Authors: Julie Anne Peters
“You didn’t do anything, Regan. Here I am with this totally hot girl I’ve been trying to get to go out with me for weeks. She finally says yes and my crappy car falls apart, then my driving about fractures her skull. Denny the dickhead scares the shit out of you. I risk your life driving like a maniac. I ruin your clothes. I get you busted. Stupid. I’m so stupid. I’m a spaz.”
“No, you’re not. It’s my fault.”
“It is not.”
“Is too.”
We looked at each other for a long minute, then cracked up.
Okay, it was funny, in a sadistic sort of way. But it felt good to laugh. In retrospect, the whole horror show played out like a comedy routine. Laurel and Hardy, the Two Stooges.
We stopped laughing, but couldn’t stop smiling at each other. It was making me warm. “You have my purse?” I said.
“Oh yeah.” He clunked a pivot. “This-a-way.”
I trailed him to the rear of the gym. “Did you know the theater prop room is back here?” he asked over his shoulder. “I found it just now when I was waiting for you.”
As he lifted off the breastplate and bent to unlash the leather thongs from behind the leggings, the room drew me in. It was larger than I’d imagined. I did know about the prop room. Last year the theater department organized a Shakespeare festival and Liam, Aly, and I bought tickets for
Romeo and Juliet.
Between acts, the two of them took off to find food while I shad-owed a couple of players down the hall and into the staging area. They’d disappeared inside this room.
My eyes adjusted to the dimmer interior light. There were racks of costumes, headdresses, hats, wigs, a long table with mirrors for makeup. “Luna would die and go to heaven here.”
“Huh?” Chris materialized at my side.
My face flared. “Nothing.” Shut up, Regan.
“It’s awesome, isn’t it?” He reached for a top hat on the shelf and popped it onto his head. He admired himself in the mirror.
Boys and mirrors.
I strolled down the racks of costumes, letting my fingers brush the fabrics: satin, brocade, chiffon. My hand came to rest on a velvet evening gown. Emerald green, strapless, with a hooded cape. For a moment I envisioned myself in this gorgeous dress, at a ball, dancing until midnight. No, not dancing. Sitting in the throne watching others dance. I might dance, if someone asked. Or I’d be on a stage, as Violetta, singing, “Ever free my heart must be.”
And I thought Luna was a drama queen?
A rustling from behind brought me up short. “Don’t look,” Chris said, peering over the top of a Japanese screen. “Oh, man.” His head retracted. “This is so me.”
A smile warmed me from within. I felt so comfortable with him. Relaxed, even hopeful. Like maybe this time I wouldn’t make a fool out of myself. At the end of the racks of costumes there was an umbrella stand and in it, a cache of weapons: swords, rifles, spears. All props, of course. I pulled out a cavalry sword from its sheath. Wow, it was heavy. This was no rubber dummy.
I slashed the air. Whish. Again. Swish. “En garde,” I said, lunging. “Take that.” I spun around and lashed the air. At that moment Chris stepped out from behind the screen and my sword whacked him on the shoulder.
He stumbled backward into a rack of costumes, which tipped over and crashed on top of him.
“Oh my God.” I threw down the sword. “Are you all right?” Frantically, I dug through the dresses.
“Move away,” he said. “Slowly. Move. Away.”
I obeyed. Stumbling backward, my arms stiff at my sides, I thought, You’ve finally done it, Regan. You’ve inflicted the fatal blow.
As if animated, the dress rack elevated itself. Chris’s face appeared between the velvet gown and a poodle skirt. He said, “We should take this act on the road.”
At least he was smiling.
“Ta da.” The costumes parted and he leapt out. “What do you think? Is it me?”
My heart seized.
Chris flipped a length of blonde wig over his shoulder and threw out a hip. “Why don’t choo come up and see me sometime.” He wiggled his hips. The fringe on the flapper dress swayed.
I felt dizzy. Nauseated. Had to get out of there.
“Regan, wait!” Chris called at my retreating back. “Where are you going? What did I do this time?”
That stopped me in my tracks. I turned around slowly. “Nothing. You didn’t do anything. It’s me. I’m —” What could I say? A prisoner in a parallel universe? I’m being held hostage by my life? Liam’s everywhere I go, everywhere I turn. He’s my living nightmare. There’s no waking up.
Chris exhaled a long breath. “Here’s a stupid question: Do you even like me?”
Do I like you? No, I don’t like you. I don’t think about you every moment of every day. I never relive the way it felt to have your hand holding mine, to be so close to you I could smell you, feel the warmth of you, breathe the air you breathe. I don’t remember your arm around me, making me feel safe, special, wanted.
My eyes found his. He searched my face, probing for an answer. I couldn’t say it, I didn’t dare. “Just once,” he said, “I’d like to get inside your head.”
I let out a short laugh. “You do
not
want to go there.”
He laughed. Then I laughed. Our laughter, it lifted me. The lightness of it, the release. Like a shaft of sun piercing a long-darkened window.
Chris folded his arms loosely, then unfolded them, looking uneasy in the dress. “Could we start over?” he asked. “Just blank out everything from day one? Pretend we’re meeting for the first time. We see each other across a crowded room —”
“A chemistry lab,” I said.
“Okay.” He arched eyebrows.
Why’d I say that?
“We feel the vibes,” he said.
“The chemistry.” I should shut up.
“Right,” he agreed. “The chemistry. I say, ‘Hi.’”
I ask, “How high are you?” God. Could I be a bigger dork? “Forget that. I say, ‘Hi’ back.”
“Would you go out with me? I promise it’ll be a safe place. No stupid raves. I’ll get you back on time. Door-to-door delivery, guaranteed.” He paused, waiting.
For what? Was he asking me out? For real? Was the game over? There was definite chemistry between us. I know we both felt it, along with the possibility of more developing. I wanted that. Like nothing I’d ever wanted before in my life. But could I? Should I?
“I say . . . ‘Okay.’” It felt as if I was diving off a cliff, taking a header into a bottomless sea. Fear of the unknown, the unexplored. I was nervous, anxious. More about screwing up than anything else.
The bell rang, yanking both of us out of this fairy tale. Footsteps thundered through the gym and Chris yelped, “Yikes! I gotta get out of these clothes.” He ripped the wig off his head. “I have practice in five minutes.” He dashed behind the Japanese screen and popped his head over the top. “Is Friday okay?”
“Uh, yeah.” For what? Whatever. “Friday’s great.”
He ducked down and added in a muffle, “I’ll call you.”
Casually, I strolled out the door, then broke into a run. I had the strongest urge to shout at the top of my lungs, “He likes me! Chris Garazzo likes me.” As I flew past the cafeteria, the world a blur, a dream, a magic carpet ride, my eyes took in two figures next to the south stairs.
A voice ricocheted in the hall, “Freaking pervert.”
I skidded to a stop. I knew that voice. Hoyt Doucet.
“Freaking fag pervert.”
I turned to see Hoyt reach out and smack Luna’s shoulder. He slammed her into the railing.
Luna?
What was she doing here?
Hoyt screeched, “You fucking pervert!” Loud. It attracted the attention of a couple of girls who were clomping down the stairs. Hoyt jabbed Luna’s shoulder again and yelled, “Perv! You’re a perv. I always knew it.”
Luna spoke quietly, “Ow. Don’t.”
“Don’t? Don’t what? Do this?” Hoyt raised his arm and ripped off Luna’s wig. Clumps of Liam’s hair tore out with the bobby pins.
The girls above them eyed each other and giggled. They skittered down the stairs and scurried off, their laughter ringing in my ears.
Classrooms drained of people and the hall began to clog. There was a sudden back up at the juncture of Hoyt and Luna.
Over everyone’s heads, Luna’s eyes found mine. She opened her mouth to say —
“Regan, hey. You forgot your purse.”
I whipped around. Chris had sidled up beside me. He was smiling, but his gaze drifted from my face to the crowd by the stairs and his jaw went slack.
“Thanks.” I grabbed my purse from under his pullover where he was hiding it, naturally. He wouldn’t want to be seen with a purse. “There’s something I forgot to give you, too,” I said. Taking his arm, I spun him around. My vision narrowed, honed, located the sign. EXIT. “Outside.” I tugged on Chris’s sweater, about ripping it off.
The door slammed shut behind us. I flattened myself against the brick, gasping to catch my breath and quell the imminent eruption in my stomach.
Chris was breathing hard, too. I’d made him run the length of the hall. Not far enough. Never far enough. I opened the flap on my pack and withdrew the thick folder. Handed it to him. “Here. You can use these next year.” I pushed away from the wall and charged off in the opposite direction.
“Wait,” he called. “Regan. I forgot to tell you there’s a surprise in your purse.”
I had to get out of there. Put as much distance between me and the school, between me and Chris, between me and Luna . . .
He’d seen her.
“When’s a good time to call?” Chris’s voice penetrated the roaring in my ears, the rumbling in my stomach.
Never. It’s never a good time.
“H
ow
could
you!” I cried aloud. “How could you do that to me?”
The words echoed in my room, in my ears. How could you?
How could Luna show up at school? People knew we were related. Chris knew. Liam and I would never be dissociated now. Me and Luna. They’d always see me as Regan — the one with the transgender brother. I’d never be able to separate from him. Never have my own identity.
Even worse, people would think I was like him. Her. Different. I didn’t want to be different. I wanted to be the same. I wanted to be accepted, loved, liked for who I was.
Who was I? I didn’t even know.
I knew Luna better than I knew myself. I knew what she wanted — acceptance, love. The same exact thing as me.
She had to be aware, though, that this transition affected not only her. There were consequences for everyone in her life. For me. It hurt me to see people staring at her, pointing at her, laughing at her. What if they laughed at me? Or made jokes. She’d be the butt of people’s jokes. I would. What if Chris laughed at me? What if he looked at me differently now?
I couldn’t stand that. It embarrassed me what my brother was. He humiliated me. He betrayed me. How could he?
He betrayed me.
A voice inside my head said, “Really? Who betrayed who?”
Shut up. What did that mean? Liam’s the one who never thinks about anyone but himself.
Herself.
The voice asked, “What does Liam’s transition have to do with you?”
Everything. It embarrasses me. He embarrassed me. She did.
“Embarrasses you,” the voice repeated. “Wow. She’s out there putting herself on the line and it embarrasses you? You left her in danger. You left her with Hoyt.”
I stood for a moment, examining myself in the full-length mirror. The length of me, the breadth of me, the depth. Lack of it. How shallow was I? Embarrassed? I left Luna in Hoyt Doucet’s filthy hands. I left her in danger. How could I do that to my own brother, sister? I deserted her when she needed me most.
A dark veil descended over my eyes. “You traitor,” I said it aloud. “You hypocrite.” Without warning, my knees buckled and I crumpled to the floor. “You coward.”
I
was
a traitor. I
was
a coward. I abandoned Luna in her hour of need. I betrayed her the same way Aly had. Luna trusted me. She believed in me. She counted on me for her
life.
What kind of person did that to someone? Someone she loved? What kind of sister was I? Friend? Human being? I promised her — I promised myself — I’d always keep her safe. Then, when she was at her most vulnerable, I failed her.
I failed myself.
How small a person I was. I felt ashamed. I was weak. I’d given in to the fear. My reputation was more important than defending my brother against attack. What reputation? I didn’t even have one.
It scared me, this whole transition thing. Every time she went out in public I was terrified what people might say or do. Hoyt.
Others like him. What if the violence extended to me? The bigotry? And hatred. I couldn’t deal with it. How could anybody deal with it? I didn’t have the strength, the character, the strength of character.
“No,” the voice said. Then louder, “No! Your fear is justified. Anyone would be afraid. You’re a person. You’re human. Yes, you thought of yourself first. You ran. But if you’d come to her rescue this time, you’d be doing it forever. Nothing would ever change.”
That was true. Nothing would change if I was always rescuing her. And something had to change. We couldn’t go on this way. We were hurting each other.
The last sight of Luna crystallized clearly in my mind again. Help me, Re, she’d pleaded with her eyes.
No, I’d responded. I won’t.
And in that moment when she realized I wasn’t there for her, she’d looked inside of me and known the truth. She’d seen me for the coward I was.
She knew, she knew she was utterly alone in the world.
The tears started slowly, then built until they gushed from my eyes in a torrent. They’d never stop. Never.
I cried for her.
I cried for me.
I cried for a world that wouldn’t let her be.
I don’t remember going to bed, closing my eyes, falling asleep, but then Luna was there, bouncing around on my mattress. Crush me, I thought. Bury my shattered bones. An unmarked grave where no one will ever come visit.
Her hair draped across my face. “Thank you,” she said in my ear.
She was cruel. I gulped an audible sob.
“What’s wrong?” Luna climbed over my dead carcass and slid off the bed. She kneeled on the floor beside me, her face level with mine. “Re?” she said softly.