Not Otherwise Specified (26 page)

I said, “Lio?”

He looked at me and nodded.

I smiled a bit. “You weren't listening? I'm Craig.”

He bit his bottom lip like he was trying not to laugh, but not in a bad way. In a really, really warm way, and I could tell because his eyes were locked onto mine.

There was a whole mess of people and he was still walking, but he kept looking at me.

“I like your hair,” I told him, because it was difficult not to make some sort of comment.

Lio leaned against the wall and studied me. And even though I know now that Lio's really uncomfortable without a hat on, and he was really mad at Ms. Hoole for taking it and really mad at himself for being too afraid of talking to go up and ask for it back, he didn't pull the hat back on right away. He kept it crumpled up in his hand and he watched me instead.

And he covered his mouth a little and he smiled.

So here are some facts about Lio:

He has either five or six older sisters, I can't remember,
and one younger sister, and they are all very nice and love him a lot and call him nearly every day, except for his little sister, Michelle, and the youngest of the older sisters, Jasper, who are in middle school and high school, respectively, and therefore live with him and therefore only call him when he's in trouble or they want to borrow his clothes. I've only met Jasper. She is a senior, and much prettier than Lio. They all have cell phones, every single one of them, because they are from New York, and Lio says everyone has them there, and I don't know if that's true, but I'm really jealous.

He likes Colin Farrell, so when that movie
Phone Booth
comes out next month, we're going to go see it together. I don't know if this is a date or what, but I've already decided that I'm going to pay, and if he tries to protest I'm going to give him this smile and be like “No, no, let me.”

He used to be a cancer kid—bald, skinny, mouth sores, leukemia. That was when he was five until he was seven, I think. He got to go to Alaska to see polar bears because of the Make-A-Wish Foundation. He said one time that the thing about cancer kids is no one knows what to do with them if they don't die. He's fine now, but he shouldn't be smoking cigarettes. He had a twin brother who died.

Today I come up to Lio's locker and he nods to me. The principal gave us American flags to put up on our lockers on September 11th, for the anniversary. Most of
us put them up, but we also took them down again afterward, because they were cheap and flimsy and because it's been a year and patriotism is lame again. Lio still has his on his locker, but three weeks later it's started to fray. My father gave his school flags too. He's an elementary school principal. My mother is a social worker. My family is a little adorable.

Lio's flag flaps while he roots through his locker. He takes out a very small cage and hands it to me. I'm excited for a minute, thinking he's found one of the animals, maybe Peggy, the guinea pig. Even though there's no way she could fit in there, I'm still hoping, because maybe maybe maybe. But it's a small white mouse. Really, really pretty.

But it makes my head immediately list everyone that I've lost.

Four dogs: Jupiter, Casablanca, Kremlin, Marigold.

Five cats: Beaumont, Zebra, Shamrock, Sandwich, Caramel.

One bird: Fernando.

Three rabbits: Carolina, Hail, Michelangelo.

A guinea pig: Peggy.

“Made me think of you,” he says, softly.

Because Lio says so few words, every single one has deep, metaphorical, cosmic significance in my life. And my words are like pennies.

I talk to the mouse very quietly on my way back to my
locker. I think I'll name her Zippers. I'm not sure why. I'm never sure why I choose the names I do. Maybe I should let Mom handle all of them, although she'd probably name this one Princess or something.

I should ask Lio what he'd like her to be named. Or where he got her. He doesn't know about the deal I have with my mom, and I feel no need to tell him.

I set her cage on top of my books.

Lio's there a minute later. He bites his thumbnail and fusses with his hat. His hair's still a mess, but it has nothing to do with the cancer. He's just sort of a psycho with his hair.

“My therapist says I'm a little fucked up,” he explained to me one time, when I barely knew him, and that explanation terrified and intrigued me all at the same time. He sniffled and rubbed his nose. “Yeah.”

Once I told him therapy is bullshit and he seemed offended, so I don't tell him that anymore, even though I still believe it.

“My animals are gone,” I tell him now.

He looks up.

“Someone broke into my house last night. They broke the windows and left all the doors open, and all my animals left. They just ran out the doors or something . . .”

He watches me. Sometimes he does this, looks at me when I'm in the middle of talking, and it's like he's interrupting without saying a word, because I can't think with
those eyes all blue on me. I can't think of anything else to say, and it makes me want to cry. Usually I can handle this, because I'm only talking about my brother or a class or my day. But right now it's a little more than I can stand.

I need Lio to say something.

But he doesn't. He reaches out and touches the tip of my finger with the tip of his finger.

Bing.

I swallow.

He says, “Did you look under the couch?”

Even stuff like that sounds profound from him, and I hate that all I can do is nod while I'm trying to get my voice back, because I always like to give Lio more of a response when he talks to me, since it's so hard to get words out of him.

“Yeah,” I say eventually. “We looked under the couch.”

“I'm sorry.”

Lio's never seen my animals because he's never been to my house, but he's heard enough about them. Plus there are pictures of them all over my locker. I touch a Polaroid of Jemeena, this excellent hamster I had who died a few months ago. I couldn't bring myself to get any more hamsters after her.

I look at Lio.

I haven't been to Lio's place either. He says it's still full of boxes, because their apartment is so big that they don't
even notice them taking up space. I think he's just used to his old tiny apartment in New York.

“I need to put up posters after school,” I tell Lio. “Will you come help me?”

He nods.

“Thanks.” The bell goes off and I close my locker door. “I hope they're still alive.”

“It's not cold yet.”

He probably wouldn't say that if he'd gone a whole night with wind pouring into his house. Getting out of the shower felt like a punishment. I say, “I know. They could probably have survived last night, I hope. What if maybe someone stole them off the street? I hope not.” I breathe out.

He nods a little. “We'll find them.”

We start walking to class, and this girl passing us waves to Lio, this tall blond girl with glasses and a pretty smile.

I say, “She'd be really hot if she were a boy.”

Lio watches her go and nods slowly. I wish I knew what that meant. It would be something else to think about.

•  •  •

Todd is at my locker after second period. He substitute teaches here sometimes, so it's not that weird to see him, even though I didn't know he was working today. The substitute teaching thing isn't his real job. Really, he works nights at a suicide hotline, which pays even less than substitute
teaching. He's taking classes to get his masters in environmental science. Then he's going to save us all before the world explodes.

He holds up a paper bag. “You forgot your lunch.”

This is why people need sleep. “Thanks,” I say. I bet Mom made him bring it to me. She's pretty intense about lunch. She still packs mine every day, because she wants me to get a lot of vitamins or whatever. I usually end up giving half of it to Lio and eating chips instead. I'm not going to tell Todd that.

“You doing okay?” he asks.

“What?”

He says, “Just checking in,” and he gives me a hug with one arm and then leaves. I open my lunch bag like I think there's going to be some explanation of why he was so affectionate, I guess because I wish it were something better than
because he feels sorry for you and your lost animals.
But it's just an apple and a sandwich and a bag of walnuts. I rip off a bit of the apple for Zippers and stuff everything else into my locker before I head off to my next class.

Lio is against the wall, standing with some girls that he is half friends with. It's probably hard to be friends with a kid that quiet, but I wouldn't know, because it's been very easy for me to be whatever Lio and I are.

He smiles at me with the corner of his mouth when I walk up. I give him the smallest little kick above his shoe.

“Has Lio been entertaining you with his witty banter?” I ask.

The girls look uncomfortable, like they think maybe I'm being mean. Lio looks away from me, but his smile is a little bigger now. Heh. I couldn't even tell you what any of these girls looks like, or whether I'd like any of them if they were boys.

•  •  •

Silver Spring is a half city in the same way Lio is a half koala. Lately they've been developing it more and more—sticking in Whole Foods and rich hippie stuff like that, and they started redoing the metro station so it's easier to get downtown, which my parents say doesn't matter because there's no way I'm riding the metro alone until I stop tripping over my feet and talking to strangers. But I guess it's okay as long as I'm with Lio. I didn't ask.

We're at the Glenmont station now, me and Lio, to put up signs.
MANY MISSING PETS. DOGS, CATS, SMALL ANIMALS. PLEASE CALL. REWARD
.

FOUR DOGS

FIVE CATS

ONE BIRD

THREE RABBITS

A GUINEA PIG

I don't know what I'm going to do about a reward. The mouse Lio gave me makes tiny chirping noises in my
backpack. I make sure she's safe in there, and she gets another bit of apple for being so good all day.

In the corner a man plays a harmonica, but he has an empty guitar case in front of him to collect money. He looks sort of like Lio—very small with big hands, a little grungy.

Lio isn't exactly grungy, but he's definitely more hardcore something than I am. At least, he's into ironic T-shirts—the one he's wearing now has a picture of a football with
SOCCER
over it—and jeans that sit too low on his hips. Usually black ones. I'm either preppier or lazier. I still wear the kind of clothes my mom said looked good on me when I was ten. Except I've grown nearly a foot since then, so I look older than fifteen, but I feel younger, and I think that's a big source of trouble for me.

It's five o'clock, and this is the last station we're covering today. Our hands are sore from stapling up posters, and we're still a little red because one of the guards at Shady Grove yelled at us and asked us if we had a permit or something. At every other station, we were left alone. It figures. I've never met a nice person at Shady Grove, ever.

We go up the escalator and into the outdoor area underneath the awning. “We could catch a bus,” Lio says, though I don't know why, because I assume we're going to get on the metro and go back to Forest Glen, where I live, and he already said his dad would pick him up, no problem. I would be excited about the idea that he's coming home
with me if it didn't mean that he was going to see my house without animals, so I made up some lie about how my parents don't let me invite friends in when they're not there so we'll just have to wait on the porch until his dad gets there, and I think maybe he knew I was lying and maybe he thinks I don't want him there. But it's just because of the animals. That's all it is.

It's just that I haven't invited anyone in for a really long time, I guess.

Anyway, there's no reason either of us should catch a bus.

Then he says, “We could get on a bus and go really far away.”

I put my hand on his back. “Like New York?”

“Like outer space.” He stiffens a little under my hand, so I take it away.

I try not to think about it, but I really don't know what I'm doing with Lio. I guess we're friends, sort of, except we don't really talk. We're the closest either one of us has to a friend, because I can't stand most people anymore and Lio left all the people who were used to him in New York, and it's pretty damn depressing until you consider that I really like being with Lio, and I hope he likes being with me. And we do spend a lot of time together. I don't know if Lio's into boys. It seems like a stupid question, because I don't know what difference the answer will make. The question isn't whether he's into boys. The question is if he's
into me. I know lots of gay boys, after all—I'm in drama club—but here I am without a boyfriend.

It's starting to get dark. If the clocks had changed already, it would be Todd-coffee black out here by now. I guess we're lucky.

There are two guys, definitely older than us, slumming on the gate that separates the metro station from the church. Actually, they're not slumming. One of them is sitting on the gate and the other is swinging it back and forth, like he's rocking him to sleep. Except they're laughing.

A part of me loves Glenmont. I love the water tower here so much more than the one back at Forest Glen, which is short and fat and always looks like it's watching everything. Here, everything's dirty in a beautiful way. Grimy, I guess, is the word I'm looking for. Everything's covered and maybe protected by a layer of grime. I wish we went to school here instead of in Forest Glen, where all the houses and schools are tucked into little neighborhoods, like we have to hide. My school and my house are both in that one part of town, so it's like I can't ever get out of it.