by Dani Jansen
Ben sniffled and mumbled, “I can’t be in the same room with him.”
“Him who?” It was like a game of twenty questions I didn’t want to play.
“Zach.”
In my shock, I lowered my hand. Thankfully, Ben was dressed in his unitard. I never would have thought that I’d be grateful to see Ben’s “package” outlined in black spandex. Weirder still, I never thought I’d see Ben Weber sitting on a bathroom floor—eyes red from crying, snot dribbling out of his nose—and feel sorry for him. I walked over and awkwardly patted his shoulder. He stiffened, and I backed away.
“Why can’t you be in the same room with Zach?”
“Because…because…because…” he repeated, trying to catch his breath between sobs.
“Take a deep breath, Ben,” I instructed him, reaching into the paper towel dispenser and handing him a sheet. He honked his nose into the paper towel and passed it back to me. I threw it in the garbage as fast as I could and wiped my hand on my jeans. “Why can’t you see Zach?” I tried again.
“Because we broke up,” he mumbled, hanging his head.
“Oh.” I remembered my conversation with Zach and the argument I’d witnessed between the two of them. This certainly explained some things. But it didn’t leave me any less shocked.
Ben looked up at me. “He didn’t understand. It’s great that he’s out, but I can’t do it. I have a reputation to uphold.” It felt like Ben was pleading with me to understand. And to my great surprise, I sort of did. I knew what it was like to be with someone who was more out than me and who was pushing me to catch up.
“Trust me, I get it. I’ve been getting stares from people for just holding Charlotte’s hand. But I gotta tell you, it’s worth it.”
“But I’m not like you! I care what people think about me,” Ben said. “You’ve always been okay with people thinking you’re the nerd obsessed with being valedictorian. It’s like you don’t care that everyone thinks you’re weird.”
There was some more of the old Ben. I resisted the urge to point out that he was the one wearing a unitard. “Well, I don’t exactly love the idea of people thinking I’m weird.”
“But you keep acting weird! How do you do it?”
He didn’t have a clue he was insulting me. He looked so pathetic that I didn’t feel angry. I tried to find an answer to his question. “I guess I just don’t think about it. If I stopped doing things because I was embarrassed, I’d just stay at home all the time.” Sadly, true. But living with the embarrassment meant I was now dating Charlotte Russell, so it wasn’t all bad.
Ben sniffled. I guess embracing embarrassment wasn’t the answer for him.
“Maybe people won’t care that you’re dating a guy,” I suggested. Ben snorted and wiped his nose on the shoulder of his unitard. I tried not to gag. If possible, I was growing to hate pathetic Ben more than I hated regular Ben. “Well, you seem pretty miserable this way, so maybe having people gossip about you would be better than being heartbroken.” Perhaps a little tough love was what he needed.
Wrong. The tears started again, and I felt like a heartless jerk. I stood in silence for a few minutes, unsure of what to do next. “I think Zach misses you.”
Ben looked up at me, his beady little eyes brimming with hope. “How do you know?”
“I don’t know exactly. But he said he’d been having trouble concentrating lately, and I got the feeling it was a heartbreak thing.” I hoped I wasn’t sharing something Zach would want me to keep private. It seemed like the two of them needed a little help finding each other, though, so I thought it was okay for me to say this much.
“Yeah?”
“For sure.” At this point, I would have said anything to stop having to comfort Ben Weber in the smelly boys’ washroom. (Why did the boys’ washroom smell so much worse than the girls’ washroom? Did they pee directly on the floor?) “Now why don’t you wash your face and come to rehearsal?”
Ben pulled himself up off the floor and splashed his face with cold water. I handed him another paper towel. He walked out the door and I followed him, looking at the floor so I wouldn’t need to see his backside in the unitard. As we were about to enter the drama room, Ben mumbled what sounded like “Thanks,” without turning around to look at me.
CHAPTER 31
“Did you make Ben Weber cry?” Becca stood on my parents’ porch with her hands on her hips. I stood back to let her come in, but she didn’t budge. We were going to have this conversation right there, despite the nippy evening temperature.
“Why would you think that?” I stalled, leaning against the doorjamb and zipping my hoodie closed.
“Because that’s what people are saying.” Becca didn’t seem to notice the temperature, maybe because she was outraged or maybe because her massive head of curls kept her warm.
“Oh, no.” I rubbed my forehead. What was I supposed to do about this rumor? I couldn’t tell anyone the truth, because that would mean outing Ben. But I couldn’t let the world think I’d made him cry. Could I?
“You did, didn’t you? You made him cry, and you didn’t think to call me!” Becca stomped her foot like a cranky toddler. “Tell me you at least took a picture.”
“It wasn’t like that, Becca.” This conversation wasn’t helping my headache. It had been a long day already, and it was just getting longer.
“So you didn’t take a picture.” Becca looked incredulous.
“No. I mean, I didn’t make him cry.” Ben wouldn’t thank me for letting that rumor spread.
“But he was crying, right?” Becca sounded suspicious now, like she knew I was holding something back. She was too perceptive for my own good.
I tried evading the question. “He was having a bad day.”
“Such a bad day that he was crying like a baby?” Becca leaned in, hope carved into her face.
I tried humanizing Ben. “We’ve all had bad days.”
Becca flapped her hand at me, dismissing the comment. “Yes, but the rest of us are normal people with normal emotions. This is Ben Weber we’re talking about.”
I sighed. “Becca, I can’t talk about it. I’m sorry. It wouldn’t be fair to Ben.”
Becca was shocked silent. She was my best friend, and she knew I was holding back. I tried to wait her out.
“Becca, if I could tell you, I would. All I can say is that I didn’t make him cry.”
Silence again. This time, Becca squinted her eyes at me.
I tried another tack. “If someone was going to make him cry, wouldn’t you want to be that person?”
There was another half-second of silence, then a grudging, “Maybe.”
I smiled. “There you go. Something to look forward to before graduation. Or maybe at graduation?”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Becca conceded. Her eyes took on a dreamy, far-off look. “Getting Ben to cry in front of the whole graduating class might just make up for the years of bad innuendo. I wonder if pantsing him would do the trick. Do you think they would withhold my diploma if I pantsed someone?”
I chuckled. “I don’t know, Becca. I’m not sure it’s worth taking the chance, though.”
“Says Miss Valedictorian. I don’t care about this whole high-school-graduation thing, so long as I have the grades to get into a decent engineering program.” Becca was a bit of a physics and math whiz, so I wasn’t worried for her. But I didn’t like that she assumed I would be valedictorian. I didn’t consider myself superstitious, but I also didn’t want to tempt the fates, if they did happen to exist.
“Becca, you know I might not be valedictorian.”
Becca rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”
I shivered. “Can we go inside now?”
Becca checked the time on her phone. “I don’t think I can. I told my dad I was just going to get some tampons. If I take much longer, even he will
get suspicious.”
“See you tomorrow, Becca.”
Becca waved as she walked back to Harvey.
After Becca left, I climbed into bed and pulled the comforter up to my chin. I thought back to the glimpse I had caught of Ben talking with Zach after rehearsal. I hoped they would make up. I liked Zach and, for some unfathomable reason, he liked Ben. I wanted them to be happy. I also never wanted to comfort Ben Weber again.
I worried that Ben might think I was behind the crying rumors, but there wasn’t anything I could do about that. I was about to open my math binder to start studying when my phone rang. The number was blocked. I thought about letting it go to voicemail before I remembered all the businesses I’d been trying to woo. Maybe one of them was finally calling to offer us some much-needed ad revenue. I put on my best peppy voice, which sounded a tad like Minnie Mouse on speed. “Hello. Alison Green speaking.”
“Is this the girl who’s trying to sell ad space for the high school play?”
“It is. To whom am I speaking?” I hoped the correct use of whom sounded polite, not snobby.
“Let’s just say I represent the interests of the Upstage Players.” The voice was muffled, like the person was holding the phone away from her mouth. Or like she was trying to disguise her voice, which seemed just silly.
“The community theater group?” I asked.
“So you’ve heard of us.”
“Yes. I saw your production of The Scarlet Letter last year. It was very…interesting.” The Upstage Players were known for their over-the-top productions. I occasionally went to their shows with my parents because summer in the suburbs was boring enough that a post-apocalyptic version of a classic play sometimes seemed more appealing than another night of meeting Becca for ice cream.
“Then you should know we don’t take kindly to people asking our sponsors for money.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.” I didn’t sound peppy anymore, just confused.
“This is a small town. There isn’t room for two theater troupes here.” There was definitely an edge in the voice now. I felt pretty sure I was being threatened, though the idea was so absurd that I couldn’t accept it.
“We aren’t a theater troupe. We’re just doing a high-school play,” I tried to explain.
“That’s not the point!”
I considered hanging up but made one last attempt at communication. “I’m sorry, but I still don’t understand.”
“You can’t just go around asking businesses for money,” the voice explained. She spoke slowly, as if I was an idiot who didn’t understand a basic concept.
I was starting to feel like an idiot who couldn’t understand a basic concept. “I can’t?”
“No, you can’t. There isn’t enough ad revenue here for two shows. We were here first, and we have relationships with all the local businesses. They won’t buy ad space from you, so stop asking them.” The line went dead. I stared at my phone some more. It felt like a foreign object now, like it had somehow betrayed me. How could it have let this crazy person call me? I put the phone away in the drawer of my bedside table and tried to get back to studying. I gave up less than an hour later when I noticed I was repeating practice questions I’d already answered. I put my stuff away and went to bed. In one day I’d seen Ben Weber cry, found out he was gay, and received a threatening phone call from a local theater troupe. Things like this never happened when I was editing the school newspaper.
CHAPTER 32
At lunch the next day, I told Becca and Charlotte about the threatening call. Charlotte laughed so hard she choked and squirted water out her nose. It was adorable, though not at all helpful. Becca looked cynical and said she’d ask her father if he knew anything about this. They both agreed that I shouldn’t say anything to Mr. Evans yet. They argued it was probably just a prank call. I couldn’t shake the feeling that a prank caller wouldn’t sound so hostile, but I kept that to myself. Their explanation was reassuring. Still, I decided to postpone my canvassing of local businesses until after Becca had a chance to speak with her father.
Instead, I focused on another problem. Before our next production meeting, I needed to figure out if Annie was still mad. She often needed a cooling-off period after a fight. I didn’t want to find a new prop master so late in the game. If Annie wasn’t going to forgive me, though, I needed to start begging people soon. I hoped four days was long enough for her to cool off.
After school, I made my way to Annie’s locker. “Hey.” She didn’t even look at me as she packed her backpack. “Want a drive home?” Annie had been taking the bus, which is how I knew she was pissed at me.
Annie kept her eyes on her bag. “No.”
“Come on, Annie. The bus sucks.” Annie hunched her shoulders. I didn’t know if she was girding herself for the ride or if she was getting ready to punch me. I had to take my chances. “Listen, I’m really sorry about Saturday. Your song was awesome, and I should have stayed to tell you that.”
“Too late.” Annie slammed her locker door shut. The metallic crunch reverberated as we stood in painful silence. Annie still wouldn’t look at me. Instead, she stared at the closed locker.
“How can I make it up to you?” I wanted her to hear the apology in my voice.
“I don’t know,” Annie whispered.
“You can have the front seat,” I offered.
Annie looked at me from the corner of her eye. “For how long?”
“A week?”
“I’m still not going to work on the school play,” she said.
I nodded. I knew a week of shotgun wouldn’t be enough to get her to forgive me, so I was prepared for this. The first step in negotiations was to open the lines of communication. “Will you at least talk to me?”
“Fine.” Annie finally looked at me. I smiled at her, and she gritted her teeth at me. It was progress.
On the drive home, I tried to tell Annie all about the weird phone call from the night before, figuring a funny story might help ease the tension. “No play talk,” she said before I could get to any of the good stuff. I shut up.
Becca shot me a look in the rearview mirror. As an only child, she often found my fights with Annie both amusing and confusing. The twist to her lips said she was amused this time.
I stared at the back of Annie’s head, contemplating possible topics. I noticed her roots were showing but didn’t think she’d appreciate my telling her so. I decided to find neutral conversational territory. “Can one of you explain how it is that our basketball team might actually make the playoffs this year?”
Annie and Becca were happy to explain the bizarre confluence of events that meant the Otters were having their best season ever. From what I understood, which was very little, it had something to do with other teams experiencing unlucky injuries and one of the better schools being moved up a league. It didn’t matter, ultimately. I was just happy to have Annie talking to me again.
Unfortunately, the détente lasted only until we walked in the front door. Annie went up to her room without another word to me, and I wandered into the kitchen a little deflated. I opened the cupboard to see if my sister had accepted my other peace offering. The new box of Pop-Tarts remained unopened, so either she was refusing to eat them, or she hadn’t noticed them yet.
I didn’t want to go upstairs to study. I didn’t want to see my sister’s closed door. I settled at the kitchen table with my school supplies spread out around me. I set the table with highlighters to my left, pens to my right, and binders stacked in front of me. I tucked into my academic meal and managed to stay occupied until my parents got home and asked me to clear my things so they could set the table for supper.
I silently thanked Mom and Dad when I saw what we were eating for supper. It was Annie’s favorite: vegetable lasagna from Nonna’s Kitchen, a tiny restaurant just down the street from my parents’ firm. If anything wou
ld put Annie in the mood to forgive me, this was it.
Over supper, Dad told a funny story about a client who was convinced he could sue his neighbor for property damages because her dog kept pooing on his lawn. Annie was smiling. This was my chance.
“Mom, there’s something I have to tell you. I’ve been feeling guilty for months about it.”
The whole table turned to look at me. My mother raised a groomed eyebrow, waiting for me to continue.
“You know that thing with your car last year?”
“You mean the mysterious dent that appeared in my brand-new Mini Convertible that no one seemed to know anything about?” I couldn’t tell if she sounded mad. She had been furious at the time. So furious that Dad had taken us out for the afternoon while Mom stomped around the house and called body shops to get quotes on how much it would cost to repair her car. Breakfasts and suppers had been tense for weeks afterward.
I could feel Annie’s eyes boring into me, but I didn’t look at her. This needed to happen. I squared my shoulders and looked my mother straight in the eye. “It was my fault. I dented your car. I’m so sorry.”
I heard my father drop his cutlery onto his plate, but otherwise the room was silent. I didn’t break eye contact with my mother, afraid that any weakness on my part would make things worse.
My mother wiped her mouth with a napkin, even though her face was spotless. It was a stalling technique meant to make me more nervous. It succeeded. I felt my pulse racing. “Is that so?” she asked.
“Yes. I wasn’t thinking, and I tossed my backpack onto the hood. I forgot how heavy it was.” I stopped myself. Over-explaining would make her suspicious.
“Your backpack dented my car,” she repeated. My mother was well-known for her cross-examinations. There was something about her calm demeanor that witnesses (and her daughters) found off-putting. Witnesses (and daughters) had cracked under her intense gaze and quiet skepticism. But this would not be one of those times. If I wanted Annie to forgive me, if I wanted to prove to her that I was really sorry, then I needed to convince my mother the accident was my fault. At least, I needed to make sure she couldn’t prove it wasn’t my fault.