by Cody Wagner
Unnerved by the solace, part of me wanted to sneak out and go look at Fort A.E.R.O. It was the one significant place we knew of, besides Sanctuary. But nightmares about my last foray off campus—when Jimmy died—still plagued me. Besides, what would I have done when I got there? Say, “Can you tell me about lighthouses and Sirens?” That was stupid, and I made due by exhausting every avenue of conversation with Roze and Cassie.
In December, the snow came out in full force. A blizzard hit a few weeks before Christmas, but it didn’t stop the students from whipping out crates of insane holiday decorations. One Saturday, what looked like half the student body stood on mounds of snow, digging through tinsel and trees and lights. I’d thought about volunteering to help, but settled for sitting on a snow drift to watch.
And think.
First, I had semester tests in a couple weeks. Without Jimmy, my math was suffering. Roze really got geometry, but she got frustrated when I didn’t understand concepts on the first try. And don’t get me started on Music Appreciation. Why should I care why Haydn’s Surprise Symphony was significant? Cassie suggested I apply myself more, but it was hard to focus on stuff that didn’t really interest me.
My parents were the other sucky thing in my life. They were set to arrive after our semester tests for Sanctuary’s annual Christmas visit. Once again, I dreaded seeing them. They hadn’t improved at all over the past year-and-a-half. It probably didn’t help that I’d only talked to them a couple times this semester. But our talks were a broken record, consisting of healing updates and a million questions about Roze. They wouldn’t even let Molly talk to me much. We usually got to say, “Hi, Buttface,” and that’s it.
The thought of actually seeing Molly cheered me up a bit. We’d finally get to hangout, and she’d see I was still awesome. Or semi-awesome.
Just as I feigned amnesia and tried to remember exactly what Molly looked like, Cassie approached. She’d been crying, which made all thoughts of my family fly out the window. My snow drift was so hard, I hand-chopped a seat next to me. Cassie pulled on a pair of thick gloves and sat down.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She shook her head before blurting, “Just got off the phone with my adoptive parents.”
“Uh oh.”
“Yeah. My adoptive mom found out we lost The Pumpkin Bash. She doesn’t even know what it is, but she screamed at me for it.”
“Wow, you weren’t even involved.”
She nodded. “I hate her. And him.”
I’d never heard her say hate before. I actually shivered and said, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Why did they adopt you?”
She looked down at the snow and scooped some into her glove. “They wanted a slave. A straight slave.”
“Ouch.” I grabbed some snow, mimicking her. “So what do you do when you’re home?”
“Everything.”
“Like what?”
She began rolling the snow into a ball. “Well, I wake up at five. I make breakfast and get in trouble for cooking it wrong. Then, I do the dishes and get in trouble for washing them wrong.” She held up a perfect snowball. “Repeat that about a hundred times, and that’s my day.”
“God, I had no idea.” I threw the snowball I’d made. “I’m sorry you ended up with people like that. What do they do for a living, anyway? Your mom seemed rich and snooty.”
“My adoptive mom,” she corrected me. “She has an inheritance. My adoptive dad is a high-level campaign manager. Very conservative.”
I watched her for a minute, when a case of mouth diarrhea hit, and I said, “What happened to your real parents?”
I expected Cassie to clam up; she’d never even mentioned her mom and dad. To my surprise, she said, “I never knew my dad. And my mom died when I was little.”
“I’m so sorry. Did you know her?”
“A little. I was six, and I remember things like her smile. And her hugs. And her singing lullabies to me. More than anything, I remember her aura. It was full of kindness.” She shrugged. “I know that sounds weird.”
I put my arm around her. A tear slid down her face.
“Can I ask what happened to her?” I said.
She didn’t answer that one, but I saw anger creep onto her face. Whatever happened must have been bad. Or maybe she was mad because her mom’s death took her into the home of the Cookes. Either way, I knew better than to force the subject, and we just sat there while decorations went up and tears fell down.
* * * * *
Cassie’s mood didn’t improve over the next couple weeks. Although she aced her semester tests—unlike me, who barely scraped by—it didn’t stop her from freaking out over her parents’ upcoming visit. On top of that, Roze left for Atlanta after the last day of classes. She’d been spending a lot of time with Cassie lately, and I’m sure her absence would be missed. Therefore, I made up my mind to spend every minute I could with Cassie.
Saturday, the morning our parents arrived, I dragged Cassie out for our millionth walk. I don’t think anyone under eighty has ever used this word, but the campus was majestic. Everything looked like a scene from a painting. A big gay Christmas painting. Nature alone played her part, covering everything in snow and beautiful icicles. The students added to the awesomeness by lining streets with Dickensian light posts, stringing miles of garland across every railing, hanging gobs of lights from every building, and placing gigantic ornaments all over the grounds.
Cassie smiled as we reached the Admissions Building, which with its stone facade and classic old-timey green garland, looked like a picture right out of Whoville—after the Grinch’s heart grew four times its original size.
“Go Christmas,” I said.
Cassie nodded. “Thanks for taking me.”
“My pleasure.”
“You really love this stuff.”
“Yeah.” That’s all I said, but in truth, I was just as happy to be on Operation: Cheer Cassie as I was looking at the decorations. It took my mind off my own nerves buzzing in the back of my brain. They say that, if one person in a crisis is upset, the others will remain calm. It’s like some evolution thing to ensure our survival. I’m not sure what I thought about that, but it appeared to be happening. Cassie’s barely-concealed panic somehow relaxed me, like it was my job to protect her.
Unfortunately, that job ended the second I saw a familiar white Toyota Camry rounding the road lasso.
“Dammit.” Guilt coursed through me, as always. I shouldn’t have dreaded my family, but I did. This time, it was worse because their arrival meant I had to abandon Cassie.
As if reading my thoughts, she said, “Go enjoy your family. I’ll be fine.”
I knew she’d be fine; Cassie was so strong. Still, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her as I walked back to the dorms. Every time I turned around, she stood in the exact same spot. Her eyes remained fixed on the Admissions Building.
A honk jerked me from my thoughts, and I looked at the parking lot where my dad had just parked. I found myself slowing as I approached. It’s like the force of my parents’ pressure pushed me back.
I tried to focus on the positive and hoped Molly would fly out of the car and attach herself to my hip. Instead, Mom got out first. The instant she saw me, a hesitant smile crossed her face. I immediately saw why: she wore a button on her plain gray coat that read, Senator Joseph for President.
“Dammit,” I said under my breath. But I put on my own hesitant smile and said, “Hi, Mom.”
She looked as nerdy as ever, wearing a thick gray skirt that was so long, it tripped her as she came up and gave me a hug. “Blaize, honey. It’s magnificent to see you.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
“Hey there, Guy.” Dad came up and threw some fake punches at me. It was just like last year, where he acted way manlier than normal. It’s hard to take a boxer—who wears pocket protectors and too-short khakis—seriously.
“Hi, Dad.” I deflected his p
unches, and we shook hands.
“Looks like they’re getting you into shape again.”
“Yes. It feels nice.”
We stood there a second.
Mom and Dad exchanged a nervous look.
I didn’t know what they were worried about. It’s not like I was surprised about the stupid Senator Joseph button.
“Shall we go on a tour?” Mom said. “The campus looks lovely.”
I frowned. “What about Molly?”
They exchanged another look.
“What?” I said, looking from the car to Dad.
Dad crossed his arms. “Well, Son. Molly didn’t come.”
I looked at Mom, imagining Molly in a hospital bed with tubes stuck everywhere. “Is she OK?”
“She’s fine, Honey. We just thought it might be better for us to see you alone this trip.” She put on a smile as fake as Dad’s punches. “That way, we can experience some alone time with our eldest.”
I held up my hand. “Wait. Molly’s OK, but she didn’t come?”
My dad started spouting excuses, but I didn’t listen. There was no way in hell Molly would miss seeing me. She was the only good thing in my home life, and I knew I was important in hers.
I cut Dad off. “I know what this is about. Ever since all this gay stuff started, Molly’s remained loyal to me. You can’t deny it.”
“Honey,” Mom said. “We just think—”
I pointed at her. “Stop. Hear me out, and then you can tell me I’m wrong.”
Mom flinched.
Dad opened his mouth, but I was going speak my mind. A dam burst in my chest. First, they’d scared the hell out of me for a minute. Second, Molly’s absence showed me just how far off the deep end my parents were willing to go.
My voice rose as I said, “Molly sees how awful you’ve treated me. And she hates it. Because it’s not how parents are supposed to treat their kids.” I shook my head. “You’re afraid that, until I’m healed, I might make her gay. Right?”
They didn’t answer, so I shouted, “RIGHT?”
Mom and Dad were speechless. I’d caught them off guard by calling them out, and they couldn’t think up a lie.
My face heated with anger. Molly was the only thing I looked forward to this week. And my parents were now trying to jam a wall between us.
“Let me clear something up for you,” I said. “Molly is going to be who she is without my influence. Period. And you know what else? You’re not going to turn her against me. I refuse to let you. And she’ll refuse. She sees right through you.” I threw on my most evil grin. “How does it feel knowing that, no matter what you do, your amazing, awesome, brilliant daughter gets closer and closer to me? Shouldn’t that tell you something?!”
I stopped, panting, and noticed my dad’s anger. He came up and put a finger in my face.
“How dare you talk to us that way!” He poked me in the chest. “Whatever you feel, we are still your parents.” His hand shook as he said, “Now, you are going to apologize to me and to your mother. We drove all this way to see you, and this behavior is not acceptable.”
I stared at him, shocked. He didn’t address a single thing I’d pointed out. He always swept my words and feelings under the carpet.
Raw hurt crept in, and I said, “You shouldn’t have.”
“Shouldn’t have what?”
“Come here. You shouldn’t have come here.” I turned around. “You’re not welcome here, anymore.”
“That’s not an option.”
I spun and faced my dad. “I don’t want you here! Do you understand that? The only person I wanted to see was Molly.” I balled my fists. “Just go! Get out of here!”
I realized I was crying.
Honestly, I thought my protests wouldn’t have any effect. But something on my face must have gotten to them. They just sat there, staring at me, as I cried.
Dad took a step back and finally whispered, “Tell us one more time to leave and we will.”
He put an arm around Mom, who was crying, too. Then he stared at me. Seeing them as a unified, devastated front, I almost buckled. They weren’t evil, just ignorant. I’d told myself that a million times, and it was true. And my mom wasn’t a crier. She must have been really upset.
I was on the verge of apologizing, when Molly appeared in my head. If I caved right now, that left the door open for further alienation. What were they going to do next? Would Molly be gone when I got home for the summer?
No, I had to make a stand. They had to know how serious I was about this. Clenching my jaw, I whispered, “I want you to leave.”
That started a stare-off that lasted a full minute. I made sure not to avert my gaze. No losing my resolve this time.
Finally, Dad said, “OK.”
He turned to Mom, who choked out a sob, and together they got into the car.
Before the car even started, I turned and ran. I ran to my dorm and straight into the bathroom. All the stalls were open, and I bolted into the farthest one. As soon as I was locked in, I leaned my head against the wall, gasping for breath. The bathroom was freezing, and I stood there until my forehead felt frozen against the plastic stall.
My parents weren’t going to get any better. They slipped down the rabbit hole more and more every day. And I didn’t know how to stop it. If I talked to them, they became uncomfortable. But if I went weeks without communication, my “gay” was the cause of the distance.
For the first time in months, family memories filled my head. I thought about the time Mom burned the Christmas cookies, and we had Black Bottom Santas for snacks. I remembered the time they got me a remote-control car but forgot the batteries. Dad felt so bad, he gave me the remote and manually moved the car wherever I directed. He seriously got on his hands and knees, and pushed the car up ramps and down the driveway. Deep down, they were awesome people. But how many times could I say that before it got old and wore off?
I wiped my eyes, knowing I could only be myself and hope for the best. The Siren flitted into my head, and I also acknowledged that if my parents knew half of what I did, they’d change their tune. That thought actually helped a lot. It’s like the only time in history the Siren made me feel better.
Despite slivers of guilt, those thoughts solidified my decision to make Mom and Dad leave. I knew my resolve might fade, though, if I didn’t keep myself busy. Getting lost in my head and waffling on decisions was my specialty. I had to do something. And I knew just the thing.
It was time to reinstate Operation: Cheer Cassie.
I made my way around campus, the snow slowing me down. I didn’t have waterproof boots, and slush seeped into my shoes.
My feet were freezing by the time I walked around the Admissions Building and down past the Classroom Center. Stopping to stomp my feet for warmth, I glanced around, wondering where Cassie might have been. Turning in a slow circle, I saw the auditorium, the Classroom Center, and the library.
Of course.
I took off jogging, and sure enough, I found Cassie walking along the sidewalk, gesturing at the library door. Her expression was miserable, and I noticed Mrs. Cooke standing over her like a vulture. Cassie hugged a massive book as she glanced from the building to her adoptive mom, who wore a giant leather hat that reminded me of an ancient cow. The library was obviously closed, so Cassie probably just held the book for comfort.
That was so Cassie.
Suddenly, she caught sight of me, and her expression was so startled, I skidded to a halt.
“Blaize!” she said. “Where are your parents?”
Leave it to Cassie to forget about herself and think about someone else.
I waved the question aside and said, “Mind if I join you?”
She looked from me to Mrs. Cooke and said, “You’ll have to ask my mother.”
Trying to be polite—to score an invite—I reached out my hand and said, “It’s wonderful to see you again, Mrs. Cooke.”
Ignoring my hand, Mrs. Cooke looked down her nose at me. Finally
, she said, “If Gabriel allows it, you may join us.”
She gestured to a tall man several feet behind her, wearing expensive slacks and a long, fancy coat.
I took one look at Mr. Cooke and almost screamed.
A purple glow surrounded him.
Sixteen
Shaken
I was so shocked to see Mr. Cooke glowing that my entire body went stupid. My mouth moved but nothing came out. What the hell did this mean?! I looked at Mrs. Cooke. She stared at me as if I’d just farted a hole through my jeans.
After what felt like an hour, Cassie put a single finger on my shoulders. “Blaize? Are you OK?”
I had to snap out of this. Right now. For Cassie. I looked over at her. Her eyes were wide with concern, as she looked from me to her parents. Knowing she worried about me helped.
I took a huge breath and forced out some words. “Nice to meet you both!”
Without thinking, I grabbed Mr. Cooke’s hand and began shaking. The touch was electric. Not because of anything weird. He was just the first controlled person I’d ever willingly touched. And it was strange, like I was grasping hands with something out of a Greek myth. Yet, when it was all said and done, it was just a hand like anybody else’s.
“Address the boy, Gabe.” It was Mrs. Cooke. She rolled her eyes and motioned for Mr. Cooke to hurry.
“Young man.” Mr. Cooke nodded at me.
He only said two words, but I jerked and gaped at him. This was the first time I’d ever had an in-person conversation with someone under control. I had no idea how to respond, so I just said, “Thanks.”
Mrs. Cooke squinted at me. “Thank you.”
I blurted, “You’re welcome,” before realizing she was correcting me.
Part of me didn’t want to bow down to her. But I went ahead and muttered, “Thank you,” and turned back to Mr. Cooke. He looked vaguely familiar. Where had I seen him?
