We Are All Made of Molecules

by Susin Nielsen

  Jared laughed. “Hardly. We have a cook who comes in twice a week and preps a bunch of meals. This stuff is all for show. My parents are all about appearances.” He opened the fridge. “You want something to drink?”

  “Sure.”

  “Beer? Wine? Rum and Coke?”

  “Um. Maybe just the Coke.”

  “C’mon. Relax. I’m having a beer.”

  “Won’t your parents mind?”

  “They’ll never know. They have an epic supply of booze.”

  I didn’t want to seem like a prude, so I said, “How about a white wine spritzer?” because that’s what Anastasia is always drinking on one of my soaps.

  Jared opened a bottle of white wine that was in the fridge and poured me a very big glass, leaving hardly any room for sparkling water. He got himself a beer and said, “Let me show you around upstairs.”

  So I took my glass and followed him, having a few sips along the way. I felt quite sophisticated, even if I didn’t love the taste.

  “This is my parents’ bedroom,” he said, showing me the master suite. It was as big as our entire second floor. Everything was white: the duvet cover, the pillows, the carpet, and the curtains. It was the only un-dark room in the house. “And here’s my room,” he said when we reached the other end of the long hallway.

  Jared’s bedroom wasn’t as big as his parents’, but it was still twice the size of mine. The color scheme was lots of browns and navy blues, and his curtains and even his bedspread had little sailboats on them.

  “Do you sail?”

  He nodded. “We belong to the Yacht Club. Mom decorated my room in a nautical theme about five years ago. Guess I’m due for a change, huh.”

  “I don’t know…. I think it’s kind of cute.” I couldn’t help it; I was imagining a future where Jared and I would belong to the Yacht Club together. We would look so good in navy-and-white stripes and matching boat shoes!

  Jared sat on the edge of his bed and patted the spot beside him. “Sit.”

  I smiled flirtatiously. “I’m not a dog.”

  He grinned. “You definitely are not. C’mon, sit beside me. Please.”

  So I did. We were facing two shelves full of sports trophies, all from his old school. “You must be a really good athlete.”

  “Yeah, we had great sports teams at St. Pat’s. Borden’s teams are so lame.”

  “Do you wish you still went there?”

  “For some stuff, yeah. But the principal’s a total jerk.”

  “What happened?” I asked, stroking his hand in a caring way. In my head I was picturing our wedding day; it would be a very expensive yet elegant affair.

  “Told you already.”

  “You told me you dealt with someone who needed to be dealt with. But you never told me details.”

  He sighed and took a swig of beer. “This guy on our football team—turns out he’s a homo. But he didn’t tell us till the end of the season, after we’d been naked around him a million times. A lot of the guys were pissed, me included. Then I saw him looking at my junk after our final game, so I punched him. Any of the other guys would’ve done it, too. He’s the one who practically committed sexual assault, and I’m the one who got kicked out. Stupid faggot.”

  I wasn’t sure I’d heard correctly. How could such an ugly word come out of such a beautiful mouth? I thought about my dad, and I wanted to say something. But I don’t know. I didn’t want to get into an argument. It was just a word. As for the punch, maybe the guy had kind of deserved it. I mean, I wasn’t there, right? Maybe he’d been creepy and inappropriate. So all I said was “Oh.”

  We were quiet for a moment. He polished off his beer, and I had another sip of my wine “So. What do you want to do?” he asked.

  “We could go watch something on TV.” I’d seen their enormous entertainment room in the basement. I started to get up, but he grabbed my hand and pulled me back down.

  “Sure,” he said. “In a while.” He started stroking my arm. “You’re so hot, Ashley.” He leaned in and kissed me with his beautiful, soft mouth, which I liked. He’s a good kisser.

  Then he pushed me down on the bed and climbed on top of me.

  He started pulling my shirt up. I wasn’t totally against this in theory, but I didn’t like the way he was doing it. I grabbed his hand, but he kept yanking.

  “C’mon, Ash, I’m dying here.” I could feel what he was talking about; it was pressing into my leg.

  “Jared, stop it.”

  I tried to move, but he pinned my arms down. When I looked at his face, it was as if he’d gone somewhere else. It was like I wasn’t even there.

  “Please, Jared,” I said, and it came out as a whimper. “Let me up.”

  But he wasn’t listening. He was pulling at my shirt and my skirt at the same time. “Jared, stop!”

  I was starting to truly freak out when suddenly I heard “¿Qué pasa?”

  I turned my head. Standing in the doorway was a short woman with long black hair. Jared rolled off me, and I jumped up from the bed. “What are you doing here?” he said.

  “I live here, Mr. Man. And your mother say no company,” the woman said, hands on her hips. She saw my wineglass and Jared’s beer and picked them up. “I tell your parents you drink their booze.” She turned her steely gaze on me. “You go now,” she said. Then she turned back to Jared. “I give you five minutes, Mr. Man. I wait downstairs.” She walked away.

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  “Consuela. Our housekeeper. God, I hate her.”

  I didn’t hate her. In fact, right now I kind of loved her. I tucked my shirt back into my skirt. “Well, I’d better go—” I stopped midsentence. Because suddenly I saw, sitting on his desk in the corner, two figurines.

  Dopey and Bunnykins.

  “What are those doing there?”

  Jared shrugged. “I took them as a joke. To see if he’d notice.”

  “Oh, he noticed. He thinks I took them.”

  “Oops.” He smirked.

  “It’s not funny, Jared. Those were his mom’s. His dead mom’s.”

  “It’s no big deal. I was going to put them back next time I came over.”

  “Why don’t I save you the trouble?” I grabbed the figurines off his desk and put them into my bag. Then I hurried down the stairs. Consuela was waiting in the foyer, her arms crossed over her broad chest. She glared at both of us as she opened the door.

  “I’ll walk you to the bus stop,” Jared started.

  “No, I’m fine.” To Consuela, I blurted, “Gracias,” the only Spanish word I know. Then I hurried out the door and bolted down the driveway.

  It took me a while to find a bus stop. I didn’t want to call Leonard. I didn’t want to talk to anyone.

  I think it was the cold that made me shake the whole way back.

  Leonard was surprised to see me home so early. Stewart was, too. He had his little friend over, Alabaster or whatever his name is, and they were working on Stewart’s electric bike in the basement, laughing and having a grand old nerdy time.

  The family room was empty, so I slipped the figurines back onto the mantelpiece. Then I went upstairs and got into my jammies.

  “Ashley?” I looked up. Leonard was standing in my doorway. “Everything okay?”

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  He didn’t look convinced. “Well. If you need anything, I’m downstairs.” He started to close my door.

  “Can you leave it open?”

  “Oh. Sure thing.”

  A few minutes later, Shoe Horn wandered in, and for the first time ever, he leapt onto my bed. Even though he is spectacularly ugly, I was happy to see him, so happy I almost started to cry. He curled up in my lap, and I petted him and petted him and he purred and purred, and finally I did let myself cry a little bit because I wasn’t one hundred percent totally absolutely positive that I wanted to be Ashley Anderson-Mitchell after all.

  —

  “WHAT HAPPENED AFTER HE toured you t
hrough the house?” Lauren kept up with the twenty questions as we headed inside.

  “He lit a fire, and we sat on a bearskin rug…. He even poured us a bit of his parents’ wine.” Only the wine part was true; the rest was another scene from my favorite soap.

  “And then?” Claudia asked, her mouth hanging open ever-so-slightly in a very unattractive way. I could tell she was hungry for gossip. Whatever I told her would spread like wildfire throughout the school, so I chose my words carefully.

  “He has lovely soft lips.”

  They all squealed with delight like I knew they would.

  —

  I DIDN’T WANT TO see Jared. He’d texted me a couple of times on Sunday, but I hadn’t answered.

  I’d had this image of him, which he had kind-of-not-quite-totally-but-still-partly wrecked on Saturday night. I mean, I know I haven’t exactly been waving the rainbow-colored flag on behalf of my dad, who I’m still mad at for totally ruining my life, but I’d never, ever want him to get called horrible names or get beat up for who he is.

  And then there was the look on Jared’s face when he was on top of me. Like he didn’t even see me anymore.

  Half of me thinks I should walk away now.

  But the bigger half of me thinks maybe I’m overreacting. I mean, maybe that kid at his school really was a pervert. And as for what happened in his room, well, guys get carried away when it comes to that stuff, right? Also, I’m pretty sure he was just about to hear what I was saying to him and stop.

  The thing is: he’s so perfect in every other way. And usually he is very sweet to me. Maybe I can change the not-so-nice stuff over time. Men change for the better thanks to the love of a good woman all the time in the movies, so why not in real life?

  I mean, we look so good together!! Like we could be on the cover of a magazine!! Do I really want to throw that all away over one slightly creepy night?

  —

  WE ARRIVED AT OUR lockers. Lauren saw it before I did. “Oh. My. God!” she said. Then I saw it, too: a single red rose, sticking out of the slats of my locker door.

  I pulled it out. A note was wrapped around the stem. Sorry about Saturday, it read. Crazy about you.

  Lauren and Claudia tried to read the note over my shoulder. I covered the Sorry about Saturday part with my thumb and let them read the bottom half.

  “Omigod, you are sooooooo lucky!” Lauren shrieked.

  And for the most part, I had to agree with her. I am lucky. Although during English, a thought struck me.

  Is he sorry for the way he behaved? Or is he sorry that his housekeeper interrupted us?

  I HAD ALISTAIR OVER for another sleepover this weekend, and, as per usual, it was awesome. We made a lot of progress on the electric bike, and after that we played Settlers of Catan in my room for a good two hours. At around nine o’clock, I went down to the kitchen to get more snacks and ran into Ashley.

  “You’re home early,” I said.

  “How’s that any of your business?” she snapped. Then she poured herself a glass of water and went upstairs.

  If I were to create a graph representing my moods in a twelve-hour period and Ashley’s moods in a twelve-hour period, with ten being “over the moon” and one being “totally depressed,” it would look something like this:

  I have sometimes wondered if perhaps she has a personality disorder that needs to be treated. I even suggested this privately to my dad once, but he shook his head and said, “I’m pretty sure that’s just Ashley.”

  —

  ON SUNDAY, AFTER A massive blueberry-pancake breakfast courtesy of my dad (and after we had put all the plates into the dishwasher so Caroline wouldn’t have a heart attack), Alistair and I went Christmas shopping. We both hate shopping, so we decided to try to buy everything we needed in one place. And because we were on tight budgets, we decided that our first stop should be the thrift store on Main Street.

  We hit the mother lode. I bought:

  For Caroline, her very own Royal Doulton figurine! It’s a statuette of a boy fishing, and you can hardly notice that one of his hands is missing. Price: $5.

  For Dad, an eye-catching navy tie with yellow and red penguins all over it. Price: $4.

  For Alistair, when he wasn’t looking, I found a travel chess set with all the pieces. Price: $5.

  For Phoebe, I found a brooch in the glass display case by the counter. It’s a unicorn! It’s made of brushed metal, and it’s painted purple and yellow. I am sure she will love it. Price: $8. But Phoebe is worth it.

  For Ashley, I finally settled on a fluffy gray-and-white pair of cat slippers. The cat faces have whiskers and everything. Because they look brand-new, they were my most expensive purchase. Price: $10.

  Total cost: $32 plus tax.

  This meant I had money to spare, so I decided to call Phoebe on my cell to see if she’d like to join us for lunch. “Is it okay if Violet comes?” she asked. “I’m at her place.”

  “Sure. We’ll pick you up.”

  She gave me Violet’s address, and Alistair and I walked to her house, which was just a few blocks away on the other side of Main. It’s much older than our modern one, and very purple. I liked it immediately because it reminded me of our place on the North Shore.

  We waited in the foyer while Violet put on yet another different pair of Converse shoes. Her mom and her sister were out shopping, but she introduced us to her mom’s “brand-new husband.” He wore a red-and-green Christmas sweater with Santa’s reindeer on the front.

  “I’m Dudley. Dudley Wiener,” he said, giving us both a firm handshake.

  “For the record,” Violet said, “none of us took his last name.”

  When he found out we’d been Christmas shopping, he said, “What do you call people who are afraid of Christmas?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Claustrophobic.” Alistair and I laughed; there really is nothing like a good pun.

  Violet pursed her lips. “Don’t encourage him.”

  As we walked back over to Main Street and King Edward, I said, “Your stepdad seems nice.”

  Violet shrugged. “He’s okay. What can I say? I am resigned to my fate. How about you? Do you like your stepmom?”

  “Well, technically she’s not my stepmom, because they’re not married.”

  “But they probably will be, one day.”

  My heart started pounding. As naïve as it may sound, I hadn’t really thought ahead to that possibility. Two things my mom could still lay claim to were (1) being Leonard Inkster’s one and only wife, and (2) being Stewart Inkster’s one and only mom. The second would never change, but the first one definitely could. Even though I wanted us to be a real family, I wasn’t sure how I felt about wedding bells. But all I said to Violet was “Caroline’s nice. She tries hard.”

  We arrived at Helen’s Grill. I treated everyone to the all-day breakfast, which I wolfed down in spite of having eaten a stack of pancakes just a few hours earlier. Once our plates were cleared, Alistair and Violet got up to use the bathroom. Phoebe and I were left alone in the booth.

  “Did you talk to Jared?” she asked.

  “I tried. It didn’t go very well.”

  “I did some research. I have a friend whose cousin goes to St. Pat’s. Apparently Jared was kicked out for beating up a student because he was gay.”

  I felt nauseated all of a sudden. It could have been the massive wad of food in my digestive tract, but I didn’t think so. “Are you sure there wasn’t another reason? Like an argument they had or something?”

  Phoebe shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. My friend says it was premeditated. Jared waited outside the school and ambushed him. The guy had to go to the hospital. He had a couple of broken ribs and a concussion.”

  “But you can’t be positive, right? It could be a case of broken telephone.”

  “It could.” But she sounded doubtful.

  Violet and Alistair returned. I paid at the counter and we all stepped out
side, putting up our hoods because it was starting to rain. “I have a French horn lesson,” said Phoebe.

  “And I’m meeting Jean-Paul,” Violet added. “Thanks a lot for lunch.” The two of them headed east.

  A lot of thoughts were churning through my head as Alistair and I walked back home. But one thing had become crystal clear.

  It was time to tell Ashley everything I knew.

  —

  AFTER ALISTAIR GOT PICKED up, I found Ashley lying on the couch in the family room, flipping through a fashion magazine. To Kill a Mockingbird was on the coffee table, untouched. “Ashley,” I started, “I need to talk to you—”

  Then I saw them.

  Dopey and Bunnykins. Back on the mantel.

  “So you did take them,” I said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. You stole my mom’s figurines.”

  “Did not, nerd-face.”

  “Did too!”

  “Did not!”

  It went on like that for a while. My old Model UN Club would have been ashamed.

  When I lived on the North Shore, I would sometimes babysit our neighbor’s three-year-old, Amelia. She was adorable. She loved to play hide-and-seek. I would count to ten, and when I opened my eyes, she’d still be right there in front of me, but with her hands over her eyes, as if that made her invisible.

  Ashley reminded me of Amelia. The evidence was right there in front of us, and she was denying it. But unlike Amelia, it wasn’t remotely adorable, or cute; it was infuriating. “You are such a liar!” I shouted.

  “I am not, you freakazoid! Now get lost!”

  So I did. I stormed out of that room without telling her a thing.

  She and Jared deserved each other.

  I LOVE CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS. I mean, I really, really, really love Christmas holidays. It’s the best time of the year. What’s not to like? No school for two whole weeks; sleeping in; the hustle and bustle of downtown, all the beautiful lights; even the Christmas music! I could listen to “A Holly Jolly Christmas” twenty million times in a row and never get sick of it. There are also our Christmas traditions: Mom and I always spend a day shopping downtown, and we always have high tea at the Hotel Vancouver, and I let myself eat all the little sandwiches and cakes, and I don’t even care if I bloat.