Excerpt from A Step Toward Falling by Cammie McGovern, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

I want to, though. I want to say, Look, Lucas, why don't we try and do this thing right? Why don't we acknowledge the guilt we both feel about Belinda by doing a decent job here? Maybe for Lucas I should say it differently: Why don't you stop being such a jerk about this?

Mary comes out before I can say anything more: "Hello again! This group usually comes in the back door so they're all here, ready to meet you guys."

We stand up and suddenly I'm more nervous than I expected to be. I don't know any people with disabilities. I'm not sure why I thought this would be a good idea.

Mary walks us up the hallway and opens the door to a brightly painted room with about a dozen people sitting in a circle. It's pretty obvious they're all disabled. Though no one's in a wheelchair, they all look a little different. One woman is wearing a bright lime-colored sweater, sweat pants, and flip-flops. Another man is wearing a wool hat and gloves on his hands though it isn't cold in the room, or outside for that matter.

"Okay, everyone, I want to introduce Emily and Lucas. They'll be our new volunteers for this session. They're both in high school, which means they're a little younger than you folks, so you remember what that means?" She smiles as if they have an inside joke about high schoolers.

Apparently they do, because a ripple of laughter travels through the group.

Mary keeps going: "It means you're not going to say anything too shocking, especially not on their first day, right, Simon? Right, Thomas?" Everyone laughs again.

"Okay, what do we do when new folks join our class?"

Two hands go up. The woman in the green sweater says, "Ast the kesah."

Lucas and I almost look at each other, then don't. It's impossible to understand what she's saying.

"That's right, Francine," Mary says. "Everyone gets to ask them one question each. Who would like to go first?" Six hands shoot up. Mary laughs. "Remember, they have to be appropriate questions." Two hands go down.

Mary laughs again. "Okay. Sheila, why don't you start?"

A tall woman with curly brown hair stands up and twirls around in a circle so her skirt f lies out a little. "This is a question for the girl. Do you know my friend Susan?"

I look at Mary. Am I supposed to know Susan? "I don't think so. Is she in this class?"

"No, but I could introduce you! Do you want to meet Susan?"

"That's two questions, Sheila," a man with thick glasses seated beside her says. He looks like he probably has Down syndrome. "Mary said one question each."

Mary nods. "I did say that, Sheila. I'm sorry. You can ask Emily your second question at break. Thomas, do you have a question for Lucas or Emily?"

"Yes." The man sitting next to Sheila stands and looks at the ceiling as he speaks. "This is for the boy. Do you have any favorite movies or TV shows or activities?" He sits back down.

"Um, let me think—" Lucas says. His voice sounds strange, almost breathy. I wonder if Lucas is as nervous as I am. I don't know what I was expecting, but now that I'm here, these people suddenly seem—well, really disabled. One is blind, judging by the cane he has laid sideways across his lap. Another is paying more attention to picking his nose than to anything we're saying.

"I play football so I practice most afternoons," Lucas continues, and I'm surprised. He is nervous. I can tell by the way he's wiping the palms of his hands on his shirtfront. "So I don't get to watch a lot of movies or TV shows."

Another hand goes up. "What team do you play for?" "Westchester High," he says. In any other crowd, hearing this would produce a few whistles, or some applause, because we are currently the undefeated leaders of our division, headed toward the first state championship our school has ever had. By "we" of course I mean the football team, which I have no friends on and no relationship to. Still, you can't walk down the same locker-lined halls and not know the stats. Everyone's a little starry-eyed around our football players this year.

Excerpted from the book A Step Towards Falling by Cammie McGovern. Copyright © 2015 by Cammie McGovern. Reprinted with permission of HarperCollins.