by Cody Wagner
A half hour later, after I’d climbed to the top bunk and stuck my headphones in, Cassie and Jimmy entered. It hit me how similar their names were—they were the names parents gave their twins—but the pair didn’t look alike. Cassie was small with a pale complexion. She had black circles under her eyes. Jimmy was round and bouncy, like a beach ball.
They talked quietly as they came in, and I imagined them bonding without me. Would I be just as unpopular here as in Pamata? Part of me wished I had gone to find them. But did I want to associate with all this healing going on? Confusing!
I kept the headphones in as they got ready for bed, but didn’t listen to music. Instead, I tuned into their conversation, in case they brought up something interesting.
“Sorry I told you to wash your hair earlier,” Cassie said, laying on her bed. “Well, I’m sorry for not telling you alone. I’ve been told I don’t have a filter.”
“It’s cool,” Jimmy said. “I don’t wash it because it’s less flammable that way. Dad and I used to be volunteer firefighters.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. One time he threw a cat out of a four-story building and I had to catch it.” At that, I heard Jimmy’s mattress creaking as he bounced up and down.
“Wow,” Cassie said.
“It was pretty cool,” he said. I could tell he was grinning.
“So you want to be a fireman?”
“No, I just dabbled in it. I wanna be a neurosurgeon, like my dad.”
“Neat,” Cassie said.
Is he serious, I thought. Everything Jimmy said was such a big pile of crap. Liars suck because you’re always trying to figure out what’s true and what’s not. But the little I’d heard from Jimmy was so ridiculous, it didn’t even border on truth.
What is up with that? And what’s the deal with his dad?
Hearing her positive responses, Cassie also bugged me. With her saving me from the deodorant ordeal, I got the impression she was really perceptive. But she seemed to believe his stories, which got to me. After fifteen minutes, I was so irritated, I had to cut in.
“Cassie.”
Jimmy yelped, thinking I was asleep. He was right in the middle of talking about violin concertos.
“Yes?” Cassie’s voice was quiet.
“How did you get here?” I rolled over on my side and looked at her. Even in the dark, I could see the circles under her eyes. She reminded me of a goth kid. Except she wasn’t wearing black clothes and she didn’t have tons of piercings. If anything, she looked like she was stuck in a dark, tight, invisible box. Her gestures were always very close to her.
After looking at her feet for a second, Cassie said, “Well, my parents sent me to a healing camp in Kansas.”
“Yuck. What was it like?”
“Kind of like this, I guess.”
I nodded, thinking these places probably used the same “healing system”.
“Did it work?” It was the question I was afraid to ask, but had to. I desperately hoped I wasn’t rooming with someone who wanted to heal.
“Not really. But I was willing to listen.” She shrugged. “I love listening.”
“To them?”
“To anyone. Everyone has their own story. And they’re influenced by so many factors. Listening to a person, it’s like I’m hearing from their parents. And grandparents. It’s fascinating.”
“That’s . . . kinda weird.”
“Good.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I repeated, “But the place didn’t work?”
Cassie looked at the floor and said, “No, their teachings were full of holes so I zoned out and refused to participate. Three days later, my parents came and pulled me from the school.”
“Why? Did you talk to them?”
“No, that’s the weird part. Sanctuary Prep called them and convinced them to enroll me here. They knew I was having problems.”
“How?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Spies,” Jimmy said.
“What?” I leaned over the edge of the bed and peered down at him. His eyes were wide and he covered his mouth with his hands.
“Nothing,” he said. His voice muffled through his fingers.
I didn’t press the issue; the last thing I wanted to hear was a story about how his father was a government spy. Besides, I wanted to revel in the tiny bit of good news that Cassie essentially got kicked out of her last camp.
“What’s orientation going to be like?” Cassie asked, staring at Jimmy.
“I already told you I can’t say anything.” Jimmy removed his hand. “Well, I can say you’re going to love it.”
“How would he know? What are you, like twelve?” I asked. It was rude, but I didn’t want to hear how much I was going to love a healing orientation.
Cassie’s lips grew thin. I blanched; it was the same look Mom wielded when I’d said something rude. “He’s thirteen and this is his second year,” she said.
I gaped at Jimmy. He knew what it was like! More importantly, he didn’t seem more healed than us. Then again, I had no idea how to tell. He hadn’t said anything about boys or girls. But with everything going on, neither had we.
Pushing thoughts of boys and girls and orientation aside, I focused on the conversation and asked the first thing I could think of.
“Then why are you rooming with us newbies?”
Jimmy’s eyes drooped and he frowned. It was the first genuine act I’d seen from him. He clasped his hands then smiled a fake smile. The bouncy ball was back.
“It’s just all my friends wanted me to stay with them. I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, so I volunteered to fill this spot.”
I turned to Cassie, trying to give her my skeptical look. Instead of returning my gaze, she frowned. “Well, I’m glad you did.”
Jimmy grinned at her, a real grin. It lit up his face and I felt guilty for trying to pull Cassie in to making fun of him. Then Jimmy said, “It makes me feel kinda like a spy. Like my father used to be.”
Oh geez, I said to myself, and lay back on the bed. I wanted to find out more, but wasn’t sure I could deal with him.
Thinking of spies, something else hit me. Were he and Cassie really supposed to be spying on me? Were they supposed to make sure I behaved correctly? What a depressing thought.
“Blaize.” I jerked in surprise and turned. Cassie was looking up at me.
“Yeah?”
“How did you get here?” she asked. “Same way as me?”
Although I should have expected it, her question caught me off-guard. I thought about Zimmerman’s Zealots and Kyle and Timothy and my parents. Talking about all that was too hard, so I lay back and clamped up. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated Cassie talking to me. But her statement about hearing peoples’ parents and grandparents talking through them was weird. I didn’t want to think about my mom and dad right now.
For a few minutes, I wondered how Sanctuary Prep Academy would skew the classes. I assumed we’d still learn math and English and science. But I pictured the word problems being like, A man and woman walk away from each other at 5 miles an hour. After thirty minutes, they are healed and run back at 10 miles an hour. How long before they’re hugging and kissing? I bristled at the thought and went into that compartment in my brain.
Sexuality is a part of self.
I tried thinking that for a long time, hoping it would help. After a while, I vaguely heard Jimmy talking about some secret, important duty he had at the camp and tuned him out. That was the last thing I remembered before somehow falling asleep.
The next thing I knew, my alarm was ringing through my headphones.
Four
Orientation
The alarm exploding through my crappy player was so loud, I yelled and flew up, yanking the ear buds out.
“Are you OK?” Cassie whispered. She was standing at the mirror— towel-drying her hair—and stared at me through the reflection. I could hear Jimmy snoring beneath me.
It was loud and rough, like an old motorcycle. Isn’t he too young to snore?
Shaking the ringing out of my ears, I said, “Yeah, I’m fine,” then debated laying back down. I always allowed myself at least three snoozes; the thought of a little extra sleep made waking up more bearable. But my heart was racing, partly due to the stupid alarm, partly due to a sudden onslaught of nerves.
It was morning already! The nightmare was about to begin.
It hit me that, back in Pamata, I’d be starting my first day of high school. No more small, puny building. I would have been with the big dogs.
A pang of home sickness slammed into me as I climbed down the wooden slats. My sock slipped and I banged my knee. Clutching my leg, I hopped around on the floor and let the curse words fly. Stupid bunk bed at my stupid dorm at stupid Sanctuary Prep Academy. I looked in the mirror and saw Cassie hiding a smile. When she caught my glare, she focused back on her hair.
“Why are you being so loud,” moaned Jimmy. He rolled onto his side and pulled a homemade quilt over his head. I scowled at him. Because of him I was stuck on the top bunk. Because of him, I’d just rammed my leg on the bed.
I don’t know if it was because I was tired or furious (or simply wanted someone to share in my misery), but I marched to Jimmy’s bed, gripped the quilt, and tore it off him. Shrieking, he hugged himself and flew back against the wall. I heard a giggle behind me, and turned to see Cassie hiding her face behind the crook of her elbow. Confused, I turned back and grimaced—Jimmy was wearing underwear covered with cartoon fish. They were blowing big blue bubbles that rose to his waistband. That and a metal necklace were all he had on. His perfectly round belly jiggled as he squirmed and snatched back his blanket.
I tried apologizing, but started laughing instead. A giggle erupted from Cassie and I laughed harder. Jimmy was busy making excuses (”At the firehouse we had to sleep like this in case of emergencies”), but it only made the situation funnier.
Finally, Jimmy begged Cassie to hand him a pair of shorts hanging on his chair. She was still getting ready, so I went to grab them when I noticed one of those Japanese room separator things hid the desk. I gestured to it and looked at Cassie.
She shrugged. “I figured we could change there instead of going to the bathroom.”
She thinks of everything, I thought as I grabbed Jimmy’s cargo shorts. I wadded them up and threw them onto his bed. I pulled a t-shirt and jeans from the dresser and decided to take advantage of the screen. Hefting it around me, I dressed, realizing I had expected today to be miserable and, if anything, the underwear incident didn’t suck. That meant, no matter what happened, the day was better than anticipated, right?
That’s how I tried to build myself up as I grabbed my backpack—stuffed with spirals and pens—and got ready for orientation. Sadly, any semblance of a fake good mood vanished the second Cassie and I stepped outside. Other newbies were scattered around, and they walked quickly, with their heads down. It was like a blizzard had hit in the middle of summer, weighing us under a blanket of misery. I lowered my head and joined them.
Halfway to the auditorium, I noticed a girl crying alone. She was African American, probably a year or two older than me, with straight jet-black hair covering half her face. Her hands were dead-at-her-side and her shoulders slumped.
I looked at Cassie, who was biting her lip in sympathy. I didn’t feel any better myself but realized something: at least Cassie and I were together, joined in our misery. This girl had no one, which made me feel really bad for her. And it made me furious at the school. How many freaking lives were they going to ruin this year?
Watching her glance around and pretend to walk normally while tears ran down her face, something came over me. I couldn’t let this stupid place win. Besides, if she hated it here that much, maybe we could form a resistance group. With that thought in mind, I gathered my courage, ran to the girl, and stuck out my hand.
“Hi, I’m Blaize.”
She froze. Embarrassment tinged her face and I grew self-conscious. She went rigid and tried to look proud, refusing to shake my hand. Seeing her harden, I guessed she was the type who wouldn’t let people help her. She must have been really upset to cry in public.
Not knowing what else to do, I pulled my hand back and dropped to the ground, pretending to pull grass out of my shoe. When I got back up, the tears were gone, and she stood straighter and more composed. I stuck my hand out again. She didn’t take it, but nodded and said, “I’m Roze Merrill. Like the flower, but with a ‘z’.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah?” she said, challenging me to make fun.
I liked the name. “Cool. Wanna walk with us?”
I took a step, then added, “Oh, this is Cassie.”
Cassie smiled and, without warning, leaned in and whispered something into her ear. Whatever she said helped because Roze nodded and her body relaxed a little.
What was that about?
I was curious but didn’t push the subject. I guarantee I would have said the wrong thing (“Your tears match your shoes!”). Acting like nothing had happened, I twiddled my thumbs as the three of us trekked the rest of the way together.
The outdoor auditorium was near the top of the road lasso, across the street from the admissions building. I remembered passing it on the way to our dorms and assured Cassie I knew where we were going. She ignored me and studied a small campus map as if it were the original Constitution.
Rolling my eyes, I looked at Roze, hoping for a sympathy nod. She was busy faking nonchalance, but the bounce in her strut told me she was glad we included her. It made me feel better, the thought of us sticking together in the face of adversity. I’d already decided our little group could be called The Resistance (with a bunch of periods at the end—The Resistance………—to signify we were just getting started). OK the name sucked, but it was hard to focus on any one thing as we approached the back of the auditorium.
The auditorium itself was pretty standard—rows of metal chairs arced around a large wooden stage. The stage was plain, nothing more than a raised platform. A dozen or so black folding chairs sat on it next to a makeshift podium. There were no curtains or anything around, which made sense; it was outdoors, after all.
Because only new students attended orientation, the auditorium was less than a quarter full. Despite open seats everywhere, we sat down in the last row, and Cassie pulled herself into a ball. I kicked the seat in front of me in protest.
Apparently, we weren’t alone in our desire to stay as far from the stage as possible—everyone squished in the back like a clown car.
I squinted at the empty rows near the stage, confused. Surely, tons of students—the ones who wanted “healing”—would be up there, right? That wasn’t the case. We were all in the back, fighting for the farthest spot. Two girls practically elbowed each other over the last seat in the back row. I turned to the front, expecting a giant rattlesnake or tarantula to wander across.
At exactly 8:00, as both of my legs began bouncing up and down from nerves, a group of adults filed in and walked up collapsible stairs onto the stage. They wore suits and nice dresses. All but one took a seat in the chairs. The other person, a gray, fit man in his late forties, walked to the podium. I could hear myself breathing harder and noticed the auditorium had gone silent.
This was it, the first glance at what we were in for. I peeked at Cassie; she stared at him as if trying to read his thoughts. Roze was shaking her head, like he’d already said something she hated.
Smiling, the man reached into the pocket of his brown suit coat and pulled out some index cards. He tapped them on the podium, then spent forever making sure they were aligned. When satisfied, he cleared his throat. Mine was completely dry. I wanted to punch the smile off his face.
“Hi, and welcome to Sanctuary Prep Academy. I’m your principal, Steven Wolcott.”
He paused and made eye contact with everyone in the auditorium. It was unsettling, even from the back. He stopped, a
s if waiting for something. Was he expecting some kind of ovation? If so, he was out of luck. The place was quiet as a morgue, and he tapped the index cards again.
“Before we get into it, I’d like to introduce you to our staff.”
He began going down the line of teachers. I zoned out; who cared who taught us? I was sure they were all phonies. Absently, I began wondering which ones might sneak out to kiss each other after preaching to us about the evils of homosexuality.
When he was finished, Wolcott paused and looked around at us again. “You’re going to want to hear this, so I’ll need everyone’s attention.”
When every hesitant eye was on him, Wolcott smiled, looking downright giddy. My hands were sweating.
“You’ve all be hand-picked to come here. Sanctuary is a very special place, created just for you. Unfortunately, we can’t take everyone.” He sighed and shook his head, as if it pained him not every gay kid could be here. Roze groaned next to me. I agreed.
The smile returned, as Wolcott said, “But, for those of you who are here, we warmly greet you and want to share some news.” He paused and scanned us again. He ran a hand over his full gray hair. He was stalling on purpose.
After a few seconds, when kids began muttering, he clasped his hands on the podium.
“Sexuality is a part of self.”
I flew to the edge of my seat.
What?
“Some of you may not understand, so let me explain.”
I didn’t need him to explain. I understood. I had understood for months. Tears welled up in my eyes and I gripped the chair in front of me.
“You can’t separate sexuality from who you are. Regardless of what you’ve seen or heard or felt, this isn’t that type of camp. We can’t change you.” He paused for emphasis. “We don’t want to change you. You’re just fine the way you are.”
People were looking around, confused. I studied Wolcott. There had to be a “but” in his speech (“You’re just fine the way you are, but we want you to try to be straight”). It was childish, but I found myself crossing my fingers. Disappointment is so much worse after hope.
