Year of Mistaken Discoveries (11 page)

“He’d never break your heart again,” Lydia said. “The way Karl talks, he’s really upset.”

I wondered when Colton started sharing his deep feelings with Karl. Or when he started having all these deep feelings for me at all, for that matter. If Colton hadn’t really been in love with me when we went out, I had a hard time believing he was now suddenly completely head over heels. This whole thing was most likely Lydia’s fantasy. She liked when we dated friends. It made things so easy. My best guess was that Colton, if he’d said anything at all, told Karl that he thought I was okay. Or that he missed making out. It wasn’t so much me as a ready access to boobs.

“Fine, skip Colton for a minute. What about cheer?” Shannon said. “We’ve been practicing with Liz, but she’s nowhere near as good as you. When are you coming back?”

I’d continued to make excuses to Coach Kerr about going to cheer practice, and for the time being she was giving me space. Having a friend, even a friend you hadn’t really hung out with in years, kill herself meant you got a lot of space. My history teacher had even told me I didn’t need to do my presentation on American heroes, and it might be my imagination, but I was pretty sure the cafeteria lady was giving me extra applesauce when she dished things out.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back,” I said.

“The basketball team counts on us. They start their games next week,” Shannon said.

I rolled my eyes. “Our team sucks. The fact we’re standing there yelling out chants doesn’t make any difference.”

Shannon pulled back as if I’d suddenly pushed down a saint. “Wow. I guess I had no idea you thought what we did was so stupid.”

“That’s not what she means,” Lydia said, trying to smooth things over. “She’s just not feeling like herself.” She turned to me. “Right?”

I sighed. I didn’t know how to explain that I wasn’t even sure what feeling like myself would be like. I didn’t have a clue who I was anymore. “It isn’t that I think cheer is stupid. It’s that I’m not feeling like it’s something I want to do right now.”

“So can we agree that you’re not fine?” Shannon made finger quotes in the air when she said “fine.”

The girl was level-five persistent. “Okay, you win. I’m not fine, but there’s nothing wrong with me either. I just need some time. Everything in my life turned upside down, and I need to get my feet back under me. I need to know you guys have my back.”

Lydia raised her can of Diet Coke. “Always.” Shannon raised her water bottle and waited for me to raise mine. We clicked over the table, sealing the deal.

“So now that we have that out of the way, what is the deal with Brody? Do you like him?” Shannon asked, popping a hunk of cucumber in her mouth. “I’m telling you, we saw you guys through the window and the sparks were flying.”

“There were no sparks,” I said. “We were just celebrating getting started on our project. C’mon, you guys know me, do I ever turn down an opportunity for ice cream?” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I didn’t want to talk about him. It was like what was happening with Brody was completely separate from the rest of my life, and I didn’t like the two parts mixing together. Shannon and Lydia were great, but anytime any of us had a crush or started dating anyone, the whole situation had to be dissected and explored. We practically busted out a whiteboard so the whole thing could be diagrammed with colored markers. I wanted to keep Brody to myself. “I’d go with anyone if they offered ice cream. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Shannon snorted. “Sparks, fireworks. I’m telling you there was a boom. Fever. Heat.” She licked her finger and made a sizzling sound.

“I don’t like Brody, okay? We’re just friends. We’re not even really that—we’re just partners for this stupid project.”

Lydia’s mouth opened into a perfect circle and her eyes were wide.
Shit.
I turned around slowly and saw Brody standing right behind me. The words in my mouth dried up.

“Hey,” I croaked.

“I wanted to give you this.” Brody passed me a manila envelope. “It’s the pictures I’d already taken for the project.”

“Oh. Thanks.” An awkward silence fell over the table.

“I didn’t know you took pictures. That’s so cool,” Lydia said in an overly perky voice.

Brody stared at her without answering and then looked back at me. “See you around.” He turned and wove through the crowd in the cafeteria. He pushed his way through the large group hanging out near the door and walked out. I wanted to jump up and follow him, but I was pretty sure he didn’t want to talk to me, and even if I caught up with him, I had no idea what I’d say. Lately I didn’t seem capable of talking to anyone without screwing it up.

“See what I mean? The guy is weird,” Shannon said.

• • •

I went to the Human Services office after school. When we’d planned it, Brody had said he’d come with me, but I didn’t see
him the rest of the day. I hung around his locker after classes, but he didn’t show up. I sent him a text, but he didn’t text me back. There was no denying it: Either aliens had kidnapped him, or he was avoiding me. I decided to go ahead without him. Maybe I’d find out something and have an excuse to contact him again. I knew he’d want to hear what happened.

My heart was slamming in my chest. My skin felt hyperaware and itchy. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt this nervous. I made myself take three deep breaths, exhaling slowly. I’d thought about calling, maybe calling from a pay phone at the mall like it was a bomb threat that I didn’t want traced to my home phone, but I knew that was a stupid idea. All I was asking for was some information. Going in person was still the best plan.

I yanked open the door to the Department of Human Services and stepped inside. It looked like every other government office I’d ever been in: industrial furniture, informational posters taped to the wall, and worn carpet on the floor. There was a group of people milling around the lobby, and at the front a few desks behind a counter. I walked up to one of them.

“Excuse me,” I started.

The woman didn’t even look up from what she was doing and instead pointed to the far wall. I turned but didn’t see anything.

“I was hoping—” I got out before she cut me off.

“Take a number.” Her finger pointed again at the back
wall, and this time I saw one of those number-slip dispensers like they had at the deli.

I slunk across the room. I could feel the eyes of everyone else in the room watching me, the one person who didn’t know how things worked. I pulled a number and took a seat. The woman next to me was holding a baby whose entire upper lip was coated in snot. I inched over as far as I could to avoid the baby’s grasping hands. The kid was a little carrier of plague.

The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed to slow down. I should have brought something to do. I crossed my legs and jostled my foot until the woman next to me raised her eyebrow in annoyance. “Sorry,” I whispered. I picked up some of the pamphlets on the table. Everything I ever wanted to know about food stamps and job programs. I was almost ready to walk out when someone finally called my number.

I went up to the desk. My voice caught in my throat for a second. “I’m looking for some information about an adoption.” The woman’s fingers flew over the keyboard, her computer full of the information I needed. “How does an individual go about requesting information about their birth parents?” My face was flushed red hot, but my voice was coming out even and calm.

“The record can be requested through CAR.”

“Car?” I scrambled to find a pen in my purse to write this down. She pushed a pen hooked on a chain over to me.

“Central Adoption Registry. The individual can also go directly to the agency or attorney that handled the adoption.
Do you know if the person was born before or after September 1980?”

“After,” I said.

“Great, that makes things a bit easier. The rules changed after that. The adoptee fills out the CAR clearance form, FIA 1921. Assuming the birth parent hasn’t requested a denial statement, the adoptee will be forwarded a copy of their original birth certificate.”

I made notes as she talked. I’d have to hope that my birth mom never got around to filing any formal paperwork saying she didn’t want to be in touch. I could picture all too easily my request form with a giant “DENIED” stamped across the top in red. “How do I get one of these clearance forms? Do you have them here?”

“So is this for you?”

“Yes.” I tried to stand straighter. It felt like she was looking at me differently, searching for a defect. As if she was trying to figure out why someone would give me away.

“Are you over eighteen?”

I thought about lying, but then realized that she was likely going to ask for some kind of identification. “No.”

She paused for a beat. “Under Michigan law you can’t request information about your adoption until you’re eighteen. Your adoptive family can make the request on your behalf if you want it sooner than that.”

“But it’s my adoption.”

“I understand, but the law requires you to be eighteen. Even if you go directly to the agency, they’ll require you to meet the age requirement.”

My jaw tightened. “That’s not fair. I’m not asking for information about someone else, I’m asking for basic information about me. I’m asking for my mom’s name, not military secrets. I bet you know the name of your mom.”

“I understand it must be frustrating.” She wasn’t even looking at me anymore. I could see that she had her e-mail open on her computer screen. All I was now was someone keeping her from more interesting things.

I felt like screaming that she had no idea how frustrating or she wouldn’t keep answering in that quiet, measured tone, like she was telling me the weather instead of denying me what I had a right to know.

“I’m seventeen,” I explained. “I’ll be eighteen in May. I’m not nine. We’re talking about the difference of a couple of months.”

“Then you can request the forms in a few months. I’m afraid before then I can’t assist you.”

“You mean you
won’t
help me.” I knew I sounded like a whiny toddler, but since my maturity didn’t matter, only my specific birth date, I didn’t see the point of pretending to be grown-up on the issue. There was no use explaining that in a couple of months Duke will have already made their decision and it would be too late.

“Would you like the number of a social worker in your area? Maybe someone you can talk to?” She reached behind her to pull a brochure off of a stack.

“There’s nothing wrong with me. I don’t need to talk to someone, I need someone to give me the information I should be entitled to.”

She sighed. “Then I suggest you come back after your birthday.”

I whirled around and stomped off before she could tell me to have a nice day. I could hear the beep, and they called the next number. I wanted some answers. Now I just had to figure out how to get them.

chapter fifteen

I
sent Brody two more texts, but he didn’t respond. I found myself lurking in the hall near his locker over the next two days so that I might casually run into him, but I didn’t. I’d looked through the pictures he’d given me in the cafeteria. They were amazing. They weren’t pictures like I would take. They looked like the kind of photos you saw hanging in art galleries. There was something about them, something that made me feel there was so much more happening outside of the frame. There was one of a dad pushing his little girl in a swing. Her mouth was caught mid-laugh as she rushed forward. The dad looked proud, but also vaguely left behind. I’d look at it and start wondering about what the people in the picture were thinking. Now I understood the saying that a picture is worth a thousand words. His pictures were stories.

My favorite was a black-and-white photograph of a little girl in a dress. She was sitting on a fallen log at the edge of a dark forest. It seemed as if beyond where the light reached, there might be a wolf, or a wicked witch with a poisoned apple. I’d propped the photo up on my nightstand so it was the first thing I saw every morning when I woke up. I found it disturbing, but at the same time I couldn’t stop looking at it. I hadn’t done anything else on the project. I wasn’t sure what my next steps should be, and I had the sinking feeling that Brody didn’t want to do the project with me anymore. My stupid comments in the cafeteria had ruined everything. Friday afternoon I’d slipped a Batman sticker through the vent on his locker. I didn’t know what else to do.

I knew my parents were surprised I was home with them on a Friday night, but we were pretending it was normal. I sat curled up in a chair. My parents were on the sofa while we all watched a horror movie my dad had downloaded. There had been a big group of my friends going to the movies, but I didn’t want to go. Colton would be there. Lydia and Shannon had tried to convince me that this would be perfect, a no-stress chance to hang out again. A non-date date. I could picture the two of them manipulating things so that Colton and I would be sitting next to each other in the theater. Lydia would keep talking about all the great times we had when we were together, trying to remind him. I knew Colton would press his leg to mine, and then sometime in the middle of the movie he would
reach over and take my hand. And then what would I do? Hold his back? That would be the easy thing. Everyone in our group liked when Colton and I were going out. It made things tidier. Evened up the numbers. Made sure no one felt awkward. Since I didn’t know how to handle it, I’d pleaded that I was coming down with something and bailed on my friends. Not that there was anything wrong with hanging with my parents in comfy sweats and eating my mom’s famous butter-and-parmesan-cheese popcorn, but it felt a bit like hiding out.

My dad jumped when the doorbell rang. He acted tough, but scary movies freaked him out.

“I got it,” I offered, unfolding myself from the chair, tossing off the afghan. I glanced at myself in the mirror above the hall table. I hoped my friends hadn’t decided to stop by to kidnap me on the way to the movies. I didn’t have any makeup on and my hair was tied back with an elastic. I looked bad enough they might believe my lie about being sick.