“No way! Craziness,” I say.
There’s a long pause when I imagine we’re all thinking about what it would be like if we walked away, right now: left the building, the premises, and everything behind. But I can’t fully preview the possibility because I can’t come up with a decent enough reason to go. Part of me doesn’t want to leave, period. I don’t know if I’d even tell Teddy that though.
“Why'd he leave?” I ask.
“Senior slump?” Gretel says.
“Senioritis?” Joss asks.
“The pressure? Maybe there was somewhere or someone better to be,” Teddy adds sagely.
“I couldn’t do it,” I say.
The rest nod and in light of the absence of three of our friends: Berlin, Annie Lemon, and Rosa, the mood swishes between thoughtful and wily, like one of us actually might break and run any minute.
“I guess everyday isn’t a parade,” I say as I get up to bus my tray.
“I disagree. Every day is awesome or at least has the potential to be,” Teddy says. "The best day is today because there might not be a tomorrow."
“Does it ever rain in Theo-land?” Gretel asks, threading her hand in his.
He beams.
I've had to use an umbrella while visiting Teddy-land, a lot. I've witnessed downpours, hail, lightning, and thunderstorms. I try not to stare, but look carefully at him, trying to spot evidence of whether his optimistic and sunny outlook is part of his transformation to the person named Theo or a result of dating Gretel. His edges are sharper, as if he’s abandoned the chisels he’d used to slowly chip away to reach the truth of who he is underneath confusion, expectations, and facades.
If this last week was one of those afterschool specials people always reference, but I’ve never actually watched, I'd have my share of lovers and haters lined up along the parade route. The mixed messages play loudly like a song I don't want stuck in my head:
Be yourself, but only if you're "normal."
Above the thunder of this misguidance, I picture myself singing—a little off key, perhaps—and gather everyone into the chorus just learn to love yourself, the rest is junk. I laugh out loud as the vision plays on. I'd do a karate chop, scissor kick in the air, like a rock star, and twirl my baton, marching right alongside my oldest and best friendling. It would be grand.
I zone back into the cafeteria, give Teddy a wink, mouth thank you and gather up the remains of my lunch. I rush off to the academic advising office. I wait a few minutes hoping to intercept Ms. Schaffer before Mr. Edmonton, my assigned advisor, spots me. Moments later, much to my chagrin, Lola/Eve saunters out of Ms. Schaffer’s office. When Eve spots me, her expression blisters at not being able to extinguish the burning fires of nonconformity.
I lock eyes with Ms. Schaffer whose lips pucker, annoyed as she dismisses Eve. Silver streaks her curly dark hair. Her eyebrows lift at the sight of me.
“So nice to see you, what brings you here today, Willa? Are you looking for Mr. Edmonton?” she asks.
“I was wondering if we could talk.” I have a strong feeling she’ll be willing to help me, considering the effort she went through to assist Teddy with RISD. It might also work in my favor that she’s the faculty liaison for the LGBT group.
“Shall we go in my office?” She eyes Mr. Edmonton’s closed door.
She puts away a file and then invites me to take a seat. “Is this about Theo?” Geez, she’s calling him that too. I can’t get used to it.
“Actually it’s about me.”
“Mr. Edmonton is your advisor.”
“I know, but this is something I think you might be more suited to help with.”
“Oh?” Her eyebrows rise as though she's mildly interested.
I draw a breath because it isn’t as if I’ve been dreaming or thinking about this for years or even months or weeks. My idea came to me in a night—a teary, cheer-filled night, last night. But my heart is like a window and the inspiration pours through like golden, late afternoon light. “I didn’t apply to colleges because I thought I was cheating my parents out of money if I went because I didn’t know what I wanted to study, but—” I stop rambling and then shrug, “Also, it would have been taking up a spot for someone else who may have dreamed of going. But now I kind of know what I want to do, but I’m not really sure if it’s an actual job or something I can study at a school or what.”
“Go ahead,” she says.
“I want to advocate for,” I draw a breath and let it out, “people of varying persuasions. The ones who face uncertainty or shame or even pride as it relates to a fundamental part of who they are, but face challenges... I want to help boys and girls who aren’t accepted at home or school or in their communities because of the way they feel. I mean, sex is everywhere, right? There’s this certain kind of pressure for girls and guys. Look at Teddy, I mean Theo. There’s this hunger for it, hormones I guess, but also it’s like a yawn, contagious, but necessary. I mean, whether you do it or not, other people tease or you feel bad about yourself…Or it’s tied up in so much meaning. It gets complicated and dramatic. Do you know what I mean?" I don't stop to hear her answer. "If it’s obvious or unfolding, there are people, so many, who're marginalized and scared. I want to be a voice, to provide comfort and understanding, to raise my arms in the air and insist that discrimination and rejection ends. I want anyone who comes out to have a safe place. I want to help people,” I pause and catch my breath, “People like me.”
Ms. Schaffer’s eyes are moist. “Well, that was an improvement on my last student’s request. Thank you, Willa. You're very brave and that kind of courage gives me hope. That was the best damn college essay in the making that I’ve ever heard. I will rally for you. I’ll do anything I can.”
She goes on to outline a few options, programs, and promises to send me an email with all the information she has. “With just a couple days of school left and many colleges closed for application, what I can do is limited at this point, but there are always options.”
We talk a few more minutes about how I can be involved in the meantime. “I’m going to send you a few questionnaires too, to help you pinpoint whether you want to study social services, civil justice, journalism, communications, work at an outreach center…”
She glances at the computer screen, reviewing a few files. “Uh, oh.”
“What-oh?”
“What do you know about Mr. Silver’s final?” One eyebrow lifts accusingly.
Then I remember. “Oh fu—”
“It seems you haven’t turned it in?”
“I totally forgot. I'll have it in by tomorrow.” That assignment slipped my mind the exact moment Joss’s lips first brushed mine—or maybe it was when Grady mentioned breaking rules, and four years of fantasy came to fruition.
“You'll have all ten pages by tomorrow?”
“Yes, they’re double spaced,” I answer, feeling a sudden invincibility and confidence in the knowledge that I have a direction. I can do anything. Even a ten-page paper in a matter of hours.
She smirks. “I was going to invite you to our final LGBT meeting tonight. It’s a potluck, but I’ll understand if you can’t make it since you’ll be busy with the assignment.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate your help.” And I do because my purpose is becoming more clear and I carry the hope that someday there will be more people in Teddy's parade than on the sidelines.
Chapter Twenty-Three
☾
Thursday
At the final bell, I busy myself in the rusty, paint-chipped cavern of my locker, avoiding Grady. It isn’t that I don’t want to see him, but a distraction right now will completely derail my plans for the next few hours. I stuff my bag with the materials I’ll need for the overdue paper and slam my locker shut.
When I turn, Joss stands just inches away. She pops and snaps her bubble gum and then grins as if she knows exactly what I'm thinking. Oh-em-effin-gee I want her lips on mine.
“Need a ride home?” she asks.
&nbs
p; I leave logic in my locker. I’ll get the paper done even if I have to stay up all night. “Sure.”
I shoulder my backpack and our hands brush when she lifts hers to the back of her neck. It’s as if all bajillion-ty lights on the motherboard turn on. My skin hums. After my encounter with Dave and Lola/Eve, and my newfound purpose, I want to be brave and hold her hand in the hallway.
I swallow hard. Forget Dave. I erase Lola/Eve from my mind. I gather in my parents and their understanding. Annie Lemon and Rosa, their freedom lost, even if temporarily, recovering in the hospital gouges little holes in my perception. I listen to my heart and I'm unshakable.
Just before I reach for Joss’s fingers, instead I grip the straps on my backpack, burdened by guilt that Grady might see us. Nonetheless, we walk out the double doors and into the almost-summer day that finally found its sunshine.
We roll down the windows in the granny-car and Joss cranks on music. She mentions the name of the obscure punk band, but I don’t recognize it. She leaves her cellphone in her bag. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping Annie and Rosa are okay. I say a quiet prayer for my friends and cast it into the breeze. While the singer screams a revolutionary anthem and Joss sits beside me, red hair blowing in the wind, long bare legs, and big dreams, I lean my head against the seat and turn so I’m facing her.
With Joss, it’s as if the volume is always turned way up. She's like jumping into an icy lake, thrilling and daring and exhausting in all the best ways. I don’t even mind being stuck in the stream of afternoon release traffic because I can count on one hand how many more times I'll do this, plus, I’m with Joss, and everything feels electric with possibility. I whoop out the window.
The blue Mustang pulls out from the light ahead. Grady O’Testosterone. Grady, oh Grady. My thoughts race to catch up with the waxed and polished vintage car and the boy driving. He’s familiar, the boy I’ve dreamt of for years and bonus, all of a sudden he likes me. I really, really like him too: his laid-back attitude, easy confidence, and his face, his chest...I hope someday to be able to complete that list, maybe?
Everything about this time, stretching from last week until some indeterminate point in the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours is intense. I want to dig through the proverbial treasure for answers, or at least add some polish to highlight the glittering reflection of the person I'm becoming. But who am I becoming?
“Are you gay?” I ask Joss suddenly, over the stereo. I know her answer, but as soon as the words are out, what I'm really asking her is to figure out mine.
As if shaken up by the accident yesterday, but not the question, she doesn’t look away from the road. “Yes, I’m a lesbian.”
“How do you know?”
“Am I French Canadian? Eighteen? Right handed?” She shrugs. “I just know.”
“When did you figure it out?”
“Around sixth grade I knew for sure. I mean up until then, boys were kind of gross anyway, but then some of the other girls started talking about kissing them and going out.” She shrugs again. “At first I kind of thought something was wrong with me because I didn’t feel that way about boys. My mom said I was probably a late bloomer. Then I realized I felt that way about girls, but just not any in real life. When my uncle came out a couple of months later, I understood that if guys can like guys then girls can like girls.”
She takes one hand from the steering wheel and rings her fingers around mine.
I sizzle. “It must be nice to know where you stand when it comes to sex and attraction and lust.” I stop, suddenly uncomfortable. Grady's image bursts into my mind.
“It's not always easy. There are some messed up messages out there.”
“True, but things are changing, right? There are people like your uncle and my parents who are so awesome.”
“And like my dad who’s the opposite.”
“Yeah. And Eve.” I tell her about my encounter.
Her body tightens as if she’s spring loaded, ready to attack. “Whatever. She’s repressed. Guaranteed she’ll have a lesbian affair when she’s like fifty-five or she'll just end up lonely.”
Our laughter flies on the wind.
“So am I gay?” I ask boldly.
“What about Grady?”
I don’t answer because he excites me in much the same way Joss does, but I wouldn’t want to hear that if I were her. Nonetheless, I can’t hide or deny it either. Teddy's voice echoes in my mind. “Maybe bisexual? Bicurious?” The tethers connecting me to conviction loosen as I say it all aloud.
“Willa, only you can answer that. The whole labels thing, I’m so over it, but they do help people. They helped me. If you were to ask me again, right now, if I’m gay, I might answer, I love people, ones who happen to be women, but they’ve also been dog-lovers, aspiring fashion designers... You are whatever and whoever you want to be. If you asked me if I'm gay a third time, I might answer yes, I’m happy—relatively. I might say I'm compassionate and vegetarian. Being gay isn’t the only thing that defines me, but it's a big part of who I am. Yeah, I'm queer and proud of it and—” She swallows hard as if the free-write version of her train of thought chokes her up.
The stereo plays between us.
When she speaks again, her voice is softer, the notes deeper. “Just before my mom passed away, I came out; I told her. She didn’t answer right away. In the end, she just said, ‘Fine.’ That was it. Then when my dad found out—she must have told him—he was so angry, like I'd robbed them of the daughter they thought they had by telling her the truth. Then, a few days later, she whispered—it was one of the last times she spoke—she said, ‘I love you no matter what,' and those words washed away the previous few days of self-loathing and all the screaming and arguing my father and I did. In the end, I discovered that I have to listen to my heart, no matter what.”
We’re both quiet for a minute. Then Joss shuffles around for a new song when we stop at a light, changing the mood.
“So what does being gay mean to you?” I ask. "Like, define being in a relationship with a girl."
Without pausing she says, “In my opinion it’s the combination of feeling attracted, aroused, and like the relationship you have with the person is meaningful, even if it’s just a fling. Whatever it is, long or short term, it feels true to you.”
“I like that.”
Driving more cautiously than when we went to the lake, she turns toward me and says, “I like y—” But her attention snaps to the road when we turn onto Druery Lane. I immediately spot the blue Mustang pulling into my driveway.
Crap timing. She stops next to the curb. I put my hand on the door, am about to speak a version of an apology, but the muscle car says too much. Discomfort sticks to the vinyl between us as I peel myself out of the seat. I get out and lean into the window of the granny-car. “Will I see you at Heather’s party?” I ask.
A dark shade of gray shrouds Joss's eyes as if the reality of Grady and me being so close erased our conversation. I thought she understood where I was coming from.
“Willa, the truth is damn hot. I dare you to try telling it.” The opening chords of a new song harmonize with the sharpness in her husky voice. She puts the car in gear with one last soul-penetrating stare. I step back from the window and she pulls away.
Grady rests on his elbows, leaning over the roof of the Mustang. “Where’d she go in such a hurry?”
Maybe the gossip about Joss and me at Teddy's party ended with the girls in the locker room, Dave Hastings, and Eve because he doesn't seem to know about us.
I shrug or slouch, not wanting to move too much because my entire body suddenly aches, particularly the part under my ribs.
“I thought we could all—” He abruptly stops himself.
“We could all what? Who all?” I ask.
He bites his lip. “You know, hang out?”
“With Joss and me?” I have a Dave flashback and baldly ask, “Why?”
“You’re cool, she seems cool…”
I’m suspiciou
s of his intentions and I have a paper to finish and a party to get to. Maybe he did hear about Joss and me in the pool. Dave's stupid suggestion smothers reason. “I thought we were hanging out tomorrow night.”
“Right. I heard you and Joss had become good friends so I thought maybe we—”
I don’t have time to get into this, but curiosity wins. I narrow my eyes and take a few steps closer. “You want to hang out with both of us, together, tomorrow night?”
“Well, yeah, I mean, if you wanted to. No big deal.”
There’s a swishy feeling in my belly that gets heavy, fast. Dave's abominable French about a threesome echoes in my ears.
“I thought we were going on a date, you and me.”
He cuts me off. “Augie, well… Hey, really, no big thing. Whatever you want. Forget I said anything.” He steps closer and then dips his head. His lips quickly meet mine. The swishy feeling lifts and then unfurls warmly.
I retreat first. There’s something I want to wipe away, but I’m not sure what. “I have a paper and Heather’s party—” I run out of letters.
He claps his hand on the roof of the Mustang and then gets in. He waves and smiles. "Tomorrow."
I shuffle toward the house, my fingers on my lips, wishing they were Joss’s, but I'm not sure if it's because I feel bad about how she and I left things, because I really like her, or because with Joss, I know what comes after kissing.
I flip on the ancient computer and grab a snack. While I wait for it to warm up, I systematically forget about Teddy and his not gayness. I send Joss to the lake for a swim, though that’s temporarily distracting. I ask Grady to camp out on some far-flung mountain so I don't waste time contemplating whether I'm angry at his question. I have to get this paper done.
The cursor blinks. I close my eyes, envision the words, and then begin typing. One word, two, ten, an entire page fills. My fingers fly over the keyboard, fueled not by excitement for the party later, but my desire for completion. Graduation is a couple of days away. There's no turning back, no stopping time. I’m almost there whether I like it or not.
Chasing Days Page 21
