V. The Murray (Not the Addams) Family

"A part from the city lectures, Rick isn't at all a bad person."

Student Council wants to interview me.

The interview's on Friday—two days from now, and I couldn't be more terrified. I've asked Queenie, Emma, Toby and even J.T. to do a mock interview with me.

Did I mention I'm also emotionally unstable? This past week I've cried at least once a day as I think of my mother who passed nearly two years ago. The anniversary of her death is also this Friday. Since her death, I've cried every time I've had a significant event happen in my life: singing at a concert, giving a speech, going to my first homecoming dance. I don't know why this happens to me: I guess it's because I would come to my mother for moral support before she passed, and I've missed that.

It happened during the mock that I had just before now. J.T. asked me a question about my support system, and I burst into tears. Everyone was confused as they glanced at each other; I told them I was stressed out about the interview and apologized for the breakdown. All of them bought it.

All of them but Queenie.

I should've known I couldn't fool her, especially after she pulled me aside after we were finished with the mock. "I told you," she said, "that even after our brief time spent with each other, I know what's bothering you, and it's not the interview."

What was the point? Queenie's worrisome; she wouldn't let up until she got the truth, so I confided in her about my mother's death. She would be the first person I told at Degrassi about it. She widened her eyes and recoiled after I explained it to her.

"You never told me that she died; only that she wasn't in your life. I took that to mean that your parents were divorced." She said.

Another tear streamed down my face. "It's too hard for me to talk about." I began to sob again. "I didn't mean to keep it from you, but—"

"—Okay, I understand." Queenie wrapped her arms around me. "I'll try not to bring it up until you're ready to talk about it, okay?"

"Thank you." I said shakily.

With help from Queenie, my breakdown ended quickly. She fills the absence of a sister I've never had and almost fills the absence of my mother. Almost.

Now that I'm done crying, I've left the library and am on my way to Mrs. Kwan's class. I'm walking down the main corridor with silver lockers flanking either wall. These are the sophomore lockers, or as they say in Canada, Grade 10 lockers. I'm about to make a right into Mrs. Kwan's room when I hear a loud bang, like someone who slammed their locker door shut. Quickly I realize, as I look to my left, that that isn't the case.

Jimmy, the jock kid who hangs out with Spinner and Paige, is holding Rick up against the locker. He has him by the shirt with both hands, and Rick's sneakers are a few inches off the floor.

"I told you: stay out of my sight, and you won't get jumped." He says. He lets him go, and Rick falls against the lockers. Jimmy glares at him as he walks down the corridor and turns the corner out of sight. Everyone who's in the hallway that stopped to witness the incident has now turned back to whatever they were doing before.

It's been two weeks since Emma stood up for Rick in the back alley of The Dot, and since then, the random acts of harassment have died down, but students like Spinner, Jay, and Jimmy remind me that there are still people who hate Rick. Each still have their fair share of bullying him.

Rick has picked himself up as I walk towards him. I'm not the only one having a rough day. "Come on." I say. "Let's go to class."

Side by side, we clear the distance to Mrs. Kwan's room, and I follow Rick to the back of the room as we sit adjacently at a small table. Usually I don't sit with Rick for this very reason (I'm too short to look over the heads of the students in front of me); however he draws less attention by sitting in the back of the room coming in earlier rather than the polar opposite. Because we have a few minutes to spare, I take advantage of this opportunity to talk with Rick. I try to talk to him at least once a day, but lately I've been so preoccupied with student council business I haven't spoken to him since last Friday.

I pat his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Rick's voice is as high as mine's when he replies.

I nod. "Good." It's obvious he doesn't want to talk about what just happened in the hall; not that I blame him, but I wonder if he feels lonely: every time I see him in the halls, he's traveling alone, or even worse: he sits by himself in the cafeteria. No one's trying to kick him out anymore, but the only people who acknowledge he's there are the ones who bully him. Lately I've served as Rick's acquaintance, but I know he needs more than that.

We choose to talk about the easiest thing in the world: our reading assignment. There are no strings attached, and it turns out we're both obsessed with the plot of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. Rick's hazel eyes are bright and glossy when we discuss the irony of the play. Luckily our conversation only temporarily ceases as Ms. Kwan encourages us to work with a partner to fill out a worksheet about the story. Rick's an artsy guy in touch with his feminine side, huh? I'll log that away. Not long after we finish the worksheet, Rick and I veer off topic.

"Um…my mother and I can help you prepare for your interview." Rick says lightly.

He catches me off guard so suddenly I drop my pencil on the floor. "What?"

Rick frowns, looking confused. "Don't you have an interview with student council soon?"

"I do, but how did you know?"

"I heard about it from Emma and, uh, Toby." Rick replies.

Maybe he has been talking to more people than what I gave him credit for.

"I didn't mean to stalk you—"

"—No, it's alright." I say. "Sorry for not mentioning it to you. Just the thought of it stresses me out."

I'm clasping both hands in my lap. I REALLY want to be on the council based on my experience from last year. It brought me out of my shell, and diverted my feelings from the strong grief I was feeling for my mother's loss. Now I want to share that experience with Degrassi. How I'm going to do that is still vague.

"Well, you don't have a reputation of being a psycho, so…" Rick lowers his voice. "You're better off than some people."

"Rick…" I look at him. He's opened his Julius Caesar book, but I can tell he isn't reading it as he frowns. "You're not a psycho."

"Tell that to the entire school." Rick mutters.

"When I join student council, I will." I put a hand on his shoulder. "And yes, I would appreciate your help." I smile at him. He smiles back.

The bell rings, confirming the end of the day and everyone scatters.

"So when are you free, Vivian?" Rick stands up and straps his messenger across his shoulder.

"Now's actually a good time." I stand up with my backpack. "Do you mind if I practice this afternoon with you and your mom?"

"Not at all." He replies. "Do you want to…come home with me?"

I pause. For some reason leaving with Rick alone never occurred to me before now. I just hope no one bothers us as we leave the school. "Why not?" I say cheerily.

Rick smiles again with his cheeks bulging, making him look a little younger. Innocent. It's a sweet smile, and I'm surprised that he can appear so…endearing. I smile back. "Let's go then."

"Actually, I, uh, like to wait until the halls are empty before I leave." Rick says. "We can stay in Ms. Kwan's room if you want and do homework." He looks away, and it breaks my heart. I know why he wants to linger for a moment or so.

I never knew Rick could talk so much. As he drives me to his home in a granite-colored mini-van (his mom's), he names every street we pass on the way there. Why do I bother telling people that I'm from out of town? A part from the city lectures, Rick isn't at all a bad person. When I ask what he's most passionate about (I've had enough of Tour Guide Murray), he tells me theater, and how much of a learning experience it's been for him and his mother. He tells me that he's been desperate to be a part of theatrics since he was five years old, playing Indiana Jones with his father in their backyard. I want to ask about his parents, wondering when he acquired an abusive streak, but I decide against speaking about it. This conversation between us is going too well. Instead I tell him about my passion and joy for music, then move on to talk about my friends Queenie and Ivory. I don't use their names because I don't think it's relevant for Rick to know them. I still don't know him well enough yet to trust him with all of the information I give him, even though I'm starting to believe Rick's word above everyone else's. I mean shouldn't Rick be the person who knows himself best? Who's opinion could be more credible than from the person who everyone is talking about?

Finally we arrive at his house: a brick, two-story structure with a triangular roof and a deep green door. There are two houses on either side of his that look similar, and all of the lawns are rich in green. Rick steps out of the car and quickly moves to my side and opens the door. "This is it." He says.

"It's pretty." I reply as I step out of the car.

"Ah, but you haven't seen the inside, m'lady." Rick offers me a hand and I take it. He squeezes mine so tightly that I waggle it in order for him to loosen his grip. Now I wish I hadn't held his hand: it's like we're a couple. Nonetheless, I hang on to it since he's doing me a favor, and besides, Rick deserves a friend.

"Don't worry." We're at the front door when Rick speaks again. "You're in good hands with us. We'll help you out." His thumb runs over the back of my hand rhythmically and I shudder. Either Rick's really excited to have a friend over, or he's really excited to have a girl over. Oh, that's right: I'm BOTH. Rick knocks on the door with his free hand and I can feel his thumb move down to my palm where he also strokes its surface. I look at him and he smiles at me. "Don't be nervous." He says.

I smile back. Too late, Rick. I plead for Mrs. Murray to open the door in my mind.

My wish is granted, and a tall, blonde woman is revealed. Her hair is a little past shoulder-length and flipped. She's wearing a short-sleeve black V-neck and black slacks with white, open-toed scandals. It's Rick's mom; I remember her from the first day of Rick's return. "Hello." She says cheerily, smiling at me. Her pale eyes are glossy, like Rick brought home gold.

"Hi, mother. This is my good friend Vivian." Rick introduces us. "Vivian, this is my mother."

"It's really nice to meet you, Mrs. Murray." I extend my hand, the one that Rick was holding, to her. Instead, she folds her arms around me in a warm embrace. Astounded, I hug her back.

"It's great to finally meet you, sweetie." She runs a hand through my hair. "Ricky has told me so much about how gracious you and your father were to him."

I nod. "It was the right thing to do, and besides, my dad has medical training, so I couldn't let someone go injured knowing there was something I could do about it."

"You're a good girl." Mrs. Murray says. "Come in, please." She steps aside, and Rick puts a hand on my back and leads me inside of his home.

We enter the living room area and sit on a dark brown couch with floral-patterned pillows. I'm sitting in between Mrs. Murray, who's on my right, and Rick. Suddenly he springs up. "Mother, you can talk to Vivian to get to know her better, and I'll get us some tea."

"I hate to sound rude, but can I have water instead?" I ask.

"Sure thing, m'lady." Rick says before he hurries away.

It's the second time he's called me that. I think it's kind of cute. It's quirky, but cute. I turn towards Mrs. Murray who says, "Ricky's very excited to help you." I now realize that she has an accent of some sort.

I smile at her. "I'm very grateful for what you and your son are both willing to do." I say. "Thank you so much."

"I should be grateful for all that you have done." Mrs. Murray puts a hand on the side of my face. "Thank you for being friends with my Ricky. Your father should be proud to have such a sweet daughter."

I smile. "Thank you." There's a lump in my throat: I can only imagine the agony that Mrs. Murray had to have gone through because of Rick. Does she blame herself for what happened? I'm floored by how affectionate she is: much like my own mother before…no, can't think about that. "I hope you don't mind me asking, Mrs. Murray, but…has therapy made a visible change to Rick? He's mentioned it once before, and I just wanted to know."

Mrs. Murray gives me a serious stare. "It was very frustrating for him to come to terms and finally accept what he did was wrong, and what's more was that he was a bad person in the public's eye. After he…hurt that girl, I took him out of Degrassi in order for him to get the help he needed. I know my son better than anyone else, and I knew those actions didn't reflect the sweet boy I knew in the least. Ricky feels the same way. He's been so determined to prove himself to everyone else, and I think it's working; you came home with him."

I soak this all in when Rick returns with a silver tray and shiny red teacups full of tea (and water for me). He places the tray on the brown coffee table and hands us our cups. "Your water at special request, Vivian." He says as he hands me my cup.

"Thank you, Rick." I say. "Now what was it that you both had in mind for me to do?"

"Well," Rick replies, "We figured that you could learn some acting techniques that can be applied to any type of performance if you think about it."

"For instance, breathing is an important concept to remember." Mrs. Murray extends. "It sounds silly, but you should remember to take deep steady breaths whenever you're under stress."

"The tonality of your voice is also very important." Rick adds. "Inflecting your voice while you speak makes you sound more interesting; engaged; enthusiastic, and so on."

I nod and sip my water. This is helpful: tiny details that I could look over might cost me my position on the council.

"Would you like for us to ask you some questions for practice?" Mrs. Murray says. "They're not necessarily ones that may be asked of you, but any questions will do to practice these exercises."

"Okay." I nod. "I'm ready."

"Just remember to breathe steadily." Rick reminds me.

Mrs. Murray begins. "Okay first question: tell me about your mother."

And then I burst like a water main break. I don't see it coming, and I can't control it now as tears stream down my face.

"Vivian?" Mrs. Murray frowns in concern.

My lip quivers. "I'm sorry." I manage to say before I start to sob softly. Rick edges closer to me and puts his hands on my shoulders. "Mother, can you get some tissues?" he says.

"Absolutely." Mrs. Murray leaves the room.

I'm alone with Rick who's rubbing my shoulders now. "Did we stress you out more?" He asks softly. "I'm sorry."

I want to tell him it's my mother's memories that are causing me to cry, but I shake my head, unable to speak. Fortunately I don't sob too hard, but I still can't talk as I start to take slow, steady breaths.

"That's right." Rick's encourages, "keep breathing steadily. It'll be okay." He rubs my back in circles, and it causes me to relax in a weird way. I never imagined that-of all people that could console me-Rick would be one. He barely knows me, and yet here I am in his house with him caressing me. I let the sensation of his hands on my skin comfort me. Mrs. Murray returns with a blue box of Kleenex. She takes a tissue and dabs my eyes with it.

Finally I draw in a breath and speak. "Mrs. Murray, I promise you it was nothing you or Rick did that made me cry. It's my mother: the anniversary of her death is the day of the interview, and I can't stop thinking about her." My voice cracks on the last few words and more tears stream down my face. "It's so hard for me to talk about her." I bite back a sob only for it to escape. Rick squeezes my shoulders, and I continue to breathe steadily. It's working, to my astonishment, the more I concentrate.

"I'm sorry for your lost." Mrs. Murray says. "Would you like to go home?"

"No, no, I'm fine." I wipe my eyes and snivel. "I want to do this." I exhale. Rick's hand moves to my back again as he rubs it once more. "You asked about my mother," I pause, "but can I talk about my father instead?"

Mrs. Murray smiles. "Of course."

I begin talking about my dad, and the more I speak about him, the better I feel. Then I speak of my closest friends at Degrassi: Queenie and Ivory. As soon as I talk about old friends from my hometown in Chicago, I become animated again. During our conversation, Rick has gone in and out of the room to arrange hors' devours for us: crackers, grapes, and sliced apples. He personally hands me a green sliced apple from the silver tray before he sets it down. I sink my teeth into the very sweet fruit.

"They'll adore you." Mrs. Murray says when we're through. "Just be cautious of breaking down, and get it out of your system before you're interviewed."

I nod. "Okay." I stand up and wrap my arms around her. "Thank you so much. Sorry about my little episode."

"Anytime, dear." She pats my back. "I'll leave it to Ricky to get you home."

I look at Rick who bows. "At your service." He says, and I chuckle a little. I follow him outside to the car, which is a shade darker due to the slowly-turning-orange sky. Rick opens the passenger door for me, and I climb in. By the time he's in the driver's seat, his mother has approached his window. He puts the keys in the ignition, and the engine hums to life. Then he rolls down the window, and his mom kisses his cheek. "Drive safely." She says. "Good night, Vivian. Good luck with student council." she says to me.

"Thank you!" I say over the engine while Rick backs out of the driveway. "Goodnight!" The van takes us down the block and onto the main road. I'm the first of speak after several awkward smile exchanges. "I didn't know how much of a sweetheart you were until now. Thanks, Rick, for being so generous this afternoon."

"Thank you, Vivian, for letting me help you." Rick replies. "And I'm sorry about your…mother." Quickly he glances at me as if he's afraid of my reaction.

"It's alright." I say. "I've done enough crying to last me a month. I owe another thanks to you and your mother for being able to comfort me after that—spontaneous breakdown." I chuckle.

"Don't feel bad; I'm glad you were able to get it out of your system." Rick says.

We've arrived at my house as we pull into the driveway in front of the garage, which is alongside my dad's two-story craftsman cottage. The front of the house is sheltered by the roof sloping down from above, creating a cozy porch as one climbs up the steps. The house itself is made of wood while the porch surrounding it is composed of old brick. Green plants of all kind surround the house, making it appear secretive after twilight hours.

I unbuckle my seat belt and reach for the door when Rick says, "No, let me get the door for you." He takes off his seat belt and climbs out of the car, and I watch as he moves around the front and opens my door. He holds out his hand. "May I walk you to the door?"

I smile. "Sure." Slowly I place my hand in his, and thankfully it's not a strong grip as I step down from the minivan and move across the path to the stairs onto the front porch. Dad hasn't turned on the lights yet, but it's getting dark gradually, and he usually has them on before now. Daddy...?

I turn and face Rick. "It's Degrassi's lost," I say, "if they don't know what a sweet person you are. I know that you're not the 'psycho' everyone thinks you are. Thanks again for today." There's something I want to do, but I don't want him to get the wrong idea when I do it.

"It's like what you said before: think of it as me returning a favor." Rick replies with a smile.

Ah, what the heck? It's the least I can do after this afternoon. I close the distance between us and hug Rick, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. My hug is only briefly one-sided when Rick slowly encircles my waist and pulls me closer, squeezing me tightly with warm arms. I squeeze him back. I can smell his hair as I rest my chin on his shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow." I rub his back. "Drive safely."

Rick's smiling from ear to ear after we pull away from the hug. "Night, madam." He says and waves as he goes down the stairs. I wave back at him and watch as he climbs into his car. I listen to the engine awaken as I fumble for my keys in my purse. Dad, however, opens the door before I can take them out. He steps aside as I come in.

"Did he hurt you?" He says as he closes the door.

"What?"

"The Rick boy you were just with." Dad explains, "Did you feel safe around him?"

"Of course!" I answer. "He was very chivalrous this afternoon."

"So I saw." Dad sighs. "I should've known you would start dating boys sooner or later."

"Whoa, I'm not dating him!" I say.

"Then what was that hugging all about?" Dad says.

"Hey! You were watching us!?" No wonder the porch light wasn't on.

Dad shrugs. "I am your father, and you are a minor."

"Daddy," I say, "Rick just needs a friend, and I was thanking him for what he did this afternoon. Everyone needs a hug once in a while." Gah, I'm so corny!

I can't let my guard down around dad (yet), but the thought DOES cross my mind every blue moon. Can Rick be trusted to date girls again? Is it too soon to conclude that Rick won't hurt another person? I can still feel his hands on my shoulders, my back when he comforted me while I was crying: his movements were rhythmic, gentle, and strong and assuring…

Dammit. Okay, so I like him a little bit, but I'm not looking for that type of relationship. I just want to be his friend, which he needs more than some girlfriend. It's probably nothing: I'm just taken aback by how sweet Rick was this evening. I was sort of expecting someone with a background like his to project a dejected, dull diposition. Instead he was lively and quick to come to my assistance. I tell dad this.

"Okay." He says, "But should you go to the next level—and I know you will—I'm keeping a close eye on you two."

I roll my eyes. "Right, dad." Under the surface, what people say about Rick terrifies me now. I don't want to think of what he did to Terri just a few months ago and compare that Rick to the one I was just with. Unless he truly IS a psychopath and manipulating me into thinking that he's changed so he can strike again (man, that's a disturbing thought), he's a different person than what others have described him as. He just needs help—and a second chance.