Love, Heather

by Laurie Petrou

  “Easy there, Stevie, stop mauling me.”

  “Yeah okay, buddy,” I laugh, and he smiles and looks at me like he’s seeing me for the first time.

  “Did you dress up for me, Stevie?” he says, gesturing to my sweater-and-jeans combo.

  I look down at what I’m wearing. There is mustard on my shirt.

  He laughs. “Ah, Stevie, Stevie …” He licks his thumb and leans into me, rubbing the mustard on my shirt, just inches above my left boob. I back away just as the line moves forward a little. The girl ahead of me goes through the doorway into the bathroom itself.

  “Uh, unless you’re coming in here with me, I think we should part ways now,” I say, looking away.

  “What? Oh! Right, right. See you later,” and he turns and rambles up the stairs like a big puppy, his long arms and legs seeming separate from the rest of his body. I watch him go, shaking my head.

  “Stop looking at my ass, Stevie!” he yells behind him, laughing at himself.

  After, I wander back toward the stands, but when I glance up at everyone I came with, I don’t really feel like going back and sitting with them. I make my way to the concession stand and get in line. I recognize the tall figure in front of me and tap him on the shoulder.

  “Hey, Matthew,” I say, and he turns around.

  “Oh hey, Stevie, how are you?”

  “Good, good, you know, getting my hockey on.”

  Matthew laughs. “That’s good. I hardly know what I’m doing here.”

  “Are you here with friends? I mean, obviously,” I say, reddening, “but I mean, who are you here with?”

  “Uh, Ava and Antar? Do you know them? Also, of course, Jamie and Mitch,” he says, referring to a couple of guys he’s hung out with since we were kids. There was a year or so there where I used to do stuff with the three of them all the time: watch baseball games, movies, play board games and goof around. And then we just grew apart, I guess.

  “Nice. Yeah, I know those other two. Ava and Antar; they’re in our homeroom, right?”

  “Yep. What about you?”

  “Oh”—I wave my hand—“Paige and them.”

  Matthew nods a few times, and the corner of his mouth turns up. “Well, look at you—hanging out with the ‘cool kids.’” He’s busting my balls.

  “What? No!” I say, while he laughs. “Seriously. They’re nice, if you get to know them.”

  “Ah, I see.” He smiles as I make a face. “No, really, I believe you.” The woman at the stand clears her throat, and he turns to make his order.

  When the game ends, I wander around the arena. There are cardboard containers on the floor with ketchup smeared on the inside of them, fries hanging out like tongues, puddles of beer that creep all the way under the first rows of seats, where it will be hard to mop. People are milling about, coming down the stairs in clumps of coats and purses, shouting to friends across the way, to other fans, to themselves. I look across the ice and see Lottie and Paige sitting alone on the rival side, midway up the stands. Their arms are linked and Paige is resting her head on Lottie’s shoulder. They are moving back and forth to the echoing music that pumps loudly and incoherently in the arena as the players head into the locker rooms and fans vacate the stands. Someone bumps into me, and I stumble, putting my hands out against the Plexiglas. I stay there, momentarily frozen, looking through the scratched window at the scuffed, smudged vision of my friends.

  I leave the arena alone. People are stumbling around outside, drunk and laughing. I hear someone barfing in the darkness around the side of the building. It is a desperate, lonely sound.

  * * *

  When I get home, Reg’s car is still in our driveway. It’s quiet in the house, and dark, but the darkness doesn’t stop. I feel like I’m filled with the black ink of all the world’s pathetic diary entries. The noise from the arena is still echoing in my ears, rumbling in my fingertips. I left without Lottie or Paige, walking home by myself—not because I wanted to be alone but because I didn’t, and thought that if I was with them I’d feel worse.

  I take out my phone, but no one has texted me. I reach across a different divide.

  Hey dad

  He pings back pretty quickly. Hi kiddo whats up

  Nothing just saying hi

  Hi!

  We exchange some emojis and then he signs off, says it’s too late for an old man to be up. I sit at my desk and look at my geography textbook and its diagram of soil formations. I draw another layer at the bottom in pencil with a small arrow and label: me.

  6

  Episode 68 00:00

  The high school cafeteria. The great leveler of high school movies. It’s where the entire mass of beauties and weirdos come together to eat and do so much more: try and fit in, wish lunch would end, laugh with friends or stare at people they have crushes on. It is universally different and the same: terrible food, echoing laughter, the screech of chairs. It’s got it all with a side of fries.

  The next day, I take my tray across the lunchroom and slide onto the bench beside Paige. Lottie is on her other side. She is giggling at something Luke just said.

  Breanne is standing up, her long red hair like a cape. She isn’t laughing. She’s sipping her drink from a straw and looking at Paige’s tray, her eyes narrowing. “Is that all you’re having?”

  Paige looks at the yogurt container in front of her. “Yeah, I’m full,” she says, looking away, her smile fading. Breanne raises an eyebrow.

  I look at Paige and smile. “That’s how you get to look so great, right? The discipline. Like, remember when you were, like, counting the peanuts the other day? It’s impressive.”

  I look up, and everyone is looking at me.

  Breanne laughs. “Wow, Stevie, bold. You think an eating disorder is ‘impressive’? Want her to have another week in the hospital so she can look great?” She widens her eyes and shakes her head. “Kind of cruel, don’t you think?” She smirks, looking at the others. They all look at her and then follow suit: eyes on me, disgust and disbelief.

  Paige looks down at her lap, her mouth disappearing.

  Oh God. I wish I could slip backward in time and redo the last fifteen seconds.

  Breanne takes a sip, watching to see what I’ll do.

  So. Stupid. I should have known.

  “Oh, shit. Paige—”

  The bell rings and Paige ignores me, standing up. She walks out of the cafeteria with Lottie, who is shaking her head.

  “Uh-oh, Stevie, she’s mad,” Aidan says unaffectedly. “And trust me, you do not want her mad at you. She’s a raging bitch half the time anyway. At least to me,” he grumbles.

  I spend the rest of the afternoon texting Paige, asking her if she’s okay, apologizing.

  I didn’t know. I’m sorry!! Please!!!

  After the bell rings, I shoulder my way through the crowds and get to Paige’s locker, but when she doesn’t turn up, I head to the doors of the school, where I can see down the little hill, see everyone leaving. Lottie and I always meet at the huge rock at the end of the driveway of the school. Maybe I can talk to her, I think, as I crane my neck to see if she’s waiting for me or on her way. Nearby, Matthew is huddled over a book with Mitch and Jamie. He pushes his glasses up on his nose and laughs at something Mitch says. I see Dee, smoking under a tree while a guy from our homeroom talks animatedly to her. She sees me and lifts a hand in greeting. I ignore her, and notice Lottie, her white-blonde hair shining in the sun. Paige is with her, and they are already walking away from the school. I stand on the steps while people jostle and bump into me until someone speaks in my ear.

  “Hey, kid, you gonna stand here all day?”

  It’s Rhonda. No—Pete, I correct myself, feeling a sad snag but ignoring it. His satchel over his shoulder, ready to go home as well.

  “What? No, I just—”

  “Where’s your partner in crime?” he says, looking out over the crowd with me.

  “Oh, I’m not sure. I think she might have left …”
<
br />   “Huh,” he says, looking a little surprised. “Is she being a jerk or something? Do I need to step in?”

  “No, no. No.”

  “So, no?”

  “Haha. Everything’s fine.”

  Pete looks at me closely. “If you’re sure. You know where to find me if it’s not.”

  I get a lump in my throat and look away. “Yeah, I know. Thanks. Well, I’d better get going,” I say. “See you tomorrow!”

  I walk home, my hand around my phone, waiting for a vibration that never comes.

  * * *

  Later I get on my bike and ride over to Lottie’s, feeling sick and anxious.

  “Hey,” she says, leaning against the door.

  “Can I come in?”

  Lottie looks over her shoulder and heaves a sigh, then stands aside to let me in. I follow her through the house with a pit in my gut. Her parents are in the kitchen, and I wave at them. Jacob lifts his hand and forces a smile. Pete looks super serious also, but when he sees me, he breaks into a grin.

  “Hey, Stevie! You tracked her down, eh?”

  “We’re going outside,” Lottie says, ignoring him, heading toward the screen door at the end of the kitchen.

  * * *

  Outside, Lottie collapses in a patio chair. I pull one out, and it screeches against the deck. I sit down and start right in.

  “You know I didn’t mean anything,” I say.

  She blows out her cheeks. “I know that. But Stevie, she is pissed. And embarrassed. And I don’t blame her. You totally betrayed a confidence.”

  “But I didn’t even know!”

  Lottie looks at me with her eyebrows raised, like how could I be such a moron. I start to wonder if maybe I did know. Or if maybe I am a moron. I wring my hands.

  “Also? Maybe give her a little space. Texting her all the time? It’s a little … well, I’m sorry, but it’s a little desperate.”

  My face is burning, and I don’t say anything.

  “I’m sorry, Stevie,” she says, quietly. “Don’t shoot the messenger.” She looks sorry, and that makes me even more mad and embarrassed. “Just, you know. Let it go.”

  “Right. Okay.” A moment passes. Then another one drags its feet across the yard, yawning. Finally, I clear my throat and make an excuse to leave. Lottie watches me gather my stuff and go out through the yard fence so that no one, especially Pete, who I feel suddenly estranged from, has to see my eyes filling up.

  I go home and straight to my room, ignoring Mom’s cheerful greeting. I need distractions. I root through all my old movies and notice Dog Day Afternoon. I pop it in the ancient VCR and lay on my bed with my head propped up by a teddy bear. It’s hardly started when Mom knocks on the door and opens it.

  “Oh, I love that one!” she says, looking at the TV. “‘Attica! Attica!’”

  “You wanna watch with me?” I ask, not looking at her. Knowing the answer.

  “Oh, hon. I would love to, but can I take a rain check? Reg is coming over.”

  Oh goody.

  “Oh, yeah. For sure. No problem.” I say this like a robot, but she doesn’t even pick up on it, so relieved that I’m not giving her a hard time.

  Soon I’m immersed in the world of the movie. Love this flick. Classic, and one of the first mainstream movies that featured a trans character, before trans was a household term. I start to think about what Pete has done. How it’s really brave, becoming his true self, even if it is hard for Lottie, and for me, to adjust. Maybe I can do something, even something kind of private, to show my support, to help me to get on board. To show Lottie that I love her family. Maybe a vid for my channel. On the best trailblazing trans films, or something. I start working it out, choosing movies in my head, jotting down ideas for a script.

  7

  Episode 69 00:00

  I went out of my usual wheelhouse for this list. I did what we all need to do: I educated myself. While I may have thought I knew about the representation of trans people on the silver screen, I was woefully—and I mean woefully—ignorant. But something changed in my life; to be precise, someone is changing in my life, and so I knew I needed to branch out and watch more than the usual fare of Boys Don’t Cry and Dog Day Afternoon. This person in my life is showing the bravery it takes to transition. This Top 10 List is for him.

  The next day, Paige doesn’t speak to me. I try, in homeroom, while Pete is talking, to catch her eye, but she stares straight ahead, ignoring me. I finally buckle, despite Lottie’s warning, like I can’t help myself. I am desperate, it’s true, but I feel like if this isn’t resolved, I won’t have any peace, and that I’ll lose something important—my place in this precarious order, but also, I worry, more than that. I shoot out a couple of texts from under my desk.

  Hey. You ok? and I’m so sorry paige!!!! And sad emojis, tears, broken hearts.

  And then, finally, in the late afternoon, she agrees to come to my house after school, something she’s never done before but that I offered up as a last resort. She looks at me, her face hard, and says, “Yeah. Okay, it’d be good to see where you live.” Something prickles in my mind, but I push it away.

  On the way home, I try to talk to her.

  “Look, I’m really sorry.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “That’s fine. Just, I—”

  “It’s fine. Seriously. Stop.”

  “Okay.”

  She turns and looks at me, and says, “So, like, why didn’t you want to invite Lottie to the movies with us that time?”

  “What?”

  “Just that I thought you were such good friends. She told me she wasn’t doing anything that night.”

  “I dunno. I can’t remember. I thought she couldn’t make it,” I mumble, my face reddening.

  Paige nods, looking ahead. “Yeah,” she says, “okay. Sure. Seems like maybe you lied about that, but I guess I’m wrong.”

  This isn’t how I thought it would go. She is different. Pissed off. There is a chill between us, and we say little the rest of the way to my house.

  In my room, I sit nervously on my bed. Mom is out with Reg again, but that’s a small comfort. This is awkward.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Hmm?” Paige is looking around my room like she’s at a zoo exhibit. “What is all this shit?” She’s staring at all my old tech: TV, VCR, DVD player, and piles of old movies.

  “Oh, it’s just a bunch of junk I keep around.”

  She looks at me, unconvinced.

  “Remember how I like old movies? So … this is how I watch them. I like the, uh, authentic experience.” Oh God. I roll my eyes at myself.

  She crouches down, looking at the stack of movies that starts at the floor. “I’ve never even heard of any of these.”

  She looks over her shoulder at me, and I say, “Well, they used to be my mom’s.”

  She says, “No wonder you like that media class so much. I thought it was just because Lottie’s mom—well, ‘dad’—teaches it.”

  I don’t like how she says that: “dad.” It makes my skin itch, makes me want to push or bite.

  “Yeah, no,” I mumble, “I have a thing for old films.”

  “‘Films’? Wow, you are hard-core.” She notices a light set up behind my laptop, and touching it, she says, “Do you make your own ‘films’?”

  “No, no,” I say, and the actors in all my movie posters look the other way. “I just sometimes do videos and stuff. Like, just on YouTube.” I aim this shot thinking it will hit a mark, something she knows and likes, but it finds the wrong target.

  She raises an eyebrow at me. “Oh yeah? You have your own channel?”

  “Kind of,” I mumble.

  She is looking at some papers beside my laptop, where I write scripts for my channel, and I hop off my bed and say, “Let’s go. Get something to eat or something.”

  Paige nods distractedly and follows me. Some kind of animal instinct in me feels her behind me. My hackles are up, my senses honed
. There is blood in her nose, and I’m in her sights; I can feel it.

  We go to Tim Hortons, and I grab a doughnut and she gets a coffee. We sit awkwardly for a while, Paige looking at her phone, and finally she says, “Look, I’ve gotta go.”

  “Sure, no problem. Um, I’ll talk to you later?”

  “Yep,” she says, throwing her cup in the garbage as she leaves me sitting there. “See you.”

  I watch her walk away down the street, her head in her phone, and tell myself it’s all fine. It’s fine.

  * * *

  The next morning, I’m chewing on the bum end of a bluish loaf of bread in the kitchen. Mom is sucking the death out of a cigarette while reading the local paper. It will tell her when the garden club sales are and about the watercolor classes at the library, but it won’t tell her about the real world. My world. I watch her and am amazed by how little she knows about me or my life. About her incredibly shrinking daughter with her secretive, fickle friends. I want to shock her, to get her to snap out of her little dream life she’s been in lately.

  I clear my throat. “So … Lottie’s mom is transitioning. Into a man.”

  Her dull eyes register me out of the fog. “What? Who is? Rhonda?”

  “Lottie doesn’t have another mom. Yes, Rhonda.”

  “What do you mean—she’s having a sex change operation?”

  “I don’t think they call it that anymore, Mom.”

  “What the hell do you mean, ‘she’s transitioning’?”

  “Well, she is a man. He is. That’s what he told Lottie.”

  “Who did? Rhonda?”

  “Yes, but that’s not going to be his name now.”

  She thought about this. “Holy. I had no idea. I mean, I haven’t seen her in a while, but … What’s she changing her name to? I guess Ron? At least that part will be easy.”

  “Actually, his name is Pete.”