“Wait.” Blake hugs me. “Thanks.”
The kids who were still watching leave, disappointed that the emotional meltdown they were hoping for didn’t happen. Blake’s stronger than they’ll ever know. He’ll never show them how much he really hurts.
I was hoping that Blake and I would make up after we cleaned his locker. We didn’t talk as we scrubbed at the spray paint. But after, he just said thanks again and went to class.
Connor’s like the only one still being nice to me. He always walks with me if we’re switching between classes in the same direction. We either talk or IM every night. He’s so worried about me. Which is sweet, but I don’t want to give him the wrong idea. What if he thinks that since things apparently didn’t work out with Jason, there’s a chance I’d go out with him? I’m hoping he can tell that I just want to be friends.
When Connor said he’d come over tonight, I jumped at the chance for some company. Ostracism is a lonely place.
Peering into my closet, we try to decide on a game. I seriously need some mindless escape time.
“How about cards?” Connor says.
“Do you know how to play 500?”
“You need at least four people for that.”
“No you don’t.”
“Of course you do. If we’re the only team, then who would we play against?”
“Huh?”
“You’re talking about the French Canadian 500, right?”
“No, Rummy 500. There’s more than one 500?”
“It would appear so.”
“Outrageous.”
“We could try some art therapy. That always works for me.”
“Does this mean you don’t want to play Clue?”
“Would you rather play Clue or make Oobleck?”
“Oobleck!”
“Do you have any cornstarch?”
“I think so. . . .”
We spend the next hour regressing back to a time before everything got so complicated.
“Feeling any better?” Connor asks.
“Yes and no. I mean, this totally helps take my mind off things, but then it’s like all of a sudden I’ll remember and everything sucks again.”
“It must be really hard for you. Especially with the accident and everything.”
“How do you know about that?”
“Someone told me.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
“Someone just randomly told you?”
“Not exactly.” Connor squeezes some Oobleck. It changes from a liquid into a solid. “There was this one time in art when you were leaning over a painting and I could see under your bangs a little. I saw part of your scar, so I asked a friend if they knew how you got it.”
“Oh.”
“Is that why you never go swimming at the pond?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry, we don’t have to talk about this. It’s not—”
“No, it’s fine. I feel like talking.”
I tell Connor everything. It feels good to talk to someone I can trust who’s not directly involved. I’m just thankful that there’s still someone left to listen.
37
“Thanks for coming
out, everybody,” I say. “Let’s go over who we are and what we do.”
The first meeting of One World is always exciting. Our club gets bigger every year. You never know who’s going to join. Some people can surprise you.
And then there are the ones who will never change.
Bianca and Marnie keep laughing. Every time I start talking, they laugh.
“Is something funny?” I ask Bianca.
She goes, “Definitely.”
Then they burst out laughing again.
I continue the orientation. “I’ve been a member of One World since ninth grade. As president, it’s my job to let you know about community events, like park cleanups and educational out-reach.”
Marnie raises her hand.
“Marnie?” I go.
“Yeah, I was just wondering if you’ll also let us know about upcoming workshops.”
“Like what kind of workshops?”
“Oh, I don’t know . . . maybe one on how to steal your best friend’s boyfriend?”
Some other girls laugh and whisper. None of them is on my side except for Sophie, who just joined. Danielle won’t even look at me. The boys (all two of them) awkwardly shuffle their feet.
“Maybe,” I say, “but I don’t think you should sign up for that one. No guy would ever want you, no matter how many workshops you took.”
The boys snicker. Everyone’s gaping at Marnie, waiting to see what she’ll do.
Marnie goes, “At least I’m not a slut.”
“Shut up, Marnie,” Sophie says.
I go back to explaining about the club and what our goals for the year are. At least Sophie’s not evil. Too bad she’s not in my lunch. Not like I have an appetite anymore. I should just avoid the cafeteria all together. Maybe I’ll eat lunch under the stairs from now on.
I’m still not hungry later that night when Mom yells that dinner’s ready, but there’s no way I can avoid her. If I don’t go down to dinner, I’ll have to endure an endless barrage of questions I don’t want to answer. So after I feed Wallace and Gromit, I go downstairs.
My parents know something’s wrong. There’s a lot of nervous chitchat about nothing.
“Don’t these tomatoes look incredible?” Mom gushes.
“Incredible,” Dad confirms.
“I just picked them.”
“Guess the garden’s winding down.”
They glance at me. Then they exchange a look across the table. They think I’m not aware of the look, but I can sense it.
I stare at my plate, scraping my fork against it, pushing the potatoes around.
“Honey, you haven’t touched your dinner,” Mom says.
“I’m touching it,” I tell her. “I’m just not eating it.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You have to eat,” Dad says.
“I’m not hungry. I had a really big lunch.”
They exchange another look. I’m sure they know I’m lying. When you’re as little as I am, losing even two pounds makes a difference. I’ve probably lost more than that since school started.
Mom’s like, “You know you can talk to us. About anything.”
“I know.”
“Or . . . I can take you to the health center if you want to . . . discuss this with a specialist.”
“What kind of specialist?”
They do their look again.
I go, “Will you guys stop looking at each other and tell me what’s going on?”
Dad’s not touching this one. He stabs another tomato slice.
“You haven’t been eating,” Mom goes. “We’re concerned.”
“Is that what—you think I’m anorexic or something?”
“You’re too thin.”
“I don’t have an eating disorder.”
“But you’re not eating—”
“That’s not why!” There’s no way I can tell them. It’s just too embarrassing. “I’m . . . there’s just some stuff going on. I’ll be okay.”
They let me leave the table. I hide out in my room for the rest of the night. When I go to bed, I can’t fall asleep. I’m all restless and jittery. A warm breeze flows in through my window. Maybe taking a walk will help me get tired enough to sleep.
I put on a T-shirt and shorts and grab my flip-flops. Then I sneak down the stairs, avoiding the creaky one.
When I’m about to open the door, I hear the porch swing’s chains clanking. I yank my hand away from the doorknob. Leaning over to the window, I peek out.
Blake’s lying on the swing.
I open the door slowly so I don’t scare him. He sits up.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper.
“Can I stay here tonight?” Blake asks.
“Why are you—”
“Just can I?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
I sit next to him on the swing. We sit like that for a long time before he says anything.
“I can’t go home,” Blake says. “My dad kicked me out. We had the nastiest fight ever.”
“About what?”
“He found out about my locker.”
“How?”
“Mr. Bradley called him. Too bad he didn’t stop to consider that not every parent is the understanding type.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. Now I don’t have to worry about coming out to my dad anymore.”
Blake’s always been convinced that his dad would kill him if he found out that Blake is gay. I knew his dad would be mad, but I never thought anything like this would happen. What kind of person throws his own kid out of the house?
“I’m never going back there,” Blake says. “Do you think I could stay with you for a while? I’ll totally pay for food and stuff.”
“I’m sure you can. I’ll ask my mom in the morning.”
Blake stretches out on the swing again, resting his head on a folded blanket he took out of the trunk. “Sorry I was mad at you.”
“Seriously? This is all my fault! I can’t believe how stupid I was.”
“You didn’t know Ryan could hear.”
“I didn’t mean to tell Jason. I am
so
sorry.”
“It’s like my horoscope said last week. What was it? Something like, ‘Information meant to be released can’t stay secret forever. Now’s the time for change.’”
“See how it always knows?”
“Um, yeah, I think I’m convinced.”
I get up and hold my hand out to Blake. “You can’t stay out here. Come sleep in my room.”
“Won’t Jason be jealous?”
“I never knew you could be so funny after midnight.”
Inflating the air mattress would be too noisy, so I get my sleeping bag out. I put a fresh pillowcase on one of my pillows for Blake.
“Take the bed,” I go.
“No, I’ll take the floor.”
“
Take
the
bed
.”
“You run a tight ship around here.”
Blake gets into my bed and falls asleep right away. I’m still strung out on the adrenaline rush from finding him on my porch in the middle of the night. How can he just fall asleep like that?
In the morning, I find Mom washing vegetables in the kitchen.
“Mom?”
“Oh!” She drops a beet in the sink. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.”
“Do you want a sandwich or leftovers for lunch?” Mom asks. I told her I wanted to start bringing my lunch instead of buying. When she asked why, I said it’s because the skanky school lunches are wrecking my health. Which is true.
“Um, a sandwich is okay.”
She goes back to washing vegetables.
“Mom?”
“What is it, honey?”
“We need to talk.”
We sit at the kitchen table. I tell her there’s a rumor about Blake. I tell her about his locker and how his dad threw him out. I leave out the part about my telling Jason that Blake is gay.
“So Blake can stay here, right?” I go.
“That poor boy.”
“I told him it would probably be okay.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Blake’s dad can’t just force him out of his home. That’s illegal. We should probably tell the police. Or child protective services—I’ll have to look into it.”
“Why can’t he just stay here for a while?”
“If his dad refuses to take him back, the authorities might want him to stay with another relative.”
Staying with another relative isn’t the easiest solution when there’s only one possibility. Blake’s uncle is the only other family he has. Blake told me about Uncle Rick. He’s a construction worker who chops wood for people before the winter and grows Christmas trees to sell in the city.
I go, “But his uncle is the closest relative and he lives, like, an hour away.”
“Well, Blake might have to move in with him.”
“No way! Then he’d have to transfer to another school.”
Mom just shakes her head.
“This sucks,” I say.
“Let’s see what happens with Blake’s dad first. Things like this tend to blow over after a few days.”
“It’s not fair that he can’t stay here.”
“We have to do what’s best for Blake.”
I glare at her. “Really? Because it sounds more like you’re doing what’s best for you.”
Upstairs, I roll up my sleeping bag. When Blake gets out of the shower he comes back to my room, rubbing a towel over his hair.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Yeah.”
“This might be a stupid question, but why?”
“Don’t you get it? I don’t have to be afraid anymore. I don’t have to dread what’s going to happen when my dad finds out. If this is the worst of it, then I got off easy.”
“What about everyone at school?”
“They’re dumbasses. I don’t have time for ignorance.”
Blake’s handling this way better than I thought he would. Either he’s having some sort of mental breakdown or he worked through this super quickly.
He goes, “Did you talk to your mom?”
I get busy tying up the sleeping bag. “Um-hm.”
“What’d she say?”
“She said . . .” I stop tying. “She said no.”
“What? Why?”
“Because she’s being impossible.” I’m so mad at Mom for not letting Blake stay. In retaliation, I’m planning to take an extra-long shower and leave the bathroom light on when I’m done.
“Am I at least allowed to stay here tonight?” Blake says.
“I can try to ask for one more night, but . . .”
“Damn,” Blake says. “What am I supposed to do now?”
38
The best poster
I made for One World was ripped to shreds.
It took me two hours to make. The lettering was pristine. I used eight different colors of glitter. I even made cool graphics and glued them on.
Someone yanked the poster down. They ripped it up. They threw the pieces all over the floor.
I pick up one of the pieces. It has an Earth Jason made on our arts-and-crafts night. I used the Earth for the
“o
” in
“World.
” I decorated it with green and blue glitter. Our glitter Earth was perfect.