You Know Me Well

by Nina LaCour

  “This one will tell us about your future. Are you ready?”

  We nod.

  And she flips it over. Even though I don’t really believe in this, even though Kylie is just a pretty girl telling stories, playing a game with our lives, fear grips me.

  On the card is a tower struck by lightning, raining fire into a black sky. Two men are diving out to escape the flames, plummeting to the rocky ground below. I was expecting a card about strength or peace, Kylie quoting everybody’s favorite words of encouragement: Yes, times are hard now, but you’ll find your way. Instead I’m face-to-face with disaster.

  “Okay,” she says. “The Tower. This is a powerful card.”

  “Yeah,” Mark says. “I can see that.” His voice is shaking.

  “Don’t be scared,” she says. “Or, okay, go ahead: Be scared. That’s okay, too. Give me a second. Let me think.”

  She goes back to the beginning—our upside-down World—follows it to the Eight of Swords and then to the Tower again.

  “I’m new at this,” she says. “And I can see how these cards look frightening. They are frightening. But look at you two. You look horrible. You look sad and scared. You don’t need the cards to tell you that. So if we follow the journey they are showing us, we can see that the tower is necessary. Something profound needs to happen. Something needs to change, and it is going to change soon. You may already know what’s coming. It’s going to shake you. It’s going to change your world. But after the tower burns to the ground, and you’ve picked yourselves up off the rocks, and the fire ends and the night passes, it’s going to be morning again.

  “Mark,” she says. “You think you are alone, but someone is on the horizon. I see love, mutual love, in your near future. It’s not coming directly from the card, but it’s a feeling I’m getting. It’s someone you know but wouldn’t expect. She isn’t who you think she is. And Kate, that woman in the blindfold? She is you. But look at how her feet aren’t even touching the ground. You are so close to being free.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” I say.

  “I know,” she says. “I know. But change takes courage.”

  She sits back, as though she’s finished, but then she leans forward again and stares at the cards.

  “A thought is coming,” she says.

  We wait.

  And then her face lights up.

  “He,” she says to Mark. “I’m sorry—I just assumed. I wasn’t hearing clearly enough. He isn’t who you think he is.”

  Violet gives the woman fifteen bucks and Mark stands up, but it takes me a moment longer to gather myself. Finally, I do. I try to call back my skepticism, but I can’t muster it. Whatever this just was, it feels real, and when I turn around I can see that it’s real for Violet as well.

  She’s staring at me, her sadness intensified.

  “It sounds like you have some things to figure out,” she says. “I don’t want to get in the way of them.”

  I should tell her she has it wrong. I should lie and claim I don’t believe in any of it. I should say, Even if I did believe it, you could never be in my way. I want to go back to her studio, to the moment when she said she thought something was waiting for her here. I was, I should be telling her. I still am.

  But I take too long to say anything, and she gives my silence meaning. She nods. She forces the saddest smile.

  “Let me know when you’ve figured it out,” she says, and then she turns from us and walks back toward home.

  WEDNESDAY

  15

  MARK

  “Do you think it’s him?” I ask, for the eleventh time in five minutes.

  It’s before school the next morning. We’re sitting on the hood of Katie’s car, sipping coffee and watching the boys head into school.

  “Mackenzie Whittaker?”

  “I’ll bet behind that rough-and-tumble science-fair exterior, he’s a kitten. Not at all who I think he is.”

  “What would the two of you talk about?”

  “Science. We’d talk about science. Hot and heavy science. Earth science.”

  “How about him?”

  She’s nodding toward Ted Lee, a guy on my baseball team.

  “Straight.”

  “You sure?”

  “Straight.”

  “You’ve given this some thought, haven’t you?”

  “Yes,” I admit. “I’ve given this some thought. Some of the thoughts were pretty detailed. But the answer remains the same. He’s straight.”

  “I hate that word. Straight. At the very least, those of us who are nonstraight should get to be called curvy. Or scenic. Actually, I like that: ‘Do you think she’s straight?’ ‘Oh no. She’s scenic.’”

  “You know what I hate?”

  “What?”

  I glance at Ted, who’s looking really good. “I hate that we start everything with this qualifying round. Is he or isn’t he? If I was into girls, I wouldn’t have that. I’d just be able to go for it, since the odds would be in my favor. And if the girl happened to be scenic, it would just be, like, oops.”

  “But what if the guy you think is straight is not who you think he is.” Katie says this as if she’s in fortune-teller-training school.

  “You know,” I say, leaning back on her front windshield and taking a sip of coffee, “we need to have our own morning show. Just you and me on the hood of a car, talking about everyone who passes by. It could be massive.”

  “How about Diego? He’s scenic.”

  Even though I know who she’s talking about, I raise my eyes in his direction. Then I regret it, because he sees, and an awkward moment passes before he looks away.

  “Oh,” Katie says. “Interesting.”

  “He had a crush on me,” I explain. “Like, for a while. Most of this year. He asked me out. Three times.”

  “And why did you say no? He’s awesome.”

  “Because I was seeing someone else. Only, I couldn’t tell Diego I was seeing someone else. So I didn’t have a choice. I assholed him.”

  “You what?”

  “I put up a total asshole front. I blew him off. I pretended he wasn’t asking what he was asking. I made it seem like I was a conceited jerk, so he wouldn’t think there was anything wrong with him. I tried so hard to keep him in the friendzone. You have no idea.”

  I don’t tell her he cried. That wouldn’t be fair. But he did. The third time was the worst. I don’t understand, he kept saying. And what could I do? I just want you as a friend, over and over until even I was having a hard time understanding it. Say anything enough times and it’s only words.

  “I’m sorry,” Katie says.

  “Not your fault.”

  “Not your fault, either.”

  “But it is, isn’t it?”

  “And Ryan’s. Indirectly Ryan’s.”

  “But he never asked me to do that, you know? I think he would have been happy if I’d gone out with Diego. He would’ve been thrilled. And it would have killed me, to see him that happy for that reason.”

  Katie does some math in her head. “So the whole time you’ve been with Ryan, there hasn’t been anybody else?”

  “There hasn’t been anybody else ever. He’s it. My only. How about you?”

  “You know that stereotype that lesbians get married after the first date?”

  “Is that a stereotype?”

  “Committed to commitment—that’s us. Only I seem to be the control to that experiment with my placebo heart. I rarely make it through the first date. The first half hour, maybe. Then … I just don’t like them much. And I don’t like me very much when I’m trying to impress them. So I stop. Escape when I can. And, of course, long painfully for the one girl I can’t have.”

  “Until, of course, she leaves the circus and comes to town.”

  “Something like that.”

  We sit there silent for a moment. I’m sure Katie’s thinking about the way the night ended, and I’m not sure I want to speculate about boys anymore. Because i
t raises the whole question of what I’d do if I actually found the right one.

  “Look!” Katie says. “Here comes a very special guest! My ex!”

  It’s Quinn Ross who’s walking over—Quinn Ross, Ryan’s big poetry rival and the editor of our school’s “underground” literary magazine.

  “You dated Quinn Ross?”

  “Yes. In third grade. For two weeks. It turned us both gay.”

  “Hey, Katiegirl,” Quinn sings when he gets to us. “And hello, Markus-oh-really-us. School is wrapping up, and you two look like you’re laying it down. I’m sorry I didn’t make it to your gallery thing last night—I’ve been volunteering down at The Angel Project in the Castro. It’s a pretty big week for us, fundraising-wise. Let all the people come and party for Pride—when they leave, there will still be homeless teens, and they’ll still need help. Hey—you should come tonight. I’m hosting a poetry slam.”

  “Maybe,” Katie hedges. “There are a few things we have to attend to first.”

  I’m hoping this means she’s going to see Violet. But I don’t say anything with Quinn there. He is an ex, after all.

  “Well, I hope to see you at the slam,” he tells Katie. Then he turns to me and says, “And I really hope to see you.”

  “Um … sure?” I say.

  Quinn laughs to himself and walks away.

  “I’m not sure I like your exes,” I tell Katie.

  “Quinn? He’s harmless. All snark and no bite.” She looks down at her phone. “I hate to say it, but we should probably head in. It would be lame to fail out in June because of attendance.”

  “Are you going to call her?” I ask.

  “Yes. No. One of the two.”

  “Promise me. By the time we meet back here after school, you’ll have communicated with her in some way.”

  “No. I can’t promise you. Because I don’t want to break any promise I make to you, and I’m not really sure that’s a promise I can keep.”

  “You should call her. You should try to explain.”

  “I know. I will. Unless she doesn’t want to talk. I wouldn’t blame her for that.”

  “No, but you’ll blame yourself.”

  She slides off the car. Gets her bag from the backseat. Says “I know” one more time, then heads off into school.

  * * *

  Ryan finds me right before lunch.

  “This isn’t cool,” he says.

  I’m at my locker. Caught.

  “What isn’t cool?” I ask dumbly.

  “The silent treatment. The look of terror on your face right now. The way you’re acting like this is all my fault.”

  “I never said it was all your fault.”

  “You might as well have.” He stops, stares down at the floor, then stares back up at me. “You disappeared last night.”

  “I was right out back. If you’d looked for me, you would have found me.”

  “But you didn’t want me to look for you, did you?”

  Now it’s my turn to stare down at the floor, be honest. “No.”

  “Exactly. Not cool.”

  He stops, and I know it’s because people are passing us in the hall. People who could hear.

  When it’s safe, he goes on. “I saw you talking to Quinn this morning. That was a bit of a surprise.”

  “It was nothing. He’s Katie’s ex.”

  “Well, I’m sure he told you about his poetry slam thing.” He pulls a flier out of his pocket and unfolds it. Queer Youth Speak Out, it says at the top. “Not very subtle. They even printed it out on pink paper, just in case you didn’t pick up on the fact that it was gay.” He holds it to his nose and inhales. “Mmm … smells like Whitman.”

  “Are you going?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Are you going to read?” I ask, even though I know the answer’s going to be no. Ryan’s gay poems live in a very private place.

  “Maybe.”

  Oh. “Maybe?”

  “What may be, may be.” He smiles. “You’ll just have to show up and see.”

  What is he telling me? I don’t know what he’s telling me.

  “Taylor will be there, and I think some of his friends are going to be there. You should join us. If I go through with it, I want my cheering section to be bigger than Quinn’s.”

  I want to be in control. I don’t want him to see what I’m really feeling. But my walls aren’t that high when it comes to him. The truth flies right over.

  “Well, if Taylor’s going to be there, you don’t really need me, do you?” I spit out.

  And Ryan’s walls must be low, too, because he grabs my arm, right there in the hall, right where anyone could turn the corner and see.

  “I’m only going to say this to you once, okay? I like Taylor. I’m excited about Taylor. I may want to date Taylor, if everything goes well. But I have known Taylor for a total of about five seconds, while I have known you since the mountains were made and the rivers were formed. I know we’re in a weird place right now, but I want you to step out of it and be there for me. Taylor is a boy, and you are my best friend. Taylor is a date, and you are my calendar. Understood?”

  I know I should say I understand. I know I should understand. But there’s still a part of me that hates how easy it is for him to say these things. He wants to put it in perspective, but it’s all his perspective.

  Also, I don’t want to be a best friend if I can’t also be a boy in his eyes. I don’t want to be a calendar if I’ll never get a date.

  “Are you really going to read?” I ask him. “In public?”

  He smiles. “You can be such an Oblivious Oliver. Like I said, you’ll just have to show up and see. Maybe you’re not the only one who can dance on the bar—so to speak.”

  He’s got me, and he knows enough to leave before he loses me. The result is a locker-side muddle. I don’t have any desire to follow him into lunch, so I detour to the library again. I see Dave Hughes sitting at his table by himself. He spots me coming and clears a space.

  “Are you always here at lunch?” I ask after I sit down.

  “Nah. This is actually my study hall. I have third lunch.”

  “Got it.”

  I see he’s got the sports section on the table, and he nods that I can take it. Then he goes back to whatever he’s doing on his laptop.

  About five minutes later, I hear something that sounds like a Pssst. I ignore it, but it happens again. I look up.

  “Pssst.”

  Dave’s eyes don’t leave his laptop, but he tells me, “It’s coming from a girl in the shelves over there.”

  All I can see is a hand, its index finger indexing me to come over.

  I don’t recognize the hand, but when I step into the shelf area, I recognize the face of Katie’s friend June.

  “We never talked, we never saw each other, this never happened, okay?” she starts.

  “Sure.”

  “If Lehna catches me, it’ll be bad. She’s like that. But I’m not taking sides. I’m really not. I don’t want there to be sides, you know? It’s not like anyone asked me—it’s not like anyone said, ‘Hey, do you mind if we divide into sides?’ Because you know what sucks? Having friends who aren’t being good friends to each other. That really sucks. And I know I should be talking to Kate, but if I talk to Kate, that will be taking sides, so I’m going to talk to you instead, and if you end up talking to Kate, that’s not really my fault, is it?”

  “No,” I say. “Not at all.”

  “Good. Because Kate needs to be careful. Very careful. Lehna’s really mad. And at first it was just Lehna being dramatic, but now the reason is serious, because Lehna thinks that Kate’s playing with Violet. Like, really playing with her. We all saw Violet at the art thing last night, and Violet was like, ‘What’s Kate’s deal?’ And Lehna was like, ‘What did she do to you?’ Violet said Kate stood her up and was being deluded—no, it wasn’t that. Not deluded. The word that means hard to get. She said Kate was being that, and while she
understood everything was like, wow, sudden, she’s not going to wait around forever for Kate to focus. And Lehna—ohmygod, Lehna. Lehna was like, ‘She’s not worth it if she’s going to do that to you.’ And she’s right, right, because no one should treat you like that. But she’s also wrong, because it’s Kate we’re talking about, and we all know Kate’s only acting like this because she’s afraid. Or at least I think we all know that. It just stops being a good excuse after a while. And what I’m trying to say is, the time it stops being a good excuse? Well, that’s now. Lehna’s already sure of it. And Violet’s getting there. So you have to tell Kate to do something. Really do something.”

  “But I have told her to do something. Just this morning.”

  June locks me into a look there, and it’s like finding out that Hello Kitty doesn’t have a mouth because she can beam words directly into your mind. “Well, try harder,” she says. “We’re all going to the Exploratorium this afternoon—if you and Kate come, I can make sure Lehna’s distracted so Kate and Violet can talk alone. This is it—her last last chance. Give me your number.”

  I tell June my number and she enters it into her phone. Then she calls me so I can have hers.

  “There,” she says. “Remember: We never had this conversation.”

  “You’re not taking sides.”

  “Right. I just want all my friends to be happy. And sometimes you have to do that one friend at a time.”

  * * *

  I’m aware that I should contrive a reason for me and Katie to go to the Exploratorium—it’s a fun place, so it wouldn’t be too hard to say I need the pick-me-up that playing around at an interactive science museum can bring. And then, surprise!, we’ll bump into Violet there.

  A trick. I could easily trick her into going.

  But I don’t want our friendship to be like that.

  So instead I sit down next to her at the start of math class and say, “I know where Violet’s going to be this afternoon, and I think we should go there.”

  Kate sighs. “How do you know this information?”

  “A little bird told me. And I’m not going to tell you anything more than that. I promised.”

  Katie nods.

  I go on. “Also, I found out Ryan’s going to be at Quinn’s poetry thing.” I tell her about the conversation Ryan and I had, and how weird it made me feel.