Waiting on the Sidelines (Waiting on the Sidelines #1)(109)

I sat in the back of the class with my notebook bouncing nervously on my knee. Reed’s desk was empty, and while I was worried because he never missed class I was also relieved. I wasn’t sure I could stand in front of the class with his eyes on me.

We were nearing the end of our hour when I was finally called up front.

“Miss Lennox,” Mr. Bosch called.

I walked up slowly, opening my notebook and taking a deep breath to clear my nerves. Public speaking was not my forte. I cleared my throat a little and slid to sit on the stool at the front of the room, thankful I could at least not worry about my knees locking. When the classroom door flew open, I jerked back a little and immediately flushed when I saw Reed walking to his desk, right at the front of the class, directly in front of me.

I swallowed, still looking down at my notebook, my hands fidgeting with the ringed binder. My nerves kicked into overdrive when I looked up again and saw Reed was smiling a little at the students next to him, his cast no longer on his arm.

“OK, class. Settle down. Mr. Johnson, glad you could join us,” Mr. Bosch snarked.

“Sorry…had a doctor’s appointment,” Reed stood, pulling a pink slip from his pocket and handing it over.

“Yes, I figured as much. Nice to see your appendage is back to working order,” even Mr. Bosch almost sounded excited, and I was pretty sure he hated football.

Reed sat back down and shuffled his feet a little, grabbing at the front of his desk and then settling his eyes right on mine. His brightness flattened a little and he bit his lip, embarrassed as he realized he had interrupted me. Heat rushed over my body and I forgot my entire purpose for standing up here. I was startled by Mr. Bosch’s throat clearing and shook my head a little trying to find my way back.

“Uh, yeah… sorry, where was I?” my voice cracked a little. I snuck a look back at Reed and he was grinning at me, encouragingly. He hadn’t smiled in weeks, and certainly not at me.

“Your reading, Miss Lennox?” Mr. Bosch said, leaning back against the wall near the classroom door.

“Oh, yes. OK,” I cleared my throat again. It was only two pages, but I wasn’t sure I could do this. I was sweating standing up in front of the classroom.

Deep breath…



My grandmother believed in angels. Not the traditional kind. Her angels didn’t have wings, they weren’t ghostlike and they didn’t live in the sky. No. Her angels lived among us. She always said my mother was one. She said it was the way she looked after her family. Mom held us together when grandpa died, when grandma couldn’t pay her mortgage and when my brother broke his arm and we didn’t have insurance and had to drive hours away to find a doctor that would set his arm for what mom referred to as ‘the generic price.’

Unflappable. Undeterred. Indestructible. Unwavering. All good words, but those are still human. An angel, though…well, an angel is something more. An angel knows your heart. And they know how to fix it when it’s broken.



I paused ever-so-slightly, taking in a breath and willing my eyes to stay on my paper. I wouldn’t look up at Reed, but I knew these words were hitting him. They had to. They were hitting everyone.



I have an angel of my own. She’s 10, and her name is Nancy. I met Nancy two years ago, and she gave my life purpose by giving it direction. Nancy has Down syndrome, and she’s fearful of many things. Mostly, she’s afraid of being alone. Turns out, so am I.

Our first summer together, we conquered Nancy’s fear of water. Amazingly, she’s part of a swim team now and hopes to swim in the Special Olympics some day. As pen pals, we conquered her bullies. Young people can be cruel, and when they see someone with Down syndrome they also see an easy target. Bullies like to find where you’re vulnerable, avoiding the challenge and instead going for the easy kill. For me, it’s always been my family’s small bank account or the fact that I don’t like to wear a dress.



I looked up now, noticing Reed was listening intently, his eyes focused on the edge of his desk, his knuckles white as his hands gripped hard and his feet shuffled with discomfort. I continued.



Together, though, Nancy and I discovered that you can strip a bully of their power without even confronting them. All you need to find is your passion—something to love. For Nancy, it was swimming. For me, it was a boy.

And so this is where my angel comes into the story. What do you do when your passion breaks and your heart is broken along with it?

The boy I had been holding onto was suddenly gone. Not physically, but emotionally. I was lost. I’d been lost for a while. And I found myself on the road, driving to see Nancy. With her mom’s OK, I picked her up from school, and together we went for ice cream. Without much preparation, my angel went to work.

“You look sad,” she said.

“I am,” I was always honest with Nancy.

Then Nancy put her small hand on the center of my chest and closed her eyes. Her act made me a laugh a little, prompting me finally to ask: “What exactly are you doing?”

“I’m taking your sad away and making it mine,” she was serious, and I wouldn’t dare laugh at this. “You can have my happy for a while until I get this figured out for you and give you your heart back.”

Hugging Nancy, I cried and realized that, up until now, I hadn’t done that yet. I had been holding my tears in, afraid to let them go. But now, as I did, I realized that maybe Nancy, my angel, had been my passion all along. And helping her, and kids like her, was what made me better than those who tore me down.