I'm such an idiot. Everyone calls me “Detective,” because I'm so good at solving problems. And yet, when it comes to those closest to me, I'm totally blind.
Three years. How many times have Bree and I talked, about nothing, about everything? How many times have we hugged? How many times have we slept over at each other's houses?
When I look at Bree, I see my best friend. The best friend I've ever had in my life. When she looks at me … the way she's been looking at me …
My God.
My best friend has a crush on me.
My best friend … has a crush … on me. Me.
How long has she felt like this?
And how did I not SEE that?
Because my eyes were somewhere else, that's why. Actually, a lot more than my eyes were.
I went on the Internet, and spent the next hour reading whatever I could find on signs of homosexuality in teens, searching for clarity. Unfortunately, I didn't find it. There were a lot of conflicting opinions on the best way to handle the situation, and there were an alarming number of stories about parents that couldn't accept that their children were gay. I was so thankful that Bree's parents were not like that, and I just couldn't understand why Bree hadn't talked to them about it instead of holding it all inside. The whole thing had gotten so out of hand.
What do I do? What do I say? My God, what if I'm wrong?
Out in the driveway, I heard Dad's car pull up. I thought about talking to him about Bree, but then decided against it. He's got enough to worry about right now.
When I walked into the kitchen, Dad was already setting the table. I caught a whiff of a familiar smell. A wonderful, divine smell. He looked up as I entered, and he had a huge smile on his face.
“Szechuan Chicken?” I asked, grinning.
“Uh huh,” he replied.
“Are we celebrating?”
“We are.”
I gave him a puzzled look. “Did we win the lottery?”
He finished setting the table, and pulled my chair out. “Almost as good.”
The aroma was driving me crazy. I sat down, picked up my fork and took my first succulent bite all in one motion. OMG. So good. “So what James Bond villain did you take down today?” I asked.
He laughed, spooning a healthy portion of Mongolian Beef onto his plate. “Nothing that grandiose,” he said. “But you'll like this one.”
“I'm all ears,” I said, taking a sip of water.
“Well, the D.A.'s case against Lynch has been hurting because some of the witnesses against him have recanted their statements.”
I nodded. The papers reported as much a few days after Dad's private conversation with Walter. “Go on.”
“Turns out one of Lynch's business associates in South America sent a small group of enforcers to locate all the witnesses against Lynch, and bully them into not testifying.”
“Aren't the witnesses being protected?” I asked.
“Yes, sweetheart,” he said. “Along with their immediate families. But there's only so many bodies the government can throw at this. There's always that one relative, that one loved one that comes home to find a stranger waiting for them.”
My jaw dropped. “Oh, my.”
“Well, earlier this afternoon, Uncle Walter and his team found and arrested the enforcers, and got a mountain of evidence that indirectly implicates Lynch.”
A huge smile crept over my face. “Dad, that's great!”
He pointed to our dinner. “Hence the celebration.”
I raised my glass of water. “To Uncle Walter!”
He picked up his glass and clinked it against mine. “To Uncle Walter,” he said, and we both took a big swig.
“So how long before it's all over?”
“Probably a few more weeks,” he said, taking another bite. “Then, hopefully, we can all get a good night's sleep.”
I nodded. Finally, some good news. I could use a lot more of that myself.
Chapter 30
~ DAY 33 (Fri.) ~
KELSEY
There's nothing worse than realizing someone you care about is hurting, and the cause of that pain is you. This whole week, I'd sat only feet away from Bree – literally, so close I could reach out and touch her – but she hadn't said a word to me. She wouldn't even look at me. And now I knew why. Or at least, I thought I knew why.
But I needed help in finding a way to deal with this. I thought long and hard about whom I could talk to, and in the end, I could only come up with one person.
A lot of scared and outraged parents came forward after Joshua's incident three years ago, understandably concerned about their kids' safety. Principal Marquez had done a fantastic job keeping the students safe from physical harm, but there was still the matter of their mental well-being, so the District Superintendent had approved the school board's request for a full-time counselor.
I'd only met her once, years ago, at the same time I met the principal. She seemed like a really great lady, and I hoped she would steer me in the right direction with regards to Bree.
Right after I finished lunch, I left the cafeteria and went to the main office. There was supposed to be a receptionist there, but it looked like she'd stepped out for a few minutes. I could hear faint music coming from an office just down the hall past the reception desk, so I gingerly walked around the desk and toward the music.
I read the nameplate on the wall right outside the door: 'T.R. Turner, School Counselor.' Peeking through the door, I saw a tall African-American lady putting some files into a cabinet. She was quietly singing along to the R&B tune that was playing on her tiny radio, which made me smile. She still hadn't seen me, so I quietly rapped on the door jamb. “Ms. Turner?” I asked.
She turned to look at me, and a large smile broke out on her face. “Well, my goodness! It's Kelsey Callahan!” Ms. Turner was in her late forties, slightly heavyset, with long, stylish hair and pearly white teeth. I remembered her being very cheerful at our first meeting, and it looked like her personality hadn't changed a bit.
“You remember me?” I asked in amazement. It had been three years, but she recognized me immediately, like it was yesterday.
“Of course I do,” she said cheerfully. “I remember all the kids I meet. I can never remember parents' names, but always the kids. Helps in my line of work. Please, come in! Have a seat!” She pointed to the chairs on the other side of her desk.
I sat down and looked around the office. It wasn't hard to tell where she came from originally: there was Cleveland sports memorabilia on practically every wall. “So … you're from Cleveland, I guess?” Brilliant deduction, Sherlock.
“Born and raised,” she said jovially. She turned the volume on the radio down, and then reached and pulled something wrapped in aluminum foil out of a paper bag on her desk. “Do you mind if I eat while we talk? This is kind of my lunch hour.”
“I don't mind,” I replied. “Why don't you eat lunch in the teacher's lounge with everyone else?”
She took a small bite of what smelled like a turkey sandwich. “Because you never know when a student is going to drop by to talk,” she said. “My door is always open.”
I remembered why I liked her so much the first time I met her. She was totally committed to her job. That was the kind of commitment that had helped James Madison recover from the black eye it had taken in the media. “So, what's on your mind?” she asked.
All of a sudden, my mouth became very dry. I realized I was about to reveal a secret that Bree had been keeping from everyone, possibly even her parents. Maybe it would be better if I just left her name out of it. “Well, Ms. Turner … it's kind of … you know, weird …”
She leaned forward slightly, meeting my gaze. “Kelsey, I've been doing this since before you were born. I'm sure there's nothing you can say to me that I haven't already heard before. And please, call me Renee.”
I exhaled, instantly relieved. “Thanks … Renee. Is that what the 'R' stands for?”
She nodded. �
�Yes, it is.”
“What does the 'T' stand for?”
“Trouble,” she said, winking. “At least, that's what my Mama always said when I was growing up.”
I laughed. I knew right then that I'd made the right choice in coming to see her. “Renee, I'm really worried about my best friend. She's been … well, moody. One minute she's happy, and the next, she just loses it. Right in front of me and her other friends, I mean. I've asked her over and over what's wrong, but she won't tell me. I think I know why, but I'm not totally sure.”
Renee took another bite of her sandwich, wrapped up the rest and put it in her desk drawer. “Okay, you have my full attention now. What do you think is your friend's problem?”
I exhaled. Just say it, Kelsey, that's why you're here. “I think she might be … homosexual.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “What makes you think that?”
Without mentioning her name, I went on to describe to Renee everything I knew about Bree, including her erratic behavior since the start of the school year and her meltdown after hearing about my relationship with Ethan.
“So what do you think?” I asked when I'd finished.
Renee stood up, walked around her desk, and sat down in the other chair right next to me. Keeping her voice low, she said, “I'm very glad that you came to me with this, Kelsey. Based on what you've described, I think there is indeed a strong possibility that your friend may be homosexual.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice even further. “How do you feel about that, if it turns out to be true?”
My brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Well, if your friend really does have a crush on you, how do you think that will affect your friendship?”
I thought for a moment, then said, “I don't want it to. She's my best friend, and I want her to always be my best friend. I don't care if she's into girls, I just don't want her to be … into me.”
She straightened up again. “I'm very glad to hear you say that. A lot of kids wouldn't be that accepting.” Then she stood up, walked over to her office door and closed it before returning to her seat. “Kelsey, what your friend is going through is nothing new. I've seen it many times before. Boys and girls your age are entering a very … confusing time in their lives. Your bodies are changing, and now is generally when kids start to develop their sexual identities.”
She sighed heavily. “What makes it so tough on boys and girls like your friend is the environment they live in. Most kids are brought up in heterosexual households – a mother and a father – and almost from birth, they're taught that it's 'normal' for men to love women and vice versa. So when kids develop urges that go against what they've been taught is 'normal,' they often feel like that makes them … abnormal. So many kids that develop non-heterosexual tendencies isolate themselves, keep their emotions all bottled up.”
“That sounds familiar,” I said.
“What can you tell me about her parents?”
I smiled, picturing Mr. and Mrs. Rodgers. “She has the greatest parents, like, ever. They're awesome.”
Renee smiled back. “That's good, but I think we can assume from her behavior that she hasn't yet told them either. It's possible she's cutting herself off from those closest to her because she's terrified that no one will accept her for who she is. And without help, her behavior will likely get worse.”
All sorts of scary images flashed through my head, each more tragic than the last. “What do I do?” I asked in a hushed tone.
“What she needs to understand – what you need to help her understand, Kelsey – is that she's not alone. That being a lesbian is nothing to be ashamed of. It's a lot more common than most people realize.”
“Really?” I asked in wonderment. “I've never known anyone that was … homosexual before.”
“Well, you are still quite young, Kelsey. And it's not like they wear signs or anything.”
“How common is it?” I asked.
Her eyebrows raised. “Recent statistics show that one family out of four has at least one member that is gay or bisexual.”
“Really?” One in four?
“Yes, really,” she replied. “I've also read that roughly eight percent of the population has an orientation that is non-heterosexual.”
Eight percent? That's … incredible. I did the math out loud. “So, there are a hundred and eighty-something kids in my class, which means …”
“About fifteen will end up being gay or bi, give or take,” Renee said, finishing my sentence.
My mind was reeling. That meant that in every class I was in, where it was me and thirty other kids, two, possibly three of them will end up preferring same-sex relationships. Wow. I never knew it was so common. But if this is who Bree is, then I have to accept it. I have to embrace it. Now I just have to get her to do the same thing.
“My goodness,” I said after a long pause. I looked Renee in the eyes again. “So if my friend is one of those fifteen …”
“Well, Kelsey, keep in mind that it's still pretty early on. Your friend is only thirteen, and she's only just begun to figure out who she is. She may indeed decide that she prefers girls, or she could decide at some point that she prefers boys after all. Or, she may decide that she likes both. No two people develop in the same way. And no matter how she develops, she's going to need the help and support of those she loves. Her parents, and her closest friends, like you. Convince her that she's not alone. That's the most important thing.”
A worried thought entered my head. “But what if she thinks I'm rejecting her? I don't want to lose her as a friend,” I said.
Renee smiled knowingly. “That's another thing she's going to have to learn. She needs to know that you have as much right to be heterosexual as she has to be homosexual. You can't force someone to love you, no matter how much you want them to.”
I nodded. I was going to have a lot on my mind this weekend. I looked at the clock on Renee's office wall, and saw that I only had a few minutes before the fifth-period bell rang. “Well, thank you, Renee,” I said. “You've given me a lot to think about.” I made a move to stand up, but she put her hand on my arm, motioning for me to remain seated.
“Kelsey … do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
“I … guess not,” I replied nervously.
“Do you know what you want to be when you grow up?”
I thought about this. Not that long ago, I would have replied 'a detective' without hesitation. But recent events with Dad had made me rethink the direction I want my life to go. “I'm … not really sure right now. I've been thinking about it a lot lately, though. Why do you ask?”
She smiled again. “I think you'd make a good counselor someday.”
I was shocked. “Really? Why?”
“It's my job to talk to students, and sometimes their parents. Most times, kids have to be dragged kicking and screaming into my office. All kids have issues, but getting them to talk about it with an adult is often very difficult.”
“I can imagine.”
“And when they do talk, they spend most of their time complaining about their teachers, or their classmates. It's rare that a student comes to me because they're concerned about someone other than themselves.”
My face flushed. “I just … didn't know where else to go.”
“But you came anyway, Kelsey, that's my point. You care about others, you're not judgmental, and most of all, you have empathy. Do you know what that is?”
I puzzled over the unfamiliar word. “Is it … when you feel sorry for someone?”
She shook her head. “Not quite. Sympathy is when you feel compassion for someone else's pain or difficulties, or, as you put it, feeling sorry for them. Empathy is when you put yourself in someone else's shoes, and literally feel the same pain they do.”
“I don't know, Renee,” I said. “I mean, that's nice of you to say, but … my best friend put out all these signs that she was homosexual, and I never had a clue. My Dad taught me to be observant since
I was a little girl, and it really bothers me that it took me so long to figure it out.”
She reached over and put a hand on my shoulder. “Kelsey, being a counselor doesn't make you a mind-reader. It's about understanding what the people you're trying to help are going through, and getting them to talk about it. Because if they can't talk about their problems, they can't find ways to solve them.”
Out in the hall, I heard the fifth-period bell ring. Renee and I stood up together, and I extended my hand in gratitude. “I'm really glad that I came to see you.”
She smiled, returning the handshake. “I'm glad you did too, Kelsey. I hope everything works out with your friend. And please, let her know that if she ever needs someone to talk to, my door is always open.”
“I will,” I said. I opened the door and moved to walk out, but then I turned back to face her. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Of course you may,” she said politely.
I exhaled. “How do you know so much about … you know, gay people?”
She looked down at the ground briefly, and then met my gaze again. “My little sister, Valerie. She was only a little older than you when she told us she was a lesbian.”
I nodded. “How'd it turn out for her?”
“Well, times were different back then. People weren't as tolerant of homosexuals as they are now. It took my parents many years to accept her for who she is. But after a while, with the rest of my sisters' and brothers' help, they came around. Gay or straight, she's still their baby.”
I smiled. “I'm glad.”
“She and her partner come home for Thanksgiving dinner every year now. She's never been happier.”
“That's awesome.”
“Take care, Kelsey,” she said.
“You too,” I replied, and walked off to my next class.
Chapter 31
~ DAY 33 (Fri.) ~
ETHAN
With today's dose of gel drying in my hair, I walked sleepily into the kitchen, mentally preparing my stomach for yet another bowl of Frosted Flakes. I poured out two bowls and set them on the kitchen table, covered them with milk, and sat down to wait for Logan. I looked toward the living room, where Pop was just finishing up a conversation with another agent, a tall African-American man that usually got guard duty in the evenings. He wasn't much of a conversationalist, so I just ignored him most of the time.
Ethan's Secret (James Madison Series Book 2) Page 18
