I nod. I hear his words, but my heart doesn’t understand them. All I care about is her.
The next couple of days are agony, with Hannah holed up in her room. Then, suddenly, one morning she bursts into my room like nothing happened.
“Hey!” she says. “You miss me?”
“Y-yeah,” I say, wiping the sleep from my eyes. “What happened, H?”
“Oh, nothing,” she says quickly. “I just got a little sad because…”
“Because?”
“Jane,” she says, and I can tell she has bad news. “I’m going home.”
“What? When?” No, this cannot be happening.
“My parents are getting a divorce, and my mom wants me to come home. It was my dad who wanted me in here in the first place. He’s moving in with some girlfriend of his, so I guess he doesn’t care about me anymore.”
“Whoa. I’m sorry. That’s…that’s—”
“Awesome!” she says.
I look at her, stunned.
“Yeah,” she says. “Once I realized that I can stop playing by the rules and just be out—really out—in the world, it was like this huge weight lifted off me. I’ll live with my mom, and I can be free to date whomever I want. And I want you, Jane.”
She leans in to kiss me, and I am overcome with joy and sadness all at once.
“Wait,” I say. “You’re getting out. You’re leaving me?”
She nods. “It’s just for a little while. I’m going home, and then when you get out, you come and find me, and we will be together. Okay?”
“Okay,” I say, then hesitate for a moment.
“What is it, babe?” She grins at me. “You worried about me?”
“No,” I lie. “Okay, yes. It’s just… you seemed so weird. Like you didn’t even recognize me.”
“I’m fine now,” she says. “Finding out about my parents kind of wrecked me for a minute, but it’s all good. Now,” she says with a wicked smile, “how about we make the most of my time left, and I show you just how okay I am?”
We don’t waste any time. My restrictions are lifted (thanks, Jake), and we go everywhere together—class, lunch, dinner, youth group, Bible study, church service. We don’t care where we are as long as we’re together. We sit together in the pews and use the hymnals to communicate secret messages by circling the letters in the songs. One day some No Hoper is going to open a hymnal and find some steamy lesbian love messages.
I’m allowed in Hannah’s room as long as the door is open, and we borrow the school’s portable stereo to play CDs from Hannah’s collection. There are no MP3 players or phones allowed here, but Hannah gets a pass for music because it’s considered part of her therapy. Most of her collection got confiscated during intake. No rock music (because the devil) and no lesbian music (whatever that is) allowed. They let her keep Chopin and some Leonard Cohen. I guess she showed the intake team the “Hallelujah” track and convinced them Cohen was a safe bet.
Hannah loves her Leonard Cohen. Her favorite lyric is the one where he sings about a crack being in everything and how, without that crack, the light can’t get in. Hannah says she’s “super-cracked” so she has more light inside than most people. I believe her. I can see it.
I decide that from now on I’m just going to pray to Leonard Cohen. He’s the closest thing to God we have in here.
Dear Leonard, please help me. These people don’t understand your poetry. How will I survive? Also, what’s the best way to seduce Hannah?
When we’re not listening to Our Lord Cohen on repeat, we make plans. We talk about getting an apartment together. We draw pictures of what our home will look like. We imagine a shabby little place above a coffee shop where we’ll work as baristas during the day. We’ll write novels at night, and we’ll look however we want and dress however we want and kiss each other out in the open. This promise to each other makes it a little easier to imagine getting through this place on my own.
The day Hannah is set to leave, the weather is humid. We go outside into the courtyard to stare at the mean gray sky.
“A storm is coming,” says Hannah, her hair whipping around as the wind picks up. “We should go in.” She turns to go, but I can’t follow her.
“I’m afraid I’ll never see you again.” My voice comes out small and weird.
She turns to look at me. “Hey, it’s okay,” she says.
“Just stay with me,” I plead.
“I can’t.”
“No, I mean stay with me here, outside, just for a while.”
She looks at the sky. “It’s going to rain.” She smiles and shrugs.
We sit on the hard asphalt, cross-legged and back to back, our heads leaning toward each other as we look up. The clouds are moving faster now and the air is charged with a tinny taste and an electric feel. We watch as the storm rolls toward us, the steel-colored rain clouds booming with thunder. We just sit and let it come. At first there are a few small drops of rain and then we see a curtain wash toward us over the asphalt. Rain soaks our hair and clothes and we wait until the clouds pass overhead. We sit shivering for a long time, and then we get up to go. I look back over my shoulder as we approach the doors, the dry impressions we left on the pavement quickly disappearing as the rain takes them over.
I go to my room alone and change into dry clothes. I can’t warm up. Hannah knocks on my door and then pokes her head inside. I sit on the bed and pat the mattress. She comes in and sits down, resting her head on my shoulder.
“I’m not going to do a whole big thing,” she says. “I’m just going to leave. Because I can’t handle that right now.”
“Okay.”
“You have to promise me something, Jane.”
“Anything.”
“No matter what happens when I’m gone, you have to keep going. You have to love yourself, Jane, because you are amazing. You’re everything. You have to believe in yourself, Jane, the way I believe in you. You’re going to be something special one day.”
“Okay,” I say, because it’s all I can manage through the tears that are falling down my face. When Hannah says something, I believe it, because she always tells the truth.
When she leaves a few minutes later with promises to write, it’s all I can do not to break down completely. For a little while I fantasize about escaping and running after her, but I know that’s not what she’d want. I have to focus on the plans we made.
I have so much to look forward to. I can hardly wait.
Chapter Thirteen
The next several weeks are tough, but I put my head down and study, and I manage to pull up my grades to the point that Jake even asks me if I’ve thought about applying to college.
“College?” I ask. “Are you nuts?”
“No,” he says. “I think you can do it. So let’s say you decide to go for it. What would you study?”
“Well,” I say, pretending I haven’t thought about this before, “I kind of want to be a writer.”
Jake smiles. “I think that’s perfect for you. There’s actually a decent program at Beacon. You could go part time to start. I’ve spoken to your parents, and I know they’re on board with helping you with your tuition.”
“Seriously?” I can’t believe it.
“You’ve come a long way, Jane. Your dad and I have been speaking regularly, and he’s very happy with your progress.”
I nod. “I guess. The thing is, my plan is to get out and find Hannah. Then we’re going to travel the world and maybe get married and maybe start a family. Or maybe none of that, I don’t know. Maybe she’ll come to college with me. Whatever it is, though, it will be with Hannah.”
Jake smiles. “One thing at a time, okay? Why don’t we fill out some applications? Cover your bases.”
And just like that, my once dark and hopeless future has some bright new options. It’s positively blinding.
Dad and Sheila come for a final visit, and it’s as awkward as hell. Dad actually seems pretty relaxed and proud of me—he keeps reaching
over and squeezing my shoulder. Sheila sits as far away from me as possible. She looks even skinnier than usual, like the corpse of an unhappy woman reanimated in Jake’s office.
Jake’s updating them on everything I’ve accomplished, and I notice that he keeps giving Sheila the side-eye.
“Wow, Janey, I’m so proud of you,” my dad says when he hears about my improved grades.
“Thanks, Dad.” I look at Sheila, but she says nothing. She just purses her lips even tighter, until her whole face seems pinched in.
Jake notices and clears his throat. “So, Sheila…” he begins.
“Mrs. Learning,” she corrects him.
“Of course,” says Jake.
Dad looks at Sheila, and I can see him bristle.
“Mrs. Learning,” Jake starts again, “Jane is planning on studying creative writing at Beacon College this fall. Will she have a safe place to stay while she does that?”
“Safe?” asks Sheila. “What the fudge does that mean?”
“It means,” says Jake calmly, “an environment free of judgment where she can focus on healthy behaviors. Can you provide that?”
“Janey is always welcome in our home,” says Dad. I want to hug him.
Sheila shifts in her seat.
“Mrs. Learning?” asks Jake again.
“Sheila?” my dad prompts. “Answer him.”
Sheila looks at Dad. “Listen, I know she’s your daughter, but she’s got so many problems. And she’s…she’s gay. I can’t have that in my house. It’s disgusting!”
The silence in the room is heavy. I find myself wishing Hannah was here. Hannah would know what to say.
“Dad?” I say. “It’s okay. I understand. I can figure something else out.”
Dad looks at me, then shouts, “Like hell!” Everyone jumps.
“John!” Sheila gasps.
“My daughter grew up in that house. That is her house. Her home. She belongs there with me. Hell, she’s belonged there all this time, but I’ve been trying so hard to make you happy, Sheila. And you know what? Nothing will ever make you happy! You’re just miserable.”
Sheila is stunned. I am stunned. Jake just sits there with a little smile on his face.
“J-John,” Sheila stammers.
“No, Sheila,” he says. “Jane has been through so much, and I can’t help but wonder if most of it is our fault.”
My dad is crying now, something I have never seen, and it cuts me to the core.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I say. “This is my fault.”
“No!” Dad grabs my hands in his. “This is on me. I’m so sorry I didn’t support you. I don’t want to hear you apologize for being who you are ever again. Do you hear me?”
I nod, because I can’t speak.
But my dad is not done speaking. He turns to Sheila. “You have a choice, Sheila, one that you never gave to Jane. You can accept her and stay, or you can get the hell out.”
I hide my crossed fingers behind my back.
Chapter Fourteen
Here’s something awesome—no more Sheila. Here’s something not so awesome—Dad got kicked out of our house and had to rent a crappy apartment. I don’t really care, and I don’t think he does either. He’s been calling it “a fresh start” every time he calls me.
He checks in with me nearly every day now, and, with Jake’s help, we’re talking about our issues. I’m starting to understand how scared and lonely Dad was, and he’s starting to understand how scared and lonely I was. Dad even says he’ll drive me out to see Hannah once I get out, but only on the condition that in the meantime I study hard. I tell him I think I can do that for a couple more weeks. I haven’t heard much from Hannah lately, and that kind of worries me. Her letters are coming less often now, and a couple of them were straight-up weird. I worry she’s having a hard time on the outside. Jake tells me to be patient, to wait and see. Yeah, I’m not so good at that.
I don’t have a lot of time to obsess about it, though, because I am busy getting my portfolio ready. I decide to take some of my journal entries and turn them into a longer story. It’s a memoir, I guess, of my time at No Hope. I’ve been thinking, too, that even though this place is crazy, and I still don’t buy into all the Bible stuff, maybe some of it isn’t so bad. I might even have to rethink my nickname for it.
Finally, graduation day comes. There’s no big ceremony. At No Hope, each kid graduates on their eighteenth birthday, all alone. I didn’t get a cap and gown, but I do wear my best jeans. As I make my way down to the same administration office that processed my intake, I pull nervously at my shirt sleeves. Part of me is scared they will change their minds and have me committed for all eternity.
When I get to the office, I am relieved to see that Dad is already there waiting, and Jake is standing with him. I look past them into the open office door and see Pastor Jim inside, shuffling papers. I’m looking for red hair, listening for the sound of a cinematic voice, trying to feel if the energy in this space is charged. But there’s none of that. Of course Hannah isn’t here. Still, I hoped.
I look at Jake, and he shakes his head. “I haven’t heard from her, Jane,” he says, reading my mind in his freaky way.
“Ready to graduate, Graduate?” Dad jokes, but I can tell he’s proud.
“Yeah, let’s do this,” I say, and I follow them into the office.
I get my diploma from Pastor Jim, and everyone shakes my hand like I’m an adult. It’s bizarre. The whole time, I’m thinking about Hannah.
“Anything to say, Jane?” asks Jake.
“I don’t know,” I say, looking at them looking at me. “You’d think I did something amazing.”
“You did,” says Dad.
“Indeed,” says Jake.
“Praise Jesus,” says Pastor Jim, and Dad gives him a look.
I laugh in spite of myself.
“We’re all very proud of you, Jane,” says Jake.
“Thanks,” I say, looking at my feet. Having people proud of me will take some getting used to.
“Now get out of here and don’t ever come back,” says Jake. He cracks a smile, and we all laugh, but I know what he means.
I take my diploma and follow Dad out through the unremarkable doors and to our car. I turn back and look at the building and marvel at how huge it seemed when I first came here. Now it looks so small. Jake is standing in the doorway, and he, too, looks even tinier than usual. He lifts his hand to wave. I wave back.
“Come on,” says Dad.
I hop in.
“Let’s put this place in our rearview mirror,” he says and peels out of the parking lot.
And just like that we’re off. Off to our new apartment. Off to my new life as a Baptist reform-school graduate. Off to Hannah, hopefully. Off to a future I can’t even begin to imagine.
Chapter Fifteen
Dad was right about our new apartment. It totally sucks. It’s tiny, there’s no laundry, and the stove only has one working temperature: nuclear. No big deal though. We’ll just be cramped and smelly, and all our dinners will be burned. At least we’ll be together and happy.
For his part, Dad makes good on his promise and offers, the day after my graduation, to drive me out to see Hannah. I call ahead to make sure she’s home, but no one answers.
“Let’s go anyway,” says Dad. “It’ll be more romantic to just show up.”
“Dad!”
“What? You want to do this or not?”
“I do.”
“Then let’s go. I’m dying to meet this redheaded goddess.”
“Dad! I told you that if I let you read my portfolio, you could not use it against me.”
Dad laughs. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. It’s cute. Besides,” he says, “your writing is really good, Jane. I can’t wait until you get your acceptance letter.”
Instantly my stomach is in knots.
Dad must notice my worried expression, because he is quick to reassure me.
“Hey,” he says. “What does Jake say?�
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I take a breath. “I know, I know. Stay in the moment. Try not to catastrophize.”
“Okay,” says Dad. “Now let’s go get your girl.”
We hurry out the door and hit the road.
It’s a bit of a drive out to Hannah’s place. She lives in a wealthy community about an hour or so from our crappy apartment.
When we finally arrive, I double-check the address against the envelope of one of her letters. The streets are dotted with stately homes boasting three-car garages and acres of perfect lawns.
“That’s it,” I say, pointing to a huge brown-brick home on the corner.
“Whoa,” says Dad as he pulls up the car. “It’s my dream house.”
“Really? It’s a bit big for my taste,” I say. I know he’s feeling down about the apartment.
“I didn’t even know how to dream about a house like this,” he says.
“Huh?”
“It’s funny,” Dad says. “You grow up a certain way, and you don’t even know enough about yourself or the world to know what to dream for yourself. Or how to expect people to treat you.”
“Dad? You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, honey. I’m just figuring things out too, you know?” He turns the car off and looks at me. “I’ll be here if you need me,” he says, but I’m already hopping out of the car and hurrying up the long driveway.
I am so nervous. I haven’t seen Hannah in a couple of months, and even though she said she loves me, her letters stopped coming. I can’t help but worry she might have met someone else.
I take a deep breath and step up to the door. I ring the bell and wait.
After an eternity, a tall red-haired woman answers the door. She is obviously Hannah’s mom.
I clear my throat. “Hi. You must be Mrs. Henriks,” I say. “I’m—”
“Jane,” she finishes, and her face goes white.
“Y-yeah,” I say. “Is Hannah here?”
Mrs. Henriks closes her eyes for a long moment, and when she opens them I see that her eyes are rimmed with tears. I notice now for the first time that she is dressed in black, that her hair looks uncombed, and that there are several large flower arrangements on the front step.
Learning Seventeen Page 5
