The Only Way Out

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO

My two incredible children.

May you never feel the wrath of a bully, and if you do, may

you know the way out.

Amanda Todd.

A life too short. Without your story, I never would have put

pen to paper. Rest in peace.

THE STORY BEHIND THE STORY

Though I always knew I wanted to write a book, I was never certain about

the subject matter…until I became aware of Amanda Todd’s story. A young

teen who described her experience as one of struggle, bullying and selfharm,

Amanda’s life ended tragically in suicide at the age of 15. It is her

story that inspired me to write The Only Way Out.

When it came time to publish, I was consumed by a strong desire to

acknowledge Amanda’s name. I sought out Carol Todd, Amanda’s mother

and a prominent voice in the bullying prevention space. She granted me

permission and now I am truly honored to have this book dedicated

to Amanda.

Since then, Carol Todd and I have connected in a few ways, one of which

is a donation partnership. A portion of the proceeds from every book sale

of The Only Way Out will be donated to the Amanda Todd Legacy Society,

which makes a direct impact through education, awareness and support

for those who struggle with bullying and mental health issues.

1

MOTIONLESS

I stood there and watched. It was horrible. They beat her right there in the

schoolyard. Utterly ashamed yet too much of a coward to make a move,

I hid behind the trunk of our school’s oldest tree.

Fear paralyzed me.

As I watched this ghastly incident take place right before my eyes, I

desperately wondered how we got here. How had our lives come to this?

There I was, hiding, weak and petrified. And there was my dearest Rebecca,

lying, still and lifeless.

Why wasn’t I stronger? Why couldn’t I be the brave one to save her?

One of us had to be – and yet none of us were. An evil had taken over our

school and if you were on the unlucky side of it, you didn’t stand a chance.

The longer I stood there, the more frightened I became.

I saw the crowd around her disperse, but Rebecca didn’t move. There

was blood. My breath quickened as I realized the severity of the situation.

In my mind, I begged for a physical gesture – for a sign that she was okay.

Nothing.

What had they done?!

Three teachers rushed the field. As they flooded the space around

her, I felt myself begin to walk forward. Every so often, I’d catch a glimpse of

Rebecca between the movement as people scrambled on their cell phones

and frantically shouted over and over again, “Call 911! Call 911!”

Slow and robotic, I forced myself to walk. In that moment, I experienced

the crippling sensation of my most haunting, recurrent dream. The

one in which I needed desperately to run fast but it was as though a force

much greater held me back. I could feel my face wincing in pain and frustration

as I tried to be quick. But the fear was too great. It overtook me and

my entire body began to shake. In one moment, I heard the screams – the

panic – among the students and teachers who stood above her, and in the

next, nothing but my own deep, panting breath.

The fire truck arrived. Already? I wondered how long I’d been frozen

in my own slow-motion reality. Now I stopped dead in my tracks

as I watched the firefighters blast the scene. I couldn’t see Rebecca at

all anymore.

An ambulance pulled in.

Then another fire truck.

Then two police cars.

After what felt like only seconds, I saw two men in uniforms emerge

from the crowd, holding Rebecca on a stretcher. A large lump formed in

my throat. I tried to swallow it away but it wouldn’t budge, making my

breath quicken to a pace that began to terrify me. I was losing control.

Step. I tried to instruct my legs to move.

Step. I tried again.

Gasping for breath, body shaking, knees buckling, somehow I made

it. I reached that tainted spot on the field. Stopping dead in my tracks, I

stared at the ground beneath my feet. The patch of grass where she had

lain was tousled and matted and now had a different consistency than the

rest of the field. You could tell something happened there. Everything grew

blurry as my eyes welled with tears.

2

ON OUR WAY

“Don’t forget your lunch!” Mom screeched. My goodness was she

ever nervous. Her voice always echoed the same high-pitched

tone whenever she was anxious about something.

“I won’t,” I replied, trying to keep my voice calm so she wouldn’t

sense my own strong sentiment of anticipation. That would only make matters

worse. I smiled at her as she continued to bustle about all around me.

It was a big day! Her “little girl” (although I despised the thought of that

expression since I was a whopping fourteen now) was growing up – much

too fast if you asked her. But Mom’s emotions didn’t hinder my mood in

the slightest – I was so excited I could barely contain myself! A new school,

new people, new classes, new teachers… Slightly nerve racking I suppose

and I’m sure every ninth grader’s mind was buzzing uncontrollably with

similar questions: Will I fit in? Will people like me? Will I get good grades?

Will I have nice teachers?

As I took one last look at myself in the large hall mirror, Dad piped

up from the living room behind me, “All ready, Kiddo?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I said.

To be honest, I just wanted to get the first day over with! The summer buildup

was too much to bear a moment longer.

I imagine I was a great deal more nervous than other students

because the only other person I knew was my best friend and next-door

neighbor, Rebecca. You see, Leacrest High was an arts school with specialty

programs for drama, visual arts, music and dance. Students who

lived within the specified surrounding area could attend Leacrest without

a focus in the arts, whereas those who were accepted into the arts program

were permitted to attend the high school even though they resided outside

the mainstream boundaries. Rebecca and I were out-of-area arts students

(she in music and I in dance), which meant that unlike other grade nines

we wouldn’t have the vast majority of our elementary school friends with

us. Although I was slightly apprehensive about the fact that literally every

last one of my previous schoolmates was attending a different school, I was

thrilled to be with Rebecca at last. We’d always attended different elementary

schools but had become the best of friends over the last twelve years

as next-door neighbors.

I gave Dad a big hug, kissed Mom on the cheek and made my way

out the front door. I took a deep breath. The air outside was fresh and I

felt it flow through my nostrils, past my throat and into my chest. I walked

across the porch towards Rebecca’s house. Our families had arranged that

her father would drive us to school, since it was on the way to his office.

I couldn’t have been happier about the plan because it meant one less city

bus ride for us.

As I jumped off the porch, walked across the grass and onto Rebecca’s

driveway, I could feel my parents staring at me through the living room

window. I chuckled a little to myself and turned around to verify my suspicion.

Yes, there they were, now smiling and waving frantically. I laughed

even harder as I waved back.

Continuing across the driveway to the Blaines’ doorstep, I felt my

nerves begin to subside. Before I even had a chance to knock, Rebecca

swung the door open and greeted me with an excited scream.

“Can you believe it?” she squealed.

“I know. This is crazy!” I yelled as we linked arms down the walkway.

Mr. Blaine was only a mere second behind us and he almost startled

me as he grabbed my shoulders, gave them a little shake and asked excitedly,

“Ready for your first day, Kaitlyn?”

“You bet, Mr. Blaine,” I replied. “Especially since I have Rebecca here

with me.”

“Yeah, it’s fantastic you gals get to do this together,” he said as he

opened the car door and plunked inside. I nestled into the back seat while

Rebecca took the front. I felt the car jolt as Mr. Blaine shifted into reverse.

Rebecca was a talented saxophone player. We’d lived next door to one

another nearly our entire lives. When each of us was just a year old,

the Blaines and my parents moved into numbers 12 and 14 Buckingham

Way, respectively.

The dearest of friends we were – sharing similar interests, enjoying

highly entertaining play dates and always spending as much time together

as possible. During our elementary years, Rebecca attended a French

immersion school in our local town and I a public school. And now finally

the time had come. We’d be together.

As young children we took turns at each of our homes, flipping from

one house to another, playing in each other’s basements, swimming in the

Blaines’ pool, conducting intense baking sessions in my parents’ kitchen

and building secret hideaways in each other’s backyards.

“Taste Tests” were my favorite. Actually, I could never quite decide

whether I hated the game or loved it. The designated setting was the

kitchen, and back and forth, we’d take turns.

“You’re up!” Rebecca would say, her hands wrapped tightly ’round

her back.

“Ugh! I don’t want to,” I’d whine, a huge grin on my face. We’d burst

into hysterical laughter, each of us sharing the same undecided, love-hate

sentiment for the game.

“C’mon now, it’s only fair,” Rebecca would insist.

I’d close my eyes and purse my lips shut.

“Open up,” she’d demand.

Frowning and pursing my lips shut at first, I’d finally decide to slowly

open my mouth. Again, my laughter would get the better of me and I’d

fall over in my chair as Rebecca frantically stepped backwards to hide her

arms yet again behind her back so as not to spoil the surprise of whatever

tasty – or maybe not so tasty – treat awaited me. Sometimes our bouts of

hysterical laughter would continue on for quite some time until finally we’d

gain our composure long enough for me to taste whatever it was she held

so secretively behind her back.

I’d open my mouth as wide as I could and the spoon would enter.

“Now close,” Rebecca would order. I’d close my mouth and slowly begin

swishing my tongue around, usually with a disgusted look on my face.

What was most unnerving was this very part of the game – feeling a foreign

texture and taste in my mouth, and then trying desperately to figure

out what it was. After a few seconds, I’d have it! My expression would turn

from disgust to utter pleasure.

“Peanut butter and chocolate sauce!” I’d exclaim. “Phew!”

Again, we’d laugh. Always respectful of one another, the object of the

game was not to make one another ill, but rather to enjoy a tasty treat and

guess what it was. You’d be surprised how many times neither one of us

could decipher what strange substance was floating around in our mouths!

I’m sure if we were boys, the game would have taken on a much different

form. Maybe Tabasco sauce mixed with strawberry jam?

When Rebecca and I came to the conclusion that we would both

audition for the arts programs at Leacrest High School, we knew there’d

be several nerve-racking months ahead of us. Although at first I presumed

the auditions would be the worst of it all, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

The most terrifying part of the process was the waiting – the long, tedious,

cannot-stand-another-moment period of anticipation before the response

letters were mailed.

We spoke about it often and Rebecca was just as apprehensive as I

– not only for her own admittance into the school, but for mine too. How

awful it would have been if only one of us had made it! Thank goodness we

were both selected.

Or so I thought.

Today, I wish with all my heart that Rebecca hadn’t been accepted to

Leacrest High.

3

THE FIRST DAY

When I first rolled out of bed, I knew they were there but I did my

best to ignore them – now, the butterflies invading my stomach

fluttered about so fast it felt as though thousands of small winged animals

were going to escape right through my skin at any moment. I couldn’t possibly

disregard them any longer. Trying to control myself, I thought back

to what I was taught during a sports psychology session in gymnastics:

“nerves are the result of a chemical response in the body characterized by

excess energy and it is up to you to decide whether or not you let them get

the best of you or use them to your advantage”.

I slowly stepped out of Mr. Blaine’s car and stared at the front entrance

of what would be my school – my home base – for the next four years.

Leacrest High had a far more aesthetically pleasing appearance than

other high schools. Instead of your typical, uninteresting red or beige brick,

the school’s exterior was made of a shimmering, colorful, square-shaped

material that was complimented by white, stone-like paneling. Rumor has

it the structure was originally built as a shopping mall, not a high school.

I wasn’t sure the reason for the change, but perhaps this could explain its

undoubtedly unique appearance. To my right, was the school’s theater.

Although it was also used for public purposes, the Leacrest Theater was the

high school’s dedicated venue for shows and events throughout the school

year. As a dancer in the arts program, I was sure to become well acquainted

with it in no time.

I heard Rebecca say goodbye to her father and I turned around to do

the same. She closed the passenger door, tightly linked her arm with mine

and exclaimed, “This is it!”

I smiled back nervously. Despite my attempts to hide it, I suppose my

anxiousness was apparent because she went on confidently, “Don’t worry,

Kaitlyn. It’s going to be fun. We’ve got each other.”

“You’re right,” I answered. Why was I so nervous? Maybe it’s because

I’ve always had a strong desire for social approval – not in the sense that I

ever felt the need to be someone I wasn’t or to act in a way that made me

feel uncomfortable, but actually quite the opposite. All my life, no matter

where I was, who I was with or what I was doing, I seemed to fit in – naturally.

I was outgoing, friendly and confident – the kind of kid you could

bring anywhere and not worry. Within minutes, I’d be fluttering about the

crowd, meeting new people and enjoying various conversations. When

I was with family, I felt loved. When I was at school, the girls were my

friends and the boys liked me. Even when I first joined my dance studio, I

was the new girl entering what was clearly already a tightly knit group of

girls and yet, I was quickly accepted and even adored. I was such an extroverted

social addict, that the thought of my high school experience being

anything but collective was impossible. And yet now I’d been stripped of

my elementary friendships and was about to walk into a school of about

two thousand students where the only one I knew was standing right next

to me. Just because I’d enjoyed the excitement and self-affirmation of a

popular existence up until now, didn’t mean high school would mirror

that. It could very well be the opposite. Still, my nerves didn’t add up.

As I think back, the truth is clear. Of course, I felt apprehensive

walking into an entirely new phase of life, vulnerable and alone. But that

wasn’t all: the nerves I felt weren’t only for me, they were also for Rebecca.

Although she and I got along like two peas in a pod, we were fundamentally

different from one another. I wouldn’t go so far as to say she was shy, but

certainly cautious, discreet and somewhat introverted, and even though it

wasn’t overly discernible, I sensed that she was insecure. As I tell my story,

now it’s quite obvious to me: my stomach churned for my dear friend too

– not just for myself. What would she be faced with on the receiving end

of our high school? If I knew the answer to that question in the moments

when Rebecca and I walked with linked arms towards that place we called

high school, I would have done everything in my power to block her way.

Rebecca reached for the door handle and we marched through the

entrance side by side, giggling as our shoulders pressed together awkwardly

between the doorframe. The main entrance took us into what appeared to

be the second floor of the school and just ahead of us was a large double-

sided staircase which led to the first floor down below. The bellowing

voices and loud commotion told us that down those very stairs was where

we wanted to go. As my head turned from one side to the other, I tried to

take it all in.