“Voula!”
I hear him get up. I grab my paper towel filled with ice, place it on my head, and turn my back to the dining room. I can hear him walking toward the stairs and at the same time I sense her coming up behind me. I lunge to the side and she slams into the sliding glass door in the kitchen that leads out to the patio. The plate she was holding smashes into the door. Plate fragments everywhere. She turns to me, furious.
“You’re a pousti! An evil pousti!” She lunges at me with what’s left of the plate. I fall backward with her thrashing above me. She’s hitting any part of my body she can while I’m trying to knock the jagged remains of the plate out of her hand.
It grazes my arm and it fucking hurts. “Mom!”
Shit. Now I’m bleeding there, too.
My dad jumps in and tries to wrestle her off. I quickly half crawl, half walk to my room. Breathing heavily, I manage to shut the door. I can still hear her screaming. It’s directed at me and at my dad. It sounds like she’s trying to get away from him. He must be restraining her. She starts to sob.
A surge of anger rushes through me—at my mom for never changing, my dad for standing by, at myself for allowing it. Then I’m suddenly overwhelmed with guilt—I fought back this time. I feel hot with rage and nerves—am I capable of violence? What if I’m just like her?
eight
There’s a knock at my bedroom door.
“Open. Please.”
Her voice is meek. I’m on the floor leaning up against the foot of my bed with my notebook in my lap. I’m drawing her standing over me. She’s reaching for my head with both hands. Usually when I sketch a scene like this I’m faceless, with no recognizable features—like one of those CPR dummies. But this time, I draw my hair. The way it was before the haircut. My wild, crazy, Greek-fro hair. When I’m drawing in my notebook, it’s the only time I’m totally honest.
“Do you want to make cookies with me?”
I scribble the mess of hair on the sketch of myself with more intensity. I take my right thumb and press down on the paper, smudging the charcoal to create shading.
After any incident like this she reaches out with things she knows I like. When I was really young and something like this would happen, she’d make my favorite meal afterward, or we’d go to the local department store and look at all the toys. We couldn’t afford to buy anything, but looking at them was enough. She’d buy me a candy bar instead. I would be lulled into believing it would be different next time. That she loved me.
It never took, of course. And nothing ever changed. Now, none of it works anymore. It stopped working a long time ago. I’ve been oddly numb to it and even to the pain, but tonight I felt it all.
She speaks softly. “I’m going to make kourabiedes. Your favorite. Come into the kitchen and help me. If you want.”
Her footsteps fade into the kitchen and I can hear drawers being opened. I look at my phone. Nothing.
“Evan?”
“Not now, Dad.”
“How’s your head?”
“You tell me.”
“What else got hurt?”
“Everything.”
nine
3:24 a.m.
I’m wide-awake.
I’m so wired—it’s as if there are different Evans, all with completely different plans percolating inside me.
I walk over to my door, hold my breath, and listen. Nothing. I look under the door. Completely dark. I grab my notebook and phone, slowly slip into my laceless Chucks, and make my way to the window. Even though it sucks in the summer to be without window and door screens—mosquitoes are pretty much part of the backdrop around here—it’s times like these that I’m grateful for my father’s procrastination. I lift the window as quietly as I can and tuck the notebook into my pants and my phone into my pocket. The key is to grab a firm hold of the tree with one hand and use it as leverage while closing the window with the other. For a minute or two it looks more precarious than it actually is. It’s just one story. I’ve fallen from higher. Plus I already look pretty bruised up, which means if I fell I wouldn’t have to lie about my appearance later at school. I swiftly climb down and head to the back of the house. My bike is under the kitchen porch. I grab it and start riding.
I’m riding so fast that my face tingles like crazy.
I can see the monastery. It’s less than a few blocks away and I’m pedaling with as much force as I can. It’s used as some kind of part-time storage facility for farm equipment. I get off my bike. I’m winded and now everything is tingling, not just my face. I walk with my bike to the right side of the building and head toward the back. There are very tall windows that start about three feet above ground and then go down under the surface at least another three feet. It looks like it’s a partial basement. I prop my bike up against the wall, get on my stomach near the cutout by the windows, and, in one swoop, flip into the space below the ground. I’m right outside one of the tall windows. I reach for the window handles and jiggle them. When they give a little, I look behind me, just to check I’m alone. I slowly open the window and slip inside.
I’ve been coming here for years. This room is filled with statues, like at least fifty of them. The very first time I discovered them, it was sensory overload. Talk about feeling like everything is trying to communicate with you—every statue seemed like it had something to say.
Some of the statues have their hands outstretched, others are holding goblets or books. Others seem to be in the midst of battle and some are just hanging out. In robes. Mingling. As they do.
Over the years, I’ve given them roles to play. The statue with the outstretched hands has a very noble face. He looks strong. I always thought of him as the one who would find a way to lead me out. Out of this town. This life. I’m still waiting.
The female statues holding books and goblets are in charge of my future.
The warrior statues, the ones in battle, are many. They are imposing. Formidable. I’ve decided they can be my army.
I pull out my notebook and sit in the middle of the room. I grab my phone and put it on the ground in front of me, when the screen lights up. There are three texts from Henry:
Ru up 4tennis 2morrow?
Mom wants 2no-can u do dinner our house this wknd?
Down 4 icecrm?
Yes, to all of it, but I can’t. Can I?
I open the notebook.
Every day there’s at least one entry.
September 8
I close the notebook. I don’t know what to write. Things had been feeling like they might actually be going okay for a while. Now it’s . . . too much. Everything is too much.
When the beatings were at their worst, I used to think of ways to die. Usually, I hoped that she would just go too far one day and kill me. It would have been easier. That was about two years ago. Since then I’ve grown. I’m now taller than she is, plus it’s getting more difficult for her to explain the bruises. The cuts. The burns. They threaten to disrupt the story of the perfect Greek family. I thought the beatings had been replaced by more insults and psychological mind games. I allowed myself to relax a bit. A dream of a different future was starting to take root. But today proves that all of it was just temporary.
I open the notebook and flip to the next blank page. I start to draw the statues, but not in this room. I draw them out in the world—in the same poses, but free.
I flip through the notebook again and stop on an entry from this summer’s Bible camp.
June 19
It’s only been a day and already everything is fucked. Gaige was assigned as my study/workshop partner—he’s a year older, from California. Way too friendly, big sexy smile and a swagger that was making it difficult for me to concentrate. Maybe I can get a different partner . . . like the kid who smells like hot dogs could work. Liam? Tomorrow I request Liam!
June 20
Apparently his name is Limm. Really, God? Limm? And changing partners isn’t allowed.
My phone starts to ring.
It’s my father.
“Where are you? Do you want to go get doughnuts?”
“I went for a bike ride.”
“You should come home before your mother wakes up. Do you want me to wait?”
“No. I’m heading back now.”
I hang up and look at the next entry.
June 21
Gaige and I kissed.
ten
A boy kissed me and I kissed him back.
Gaige had asked me if I wanted to go for a walk. I was slightly hesitant because I had a feeling I knew what could happen, but what could happen was also the reason I wanted to go. Ten p.m. was curfew. Everyone had to be back in their cabins by then. Gaige and I shared a cabin with two other guys, and around midnight, they were asleep. So we snuck out. We didn’t walk far—just a few yards—before he clumsily grabbed me and kissed me. It’s not like I wasn’t thinking about it. Hell, I thought about it the first time I saw him. There was this geeky but confident sexy way he talked and walked. He also knew so much about stuff I never even thought about.
I couldn’t believe that after imagining it for so long, I was finally kissing a boy. So I went for it. I kissed him like I needed it to live. So much so that he must have thought I wanted more. But I didn’t, at least not then. One kiss was exciting and dangerous enough.
Coming back home meant that I could escape those feelings. Leave behind what happened at camp. Now, Gaige is here and my best friend has turned hot. What the hell, God?
“Wait up! Panos!”
I stop riding and look behind me. Jeremy.
I say, “I just saw your text this morning. Sorry . . .”
“I figured you were deep into some homework or tennis with Kimball.” He’s come up beside me. His eyes widen as he sees my face. “What the fuck? You are the clumsiest dork. What did you do to your head this time?”
I give a forced laugh. “Oh, you know.”
Jeremy buys it. He always does. He rolls his eyes and says, “Rode by the courts. No sign of you and the Kimball there. Being studious?”
We’re walking our bikes toward the school entrance when I spot Henry coming up from the far left. I can tell it’s him by his long gait. “Just trying to catch up on all the homework.”
Jeremy says, “Jesus, Kimball’s in a hurry.”
“Hey, guys.” Henry is out of breath.
Jeremy nods. “Hey.”
But Henry’s looking at me. I say, “Sorry about not getting back to you. I just saw the texts this morning.”
Jeremy won’t shut up. “Panos, as you know, is a real social animal. He ignored mine too. You’re not alone. He’s too busy studying and falling into shit. Okay, my work here is done and I still want to go riding. This weekend? The trails? Kimball, you’re welcome to join.” Jeremy looks at me.
So I say, “Yeah. Let’s figure something out.” Why am I lying?
And just like that, Jeremy is a block away. He moves as fast as my insides feel.
Henry looks concerned. He reaches for my shoulder, I back away. He says, “What happened to your head?”
“Nothing. Just . . .” I dismiss his question with a wave of my hand.
“Maybe you should get it checked?”
“It’s just a small cut. Nothing to get excited about.” I hate lying to him, but at this point it’s second nature.
“I mean the falling. It happens a lot. Maybe you should see someone.”
“I don’t think there’s a doctor for clumsiness. Hey, what was the urge for ice cream last night?” I’m trying to change the subject.
“Tonight? Bugle’s? I think it’s the last week it’ll be open late. Still a week of summer hours. It’s tradition.”
Bugle’s is where everyone in town goes for ice cream. It’s the best and not just because it’s in our town. The town has next to nothing that’s any good, let alone the best. When I leave Kalakee, Bugle’s is one of three places I will truly miss. The other two are Jasper’s Pizza and the monastery.
“Let me see what time could work . . .”
“Pick you up at the corner.”
“I’ll text you.”
We never meet at my house. Even at my front door. It’s an unwritten rule that all my friends know. In all the years that I’ve known Henry—hell, in all the years I’ve known anyone—no one has been to my house more than a handful of times and never inside. Jeremy came in once. It was summer and the front door was open because it was a record heat year and we don’t have AC. He called my name from inside the front door and my mother appeared out of nowhere and scared the shit out of him. He always waits for me across the street now and texts me when he’s a block away. She won’t forbid me to see my friends due to the optics. It has to look like we’re normal. But she’ll make it as uncomfortable as possible.
“Are you going to the atrium? I’ll go with you.”
“Okay.” Only I don’t want Henry to come to the atrium with me.
I lead the way, and once we’re inside, Henry says, “Are you avoiding me?”
Yes. But out loud I say, “What? Yeah, right.”
I take a seat on one of the benches.
Henry is staring at me in his Henry way. “Ever since you came back from camp this summer you’ve been—”
“It’s been crazy. Right? Between work and stuff, I haven’t had much time.”
“What’s going on? I’ve barely seen you since being back. Something happen at camp?”
The thing is, I wanted to tell him. Tell him as a friend before I went to camp. Before he made me feel like this. Before he looked like this. Instead I say, “It was just camp. You know—very Bible-y.”
He looks at me oddly but shakes it off. “Being at the Kimball pool this summer was not the same without you.”
“I missed the pool.” I missed him. “The lake was so disgusting at camp. Also, I missed your mom’s lunches.” Mrs. Kimball makes great lunches. They aren’t anything particularly out of the ordinary, but they are to me because it’s not Greek food. A grilled cheese at the Kimballs’ by the pool is magic. And Henry.
No thinking about Henry.
Especially by the pool.
In swim trunks.
I’ve seen him in swim trunks hundreds of times—hell, I’ve already seen him naked when we used to go camping and change in the same tent. It was different then.
I tell myself to focus on the plants inside the atrium.
“Did you know that Virginia bluebells this time of year are rare? Blooming. Rare to bloom.”
“What?”
“Just a fact.”
What am I saying?
He smiles. “You’re so weird. Honestly. And I missed the weird.” He runs his left hand through his hair, which doesn’t help my increasing distraction. He blinks a few times, then refocuses on me. “Anyone new this year at camp, or just the same church kids?”
“Same.” I say it so quickly, it’s more like a sound than a word. “You know, the usual suspects.” Oh, and a new boy I kissed instead of you.
We are never quiet. Henry and I can literally talk about anything. I don’t mean anything as in anything personal and private, though he has shared more with me than I ever have with him, but any ridiculous subject we can discuss for hours. We once talked for at least an hour about how you can never have enough pockets on shorts. We were close to literally drawing up plans for shorts with more pockets than you could imagine. Hidden pockets. Pockets inside pockets. That’s how into it we were.
The silence is making my eye twitch. I break it by blurting out, “How’s Amanda?” He looks at me, confused. “I mean, how are you now that you guys are broken up?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “I dunno. It’s—she just pretends nothing ever existed between us. I’ve been completely scrubbed from all aspects of her life.”
“What happened?”
“I guess . . . We’re different. Too different.”
His turn to abruptly change the subject. “Any girls at camp?”
I nervously half l
augh. “We should head to class.” I look at my phone to check the time. There’s a text from my uncle Tasos. Great timing.
Your friend Gaige is in town and will be at church this Sunday. I’ll tell your mom and dad to invite him to the house after. He’s nice.
I read it three times. I read it again. Henry finally leans in and says, “Is something wrong?”
I jump about a foot.
“I gotta go. See you later.” I’m practically running out of the atrium.
“Bugle’s. Don’t forget!” Henry yells back at me.
I’m barely out the door and into the hall when I hear, “Evan!” It’s Tess. If a voice could ever match a hair color, bright blond, it would be Tess’s. I turn around but still keep walking. Backward.
“Tess. Hey.”
“Evan, stop.” Tess seems annoyed.
I keep going. “Gonna be late.”
She runs to catch up with me. Until I’m forced to stop just short of a water fountain.
“You get weirder every day. Were you in the atrium?”
“No.”
“I just saw you.” Tess looks right at me, as if she’s searching for truths.
“I meant, yes.” I’m fumbling.
“With Henry?”
“Um. Henry?”
“Yeah. Henry went in there with you.”
“Right. We were trying to figure out—”
“There you are.” Kris walks up to us and says to Tess, “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Tess smiles at her. “Perfect timing, Kris.” Back to me: “I know you and Henry have always been close. Kris and I were wondering if Henry’s still with Amanda. All photos of Henry are off of Amanda’s social media and—”
Kris gives Tess a look before saying, “I don’t wonder about Henry.”
“I don’t know what the deal is,” I tell them.
“Well, let’s do a little walk and talk on the way to class and maybe your memory will be refreshed.” Tess links her left arm into my right and leads the way.
The Dangerous Art of Blending In Page 4
