by Dani Jansen
Charlotte gestured at Annie. “Shouldn’t you stay to say something to your sister?”
I waved at Annie. “Nah. I’ll talk to her at home.”
Charlotte stood up just as my parents approached the table. I wanted to grab her hand and pull her out of there, but I knew it was too late. There was no mistaking that they were coming to speak to us. I could see Charlotte looking from my mother to me, probably noticing that I have the same button nose.
My father spoke first. “We were afraid you weren’t going to make it, Al.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I forced a smile. “I’ll see you at home.” I turned around and pulled Charlotte with me toward the door.
I was grateful my parents didn’t follow or try to say anything else.
When we got outside, Charlotte asked, “Were those your parents?”
I nodded.
“Were you embarrassed to introduce me?” Charlotte crossed her arms, and I knew I had to explain.
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean, I thought it would be awkward to introduce you to my parents on our first date.” I was rambling.
Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “More awkward than pretending I wasn’t there?”
“Now that you mention it, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t think about them being here when I said we should come to the show.” I walked toward the car, and Charlotte followed, though I noticed her arms were still crossed.
“Are you out?” Charlotte asked before I could get in the car.
I looked at her over the top of the car. “Yes, I am. I told my family last year.”
“Are they not okay with it?” She looked sympathetic.
I looked at the ground. “They’re totally fine with it.”
“Oh.” Charlotte got into the car and I followed, remembering that her father wasn’t “fine with it.” I put the keys in the ignition but didn’t turn the car on. I had to ask Charlotte something.
“Did you think I was in the closet?”
“I wondered.”
“I didn’t know if you were gay,” I retaliated, even though Charlotte hadn’t accused me of anything.
Charlotte remained calm. “I’m not.”
How had I gotten things so very wrong? “Oh. But…Isn’t this…?” I trailed off.
Charlotte saved me. “I identify as pansexual.”
I nodded, pretending I knew what that meant. But then I remembered I was trying the honesty thing. “I, uh, I’m not exactly sure what that means.”
Charlotte explained, “For me, it means I’m attracted to the person, not to their gender or sex.” She reached for my hand. “I really like you, but I don’t want to be with someone who’s ashamed to be with me.”
I squeezed Charlotte’s hand. “I’m not ashamed to be with you! I was just embarrassed to introduce you to my parents. I figured you’d think I was a weirdo who skips from first date to meet the parents.” I paused. “Plus, it sounds like things aren’t exactly cool with your dad, and I didn’t want to rub it in your face that my parents are supportive.”
Charlotte squeezed my hand back. “I’m happy your parents are supportive. Listen, my mom is great. And my dad is old-school, but I don’t hide who I am from him, so I’m definitely not going to hide it from anyone else.”
I nodded. “Of course. I get that.”
Charlotte ran her thumb over my hand, and I shivered. “So you’d be okay holding hands at school?”
My brain was slow to process words; it was too preoccupied with the sensation of her skin on mine. “With you?” I asked.
Charlotte chuckled. “Yes, with me.” She was tickling the palm of my hand now.
I caught my breath. “Absolutely. Yes. For sure.”
“What about kissing?” she whispered, her voice huskier than a moment before.
“Well, that would be nice,” I stammered. “I mean, I don’t like it when people full-on make out in the hallways, but a tasteful public display of affection seems cool. I mean, if you wanted—”
Charlotte cut me off by leaning forward and kissing me. At first, I felt stiff. I didn’t know what to do, where to put my hands, how to move. But soon I couldn’t think anymore. I closed my eyes and kissed Charlotte right back.
CHAPTER 29
This morning called for a Pop-Tart. I wasn’t usually one for sweet breakfasts, but I felt like celebrating. After all, it’s not every day you make out with your crush. I dug around in the cupboards to find my sister’s stash of Pop-Tarts. Instead of choosing between Strawberry or S’mores, I decided to have one of each. I was humming as I waited for the toaster to finish its work when Annie slumped into the kitchen, her hair knotted from sleep.
“Good morning!” Even to my own ears, I sounded much too peppy for this time of day. But I couldn’t help it.
“Hmph,” Annie grunted back, digging around in the fridge for the orange juice.
The toaster popped, and I plucked out my breakfast. Annie squinted at my plate, the orange juice carton halfway to her mouth.
“Are you eating my Pop-Tarts?”
“I felt like Pop-Tarts this morning. I can get you more, if you want.”
“You should’ve asked.” Annie slammed the orange juice down on the kitchen counter, and it splattered.
“Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you up.” Annie wasn’t usually this possessive of her foodstuffs. So long as you didn’t finish the supply without replacing it, she was generally happy to share her junk food. In fact, Dad counted on Annie’s generosity to survive Mom’s occasional juice cleanses.
“This is so typical.” Annie marched over to me and tried to grab the plate from my hand. Instinctively, I pulled it away.
“What’s the matter with you this morning?”
“You’re the matter with me this morning!” She grabbed for the plate again.
Annie seemed so angry that I decided the Pop-Tarts weren’t worth the fight. I handed the plate to her, and she tossed the Pop-Tarts in the sink.
“Hey! I wanted those.”
“Yeah? Well, you can’t always get what you want, Al.” Annie’s fists were clenched.
“Why are you being such a brat? Your gig went well last night. You should be happy.”
“How would you know? You were barely even there.” Annie turned her back on me.
“I was there. I waved to you.” Had Annie not seen me?
“Oh, yeah. You wandered in at the last minute, made moon-eyes with Charlotte during my set, then left without saying anything to me. Is that what counts as ‘there?’” Annie stomped over to the counter, picked up the juice, and poured herself a glass. I noticed the carton shaking as she poured.
“Annie, I’m sorry I didn’t stick around. I thought it would be awkward to introduce Charlotte to Mom and Dad on our first date.” I took a step forward but decided not to get too close.
“Then why did you bring her? Huh? I bet you forgot about my show. I’m helping you with the stupid play, and you can’t even make the effort to show up on time for my gig.” Annie closed the carton, jammed it into the fridge, and slammed the door.
I didn’t want to admit she was right, so I fought back. “You’re only helping me with the play because I threatened to tell Mom about what happened to her car.”
Annie spun around and jabbed her finger at me. “I’m pretty sure Mom already knows it was me! I’m done with the play. Find someone else to be your prop master.” Annie stormed out of the room, abandoning her orange juice.
I stood rooted to the spot for a moment before walking over to the counter and tipping the orange juice down the drain, then putting the empty glass in the dishwasher. I wiped down the counter and threw the Pop-Tarts into the garbage. It was hard to remember why I’d wanted them. Annie was right. I had forgotten about her show. I felt guilty about forgetting and even guiltier about pretending I hadn’t. Was I the kind of girl who droppe
d everything just because her crush fluttered her long eyelashes?
Annie wanted me to be more supportive. Charlotte wanted me to be more out. My parents wanted me to be happy. My teachers wanted me to stay focused on my studies. My guidance counselor wanted me to fill out endless scholarship applications. Mr. Evans wanted me to help him realize his crazy vision. My production crew wanted me to have all the answers. It was too much.
I was sitting slumped at the kitchen table when my parents came back from the market. My mother unpacked the fruits and vegetables as my father put coffee on to brew. I couldn’t leave the kitchen without talking to them, not unless I wanted to trigger their parental worry alarms, so I stayed seated at the table. Looking over her shoulder, my mother said, “I think Annie was disappointed that you didn’t stick around last night.”
Oh, great. Like I hadn’t been feeling guilty enough. Now my parents were piling on. I picked at the grapes in the bowl on the kitchen table. “I know. I told her I was sorry.” No need for them to know she hadn’t accepted my apology.
“Why didn’t you introduce us to your friend?” Dad asked. He leaned on the counter, feet crossed casually at the ankle.
More guilt. “Uh, well…” I trailed off.
My mother turned around and looked at my father. “Honey, that was her date,” she explained.
My father looked from me to my mother and back again. “Really?”
I nodded.
My father still seemed a little confused, so my mother asked him, “When you were a teenager, did you want to introduce your dates to your parents?”
“No, but we’re not like my parents. Remember when you finally met them?”
“Yes,” Mom replied in a flat tone. “Your mother referred to me as ‘that girl.’”
“We’re not like that,” Dad said. He asked me, “We’re not like that, right?”
“No, you’re not like that,” I reassured him.
He looked like he wanted to say something else but wasn’t quite sure how to say it. “It’s not because she’s a girl, is it? That you didn’t introduce her? Because we want you to feel comfortable bringing home anyone who’s important to you.”
There was that stab of guilt again. This was too easy for me. Charlotte couldn’t even tell her dad she was going on a date. My dad was hurt just by the thought that I might see him as anything less than completely understanding. I put aside my feelings and explained, “It was a first date, Dad. I didn’t want her to think I was jumping straight to meeting the parents.”
“It was a first date?” Dad’s eyes opened wide in surprise. Great. Even he knew how awkward it was to take a first date to a place you knew your parents were going to be.
“Honey, why don’t we get started on the yard work?” my mother suggested. It looked for a second like my father was going to object, but she raised her eyebrows and he finally took her meaning.
“Right. Yes. Good idea. We should get to work.” Dad busied himself with pouring their coffee into travel mugs, and Mom gave me a little nod. I took that as my cue to get out of the kitchen before any more family drama could take place.
CHAPTER 30
I’d told Charlotte I was comfortable holding hands with her at school. And I was more than comfortable holding hands. Any contact with her made me feel tingly. I was even comfortable kissing her at school, at least when there weren’t any teachers around. She tasted like the weird gum she chewed, Sour Strawberry. What I wasn’t so comfortable with were the stares. Maybe Charlotte was used to being the center of attention, but I wasn’t. I felt paranoid. Were people staring because they were surprised a geek like me was with the coolest girl in school? Or were they staring because we were both girls? Most of our classmates might be theoretically open-minded, but it wasn’t as if there were many gay couples engaging in PDA every day at our school. I wanted to ask Charlotte if she noticed it too, but I wasn’t sure how to put into words what I was noticing. Could I even call us a gay couple? Since she was pansexual, did she believe in the term “gay relationship?” Was this a relationship, even? I had so many questions I wanted to ask, but I was worried she’d take it as more proof that I wasn’t comfortable being out. So I kept the questions to myself. I hated being stared at, but who doesn’t?
Actors, that’s who.
At our rehearsal that week, the whole lot of them agreed to wear unitards. What normal human being would agree to being squished into a piece of clothing that needs to be completely stripped off every time you have to pee? As Zach handed out the black spandex torture devices, the actors smiled and laughed together. Even the boys. They teased each other, but they still toddled off to the washrooms to get changed. Charlotte winked at me before she left, and I had to admit I wasn’t entirely unhappy at the prospect of seeing her in something tight-fitting. Still. Unitards! Puck was right: “What fools these mortals be!”
“They’ll have costume pieces to wear over the unitards, Alison. No need to look so scandalized,” Zach reassured me. He pulled wings and tutus and colorful streams of gauzy fabric out of the boxes he’d brought to today’s rehearsal. I tried to look more blasé. If I was going to date Charlotte, I couldn’t be so easily shocked.
Mr. Evans was giddy as he touched each piece. “This is all so perfect. Excellent work, Zach.”
“Thanks, Mr. Evans. You haven’t even seen our pièce de résistance yet.” Zach opened another box and wrestled out a giant papier-mâché donkey head. I snorted, and Mr. Evans clapped his hands.
Mr. Evans and I helped Zach lay out the accessories so that when the actors trickled back in, pulling at their unitards and giggling uncomfortably, we were able to hand them their costumes right away. The fairies wore multicolored tutus and sparkly wings. Not one of them objected as Zach handed them the spindly heels. I wondered if I was missing some girl gene that made high heels appealing.
Next, Zach gave the human characters billowy tunics, leather vests, and tall boots. I had to admit that the unitards looked less ridiculous as the actors accessorized. I could even see how helpful the unitards would be for the actors who had to perform quick-changes backstage.
Finally, Zach dressed our main characters. The costume for Puck reminded me a little of Peter Pan. Jack’s unitard was brown, to go with the mossy greens of his long tunic, which Zach belted at the waist. The actor playing Bottom donned the donkey head and walked around with his hands out, trying not to bump into anything. Everyone laughed, and he hammed it up even more, pretending to trip on his own feet. Finally, Charlotte was outfitted as the regal Titania. She wore a long gown with bell sleeves that reached the floor. The peacock colors brought out the blue of her eyes. Even Bottom stopped his clowning to look at her.
Mr. Evans clapped his hands again, his grin so wide that his pale blue eyes looked like sparkly little slits hidden in the folds of his wrinkles. I smiled, happy to see him so pleased.
“There’s one costume left,” Zach said, looking around the room. “Where’s Oberon?”
Zach was right. Ben was missing.
“Mr. Evans, do you know where Ben is?” I asked.
He was so distracted by the costumes that he barely registered my question. “He must still be changing into the unitard. Can you go find him, Alison?”
“Uh, Mr. Evans, if he’s still changing, that means he’s in the boys’ washroom,” I pointed out. Some of the actors sniggered.
“I can’t send any of the actors.” Mr. Evans swept his arms around, indicating all the actors in their costumes. “What if someone sees them? We can’t ruin the surprise for our audience.”
I could tell it would be useless arguing with him, so I went off to search for Ben Weber. I walked as slowly as I could, hoping Ben was just taking his sweet time getting changed. If I was lucky, I’d see him walking down the hall in his unitard. Not that I was looking forward to even glimpsing Ben dressed that way. Maybe if I stared at the floor as I walked, I
’d see his feet before I saw the rest of him.
Unfortunately, I made it to the boys’ washroom without meeting Ben in the hall. I stood at the door for a moment. What was I going to do now? I could barge in, grab Ben by the ear, and pull him out. That might be satisfying. But what if I saw him naked? Naked was definitely worse than a unitard.
I hesitated for another minute before I knocked on the heavy bathroom door. No answer. I knocked louder. Still nothing. “Ben,” I called through the door. “Mr. Evans needs you for rehearsal.” Silence. I was turning around when I thought I heard a…snuffling? That couldn’t be possible. I pressed my ear against the door. It definitely sounded like someone was crying in there. I wanted to walk away, to tell Mr. Evans that I’d tried to find Ben, but that he was MIA. However, some part of me that I wished didn’t exist felt bad about leaving anyone, even Ben Weber, crying alone in a bathroom.
I pushed the door open a tiny bit. “Ben? Are you in there?”
The person inside blew his nose.
I opened the door a little wider. I kept my face pointed at the doorjamb so I wouldn’t catch even a glimpse of naked white skin. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Go away.” It was Ben. And he definitely wasn’t fine. His voice cracked, and he snuffled.
“Ben, please don’t be naked. I’m coming in.” I pushed the door open, shielding my eyes with my left hand just in case Ben was too upset to worry about the social convention of clothing. I stared at the tiled floor. What are you going to do now, smarty-pants? My brain had a fair point. What was I going to do now?
“Can I go get someone, Ben?” Please say yes, I thought at him.
“No!”
So much for that plan. “Is there something wrong with the costume?” I asked, unable to think of why Ben could possibly be crying in the second-floor boys’ washroom during rehearsal.
“You think I’m crying because of some stupid costume?” He made it sound like I was an idiot for suggesting this. Here was the old Ben I knew and hated.
“Then why are you crying?” I tried to be empathetic, but I couldn’t help sounding exasperated.