Then I make my account public.
There’s a chance Tyler and those kids from Bailey Middle will leave nasty comments.
But I’m not afraid of them anymore.
I navigate to Daniel’s profile. I scroll through his images until I find one that resonates, a picture of a pink sunrise fading into a blue sky over a lake. I follow him, then like the image and leave a comment that says, Oh hey, it me!
Mom gets home from work while I’m looking at the top posts tagged #nonbinary, my mind spinning through outfit and makeup ideas to fit every different shade of my stick-it-in-a-blender gender. I was so afraid for so long to follow tags like #nonbinary and #enby and #genderqueer, because Dad made them seem so wrong. But there’s a whole huge world out here. And it’s beautiful.
I hear Mom drop her stuff on the counter, and then she rushes into my room. “I listened to your song five times on the way home,” she says, her eyes bright. “Ash, I love you so stinking much!” She grabs me in a huge hug, and even though my nose is jammed into her armpit and she smells like truck grease, I hug her back. “I’m so proud of you!” she says.
“Air! Air!” I make a coughing sound.
She lets me go and sits on my bed. “What brought on the change of heart?”
I shrug. “It was more of a pain in the butt to hide who I am than to be who I am.”
She laughs. “That’s all? It’s about expending the least energy possible? Avoiding anything that seems like work?”
“Eh, get off my case. You’re a sleepy slug every morning till your coffee kicks in.”
She ruffles my hair. “You’re wearing running clothes.”
“Yeah, I am.” I bite my lip. It felt so good to run. And I miss being part of a team. My teammates were okay, even if the coach insisted on jamming me into a label that didn’t fit. But I’m rethinking this whole “labels” concept. And anyway, like Mom said, things are different at Oakmont. “I might be considering that cross-country thing after all. If it’s not too late.”
“I’m beyond glad! I’m so proud of you, honey.”
“You said that.”
“Get used to hearing it. You’re awesome times infinity.” She kicks off her boots.
“Argh, no! Put ’em back on!” I cover my nose.
“I made a resolution on the way home. I’m gonna quit trying to drive your life for you so much.” She stands and picks up the boots. “You’re figuring it out on your own. You don’t need my help.” She smiles, but she looks sad too.
“I’m sure I’ll still need advice.” Especially about boys. One boy specifically.
“Then I’ll try to give it without telling you what to do.” She squeezes her stanky boots and does a little happy dance. “What do you want for dinner? There’s leftover soup.”
I glance at my dark phone screen. “I don’t think I’m hungry yet.” I’m not so wild in the head about Daniel’s mystery text anymore after feeling like I figured out an important part of being human. I don’t feel like I need Daniel to answer.
But I sure would like him to.
My stomach growls. “On second thought . . . can we split a pot of mac and cheese?” It’s been my favorite meal since I was old enough to hold a spoon. No matter what gender I am, that salty, gooey, all-natural fluorescent orange goodness hits the spot. Especially after a run.
“With grapes and Goldfish crackers. You got it.” Mom gives me one more hug. “Phew, go take a shower while I cook. You have onion pits.”
“You have vinegar foot.”
“The family that stinks together sticks together!” She laughs. “That’s my next cross-stitch.”
I tug a strand of her green hair and follow her out of my room.
28
Doofy Floof
Daniel
Time busts a freaky warp maneuver while I wait for Tina to call me back. Every minute lasts a thousand years. I walk Chewbarka behind the strip mall and gas station, staying out of sight of traffic. Wishing I’d grabbed a coat because good lord, it’s cold. Mom texts and calls incessantly until I text back, I’m sorry, I need some time to deal with this, then temporarily block her. By the time Tina finally calls two hours later, I feel like a grizzled old man, only moving so I don’t keel over and die of angst and coldness.
“They finally got hold of Iris, their lady who fosters medical rescues,” Tina says. “She’s at work and couldn’t answer her phone. She can take Chewbarka. But she’s not gonna get home till midnight. Can you keep the dog that long and get her to Iris’s house over in Greenboro?”
“Yes,” I say immediately, even though I have no idea how I’m going to get to Greenboro at midnight. It’s on the outskirts of the suburbs, at least a twenty-minute drive—way too far to walk, and there’s no way I can go home for the bike and trailer.
“Great,” Tina says. “You got something to write with? I’ll give you the address.”
“I’ll put it in my phone.” I open my notes and tap in the address Tina gives me. “Got it.”
“I’d give you a lift but I told my friend Carla I’d drive her to work at the Ford plant. They might have a third-shift spot till I can find another vet job.”
“Good luck. I hope it works out.”
“Call me tomorrow and let me know how it goes at Iris’s. I’ve met her a couple times at adoption events. She don’t take any crap, but she loves dogs more than anybody I know.”
“I will. And thank you. Times a million to the millionth power.”
“Don’t thank me, kid. I got you stuck in this mess in the first place.”
“But you saved Chewbarka. So thanks for that. From her.” And me. Even though I’m in the hottest water of my life on this cold night, about to be in even hotter water with Mom and Dr. Snyder, it’ll be worth it if I can save this dog.
And I’m so close.
We end our conversation and hang up. “Well, fuzzball, looks like you get to live,” I tell Chewbarka. I scoop her into a hug. “You get to live! Living is the best!” I laugh and spin in a circle with her. She licks my neck and pees on me. Which makes me remember I forgot to tell Tina that detail, so Iris doesn’t know either.
Maybe if Iris fosters medical rescue dogs, she’s used to health problems.
I stop spinning. I’m not sure what “medical rescue” means, but it sounds like I’ll see some dogs from Very Bad Situations. It might be sadder than the shelter where Dad had them read Chewbarka’s microchip.
“It’s okay, though,” I tell Chewbarka. “They’re rescued. So they’re saved. Like you.” I set her on the ground and we keep walking. Her limp gets worse as we traipse past the back of Papa John’s for the hundredth time while I rack my brains for a transportation solution.
Maybe Cole’s brother could help. He’s sixteen and has an old beater car he’s always looking for an excuse to drive.
But I don’t have his number. I’d have to get it from Cole.
Well. I suppose now’s as good a time as any to test the waters.
Hey, I text Cole as I walk with Chewbarka. I hope stuff with you is good. Could you give me your brother’s number please?
Three dots appear right away, but then they disappear, and it’s a long time before they show back up. Long enough that I figure I’m out of luck. But then a phone number comes in.
Well. I guess I’m not surprised this is all I’ve gotten. I’ve thought about patching things up, but haven’t actually made a move toward doing it.
Another text comes: He’s grounded. What do you need him for?
I’m in a situation and could use a ride late tonight, I write. Long story.
Oh. There’s nothing again, and then three dots. He’s grounded from his car.
Thanks anyway. I pocket my phone so I won’t be tempted to scroll back through our old conversations. I did that enough right after stuff blew up, and it never once made me feel better.
My phone pings. What kind of situation? Everything okay?
I blink at my screen. Yeah. It’s more for someone
else. Chewbarka counts as a someone else. Dogs are people too.
Well. Maybe you could tell me the long story sometime.
I hold my breath for a moment, then smile. I’d like to apologize. For real this time, the right way. In person. If you’re willing to hear it.
My palm gets so sweaty while I wait that the phone slips out of my hand. I pick it up to find he’s replied: Maybe Sunday we could hang out.
A bubble of hope rises up. Thank you. I look at shivering, limping Chewbarka. “I’ll figure this out for you. I will.” I pick her up and stuff her under my hoodie with her fuzzy head sticking out the neck. Her fur tickles my nose as I walk, but who cares? She gets to live!
My stomach growls at the smell of the pizza. The hunger feels weirdly good. I can’t remember the last time I was truly hungry.
It occurs to me as I pace and think that I’ve been sort of a jerk to Ash. Maybe more than sort of. I’ve probably made her—him—think I’m mad, when he was just trying to help. When he came out to me because he thought I deserved the truth.
That was probably so hard to do. Because . . . he likes me. Like a lot, regardless of whether he’s a boy or a girl, and wow, have I been an idiot to not fully see it till just now.
I don’t know what to think about that. But when I hug Chewbarka inside my hoodie, I remember last night when I decided it didn’t really matter. That the connection is the important part, not the specifics.
I’ll have to freak out about that later. Right now, I have to figure out how to get to Greenboro. I sit on the curb behind the nail salon and open my messages. I realize I never replied to Ash’s What do you mean? after I said there might still be a chance. I’m so sorry I made stuff weird, I write. I ask if she knows someone with a car who’d be willing to drive a dog across town tonight to save her life.
No answer comes. I maybe made stuff worse with my rushed apology and sudden request for a favor. Maybe Ash is angry at me, or hates me for how I responded when he came out.
I really could have handled it better.
I get up and walk again, avoiding Papa John’s. I’m so hungry my bones feel hollow. My phone pings at the back of the gas station: I texted my mom. She says she can help us.
I laugh in double relief. They can help, and . . . us. Ash said us! He doesn’t hate me.
Thank you, I write. Thank you thank you! Thank your mom for me!!!
Ash sends a happy-face emoji. She’s at book club but she said she’ll leave a few minutes early. It’s gonna take her a while to get home tho cause book club is by where we used to live.
No prob, I write, even though it is sort of a prob. I’m really cold and Chewbarka is too.
Where should we pick you up? Guessing you’re not at home?
Papa John’s, I write. Let me know when you’re on your way.
Will do. I gotta hurry up and do my homework, oops music distraction. See you in like . . . hopefully less than two hours.
Oh man. How we’ll make it that long without freezing, I have no idea. I guess I have to trust that time will keep moving. That it won’t stop and leave me stranded in this in-between place, stuck between relief for Chewbarka and dread about facing Mom, between liking Ash and being kinda freaked out. Between holding Chewbarka close and giving her up for good.
That’s going to be so hard. Even though I know it’s for the best. I love this doofy little floof, in equal measure with my sadness at the thought of losing her. The sadness is how I know I love her so much.
I need a distraction that doesn’t involve freaking out about however Ash convinced his mom to help. It’s more than a small favor to drive out to Greenboro and back in the middle of a freezing night. Especially if she already had to drive far to wherever book club is.
I sit behind the Papa John’s, download Instagram, and log in. There’s a slew of comments and likes on my old stuff. At the top of the list is a new follow from someone I don’t know. I tap to see their story.
It’s Ash. Wearing a bright purple hoodie, nails painted pink and blue, playing a song on a keyboard and singing. My phone’s tinny speaker doesn’t do it justice, and it’s only a fifteen-second clip. But I watch it three times. Then I tap his profile photo.
Photos of him—or her, that’s definitely a her in some of the pics—fill my screen. She’s dressed in all different outfits in the photos, stuff I’ve never seen her in. Boy-her—or boy-him, I don’t know how to think of this so I’ll just think of Ash as they until they tell me otherwise—boy-Ash has some killer fashion sense too. There are pics in what looks like a dressing room with the tag #IfOnlyIWasRich. They’re dressed in a slim jacket and skinny jeans with fancy Italian-looking shoes, or in a punked-out leather jacket with blue jeans and zebra-striped Converse. In one they’re wearing a steampunk-style tuxedo with tails and they look so cool I practically get a cramp about it.
I look closer at the photos of Ash wearing dresses and skirts. They’re done up like a uniformed schoolgirl in one, with a white shirt, a bow tie, and a short plaid skirt. Their hair is in a wicked-cute anime style, twisted into two buns with a purple curl and a white ribbon under each. In another they’re wearing a skirt that looks like autumn, made of draped layers in orange and brown and red and purple, with the purple frilly shirt they wore when we biked to Dad’s. In another they’re in a lacy pink dress and glasses, looking at the camera with their eyebrows up and the world’s sweetest smile. In one they’re standing with their mom next to a sign that says Great Smoky Mountains, dressed for a hike: baseball hat, sleeveless black T-shirt and khaki shorts, brown hiking boots that look too big. They’re flashing the peace sign and grinning like they’re ready to hike the whole Appalachian Trail.
I go to Ash’s bio screen. There’s nothing written, just a link to SoundCloud. I tap it and find the rest of the song Ash was singing in their story.
I hold the phone to my ear. I wish I had headphones so I could listen properly. I can’t make out every word, but the lyrics are about how it’s not wrong to live in between, that it’s what makes life interesting. That two things can seem like opposites, but can both be true at the same time. I love everything about the chorus: I’m living life my way, a changing spectrum day by day, a challenge to girl/boy clichés, halfway through the crossfade.
That’s where I am, right now. Halfway through. Waiting for Ash to pick me up. It’s cold outside and I’m about to lose Chewbarka.
But I did a really good thing for this dog. And she’s still here, right now, in my arms. “I love you, you doofy floof!” I tell Chewbarka. I nestle my nose into her neck, trying to savor her stink and her sweetness and the essence of dog for a little while longer.
I wish Ash was here to savor it too.
29
Old Soul
Ash
Daniel’s shivering on the curb outside Papa John’s when we pull up. I suddenly realize that when he told me where he was, he meant outside, not inside. He climbs into the seat behind me with Chewbarka. While the dome light is on, I see a smear of red on his face. “What happened?” I ask, alarmed.
“Huh?”
I point at his face, realizing it’s not blood, it’s food. I giggle. “Never mind.”
He wipes his cheek and sees the sauce on his fingers. “Oops. A lady in there took pity on me shivering and brought me a slice.”
“Was it good?”
“Cold and rubbery and it had olives. But I was so hungry it was manna from heaven. Chewbarka liked it too.”
“Did you have enough to eat?” Mom asks, ever the mom. “We can stop at McDonald’s up the street and grab more food if you’re hungry. They’re open late.”
“I’m fine,” Daniel says as he buckles in. “Thanks, though. That’s nice of you.” His stomach growls audibly.
“I’m hungry again too,” I tell Mom. “Let’s stop.”
In the drive-through line, Daniel tells us about Iris and the medical rescuing and says his mom is going to blow up when he gets home. My mom asks if his mom knows where he is, and h
e says he sort of didn’t tell her.
“Well,” Mom says, and I hold my breath. “The only condition of me driving you across town is that you text her right now that you’re with a trustworthy adult and you’re safe. And that you’ll be home by one a.m. and you’ll make this up to her. No parent deserves to freak out not knowing where their kid is at night.”
I watch in the side-view mirror as Daniel ducks his head. “Yes, ma’am.” He starts typing.
I can’t stop looking at his reflection. At the way his hair falls across his forehead, at how he purses his lips as he types. How when Chewbarka licks his neck he absently pats her with one hand and hugs her.
Why does he have to be so freaking cute? It’s entirely unnecessary. I’d still like him even if he looked like a warty old gremlin. The way he’s sacrificed so much to save that fuzzy little goof of a mutt . . . my heart can barely take it.
We get burgers and fries. Daniel inhales half of his before we’re out of the parking lot. Mom asks for the address. After he gives it to her and she puts it in her phone, he stops eating. In the mirror I see him holding Chewbarka in his lap, his head bent down touching hers. I guess he needs to bond with her before he has to give her up.
The drive is quiet. Mom keeps glancing in her rearview mirror. A couple times she looks like she wants to say something, but then she doesn’t. She puts on some Led Zeppelin, too quiet to sing along to but loud enough for the percussion to fill the silence. “Gallows Pole” comes on and traipses through its bouncy chorus, and then the whole song falls apart into a jumbled mess of drums as it reaches its chaotic, cruel end when the hangman kills the dude. Even though the guy’s friends and siblings bribed the hangman to save him.
Mom switches the song off. I hear Daniel behind me getting fidgety. We ride in silence for the last few minutes.
“Can you guys stay in the car?” Daniel blurts as we pull into the driveway.
A stab of hurt goes through me. “Why?” I want to say goodbye to Chewbarka too.
“Because—” His voice is all tight and squeaky. “I, um.”
Both Can Be True Page 18
