The Other Boy

by M. G. Hennessey

  “Oh,” I said. Chris was checking me out, while trying to look like he wasn’t. I took a small step back, suddenly aware of how bad I must smell. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”

  “Shane is a little . . . under the weather,” Mom explained.

  “Sorry, man. That’s a drag,” Chris said.

  A drag? I thought. Who talks like that? “You should go, Mom. I’m fine here by myself.”

  Chris turned back to Mom, looking hopeful, but she was already shaking her head. “I’m so sorry, but I really can’t leave him alone. Can we reschedule?”

  “Sure,” he said, the disappointment plain in his voice. Handing her the wine, he added, “Might as well hold on to this until then.”

  “Thanks, that’s very sweet.” Mom smiled, but her eyes were sad.

  “Well, nice to meet you, Shane.” He nodded at me. “Rebecca, I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Yes, soon,” Mom said, closing the door behind him. She waited a few beats before turning back to me.

  “So that was Chris,” I said.

  “Yes.” Mom ran a hand across her forehead.

  “You should’ve gone,” I muttered. “I’m just going back to my room anyway.”

  “I’m not leaving you alone, honey,” Mom said.

  “Whatever,” I said, turning back toward my room.

  Lying on my bed a few minutes later, I was pretty sure I heard her crying. But then the TV turned on and drowned it out.

  At Mom’s insistence, I sat at the kitchen table with her and choked down a few bites of Chinese food. Then I went straight back to bed.

  I couldn’t seem to pull out of it. I’d never felt this way before, like all the color had been sucked from the world. My favorite foods tasted awful. Everything I usually liked seemed stupid and pointless. Even my bed wasn’t as comfortable as usual.

  But I kept lying on it anyway. I’d memorized the swirls in the ceiling, the brown spots where water must’ve leaked from a pipe. I didn’t sleep for more than an hour at a stretch. The rest of the time I just lay there, willing it all to go away.

  Thursday morning, I got up and ate a few bites of cereal. Mom watched from across the table, a forgotten mug of tea steaming in her hands. “Would you like to take a shower? It might make you feel better.”

  I ran a hand over my hair; the gum was still there. It was hard now, with bits of fuzz stuck to it. It had been three days since I’d bathed, and I was pretty ripe. “I guess.”

  “Great!” she said.

  I rinsed out my bowl and put it in the dishwasher. Then I slumped to the bathroom and shut the door.

  I turned the shower on as hot as I could stand it and stood beneath the spray, eyes closed. I washed under my arms, then tilted my head back and let the soap rinse off. I couldn’t bear to clean anywhere else. My body felt like a traitor. I hated everything about it. I suddenly understood why some of the kids in the support group hurt themselves; they were trying to carve off the pieces that didn’t belong.

  Mom’s razor suddenly looked really tempting.

  I swallowed hard and turned away from it. I felt weak. I could tell I’d lost weight; my ribs and collarbone were sticking out. And there was still gum in my hair. I squirted shampoo on the loofah and scrubbed away at it. Little bits came free, tangled with short strands of hair that swirled in the drain. I rubbed as hard as I could, back and forth, over and over, until the spot felt raw and tender. Then I stepped out and toweled off, avoiding the mirror.

  Ten minutes later, I was back in my room wearing a clean pair of sweats. Mom knocked and came in. “Better?”

  “Not really.”

  “Um, there’s someone coming to see you.”

  I sat up and frowned at her. “Who?”

  “Alejandra.”

  “Mom!” I yelled. “You called her? How did you even get her number?”

  “From the group,” Mom said guiltily.

  “I don’t want to see her.” I threw myself back and stuffed the pillow over my face. “I don’t want to see anyone.”

  “Well, I don’t know what else to do.” Mom sounded defeated. “You won’t talk to me, or your friends.”

  “I don’t have friends anymore.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.” The bed creaked as she sat on the end of it. “I thought maybe she could cheer you up.”

  “She can’t. Nothing can.”

  “Well, it certainly can’t hurt,” Mom said firmly. I heard her moving around the room. The sound of my shades being opened, and the room brightened.

  “I want them closed!” I growled.

  “Too bad.”

  I yanked the pillow off my face and glared at her. “What?”

  “You heard me.” Glaring back, Mom said, “If you act like a five-year-old, then I’m going to treat you like one. Now get up and put some real clothes on.”

  “No.” I rolled to face the wall.

  “Suit yourself. But she’ll be here soon.”

  “I won’t come out,” I protested. “I’ll lock the door again.”

  “Now that would just be rude,” Mom snapped. “And I didn’t raise a child without manners.”

  A wave of frustration roiled up inside me. Balling my fists, I shouted, “Stop trying to make it better. It’s not going to get better. You’re just making it all worse. I hate you!”

  Mom sucked in a breath and put a hand to her mouth. As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. I’d never said anything like that to her before, not ever.

  “I’m sorry,” I offered, sitting up, but it was too late. Mom was crying, her shoulders shaking with the force of it. She quickly walked out of the room.

  “Mom,” I said, hurrying after her. “Please, Mom. I didn’t mean it. I’m really sorry. . . .”

  Her door slammed shut. I was left staring at it, feeling awful.

  Now I was really, truly alone.

  TWENTY-THREE

  I sat in the hallway outside her door, not knowing what to do. I’d never heard my mom cry like that before, gasping and sobbing. It was scary and horrible and all my fault.

  After about fifteen minutes, the sobs grew further apart, then faded entirely. I heard footsteps moving across her room, then the sound of the bathroom sink turning on. When she came back out, her face was bright red and set as stone.

  “Mom,” I said, getting to my feet. “I didn’t mean it.”

  “I know. Come here,” she said, opening her arms wide. Relieved, I stepped into the hug and squeezed her as hard as I could.

  “I love you,” I said, my voice cracking. “I’m sorry.”

  “I love you too, sweetheart. More than anything.” She kissed the top of my head. “And I get it. You’re angry, and upset. It’s been a rough week.”

  “The worst,” I muttered. “But I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Well, I’d definitely prefer that you didn’t.” She gave me a rueful smile. “I just wish there was something I could do. I guess I keep doing the wrong thing because I can’t figure out what the right thing is.”

  “At least you’re trying,” I said. “That counts.” I felt terrible about making her cry. She was the one person who had always been there for me, no matter what. And feeling like I’d lost her, even briefly, made me realize that the last thing I wanted was to be all alone.

  Mom sighed. “I miss the days when chocolate-covered pretzels were all it took to cheer you up.”

  My stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. “I am pretty hungry,” I admitted.

  “Well, that I can fix,” she said, smiling at me. “I’ll run to the store.”

  “It doesn’t have to be pretzels,” I said quickly. “I mean, I can eat whatever.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m dying for some. I haven’t had them in ages.” The doorbell rang. “That must be Alejandra,” Mom said. “Should I send her away?”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I kind of want to talk to her after all.”

  Alejandra was wearing a miniskirt, a black tank top
, and lots of makeup. Mom’s eyebrows shot up when she saw her, but all she said was, “Thanks so much for coming by. Can I get you anything?”

  “Hi, Shane’s mom,” Alejandra said, kissing her once on each cheek.

  Mom burst out laughing. “Well, if we’re on kissing terms, you should probably call me Rebecca.”

  “Rebecca,” Alejandra said. “I would love some water, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure. Shane can show you where the cups are. I’m just running out for chocolate-covered pretzels. Can I grab you something from the store?”

  Alejandra looked at us like we were crazy, but she said, “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

  She sounded oddly formal. As she came in, her eyes swept across the room. When they landed on me, I tugged self-consciously at my T-shirt.

  “I see you got dressed for the occasion,” she joked, coming over to hug me. She planted a kiss on each of my cheeks, too.

  “Okay, kids. I’ll be back soon,” Mom said, picking up her purse and giving us a final wave.

  “So.” Alejandra stepped back. Putting both hands on her hips, she appraised me. “You look terrible.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I muttered.

  “Your mom said things got bad at school. Was it that same jerk?” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No, nothing like that,” I said. “But my girlfriend broke up with me. I mean, not that she was exactly my girlfriend, but she kind of was. And then my best friend—”

  My voice broke. Alejandra’s eyes softened. Taking my arm, she guided me to the sofa. “Okay,” she said. “Tell me exactly how it went down.”

  So I did. She listened, nodding encouragingly every once in a while. When I got to the part about the locker room, it was really hard—almost like being there again. The whole team looking at me like I was some kind of freak. And Josh, defending me, only to have it thrown in his face.

  When I finished, Alejandra stared at me for a long moment. Then she said, “That’s it?”

  “That’s not enough?” I said, stupefied.

  “Well, no, I mean . . . sure, that all sounds tough. But your mom made it sound like you were about to climb out on a ledge or something.”

  “I haven’t gotten out of bed in two days!” I practically shouted. “I’ve barely eaten.”

  “Yeah, I get it,” she said. “I just thought it might be something worse.”

  “What could be worse?”

  “Trust me,” she said darkly. “I’ve heard much, much worse.”

  “Well, sorry my bullying isn’t impressive enough,” I retorted, glowering at her.

  “Hey, don’t get mad at me,” she said defensively. “I’m here to help, remember?”

  “I didn’t ask for your help,” I snapped.

  “Okay, then. I’ll go.” She stood up, angrily slinging her purse back over her shoulder.

  When she was halfway to the door, I said, “Alejandra, wait.”

  She stopped, but didn’t turn to face me.

  “I’m sorry, okay?” I said. “Man, I can’t seem to get anything right anymore. I said something awful to my mom today, too. I just . . . I feel really screwed up, you know? Worse than I’ve ever felt.”

  She turned around and raised an eyebrow. “Like you’re dead inside?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded.

  “And no one else gets it?”

  “Exactly.”

  She came back over to me. “I get it, Shane. You’re not the only person going through this. And yeah, it’s horrible, and unfair. But that’s life.”

  “That’s a terrible locker room speech,” I muttered after a minute.

  “I’m not here to give a speech,” she said, pushing my shoulder. “I’m here to give a reality check, because I like you.”

  “And the reality is that life sucks?”

  “Not always.” She sat back down and crossed her legs. “You got to take the bad with the good, you know? It’s all about figuring out what your choices are, and trying to make the right ones. The ones that don’t hurt people,” she said pointedly.

  “Like my mom.”

  “And like your wonderful, amazing, gorgeous new friend.” She tossed her hair. “We’re not all so lucky, you know. You and me have people who care about us, who let us be ourselves. That’s the good.”

  “So how do we deal with the bad?”

  “Choices, right?” She sat back and examined me. “So. What are yours?”

  “Well, I can’t go back to school,” I muttered.

  “Why not?”

  “Because everyone knows.”

  “So?” She raised an eyebrow. “What do you think they’ll do about it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, irritated again. “They’ll probably keep talking behind my back, or worse. One kid threw gum in my hair.”

  “Ugh, that is disgusting.” Alejandra wrinkled her nose. “That happened to my friend Sofia—she’s not trans, they were just hating on her—and you know what she did?”

  I shook my head.

  Alejandra grinned. “She picked it out, put it in her mouth, and said, ‘Thanks!’”

  “No way.” I made a face. “That’s disgusting.”

  She shrugged. “Well, they stopped throwing gum.”

  “I could get homeschooled,” I offered. “Like you.”

  “Yeah, the homeschooling is not so great.” Straightening her skirt, she continued, “For one thing, no one gets to see how fabulous I look every day. Next year I’m going back to school.”

  “Really?” I was a little stunned. “The same one?”

  She shook her head fervently. “No way. Hollywood High. I hear good things.”

  “That’s cool.” I looked at my hands. If Alejandra was brave enough to give it another try, that said a lot.

  “They’ll get bored of talking about you, I bet,” she said confidently.

  Just the thought of walking back through those doors was too awful to contemplate. “I could go live with my dad in San Francisco.”

  “Sure. But in six months, maybe this happens again.” She raised both hands. “Then where do you go?”

  She had a point. I couldn’t just keep running from school to school, constantly waiting for another Nico to blow it for me. I’d slipped up once, and it brought my whole life tumbling down. I couldn’t handle having that happen over and over again.

  “I don’t know,” I said glumly. “What would you do?”

  She regarded me thoughtfully. “I don’t know either, Shane. Honestly, I never had so many choices.”

  “I guess that makes me lucky,” I grumbled.

  “Very,” she said seriously.

  The front door popped open, and Mom came in holding two bags of groceries. “Oh good, you’re still here! Do you want to join us for lunch?”

  “That depends. What are you having?” Alejandra asked.

  Mom laughed. “Well, I could heat up some lentil soup, or make Tofurkey sandwiches.”

  Alejandra turned to me, a look of horror on her face. “She’s kidding, right?”

  “Unfortunately not,” I said. “But the Tofurkey is actually pretty good.”

  “Thank you, Rebecca,” Alejandra said, getting to her feet. “But I have to get home. Mom is giving me a biology quiz today.”

  “Well, thanks for coming over,” Mom said. “We’d love to see you anytime.”

  “Sure.” Alejandra bent to give me a peck on the cheek. In my ear, she whispered, “Remember: choices.”

  I nodded. “Thanks.”

  “And stop ignoring my texts,” she said, jabbing a finger into my chest. “You know that’s not allowed.”

  “Sorry. I haven’t looked at my phone for days.”

  “Well, you’d best start checking it. Bye.” She waggled her fingers at me and left.

  Mom and I spent the rest of the day gorging on chocolate-covered pretzels and rewatching every episode of Firefly. It was nice to get lost in the adventures of Malcolm Reynolds and his crew; I even managed to
laugh at Wash’s dumb jokes. It was almost ten o’clock by the time we finished.

  “I still can’t believe they canceled this show,” I said, resting my hands on my belly. I was feeling a little sick; turns out that eating a whole bag of chocolate pretzels was not such a great idea.

  Mom sighed. “And I can’t believe I’ve fed you so much junk today. That’s going to ruin my shot at parent of the year.”

  “Nah,” I said. “You got that locked up.”

  Mom beamed at me. “You think?”

  “Definitely.”

  She kissed the top of my head. “Are you tired?”

  “Yeah.” It was actually hard to keep my eyes open; it felt like I could sleep for days.

  “Me too.” Mom stretched her arms over her head and yawned. “I’m going to get ready for bed.”

  I brushed my teeth and got into pajamas, then plugged in my phone. After a moment’s hesitation, I turned it back on.

  A slew of text messages popped up. More than a dozen from Alejandra, mostly the same sort of silly stuff she’d been sending all week. The last one was from a few hours ago; I recognized it from the Harry Potter books.

  “It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”

  I smiled and sent back, Thx.

  The others were from Josh. I was almost too scared to open them, but if I didn’t, I’d lie awake all night wondering. Sighing, I clicked on his name. The thread went back to Tuesday night:

  dude, wth?!

  i’m really pissed at u call me.

  y r u not in school?

  r u ignoring me?!

  ok, now i’m really mad. u suck.

  That was the last one. I squeezed my eyes shut. Josh hated me. He was probably never going to speak to me again. The pretzels churned around the lead ball that had reappeared in my stomach. I wanted to write back but didn’t know what to say. I finally typed, i’m sorry but couldn’t bring myself to hit send.

  You lose some people, I thought with a pang of despair. And it looked like Josh was one of them.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  When I woke up the next morning, the sun was shining through the cracks in my blinds. I opened them all the way and looked outside: it was definitely going to be hot. I leaned out, crossing my arms on the sill. I could hear a lawn mower and a dog barking. Normal life, like nothing bad had ever happened.