But some of the kids talked or texted or laughed with each other, shoving each other in the shoulder and snickering about one thing or another. As if this were any other a.s.sembly on any other day. A reason to get out of cla.s.s, nothing more.

Her eyes fell on Jake and his buddies. They were whispering, laughing between themselves and pointing at a group of soph.o.m.ore girls. Ella stifled her anger. Please, G.o.d ... change them today. Let them know what they lost with Michael ... Please don't let this be a waste of time. Please, G.o.d ... change them today. Let them know what they lost with Michael ... Please don't let this be a waste of time.

Ms. Richards waited until the gym was full, until every bleacher was filled with nearly three thousand students. Then she stood and went to the podium. She thanked them for coming and explained that the next hour would be in memory of Michael Schwartz. Then she introduced the choir.

At about the same time, a man slipped into the front row and took the chair next to Michael's mother. His father, Ella guessed.

A couple dozen kids filled the risers on the stage, and two large screens lowered on either side. This was a part of the service Michael's mother had worked out with Ms. Richards. A slide show of Michael's life. The choir sang a song by Rascal Flatts called "Why." The song was about the suicide of a friend, and it asked, "Why you'd leave the stage in the middle of a song."

The music played, and around the gym Ella watched kids lower their phones and their voices and pay attention. Not everyone, but more than before. The pictures showed a smiling baby Michael, and then Michael as a young boy on a Big Wheel and then in grade school holding a hand-painted drawing of a dinosaur. Michael in a middle school track uniform, and with his dad, fis.h.i.+ng on some scenic lake. One photo after another told the story of a boy who had hopes and dreams, happy days and milestones like every other kid in the gym. The last photo was probably taken by the band teacher. It was Michael playing his flute, standing in the front row with the other flute players.

As the song ended and quiet fell over the gym, Ella was amazed that she could still hear some kids talking among themselves. She dabbed at the tears in her eyes. If the slide show and the Rascal Flatts song didn't hit their hearts, what would? G.o.d, please ... use me today ... If they have any ability to care, please let that happen here. G.o.d, please ... use me today ... If they have any ability to care, please let that happen here.

The band was next, and the students filed onto stage with their various instruments. Ella caught herself looking for Michael. He should be up there, He should be up there, she thought. Michael and his flute. She glanced down the row at Michael's mother. Her arms were crossed in front of her and there seemed to be a wall between her and Michael's father. How often had they sat together at one of Michael's performances, Ella wondered. And were they wis.h.i.+ng-like her-that they could have one more chance to hear Michael play? she thought. Michael and his flute. She glanced down the row at Michael's mother. Her arms were crossed in front of her and there seemed to be a wall between her and Michael's father. How often had they sat together at one of Michael's performances, Ella wondered. And were they wis.h.i.+ng-like her-that they could have one more chance to hear Michael play?

The band performed a song selected by the band director -"Amazing Grace." It wasn't a song typically played at the public high school, but no one complained and Ms. Richards had given the okay. It was a memorial service, after all. The song ended, and Ella leaned close to Holden. "Are you ready, Holden?"

He rocked a few times, and quietly hummed the familiar tune, the one they'd worked on.

"You're next, okay?"

He glanced at her, then back at his hands.

Ms. Richards had decided that Ella would introduce the next number. She took a deep breath and made her way to the podium. In her hand, she held a folded piece of paper, and as she reached her spot on stage, she saw something that shocked her. A few rows back at the end of the row was her own mother. She had a tissue pressed to her eyes. Ella forced herself to focus. "h.e.l.lo. My name is Ella Reynolds."

Someone near the back let out a loud, appreciative whistle. Ella ignored the sound. "I'd like to ask Susan Sessner up to the stage."

A few quiet giggles came from the back of the gym, the place where the PE cla.s.ses were seated. Susan was maybe a hundred pounds overweight, and her hair always seemed a little too greasy. But her eyes held a light that defied the teasing she must've taken every day here. No question Susan had spent nights crying into her pillow. But she was also an amazing flutist. With a confidence that surprised Ella, Susan walked with her flute up to the stage and waited.

More laughter came from another section in the gym.

"You know ..." Ella tried to control her fury, "I can hear you. Being rude that way." Her tone was pa.s.sionate, her voice louder than before. "How about you all just be quiet for once." The sharpness of her command silenced the building for the first time that morning. Ella hesitated. "Thank you." She gathered herself, trying to find her place again. She stared at the piece of paper in her hand. "As far as we can tell, one of the last things Michael did before he died was play his flute." She looked intently at the place where Jake and his buddies were sitting. Finally they were quiet. Most of them had their eyes downcast. Ella continued. "Michael played his flute because he was good at it, and because he loved it."

In the front row, Michael's father ma.s.saged his brow with his thumb and forefinger. His composure was cracking, for sure, and Ella figured there was a story behind his emotion. Something about the flute, maybe.

"The song Michael loved most was 'O Holy Night.' "She hesitated, registering the silence throughout the gym. "He was looking forward to playing it at the Christmas concert." She unfolded the piece of paper. "This... the music and lyrics... were the only thing he left behind, open on his bed. His final song." Ella nodded to Susan, and the girl began softly playing the music to "O Holy Night." As she did, Ella looked at the front row of seats. "Holden, you can come up and sing now."

At the mention of Holden's name, another wave of whispers and snickers ran through the gym, loud enough that it could be heard even over the haunting soft sounds from Susan's flute. Ella couldn't get mad. If she did, Holden would become frightened, and the moment would be lost. Please, G.o.d Please, G.o.d ... Ella exhaled slowly and kept her tone kind, but loud and clear. "You don't think Holden Harris can sing?" Her words rang out with a fresh sense of pa.s.sion. "Just because he's different from you... because he has autism?" ... Ella exhaled slowly and kept her tone kind, but loud and clear. "You don't think Holden Harris can sing?" Her words rang out with a fresh sense of pa.s.sion. "Just because he's different from you... because he has autism?"

The students fell suddenly silent again. The only response to Ella's question was an awkwardness that consumed the cavernous room. Ella let her anger pa.s.s. She smiled as Holden joined her. He brought his hands to his chin and started to flap his elbows. Ella leaned away from the microphone. "You can pray later, Holden," she whispered. "It's okay."

He nodded, a rocking sort of nod. And he lowered his hands back to his sides. Ella turned to the audience. "Yes, Holden is different." She paused and tears gathered in her voice. "Michael was different. If you look around, a lot of us are different. But we can still have a beautiful voice... a beautiful song." She paused, studying their faces. "Do you understand what's happening here?"

The students s.h.i.+fted, clearly uncomfortable.

"We lost Michael Schwartz because no one took time to love him." Her voice cracked, but she fought on. The message was too important to stop now. "No one took time to hear his song." She sniffed, struggling to find her voice. Couldn't they understand? Didn't they care? Michael was gone, and there was no going back, no way to make things right for him. But it wasn't too late for Holden or Susan or any of the kids at Fulton who so badly needed love and acceptance.

"We ..." She pressed her fingers to her chest, "We failed Michael Schwartz." A few quiet sobs shook her body. She looked at Michael's parents. "It's true. We failed him." She lifted her eyes to the students again. "All of us failed him. But we don't have to fail Holden. We ... we don't have to fail each other."

Around the room, she caught a few girls dabbing at their eyes. The message was getting through -even to just a few of them. Ella didn't bother wiping her eyes. Never mind if she was crying. She wasn't about to stop now. "Holden is a very ... very beautiful person." She looked at her mother, and the heartbreak was there for both of them. The years without Holden and his family were a loss they would live with forever. "He's just ... he's locked up inside himself."

Holden's father put his arm around his wife's shoulders.

"But you know what?" Ella was barely able to speak. "Holden's not the only one." She looked straight at Jake, at his crowd of followers. Her voice rose with her conviction. "A lot of kids are locked up. And it's time we change that ... We need to love each other. Now ... while there's still time." She sniffed. "The way we should've loved Michael Schwartz."

As she stood there, as her tears overtook her, she felt Holden reach toward her. Like before in his living room, he slowly took her hand. The feel of his fingers against hers was all she needed, all it took for her to find her composure again. Thank You, G.o.d ... thank You for Holden. Thank You, G.o.d ... thank You for Holden. Good would win today ... it would. With G.o.d and Holden and all that was happening in his life, she had to believe that. No matter what happened with the student body at Fulton. Good would win today ... it would. With G.o.d and Holden and all that was happening in his life, she had to believe that. No matter what happened with the student body at Fulton.

"We need to come together. Think about that. Please." Ella gave a signal to Susan, and the girl nodded. She took a long breath and began playing her flute louder than before, the sound crisp and full as it overtook the awkward silence and stifled tears among the students.