“What about you?” I asked. “You seemed to be getting plenty of play.”
Van fidgeted, feet tapping, picking at his fingernails. “Well, there was this one guy from Gull Lake.”
I grinned. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Really cute and smart and all-around adorable? After you and Amelia took off, we danced, like, three songs in a row. Maybe it would’ve been more, but then his mom picked him up.”
“Still, that’s awesome! You get his info?”
Van slumped and looked out the window. “Not exactly.”
“What!”
“After what happened on New Year’s, I didn’t have the nerve.”
I groaned. “Vaaan! That was one guy. One jerky, totally-not-worth-it guy.”
“I know.”
“It’s not too late. You could look him up online.”
“I didn’t even get his name. You’d have to, like, drive me to Gull Lake so we could stalk him.”
“I’d do it, you know.” I owed Van. All his nagging (or encouragement, whatever you wanted to call it) had paid off. I had the memory of Amelia’s lips on mine to prove it.
He shook his head and hauled himself upright. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve got you taken care of. One out of two ain’t bad.”
We got our copies of the new Watchman during homeroom, and there were Mo and I, taking up half of page five. All morning people I didn’t know walked up to me between classes, holding out their papers and asking, “Is this you? Did this really happen to your dog?” And acting impressed when I said yes.
I wasn’t used to this, to people looking at me and thinking, Wow, that Colby Bingham? She did something really great. I wasn’t used to people looking at me at all. Now I was suddenly in the spotlight (on page five, anyway), and for once I didn’t get the feeling everyone was thinking, Shrimp, slacker, lesbo. They were thinking, Dog rescuer. Two of my teachers even called me a hero.
It was stupid—yet stupendous. Between the article and Amelia, I felt like a flashlight with fresh batteries, shining bright again. It almost made me feel like I could stand another year of high school.
On Tuesday red and pink balloons bobbed off lockers, smacking you in the face if you didn’t watch out. Heart-shaped candy caked our molars in every class. The entire school buzzed with Valentine’s Day drama. Everyone was hung up on whether so-and-so had bought them a flower from the student council sale, and whether that flower was a rose or a carnation, and whether it was red for true love, pink for crushes, or yellow for friendship.
Unfortunately, “everyone” included me. I actually laid down the cash for a pink rose for Amelia; I didn’t want to get her hopes up—or mine. But I was relieved when I was called to the door during algebra to pick up a pink rose of my own, plus a yellow carnation from Van.
With Rachel, every moment had felt like a frayed wire, humming with energy, showering sparks when she touched me. Not that it wasn’t exciting to be with Amelia, but it was more like a Ferris wheel, not a roller coaster. Maybe it was because I kept ordering myself to take things slow. The longer I held back, the longer things would last before she decided it was “too much” and cut me off.
I didn’t kiss her again that whole week. Instead, we just talked—at school and at night by phone. We never seemed to run out of things to say to each other. Amelia made me feel like I could say anything. Or maybe it was just that after months of talking mostly to Van and Mo, I was overflowing with things to say. Anyway, it was so different from how I’d felt around Rachel, always afraid the next thing I said would show I was the world’s biggest idiot.
“Aren’t your parents suspicious?” I asked once. “Don’t they want to know why this random girl is calling you every day?”
“Promise you won’t get mad? I told them there’s a new phone tutoring program at school, and you’re calling for help in math.”
“What about your friends? What do you tell them?”
“Outside the Alliance? Math again.”
“You know, you lie an awful lot for a good girl.”
“I know,” she said. “I know, and I hate it.”
I wished I hadn’t said anything. “It’s only half a lie, anyway,” I told her. “I’m terrible at math.”
Friday night Robyn coached Mo and me on “leave it”—a command that was supposed to prevent Mo from picking up chicken bones, chipmunk carcasses, used Kleenexes, and other random garbage around Trail’s End. But we were hopeless at it, thanks to my total lack of focus. I kept thinking about the next time I’d see Amelia.
Robyn said, “You seem a bit distracted, Colby.”
I blushed. “Sorry. It’s just, there’s—things.”
“It’s okay. It’s nice to see you looking so happy.” Robyn scratched Mo’s chest, and he flopped on his side for a belly rub. Lorraine and Oscar trotted up. Robyn did her best to pet all three dogs at once.
“I met this girl,” I blurted, then mentally kicked myself. Weeks of keeping my private life private—kaput. Not to mention I didn’t know whether Robyn was okay with the gay thing—though, of course, if she had a problem with it, I’d grab Mo and leave without another word. I didn’t have room in my life for that crap.
But Robyn grinned. “That’s terrific! I wondered if that was it. That glow in your cheeks, that sparkle in your eye—it looked like love to me.”
“Well, I don’t know if I would go that far,” I said.
“What’s her name?”
“Amelia.”
“And what’s she like? What makes her special?”
I blushed even harder. “I don’t know. She’s—I don’t know.”
“But she’s awesome, huh?” Robyn said.
“Yeah, pretty much.”
Robyn stopped dog juggling and gave me a quick hug. “Well, congratulations, Colby. You deserve a nice girl.”
“A nice girl,” I repeated. “Who are you, my mother?”
The words just slipped out, and I felt a little jolt in my gut, like an elevator dropping two inches. I wanted to believe that Mom would like Amelia. I wanted to believe she’d be cheering for me, too. But I didn’t know—and I never would.
I’d come close to telling her, once. It had been fall of freshman year. Mom was sick and getting sicker. Liliana, who I’d seen around school but had never spoken to much, had cornered me in the third-floor bathroom one afternoon. She snapped her watermelon gum and said, “You like girls, don’t you?” Before I could answer or ask how she knew, she’d planted her mouth on mine and sucked my breath away. Then she turned and walked out, giving me a wink and a wave over her shoulder. I stood there so long that I was late to English.
There’s a big difference between thinking you might be gay and actually doing something about it. Well, I guess Liliana had done it for me—but either way, a hypothetical had become a reality. I’d kissed a girl. And I’d liked it. And I wanted to do it again.
Over dinner Mom had teased, “Well, somebody’s head is in the clouds. What’s up, Bee?”
The dazed smile dropped from my face as I stared across the table at her—at her bruised-looking eyes and pale skin. She wore a tie-dyed scarf to keep her bald head warm, and her sweater hung loose across her gaunt shoulders. I think I knew that she wasn’t going to get better. I knew it, and I thought, If you wait long enough, you’ll never have to tell her. You’ll never have to risk her loving you any less.
So I’d mumbled, “Nothing,” and the moment passed. I had no idea then how many times I would regret that: hiding myself from the person I loved most.
But now, the word mother had an even stranger effect on Robyn. I could have sworn, as she stooped to give Lorraine another scratch, that there were tears in her eyes.
Later, I felt guilty for blabbing to Robyn about Amelia. Since Mom wasn’t around, Dad should have been next to know—not Mo’s freaking veterinarian. Van was right: I had to tell my father the truth. But what if coming out was the final straw that made Dad buy a rig
—whatever color—and drive from sea to shining sea, never to return again?
Still, I wished I could tell him. Even when we spent the day under the same roof, I felt like we were each sealed in a crystal bubble. It looked so easy to reach out and touch each other, but there was only so close we’d get before—crack!—knocking each other back. Something kept us apart, kept us from talking about anything that mattered. Kept him from understanding how much I needed him.
Dad got in late that night. When I woke the next morning, I started working up the nerve to tell him. But while I was out jogging with Mo, I realized the timing was terrible. I had to be at work soon, and if it turned into some big discussion—as it no doubt would—I’d have to duck out in the middle. For eight hours, the two of us would be stuck stewing.
So when Dad asked, over breakfast, “What’s news, Bee?” I said, “Nothing much. Same old, same old.” I would tell him at dinner instead.
But when I came home that night, Dad was watching a special on TV about some tropical island where people wear nothing but paint, and the birds are so bright and fancy they look like something a kid drew with a whole box of Crayolas. I sat down to watch it with him, and we ate the Chinese takeout I’d picked up. Mo sat between us, drooling, before giving up and slumping onto the couch with a grunt. Soon Mo’s eyelids drooped shut.
I couldn’t possibly tell Dad now. We were too comfortable and relaxed. There’d been no talk of my grades or buying trucks. Why risk spoiling the little bit of happiness we had?
THERE WAS NO school on Monday because of Presidents’ Day. I drove over to Amelia’s to pick her up. She ran out to Scarlett, hair streaming behind her, and stuck her head in. “Can you come inside for a couple minutes? My mother wants to meet you.”
I shut off the engine. “You’re kidding.”
“Unfortunately, no.” Amelia made a face. “She said if I was going to spend so much time with you, it was good manners to introduce you. But they still don’t, you know, know.”
“Relax,” I said. “I won’t reveal the awful truth.”
The Hoogendoorns’ house was cheery and cozy—a bit too much, in my opinion. There was a grandfather clock in the front hall, flanked by the kind of oversize, glassy-eyed dolls that got animated by evil spirits and went on homicidal rampages in horror movies. There wasn’t a flat surface that didn’t have half a dozen “country charm” knickknacks on it.
Mrs. Hoogendoorn matched her house. She had a fluffy, bobbed haircut and wore a sweatshirt cross-stitched with daisies. I couldn’t imagine my own mother wearing a shirt like that in a million years. “You must be Colby,” she said. She shared Amelia’s dimples. “We’ve heard so much about you and your puppy.”
I stifled a smirk. “It’s nice to meet you, too,” I said in my best for-adults-only voice.
“It’s so good to see Amelia branching out: making new friends, getting involved in the school community,” Mrs. Hoogendoorn said as if Amelia weren’t there and I was another parent. “Like her Ecology Club and the tutoring program. I’ve never seen her so happy.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “High school’s a great time for expanding your horizons.” I tried to catch Amelia’s eye, daring her to keep a straight face, but she was intensely interested in straightening a row of ceramic roosters on the mantelpiece.
“Well, I’ll let you girls get to whatever it is you’ve got planned. Amelia, please call if you won’t be home in time for dinner.” Mrs. Hoogendoorn saw us to the door and waved as we drove away.
The laughter we’d been struggling to contain burst out. We couldn’t even talk until we were out on the main road. I wiped the tears from my eyes. “What is it we’ve got planned, anyway?”
“We could go to your place,” Amelia suggested.
My imagination took over. I felt very warm all of a sudden. “Math tutoring?”
She smiled sweetly. “I left my calculator at home. Should we go back for it?”
“I’ll share mine with you,” I said, pulling up at a stoplight. “If you ask nicely.”
Amelia leaned over and kissed me for the first time in a week. Her lips tasted like peppermint. “Was that nice enough?” she asked when the light turned green.
As if Scarlett and my brain ran on the same circuit, they both completely stalled out. I revved up the engine, and we lurched forward once more. “Very nice,” I managed.
Mo was overjoyed to see Amelia again, and he got a whole lot more slobber on her. I was a little jealous, to be honest. We baked brownies and sat on the couch to eat them, straight out of the pan with a spoon. “Delicious,” I said through a fudgy mouthful, passing the pan back to Amelia as Mo watched. “But not as delicious as you.”
Amelia fumbled with the pan. “Likewise, I’m sure. I mean, I know I don’t really have any basis for comparison, but you seem really, um, good at it.”
“Making brownies?” I asked innocently. “I just follow the directions on the box.”
“You know what I mean! How many girls have you kissed, anyway?”
“It’s not the quantity, it’s the quality,” I teased, but her eyes were serious. She really wanted to know. “Just two,” I said. “I mean, three. You—”
“And Rachel, right?”
I nodded.
“I thought so. Who else?”
“Liliana, a few times back in ninth grade, but you know what she’s like. It’s her life’s mission to lock lips with every girl in school.”
“I’m offended she hasn’t kissed me yet.”
I grinned. “Don’t worry, it’s only a matter of time.”
“I’ll be on my guard,” Amelia said. “So, really? Rachel, Liliana, and me? That’s it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just, you always act so, I don’t know, tough, like you’ve seen everything—”
“And done everyone?”
“Don’t take it the wrong way,” Amelia said. “I’m glad I’m only number three. I guess I just assumed—You’re so comfortable with who you are, you know? Everyone knows about you, and you don’t even care.”
I shrugged. “After Liliana, the rumor mill started rolling. I didn’t have much choice. Besides, I had bigger things to worry about.”
“Like what?”
“My mom.”
Amelia winced. “Oh. Of course. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I didn’t tell her that kissing Liliana had been the most effective way I had of forgetting Mom’s cancer for a few minutes. I hadn’t given a shit whether other kids found out about our make-out sessions or what they thought of me.
Amelia sighed and settled against me, pan in her lap. “When I figured out that I might be—you know—I thought about it for a really long time. I wanted to be sure it was true, I guess. I don’t think I slept for a week. I thought about it all night, every night.”
“How did you figure it out?”
“Oh, um—there was this girl last summer. At church camp. Nothing happened, but—well, I had some dreams. Not all of them while I was asleep.”
“I know what that’s like,” I said. “My seventh-grade social studies teacher, Ms. Whittier? I once dreamed about shopping at Victoria’s Secret with her. I didn’t learn a thing about the imports and exports of Guatemala that year, but I memorized every freckle on her face.”
We laughed.
“Your mom seemed really nice,” I said.
“She is really nice. But trust me, Colby”—Amelia sat up and took another spoonful of brownie—“you can be a nice person and still get things dead wrong.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“How’d you do it?” Amelia asked. “Break it to your dad, I mean?”
The brownies turned to concrete in my stomach. I forced out a little laugh. “Dad’s away too much to be bothered by anything I do. Just catch your parents when they’re feeling guilty about something. Trust me, they’ll say okay to just about anything—even something like Mo. Rig
ht, buddy?”
Mo took this as an invitation to step forward at last, thrusting his snout at the brownie pan. Amelia hopped off the couch, holding the pan high. Mo did a charmingly awkward three-legged dance beside her into the kitchen, hoping for leftovers, but Amelia set the meager remains on top of the refrigerator, well out of his reach. Then she tumbled back onto the couch, and I pulled her against me, relieved to move onto an activity that didn’t involve talking.
ON FRIDAY I was about to knock on Robyn’s door but stopped with my knuckles half an inch from the wood. I could hear Lenny’s gruff voice: “… don’t like to see you working so hard.”
Robyn murmured in response. Then—
“Of course it’s work. It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing or whether you’re drinking tea with crumpets. It’s work. Look at you. You’re exhausted.”
Back to Robyn, who should have been a librarian, she talked so quietly.
“What I see is you running this business almost single-handedly—not to mention being sole breadwinner right now—and going way beyond what any sane person would do for a kid who, to put it kindly, sounds like she’s got some issues. What am I missing?”
Robyn again.
“I hate to say it, but there are times when I’m truly glad we don’t have kids. You already worry yourself sick over every stray you meet.”
Then Lenny’s voice dropped, leaving Mo and me with just the sound of traffic from Harrington Road and my chattering teeth. Mo whined at my side, wondering why we were still standing on the icy steps when dog biscuits and rubber postmen awaited us within. “Shhh.” I stroked his ears and strained mine. Still nothing. Maybe they’d left the kitchen.
Robyn and Lenny were arguing about me, that much was clear. Part of me wanted to tiptoe down the stairs, climb into Scarlett, and never come back. I didn’t know what was worse: being a charity case or being the kid that Robyn, for whatever reason, couldn’t have. Suddenly, the eagerness seeping from her every invitation made so much sad sense. I hadn’t wanted Robyn to pity me, but now I pitied her.
Still, who did Lenny think he was, bossing Robyn around? Where did he get off comparing me to a stray animal? Anger kept me on the doorstep. I counted to thirty, so they’d know I absolutely hadn’t been standing there long enough to eavesdrop, then knocked.
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