Because we’re fifteen and kind of stupid, and this is how we do love.
And I know I’ve said enough sappy shit, but this is kind of the way I always wanted to do it.
And when this is all over, and we have to go back to school and come out of my basement and be in the real world and deal with all of the real-world shit,
when all of this trickles
and
stops
I am going to help Lio paint his room.
LIO
“SO ARE YOU STILL ANGRY?” ADELLE ASKS ME.
I say, “Not all the time. But mostly, yeah. I’m still pissed off that my mom turned out to be just as much of a useless . . . just as useless as I thought she was. And I wish my dad had more time for me, even though I know he’s trying. And I’m pissed Michelle’s probably going to end up going back to New York for good. And I’m mad Craig still loves Cody.”
She says, “Okay. And in a larger sense?”
“Larger?”
“Less immediate.”
“I guess I wish Cody’s dad hadn’t died in September eleventh, even though Craig and I probably wouldn’t be together right now if he hadn’t. And . . .” I shrug. “I’m still really pissed that my brother died and left us with all this love to figure out how to shift around without him here.”
Adelle studies me. “So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I’ll probably always be pissed off about all this. It’s not like everything’s suddenly perfect. People are still getting shot all over the place. And not even in Maryland alone. I only care about people in this area more because it’s home.”
“Proximity.”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “Fair enough.”
“Go on.” She’s not as afraid of interrupting me anymore.
“I guess . . . it’s hard to believe that things are suddenly going to be okay because people are still going to get shot as far into the future as I can see. And outside of the D.C. suburbs, probably everyone will have forgotten in a few years.”
“But you’ll remember.”
“But maybe I’ll have Craig. That’s what’s important to me right now.”
“You’re allowed to have a rough time, you know.” She’s writing on her pad. “You’re allowed to express that you’re having a rough time too.”
“I know. And I will. But maybe not today. Craig’s mom got me ice cream on the way here. I’m sorry, I’m probably way too happy to be worth your time.”
She laughs a little.
But I don’t need her to tell me that I’ll be sad again. There will be days I wake up sweating and crying because I dreamed about Theodore and he’s not here, and I’m the only person in the world who looks like me. Craig is still emailing Cody, and there will probably be days that really gets under my skin. Right now, I can’t give a shit. I’m the one in Craig’s house. I’m the one he whispers about before he goes to sleep.
I tell her, “I’m basically made of perspective right now.”
She’s still smiling. “What are your plans for this week?”
“See you. Besides that, hide? Run when I’m outside? Duck if I see a white van? I have to go back to school, which sucks, but I’m basically living at Craig’s house. My dad’s letting me. Apparently, he knew I was gay the whole time.” We found Craig’s last cat yesterday. She’d had kittens, which seems too perfect to even be real. I say, “I’m auditioning for the GSA talent show—because my friend Jack is making me—and Craig says we’re doing some sort of protest today. Which . . . I’m terrified about.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Outside?”
“I know. He hasn’t told me any details. But he won’t let me get hurt.”
She says, “Craig can’t protect you from everything.”
I look down and nod and say, “I know.”
And that’s okay.
Craig and his mom pick me up from therapy, and I check my messages on my cell phone. Dad called and said he loves me and misses me. I’ll call him back later. I know he’s worried and probably would rather I was home, but I’m too comfortable here right now.
Here’s the protest, it turns out. Craig and I lie on our stomachs in the basement with the animals, two sheets of poster board, and a lot of paint. We groan when the animals walk through the paint, and my poster ends up with kitten footprints all over it. Craig dabs paint on my nose, which devolves into sneezing and tickling and kissing.
It takes us way too long to finish our posters, with all our screwing around, but eventually we’re done. Mine says PEACE and Craig’s says love.
We stand out in his backyard, in the open air, in this random-as-fuck suburb, with our posters in the air and our fingers laced and our faces up to the sky. No one will ever see us.
Safe, I whisper, like we’re sliding into home.
Then Craig grabs my hand as we go inside and says, “And now for the real protest.”
“What?”
He pulls me into his bathroom and digs through the cabinet under the sink. Then he sits me down on the floor and leans my head back into the bathtub. I figure out then exactly what he’s doing, and I think about stopping him, but I don’t. Instead, I talk him through it. I’m kind of an expert at this by now.
Two hours later, I’m blond again.
I touch my reflection and Craig kisses my cheek.
“No hat,” he says.
I nod.
He drops his voice like he doesn’t want anyone to hear him. “I can see you.”
And I damn near swallow him whole.
CRAIG
OUR FIRST DAY BACK AT SCHOOL, TODD SUBS FOR A second-period class. Right after, he meets me at my locker and says, “Is today important?”
I don’t know how to answer this question.
He says, “I mean, if I pulled you out of school right now, would it be a major detriment to the health of your education?”
I’ve barely been to school this month, so it’s not like I’m really on track to being an upstanding citizen anyway. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll pull the car around. Stay inside.”
I leave a note on Lio’s locker. Spending the day with my brother. BREAK A LEG!!!!
His audition for the talent show is today. I wanted to go see him, but, to be honest, I’ve heard him sing, and I’m not sure the GSA is really my scene. Maybe someday. I do love community. I’ll be at the show, anyway, and right now, I really want to be with my brother, wherever he wants to take me.
Fishing, it turns out.
He hands me a floppy hat and takes me to fucking West Virginia for the afternoon. He says he’s never felt safer in his life. I throw all my fish back, and he throws his back too, just to humor me.
He tells me a shitload of dirty jokes that I have to remember to tell Lio. He gathers me under his arm and tells me the point of working nights was supposed to be so he had days free. And he’s going to work on it. We talk about Lio, and about this girl at work who he thinks maybe, maybe . . .
He has no obligation to me. He’s not my parent. He’s just my big brother. And this is just one of the best days of my life.
LIO
THE AUDITION IS PRETTY MUCH A JOKE, BECAUSE everyone who auditions for the talent show gets in. I mean, it’s the GSA. But the audition decides the order of the program. You really want to be toward the beginning or the end, Jack explains to me. We’re in the back of the auditorium, watching a girl tap dance.
He says, “They put the second best act at the beginning and the very best at the end. In the middle is pure shit.”
“I’m scared,” I say.
“Oh, shut up. You’re going to be awesome.”
“You’ve never heard me sing. I could be horrible.”
“You certainly give your voice plenty of rest.” He smiles at me.
It’s true, I’m still pretty quiet, even though I talk a lot more than I used to, especially to Jack and Craig. But I’m never going to be a chatterbox like them.
“I’m going to cheer
for you when you’re done,” Jack says. “Like, really loudly and obnoxiously. I might actually stand up and do that really loud clap, with cupped hands? Purely to piss you off.”
“I might kill you.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I might . . . castrate you or bring you to a gay bar.”
“I’ve experienced one of those already. You can probably figure out which one.”
“Hmm . . .”
He still has me in a headlock when the head auditioner, the sparkliest, shiniest boy imaginable, says, “Lio?”
Jack releases me and gives me a high five. Break a leg.
He smiles at me the whole time I’m onstage. I sing the best I can. I don’t forget the words. The sparkly boy smiles and thanks me. Jack jumps to his feet and cheers, and I love every minute of it.
I get the first spot in the program. Not too shabby. Plus, it’s fucking first.
CRAIG
I’VE FOUND ALL THE ANIMALS EXCEPT FOR ONE. My guinea pig, Peggy.
I will still go out looking, and I’ll still wait for calls from the shelter, but I am not going to make it my whole world. I can’t. I have too many animals and too many things in my life to pour all of me into a lost guinea pig. I will imagine her in a warm new home with new owners. I will worry about her sometimes.
I will let her go.
It’s like a voice in my head has said, enough. Or, as Lio would say, “Let it be.”
Maybe the voice in my head is Lio.
Tuesday morning, before school, I tell all of this to Dad in this voice that doesn’t sound nearly as hopeful as I would like it to. Dad tells me Todd would tell me not to kill myself, and he takes me out for pancakes before Lio wakes up.
“I feel so bad,” I tell him. “I should have been looking out for them better. I was pretty much a pretty shitty . . . whatever I was to them, I was pretty shitty about it.”
He says, really softly, “Craig.”
“Peggy should have been in a cage.”
“You had a cage for her?”
I nod. “She should have been in it. I should have put her in.”
“Craig,” Dad says. And he takes a deep breath. “You had to let her out of the cage. I . . . kid, in a way, I’m glad this goddamn break-in happened.”
My chin shakes. “Why?”
He puts my hand on my shoulder. “To let you out of your cage.”
So that’s it, really. I will need to deal with this. I’ll still miss Peggy all the time, but I need to keep going where I’m going.
So here is what I have.
Four dogs.
Eight cats (but I think I am going to give the kittens away).
Two rabbits.
One mouse.
A koala.
I get out of the car to feed the animals who are here to be fed and Dad turns on the news. I hear Lio’s alarm go off upstairs. His alarm is so loud because that boy can sleep through anything. He says it’s a consequence of growing up with six girls.
A bus driver was shot, fifteen minutes ago. Close to here again. Standing on the steps of his bus. And the news decides this is the time to read a bit of the note that the sniper left on Saturday. Do not release to the press, it says and here they are, releasing it to us. This feels like the worst idea in the world. The note says:
Your children are not safe, anywhere, at any time.
My breathing hurts.
I say, “I’m not going to school today,” as Lio trudges down the stairs, rubbing his eyes. Mine feel like they’re catching fire. I don’t like this. I don’t like this and I really don’t like that note.
Dad is watching me and he says, “Okay.”
“What’s going on?” Mom says. She’s coming down the stairs behind Lio. She kisses the top of his head, and he gives her a sleepy smile before he turns his focus to the news.
He takes a second to process what’s going on, then he puts his hand on my shoulder.
“I’m scared,” I say. I blurt it out. Here it is. I don’t know why I’m scared now, surrounded by walls, with my parents and Lio right here. But I am. This should be the place where I’m safe. This should be it.
He gives me one of those small smiles he used to give me back when he didn’t talk. His eyes are so close to me that for a minute I think I’m looking in a mirror, even though his eyes are blue and I know mine aren’t. I realize how scary it would be if Theodore was still around. And how amazing. And I feel for a minute like I’m going to cry, but it passes, because Lio’s still looking at me.
He whispers, “Want to hear a secret?”
I nod.
“You’re safe with me anywhere, at all times.”
It turns out, our “anywhere” is the basement, and our “at all times” is the entire day. We don’t go to school. We play checkers and make out. My parents are upstairs watching the news. And even though it feels like the entire world is freaking out, and even though the entire world is really just our area, and no one else anywhere gives a shit, and they definitely don’t give a shit that there are two boys making out in a basement, that’s what we are, we keep doing it, and there is something sort of beautiful about the fact that we keep doing that even now that we know it’s not what the world is about.
If I could take all the machine guns in the world and bend them into hearts, I totally totally would, even if I got grazed by bullets in the process, which knowing me I probably would, because I’m a little bit of a klutz, but Lio thinks I’m cute.
LIO
THAT NIGHT I DECIDE, ENOUGH DAWDLING.
I get out of bed at two in the morning, which is difficult, because, despite the rubbery mattress, it is warm and lovely under the covers. And out of bed, it’s freezing. It has become mid-autumn completely without my knowledge. Most of October is gone. It feels like we should get to try this month over. Not the things that happened, just the season. We didn’t notice it getting cold.
I put on a pair of socks, consider my feet, and put on another pair of socks. I don’t want to get sick.
Todd is already at work, and Craig’s parents are sleeping. Across town, my family is asleep, except my mother in New York, who is drinking or sleeping, and my grown-up sisters, who are probably just drinking. I think when we sleep, the world belongs to everyone still awake. Which means a whole shitload of the world belongs to Craig.
I whisper his name from the top of the stairs.
He rolls over in his bed and looks at me. He isn’t emailing. He’s lying there.
“Come upstairs,” I tell him.
He moans a little. “God, my parents . . .”
“Like this is about your parents.” I know what that room is to him. “Come on. I’m sick of looking at all your stupid trophies and drawings all by myself. Come tell me what they mean.”
He wraps his arms around himself. “The animals . . .”
“Can come up or stay down here,” I say.
He watches me. I lean my cheek against the banister.
“Pleeeeease, Craig?”
He gets out of bed, shivering, and says, “Come here.”
“Why?”
“Cold. Too hard to find a sweatshirt.” He grabs me by the legs and lifts me onto his back. I like this. I kick my feet all the way upstairs. I hope I’m keeping him warm.
It’s Tuesday night, and we’ve been together for three months or three days or something, and it’s been the best time of my life.
And let’s be honest, I have no idea how many three days or three months I have left.
“I really like you,” I tell him.
He drops me on the rubbery mattress and kisses me.
“You know that kid who got shot?” I say. “Outside Michelle’s school?”
He’s breathing hard between kisses. “Uh-huh?”
“He’s totally going to be fine. Saw it on the news.”
We are in the bed, squeaking on the mattress. We are all arms and legs and mouths. I’ve never kissed like this before. I feel like I’m falling into him.
&
nbsp; “I like your hair,” he says.
“Mmm.”
His hand underneath my T-shirt. I shiver. “However far you want to go, Craig.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s fine with me. I’m ready.”
He kisses me hard, for a long time. His teeth are against my lips.
He whispers, “Li? Can we just sleep tonight?”
I can’t say I’m not a little disappointed. But it’s all right. There will be other nights. There will be. I have to believe that. And again and again and again.
I wrap my arms as far around him as they will go. “We can sleep forever. I promise I won’t go crazy.”
“Don’t get cancer.”
“I won’t. Don’t, um, get a dog.”
He chuckles, and we kiss. And he falls asleep with his lips against mine.
He sleeps. My fucking boyfriend is asleep, and maybe tomorrow he’ll wake up without that headache or that bleary look in his eyes or the ringing in his ears from staying up for thirty hours. He sleeps so close to me, like he’s doing it just to prove to me that he’ll be okay.
It is so much more beautiful than any polar bears in Alaska. Because I am here and he is mine and forever is as long as we want it to be.
The rest, as they say, is history.
Like a lot of mornings, we wake up and there is news. They’ve arrested two men at a rest stop. The sniper rifles were in their trunk of their car. A man found them. They were asleep.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THIS BOOK COULD NOT HAVE EXISTED WITHOUT the support of my amazing editor, Anica Rissi, or my agent, Suzie Townsend. I cannot emphasize enough how much of a role these two had in shaping the final draft of this book. Suzie always knows where I need to add words, and Anica always knows where I need to cross them out. Without the two of them, I would never know what my books were about. They’re invaluable. Thank you as well to everyone else at Simon Pulse and FinePrint Literary. It’s an honor to be working with you.
My best friend, Alex Stek, read Gone, Gone, Gone a page at a time while I was writing the first draft. He pretended it was perfect.
Gone, Gone, Gone Page 16
