I ignore his sarcasm. “I need to ask you something.” Arye blinks and waits. “I mean, did you know . . .” I sit there like a cretin, unable to find the right words.
“Know what?”
Ask him, Shawna. Ask him!
But what if he doesn’t know? Should I be the one to break the news?
I catch sight of Mom and Fran’s wedding picture, now placed prominently on the mantel.
Mom and Fran . . . now LeeLee and Tovah.
“Did you know Tovah’s gay?” I blurt out instead.
Unperturbed, he shrugs. “She doesn’t exactly keep it a secret.”
She doesn’t? “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why would I tell you? It’s not like we talk to each other. It’s not up to me anyway.”
“Well, did you know she and LeeLee are . . . you know . . .?”
Arye nods.
I snatch up a sofa pillow, hugging it close in a lumpy ball. Digesting the fact that Arye knows about LeeLee and Tovah. And that he knew it before me. “Oh, God. It’s a mess. My whole life’s a mess!”
Arye is not impressed by my theatrics. “Why is your life a mess because of Tovah and Lia?”
“LeeLee!” Then I ask, more civilly, “So when did you know?”
“I figured it out at the funeral. I mean, didn’t you see them together? I thought it was pretty obvious.”
“Not to me. And I don’t even think LeeLee’s gay. I think she was, like, seduced?” I throw the pillow when he laughs in my face. “I’m serious! I mean, we were all together New Year’s Eve and they drank all this wine, and the next thing you know they’re, like, all over each other.”
“In front of you?”
I shake my head. I know what I saw, but I’m not giving him the details. “So isn’t it possible she just got carried away? People do stupid things when they’re drunk.”
“Maybe,” he concedes. “Or maybe she’s bi. Or maybe she’s gay. Who cares?”
“I care! I don’t want her to be gay. Anyway, why wouldn’t she tell me, when we tell each other everything else?”
“Ri-ight.” Arye heaves the pillow back hard. “Do you seriously think she’d come right out and tell you she’s gay? You?”
“Why not me?”
“Please. I’m sure she knows what a homophobe you are.” Before I can defend myself, he spits out, “Penny’s friend? After the funeral? You called her a dyke in front of LeeLee. I heard it, too. Nice talk, Shawna.”
For one awful moment I can’t catch my breath. I had no idea he’d overheard that remark.
But he has no right to throw it back in my face.
“My mom,” I say hotly, “left me for yours. I was seven years old! I had to hear about it my whole life. Do you think that was fun? It wasn’t. So what do you want me to do now, wave some rainbow flag around?”
“Nobody’s telling you to wave a flag.” Arye’s mottled face grows darker and darker. “I just couldn’t believe you’d say something like that about someone you don’t even know.”
“She looked like a freak. People were staring.”
“Ooh, what’s the matter?” he taunts. “Were you embarrassed?”
“Yes!”
“God, you’re too much. You think everyone should bend over backward just to make you happy. They weren’t there for you. They were there for Penny. You’re so ignorant,” he finishes furiously. “Ignorant, and insulated, and, well, really pathetic.”
Evil Shawna, flaming, springs back to life. “Right. I’m pathetic? You know what somebody at school is saying about me now? That I’m gay. You know why? Because I wouldn’t screw around with him. So of course I’m gay, right? Everyone expects it. Because I’m Shawna Gallagher, the girl with the fucking dyke mom—who dumped me for your dyke mom!”
As I spew out the last words, I catch, too late, Arye’s sharp glance and warning wave.
I never heard the back door open. I never heard Fran and Schmule come in.
“I think you should leave,” Fran says quietly. Her nose is pink from the cold, the rest of her face the same shade as the winter sky. Schmule—yes, Schmule, my brother—leans into her, picking at his braces with a thumbnail.
I open my mouth.
“Now, Shawna. Get up. Get your things. And get out of my house.”
The apology sticks like a wad of fresh tar. Arye won’t meet my gaze. Fran doesn’t take her eyes off me. And Schmule stares at the floor as I let myself out, leaving the silence behind.
59
I can’t believe I said that. And I can’t believe Fran heard me.
I drive home in a blur, heart throbbing in my throat, hands slippery and cold.
I swear I didn’t mean it.
How could Perfect Shawna let something like this happen?
60
Convinced Dad’ll kill me when I get home, or at least demand an apology, I’m shocked when he does neither.
All he says is, “Your allowance is revoked. I don’t have to explain why.”
“For how long?”
“Indefinitely.”
I consider apologizing. Then decide against it.
Next, I figure he’ll blow a fuse when he sees the damage to my car. Or ask if I’m hurt.
He does neither. “Well, good luck paying for the repairs without any allowance.”
Whatever. I’m in no mood to argue. Does he care that I could’ve been killed?
I don’t care that he doesn’t care. At least I tell myself that.
I spend the rest of the evening in my room, running my hands through my latest prints, trying not to think about anything else. I pause at the picture of Schmule’s bare foot, noticing every detail: the creases in his skin, his neatly trimmed toenails, the way his anklebone throws an odd shadow.
Now, clear as day, I can picture this same photo blown up larger than life-size, hanging on a gallery wall. The gold metal strip reads:
“Foot, Unaware”
Shawna Gallagher
Entranced, I wonder—could this ever happen?
I flip it facedown, and concentrate instead on copying the best of my photos over in pencil. But I keep replaying, over and over, that scene at Fran’s. Wondering how it might have turned out if I’d paid attention to Arye. If I’d kept my voice down. Better yet, kept my mouth shut completely.
If I hadn’t rear-ended that guy. Or if I’d simply driven home.
I’ve always thought of myself as a good person. Yes, sometimes I say stupid things. Doesn’t everyone?
It’s bad enough Fran had to hear what I said. But Schmule, too?
Here I’ve finally gotten what I’ve wished for—a brother—and in the space of one hour I managed to destroy it. If Fran and Arye will never forgive me for what I said, how can I expect Schmule to? He’s ten years old. My cruel words might stick with him for the rest of his life.
I flip the photograph of his foot back over and, sadly, begin my sketch. Less than a minute into it, my pencil point snaps. Taking this as a sign, I give up and bury my face in the crook of my arm.
61
Stuck without a car, I’m forced to get up an hour and a half earlier to ride a city bus to school. At lunch, Danielle and Melanie eye me like hungry puppies when LeeLee, again, sits with Rosemary and Jonas.
“Well, at least we know you’re not fighting over a guy, because”—Melanie explodes into giggles—”we know you don’t like them.”
A fiery barb shoots through my spinal cord. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Hello! It was a joke?” Embarrassed, Melanie rushes on, “That crap Devon’s been saying? God, Shawna, nobody believes it. It was a joke,” she stresses.
Danielle adds, “You remember jokes, right? Why do you take everything so personally?”
Because it is personal. Everything’s personal.
LeeLee doesn’t show up for art. Once, Arabic Boy touches my foot lightly under the table. A subtle signal, I’m sure. But I’m too depressed to care.
When I stumble off the bus a
nd trudge back home, I notice the red blinking light on the message machine. I hit PLAY, and Fran’s voice blasts from the speaker: “John. It’s me. You know, I always knew what a bastard, what a son of a bitch you could be. But I had no idea you could be so, so fucking devious! My son has been traumatized! DNA? My ass! And I am telling you now, you’d better go find yourself a better lawyer because mine, goddamn it, is gonna eat this one alive. Do you hear me? Do you hear me?”
No, but I do. As Fran’s venomous tirade cements me to the floor, I think of the expression about shit hitting the fan. Yes, it’s fair to say that’s what’s going on here. Shit everywhere, dripping off the walls.
My hand springs to life and I hit ERASE. If Dad hears this message, he’ll totally spaz out, maybe have her arrested—for what, cussing him out? Maybe they call that “menacing.”
Then, to top off this crappy day, I go online and find a message from Arye: You think YOUR life is a mess? Maybe now you’ll be happy. You fucking DESTROYED MINE.
62
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask in the morning, when Dad stumbles back home from an all-night stint at the hospital.
He collapses into a chair and yanks off his tie. “Tell you what?”
“That you’re trying to get Schmule.”
I spent most of last night picturing how it might’ve gone down: Fran, calling Arye and Schmule together with that old “there’s something I have to tell you” line. I pictured their reactions. And then I quickly blocked them out.
Dad works his jaw. “Who told you about that?”
I ignore this. “You never said anything about DNA. It’s not true, right? You’re not really going after him.”
Dad adds Splenda to his coffee. He stirs it slowly, obviously stalling. “Drop it, Shawna. I’m tired. I’ve been up all night with a leaking placenta and a horrible surgery. The babies—”
“Dad, I don’t care. How can you do this to Schmule?”
Dad whaps his spoon across the kitchen the same way, I’m sure, he throws instruments at nurses. “His name is Sam. Who the hell gives their kid a name like Schmule?”
Charles, watching this exchange with wary ears, shuffles over to lick the spoon. I bend down, pick it up, and hold it limply in my hand. Dad’ll pitch a germophobic fit if I put it back on the table.
Dad’s rock-hard gaze follows me. “He’s my son, Shawna. Do you understand that at all? My son. Your mother had no right to keep him from me.”
“You don’t know he’s yours,” I whisper.
“Do you think he’s mine? Do you think he’s your brother? Of course you do. Why else would you bring me those pictures?”
I wince. “I thought they were pictures of me! And you made me do it. But you can’t, you know, just take him away from his family.”
Dad tilts his head, as if mildly confused. I believe it’s genuine, that he truly doesn’t understand what I’m trying to say. “What did you think I’d do, Shawna? Leave him there?”
I don’t know, I don’t know! Maybe I was so thrilled to find out that Schmule might be ours, I didn’t think that far ahead.
Yes, you did, Shawna. As soon as you saw that birth certificate, you knew what would happen. Stop lying to yourself.
Okay, maybe I did think that far ahead. But I sure as hell didn’t think it through.
“I don’t know,” I say at last. “I guess.”
“You guess what?”
“I guessed yes, that you’d leave him with Fran! I mean, God, Dad. DNA? Like he’s a criminal or something!”
Dad brushes this off. “You’re overreacting. It’s a simple test. All they do is—”
“Dad, you’re totally not hearing me! How can you even think about taking Schmule away from Fran? I thought—”
“What? That we’d visit him on weekends? Take him to McDonald’s?”
No. Yes.
“I don’t know,” I say softly. “But it sure wasn’t this.”
He lowers his voice, too. “How did you find out?”
“Fran left a message. I erased it,” I say quickly as he starts to get up.
Dad falls back into his chair. “Why the hell did you erase my message? Oh, never mind,” he says shortly, sparing me for once. “The last thing I need now is to listen to that woman’s voice.”
“Dad,” I begin again, but he cuts me short.
“Drop it, I said. This conversation is over.”
I throw the spoon in the sink and walk out.
63
A presence looms near my locker after school. I stiffen in self-defense, thinking it’s Devon.
LeeLee, a baggy CAVS sweatshirt covering her Wade Prep vest in direct violation of the dress code, asks, “Can we go somewhere and talk?”
I grapple inside my locker so she can’t see my face. Talk to her, dummy, talk to her . . . “Um, about what?”
She moves close enough for me to smell her shampoo. “Come on, Shawna. Don’t do this, okay?”
“Do what?” I say stupidly. “I’m putting my books away.”
“Meet me by your car? I have to run to the john.”
“I don’t have a car.”
“What happened?”
“I plowed into some guy.”
“Loser,” she says, but in a playful way. “So meet me by the door.”
Five minutes later under a gunmetal gray sky, the wind socks our breath away as we head toward the bus stop.
“Guess what?” LeeLee kicks at a clump of muddy snow. “I’m sick of this.”
“Me too,” I agree. Relieved, but petrified.
“So what’s up, chica?” She nudges me, throwing me off balance.
“You never used to be like this. We’d tell each other everything, right?”
“That was before . . .” I clench my hands inside my jacket pockets.
“Before you knew I was gay?”
She said it. She said it. I flinch at the word. “I don’t believe it.”
That came out totally wrong, and LeeLee kind-of-but-not-quite laughs. “Oh. Well, I guess if you don’t believe it, it can’t be true.”
“No, I mean . . . I think you . . .”
“You think I what?”
I’m not prepared for this. But I owe her something, I guess. I wish I knew how to start, how not to sound like a—what did Arye call me? A homophobe.
Inanely I ask, “So why did I think you liked guys?”
“I do like guys.”
“But not for sex.”
“I dunno. I never did it with a guy.”
“Well, if you never did it, LeeLee, then how do you know?”
“You never did it with a guy, either. How do you know you’ll like it?”
“I just know,” I lie weakly, remembering how Devon’s hands on my boobs turned me off.
“Well. Me too.” LeeLee hesitates. “Shawna, I didn’t plan this, you know, just to piss you off. And I did want to tell you way before this. Remember when Tovah and I were on the phone so late? At your house? That’s what she was bugging me about.”
“Well . . .” I hesitate, then rush on while I have the courage. “Maybe you just got caught up in it all. You were drinking that night, right, and I wasn’t around, so . . . maybe you got carried away. Maybe it was a one-time thing. Kind of like me and Devon.”
“Devon? Please. Don’t compare Tovah with that scum bucket. And it’s nothing like that anyway,” she adds firmly. “Not one bit.”
As always, it’s useless to argue. We stroll in silence for a while, boots crunching in the snow. At the bus stop she says, “Look. Let me tell you this, okay? I always knew something was different, like, when we’d watch movies, okay? And you’d drool over the guys? I drooled over the girls.”
“No, I remember you drooling over the guys,” I object.
“Duh. I was faking. I thought you wouldn’t be friends with me if you knew. That you’d think I was a freak.” She nudges me again. “And I was right, wasn’t I? Don’t lie. I can tell.”
“Bull.” I nudge her back
, less nicely.
“Please, Shawna, please. Just be honest with me and say it. The whole idea grosses you out and you can’t wait to get away from me.”
“No,” I moan. “You don’t gross me out. It’s just, I don’t know, all that stuff with my mom—”
LeeLee throws her hair back in irritation. “You’ve been saying that since I met you. So, like, your mom was gay, and she dumped you, so now you hate everybody who’s gay?”
“I don’t hate gay people.”
“You can’t believe I’m gay,” she insists, “because you don’t want to believe it. You’re making up excuses and it ain’t gonna fly. I’m gay, okay? Deal with it.”
The bus roars to a halt in a cloud of black exhaust. We ride in silence all the way to her street. When LeeLee jumps out, I jump out, too. The wind blows my hood off and I have to yank it back on.
LeeLee tucks her hair under her earmuffs as the bus rumbles away. She stares at me stonily. “Just tell me now, before we waste any more time. Do you still want to be friends?”
“Yes! I do, but—”
“But what?”
“You’re not going to, like, tell people, are you?” I ask shamefully. “That you’re gay?”
She chills me with a look ten times colder than the wind. “If I say yes, then I guess your answer is no.”
I close my eyes for an undecided moment. I do want to stay friends.
I love her. I miss her horribly.
I shake my head at last, but I took too long. When my eyes open, LeeLee’s already fifty feet away, trudging home without a backward glance. She didn’t even wait for my answer.
“LeeLee!” I shout, the wind whipping my voice into the bare trees.
I know she heard me. But she won’t turn around.
64
You get to a point in your life where you think nothing can get worse.
I’m there now.
The only “good” thing that’s happened is that Nonny paid for my car repairs. I promised to pay her back by babysitting for Poppy every now and then.
Say the Word Page 14
