by Leah Scheier
“That I masturbate normally. Once or twice a week.”
“Oh my God! Ethan!”
He flinches at my tone and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Please don’t yell, Rain.”
“You can’t say that to a girl!” I exclaim, throwing my hands up in the air. “You can’t say that to anyone!”
“I know,” he replies evenly. “She informed me.”
“She…she did?”
“She said I’m only allowed to speak about that topic if someone asks me about it first.”
“If somebody asks you? Who’s going to ask you about that?”
“People talk about it all the time on TV.”
“That’s different! It’s funny when comedians do it.” But even as I say it, I realize it’s impossible to explain to him why it’s comical when Seth Rogen jokes about the subject and completely horrifying when Ethan blurts out his personal habits. “Just don’t talk about it again.”
“I already promised Hope.”
I stare at him for a moment and then sniff the air. “Is that beer smell coming from your culture plates?”
He shakes his head and taps a half-empty bottle in his trash bin. “Experiment.”
“Oh. Did you drink the experiment?”
“Yes,” he replies shortly. “Am I done with the Secret Rule for today? Can I go back to my costume now?”
“Yeah—I guess.” I’m not sure I got what I’d come for, though. I got him to look me in the eye and talk to me. But I can’t invoke the Secret Rule to ask for something as vague as understanding or forgiveness. Even the Secret Rule has limitations.
Chapter 14
The juniors of Clarkson High have been planning Kathy’s Halloween party for a long time. There was a sad attempt at Mike’s house on the last day of tenth grade, a couple of half-parties that fizzled over Christmas, and an embarrassing spring break disaster at Angel’s that ended with a host of furious neighbors, three roaring cops, and two kids in an overnight holding cell.
I wasn’t involved in any of that stuff; I heard about it the next day in school. Ethan and I generally stayed clear of anything with noise, alcohol, or the possibility of arrest. I always kept away because my mom has enough to handle without me adding to her worries. Maybe I’d party when I got to college or grad school. Until then I was just treading water in the safe area of the pool. Ethan stayed away from parties because no one ever invited him. Among other reasons.
But Kathy’s event would be the perfect mix of fun and safe. All the necessary stuff would be there: music, food (mine!), people, and beer. And Kathy’s house was in the middle of twenty acres of quiet farmland, and her nearest neighbor was a mile away. This weekend her parents were going to be in Great Falls, and she had no little siblings to worry about. So nothing could spoil the fun.
Most importantly, I now had a reason to go to this party. A six-foot-tall, curly-haired, serious, and sweet reason whom I couldn’t stop thinking about.
And of course there’s also Ethan and Hope. I had to be around to make sure her plan didn’t blow up in her face like my elephant toothpaste. So my countdown to Saturday’s party is tinged with a strange combination of excitement and dread.
The green dress looks good though. Hope gives her enthusiastic approval after I text her a selfie. The fried eggs on my head are an adorable touch, she adds.
Still, I’m worried my mom will start to wonder about the nature of the little “get-together” if she sees us all in costume. Most people don’t get dressed up to hang out with a couple of kids, even on Halloween. But Mom skips dinner that evening and by eight is already in bed with her laptop and a warm jug of tea. It doesn’t occur to her to question my explanation or our plans. After all, I’ve never been in trouble in my life. All she wants is her son to fit in for once, and she shouts her good wishes through her bedroom door. “Have a great time, Ethan!”
The doorbell rings a couple minutes later, and I run to answer it. Liam is standing on the porch bashfully twirling a pink tail. He’s wearing an overstuffed puffy hat with hanging ears, and a snout dangles lazily off one cheek.
His eyes scan my outfit. “Wow,” he breathes.
“You’re a pig!” I say simultaneously. And then my face gets warm. “I meant, the costume…”
He glances down at the tail in his hand. “Sorry, it was the only thing I could find. Porky Pig. It’s really old.”
“It’s cute. And no one can accuse us of doing a cheesy couples thing.”
“The fried eggs on your head are because you like to cook?”
I shoot him a flirty smile. “Sure. But mostly because I wanted to wear this dress.”
His eyes skim over me again and his face goes pink. “Yeah. You look…really… I mean, really. You know…”
I’m already loving this party, and we haven’t even left my house yet. It’s intoxicating to feel him looking at me like that. I’d be happy to bask in Liam’s bashful half sentences forever.
But then Ethan appears behind us. “Hello, Liam. The party starts at eight. It’s eight fifteen.”
“It’s okay,” he says, turning to my brother. “Most people come a few minutes late. I like your costume, by the way.”
“Thank you. We should go.”
Liam helps me load the platters of Halloween treats into his truck, and we head off to Kathy’s. Ethan spends the entire trip staring out the window at the night sky and carefully readjusting the cardboard lightning cutout around his neck. I’m worried about him; I’m sure he has no idea what he’s getting into. Small, calm gatherings of close friends have overwhelmed him in the past, and tonight is not going to be small or calm. The entire junior and senior class is coming, and some kids from Alberton and Missoula as well. It’s comforting to think that Hope has an escape plan, but I’m not certain she’ll recognize Ethan’s warning signs until it’s too late.
The noise and music hit us before we’re halfway up the gravel path to Kathy’s house. Twenty other cars and pickup trucks are parked along the road, strewn like discarded toys across the green. There are large gouge marks in the soil leading right up to the house. I have no idea how Kathy’s going to explain the tire marks to her parents when they get home, but she’s obviously not worrying about that tonight. She’s hanging out in the front yard with two girls from Alberton High and laughing into a beer. As we get out of the truck, she hollers my name and waves at us.
“There you are! Come here!” She glances at my brother and smiles broadly. “Hope’s waiting for you by the side porch, Ethan. Behind the oak tree.”
He nods and swallows audibly, then turns and walks in the direction she indicated. As he nears the house there’s a sound of crashing glass from inside and a high-pitched shriek of laughter. Ethan flinches and falls back a few steps. “They need to turn down the music,” I mutter to Liam. Why did they have to pick Iron Maiden of all bands? I feel the sound attacking him; I hear him exhaling his fear, see him shutting his eyes. Instinctively I move toward him. I can’t let him go to pieces in front of everyone. It would be better if we turned back now.
But then I feel Liam’s firm hand close over my elbow. “Let him try, Rain,” he whispers. “Just give him a chance.” I look back at Liam and shake my head. He means well, I know he does. He’s watching Ethan’s slow progress across the yard with the concerned expression of a friend. But he isn’t scared like I am. He isn’t feeling Ethan’s heartbeat in his own chest.
“Why don’t I carry the food inside?” Liam suggests. “You can get us a couple of drinks before they run out.”
“Oh, we won’t run out,” Kathy crows. She’s looking a little unstable already, and the party’s barely started. “Everyone’s pitched in. We’ve got lots of cases of beer and a box of Bailey’s and Mike stole a couple of bottles of Jack Daniels from his uncle. So we aren’t going dry for a while. But if you’re planning to drink, I’m going to need to
take your car keys.” She holds out a shaky hand and Liam tosses her his key ring. “Sorry, guys, but after what happened to those kids in Great Falls—” She breaks off and squints at the frying pan on my head. “Oh, I get it now!” she exclaims, clapping her hands and glancing between Liam and me. “I can’t believe it took me so long!”
“Get what?”
“Your costume! You guys are green eggs and ham,” she says, pointing at my dress and at Liam’s tail. “That is so cute!”
“Oh,” we say in unison, and Liam chuckles to himself. How did we not see that before? So much for avoiding cheesy. “So what are you?” he inquires, peering at Kathy’s feathered headdress and wings. “A dark angel?”
Her face clouds over and she crosses her arms over her chest. A couple of black feathers flutter to the ground. “I’m a girl whose boyfriend put off picking a costume until the last minute. So I decided to come as a bird. A bird who flies solo.”
There’s a ring of defiance in her blurry voice. I give her a baffled look. Is the Octopus seriously in trouble?
“You should go inside and get some punch,” she tells me sulkily. “Marcus won’t stop talking about it. He’s more interested in his stupid punch than…” She trails off and takes an angry sip of beer, then turns back toward the house and weaves her way across the lawn. Halfway there, she trips, and one of her heels gets stuck in the muddy holes by a hydrangea patch. She kicks the shoe off irritably and limps slowly up the stairs.
“I think she needs someone to talk to,” I say.
Liam nods. “Yeah, but maybe I’ll try talking to Marcus first and see what’s going on. Let’s go find him.”
The full force of the party hits me as we walk in the door. I can’t help loving it: the noise of people, the roar of talk and laughter, the smell of aftershave and beer, the psychedelic glow of faces in the shifting colors of the blinking strobe light. I love the way I can just float among them and lose myself in the beat of the screaming music and swaying bodies. Without Ethan by my side, I can enjoy the heat and energy of the crowd, and for just a minute I forget that I have a brother outside.
Liam lays the trays down in the kitchen, and there are delighted shouts of “Food! Finally!” and then “What the hell is that?” as I unwrap the treats. We push through the crowd and wave at Marcus, who’s hovering over a giant punch bowl and ladling generous portions of bright red liquid into plastic tumblers. He’s doing a very bad job; the table is soggy and dripping and some of the cups have tipped over and spilled their contents all over the floor. “Rain!” he shouts over the crowd. “Come here! You guys gotta try this!”
Liam reaches out and grabs a cup from him, then passes a second one to me. “It’s my own recipe,” Marcus bellows and takes a sloppy slurp of his drink. “You’ll never guess what’s in it.”
I take a careful sip and wince at the taste. “What kind of punch is this?” It’s sweet with a cherry tang and a good deep burn at the end. It takes some getting used to, but it isn’t bad.
“Bloody Vampire,” he burbles. “Rain inspired me.”
“I take no credit for this,” I mutter into my cup.
“Drink it slow,” Liam cautions me. “I think it’s mostly alcohol.”
“Oh my God, you’re a giant sperm!” Marcus squeals delightedly. “That’s awesome!”
Liam raises his eyebrows and chuckles. “Dude, how much of this have you had?”
“Oh! You guys are egg and sperm! I love it!” He points at the frying pan on my head and giggles. “Hysterical.”
I glance over at Liam’s costume again. Maybe if you squint at him sideways and you’re really drunk, Liam’s pig costume could look a little like a monster sperm. I liked it better when we were a cute line from a Dr. Seuss book.
“I’m going to grab some food,” I tell Liam. “Maybe you should talk to Marcus and make him find Kathy. Or at least cut him off. He looks like he’s had enough.”
“Use protection!” Marcus bellows and tosses a plastic trash bag at Liam’s head.
“Good luck,” I say and head for the kitchen.
It’s mostly empty when I get there, and the only sign of the platters I’d brought is a senior licking up the last drops of hummus. “This Vampire bean dip is awesome!” he crows. “I love how you dyed it red!”
“I never dye food,” I tell him scornfully. “It’s chickpea paste and beets. Completely natural.”
He doesn’t seem to appreciate the correction. “Ew.” He glances sadly at the empty bowl. “So, wait…do you have more?”
I shake my head and pick up the last pita crumbs from the counter. As he stumbles out of the kitchen, a voice floats in through the window behind me.
It’s Ethan. He’s sitting outside on the side porch with Hope. The music and noise of the party is muted here, and I can hear everything he’s saying. I move quietly toward the window and press myself up against the wall. From that angle, I can see them clearly, but the curtain hides me well enough so they can’t see me.
“No, I’m glad I came,” Ethan is saying. “Now I can tell my father that I went to a party.”
Hope laughs and moves closer to him. There’s enough space for another person between them on the bench but she scoots over a little to narrow the gap. “He wanted you to go?”
“Yes. It was on his list.”
“What list?”
“He gave me a list of things I need to do. Last time he was here. He called it the list of Ethan’s dreams.”
She laughs again and reaches her hand out to touch him. He isn’t looking at her so he doesn’t see the movement, but I hold my breath as I wait for the moment of contact. It’s not going to be pretty, and she’s going to be sorry, but there’s nothing I can do to stop her.
But then she pauses, her fingers an inch from the corner of his sleeve and seems to hesitate; her hand wavers, and then she slowly draws it back. I breathe again.
“Going to a party is one of your dreams?” she asks.
“No,” he replies. “I don’t like parties. But it’s one of my dad’s steps.”
“His steps?”
“He says there are many steps I have to go through, if I want to become a surgeon.”
“Oh, right! Well, obviously there’s college, and then medical school—”
“No, he wasn’t talking about that. Those are everybody’s steps. But I have my own. He wrote me a list.”
“What’s on the list?”
He glances at her for a moment and then looks back down at his hands. “There’s a lot of things that are difficult for me. Like parties. Big restaurants. Crowded malls. But I must do them, even if I don’t want to. Dad said I get points for every one I do. So I’m making myself get through each one, so eventually I can get there.”
She nods and stares out into the night. “You mean like a list of everyday things,” she says. “You basically just want to be normal.”
He shakes his head emphatically. “No. I never want to be normal.”
“Oh. Okay.” She bites her lip and looks away. “I’m sorry, I should have said neurotypical, right? I didn’t mean that you’re not—”
“I don’t want to be neurotypical, either. If I were normal I wouldn’t be able to see things the way I do. I wouldn’t be able to visualize my diagrams, my sketches, my books; they’re like pictures in my head. I’d have to memorize every detail, one by one, like everybody else. Like you have to do when you study for exams. That would be terrible. I never want to think like you.”
I wonder if Hope is hurt by his bluntness. Even though his words sounded harsh and cold I know they weren’t intended that way. And she seems to realize that. She swallows and turns back to him.
“So what do you want, Ethan?”
He’s still staring at his hands, but as she speaks she reaches out and lightly touches his sleeve. He starts and turns to look at her, then sighs and
shifts back slightly.
“I want to pretend,” he tells her softly. “I need to learn to pretend so other people can’t tell.”
“I see,” she murmurs. “And am I a part of that?”
He keeps staring at her but doesn’t respond. He doesn’t understand the question, I want to tell her. But I’m just a mute observer on the wrong side of a kitchen curtain. I have to let her figure it out on her own.
“Am I part of your plan to pretend to be normal?” she amends after a moment of silence.
“No.”
“Okay. Well, that’s good, I guess.” She reaches her hand out to him again and holds her palm out in front of him. “So what do you think about touching people? Is that on your list of things to get through?”
“Yes.”
A shade of hope flickers over her face. “Well…do you want to try that now?”
He shakes his head and shrinks back farther. “I can’t. It’s at the bottom. I’m not there yet.”
She smiles patiently and moves a little closer. “But you told me that you hug your father when you say goodbye. And your sister does that Rain burrito thing to make you feel better. So why can’t I touch your hand now?”
“That’s different. The burrito hold is not skin to skin. I like firm pressure but not light touch. And I don’t mind a quick hug, when my dad insists on it. He knows how to do it so my skin doesn’t touch his.”
“Okay. But if I touched you now… If I put my hand on yours—” She slowly brings her fingers closer to his. “What would that feel like to you?”
He flinches under the threat but doesn’t move his hand away. “I can’t explain it.”
“Try,” she urges. “I want to understand.”
He swallows and clears his throat nervously. “I don’t know. Bad.”
Stop! I want to yell at her. Just leave him alone! How can you understand something you’ve never felt?
“Bad how?” she persists. “Like painful?”
He shakes his head and swallows again. “No, not painful. Maybe like slime feels to you. Or like when a bug crawls up your hand.”
