I nod, hoping for more details.
“That’s insane. I would never have thought he’d agree to go. He’s so shy.”
Yeah, until he’s drunk off his ass. Pair him up with an unstable blond, and it’s a recipe for disaster.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Chels says, mostly for my benefit. “Maybe he’s still sleeping off the hangover. His poor virgin liver must be hating him right now.”
I really wish she didn’t use that word because the number one thought fanning the flames of my guilt is that I may have deflowered the poor kid. I press the thought out of my head. If I dwell on it too long, I’ll combust.
You fucked up so hard, West.
“Which monologue are you doing, West?”
“Huh?”
Shay raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “You’re going to the auditions for Bromeo and Julie from the Net, right?”
Shit. I forgot all about the winter show. Mr. Routon is going to be pissed if I don’t show up for auditions. I’m one of his favorites, even though he keeps passing me over for that hack, Dennis.
“Um… I’ll probably just do something from Midsummer,” I tell her. It’ll be a piece of cake seeing as I played Puck over the summer at the Shakespeare Tavern’s student camp in Atlanta. Three weeks of soliloquies and sonnets and I’m leagues ahead of my fellow thespians. The tights weren’t half bad either.
“Lucky.” Shay pulls out a script, flipping frantically. “I’m freaking out over here. Then again, with my schedule, I might just pass altogether.”
“Are you going for the lead?” Chels asks me, and I’m a little offended.
“Of course, I am,” I say, forcing Lock from my mind for a second. “Why would you ask such a ridiculous question?”
“It’s just…” Chels pauses, like she’s hand-picking her words. That never bodes well. “This year’s show is a tragedy, not a comedy. The lead has to be…romantic and serious.”
“And?”
“And…you’re not good at either of those things.”
God, stab me in the heart, why don’t you?
“What are you talking about? I’m a stud.”
“Look, if this were a comedy, I’d say there’d be no question. You’d be perfect. But when it comes to serious things…” she trails off.
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing right now.” I toss a napkin atop my untouched lunch. “What about when I… Or the time… Well, you know, I—”
Shit. I’m coming up empty here. Maybe she’s right. I haven’t really done a lot of serious roles. Great, now I’m nervous.
“I’m not saying don’t give it a shot.” Chels wraps an arm through mine. “I’m just saying, if you get it, it’s gonna take a lot of work. But I believe in you.”
I swallow hard, giving her a nod. A lot of good that does me.
“Maybe I’ll get to be your Julie, so you can kiss me over and over and over again?”
“Ugh. Gross.”
She laughs, and I can’t help but smile. That is, until Lock’s stupid face pops back into my mind and everything else fades away.
I didn’t get on the school bus this morning. Mom was already gone when I finally unlocked my door. After a night of a collective ten minutes of sleep, my body started on autopilot. I made Jack’s lunch, re-stuffed his backpack, and got him out the door.
Now, I’m wandering. Not lost, per se. What do you call it when you don’t have any place to be?
I end up on a MARTA bus which is so much worse than the ORCA ones back home. My seat smells like urine, and I’ve no clue where I’m headed. But anything is better than being in that not-home apartment, trapped with my thoughts. At least out here, there’s room to breathe.
Atlanta is so much different than Seattle. Everything’s just so…alien. Nothing feels familiar, and it’s terrifying.
I spy a sign for Piedmont Park through the window. It’s as good a place as any to kill some time, so I get off at the next stop. The sunlight is bright enough to make me squint, and it takes a second for my vision to adjust. I backtrack along the iron fence running along the sidewalk, lush green hills rising just beyond it. The entrance isn’t far, the fence becoming an iron gate that swings inward.
A breeze moves the stagnant air, carrying with it the smell of grass and earth. Not exactly what I expect in the middle of the city. It’s almost familiar enough. The hill to my left is spotted with blankets—people enjoying picnic lunches, basking in the plentiful sunshine, or tossing Frisbees in the air for happy dogs to catch.
I lean against the thick trunk of an oak tree, taking a moment to soak in the life around me. Maybe if I try hard enough, it will seep inside and fill this horrible empty hole carved in my chest.
All night long, I tortured myself for not telling Jill what happened at the party. Plus, there’s the whole situation with Mom.
She’s never hit me before. Honestly, I think I’m still in shock. A ghostly sting lingers on my cheek, flaring at random intervals, almost like it’s taunting me. Like I could forget what happened.
After an hour of wandering the park and watching one of the impromptu kickball games near the activity diamond, I find myself on a bench, phone in hand. Only one person can help me make sense of the dissonant discord in my head.
The phone rings six times before she picks up. “Lan?”
“Hey, Jill.”
“What’s going on, honey? Why aren’t you in class right now?”
“Mental health day. Listen, are you able to meet me? I really need to talk about something.”
Jill hesitates. “Lan, your mother asked me not to—”
“I don’t care,” I tell her. “I don’t care what she said, I need to talk to you. In person. Please.”
Another pause has my heart racing, but then she says, “Okay. I’ll be there—Wait, where am I going?”
“I’m at Piedmont Park. Just call me when you get here.”
“Right. I’ll be there in half an hour, Lan. You sure you’re all right?”
No. Nothing is all right. But telling her that won’t make it better, so I lie for the first time in forever.
“Yes. I’ll see you when you get here.”
I end the call with a trembling finger and watch as a new round of kickball begins.
Jill meets me by the 14th Street entrance.
“Have I ever told you how awesome it is to park in the disabled parking?” she asks, propping her sunglasses on her forehead so she can look at me. “I mean, all my life I’ve had to stand by—yikes, bad choice of words, eh?—and just lust after these great parking spots until now! Now, I get to just whip it on in there.”
I don’t know how to respond to that. “Um. Yeah.”
“Silver lining, Lan. That’s the lesson here. There’s always a silver lining if you squint hard enough. Or if you draw one yourself.”
“Right.”
We start down the walking path, shaded by massive oak trees. Jill doesn’t say anything, just keeps alongside me. After sixteen years, she knows if she gives me space, I’ll open up eventually. The words keep getting stuck in my throat, so I distract myself, looking to the trees. They must be a hundred years old, judging by the size of their trunks. Carved into the bark are countless engravings, layered without rhyme or reason. Hearts filled with the initials of lovers who probably don’t speak any longer, a guy named Kenny saying he ‘was here’ and more than a handful of explicit words scratched out over time.
What do the trees think about people scarring them on a whim? Do they feel pain? Do they consider it artwork? Do they wear them proudly or want to hide them under branches? Does it affect their ability to find jobs?
“Lan?”
I’ve stopped walking and am staring down at a clump of gnarled roots.
“S-Sorry,” I say, catching up to Jill.
She slows her pace. “You’re a million miles away, Lan. Talk to me.”
“I know, I know.” I shake away my thoughts on the emotional response of trees.
Twenty-three more steps and Jill stops beside a faded bench. She brushes off the leaves and pitches an empty beer can into the trash before patting the wood for me to sit. Once we’re on the same level, it’s easy to forget she’s in that chair.
“I’m sorry,” I start, pulling a leaf from the bench and tearing a piece off at a time. “About last night, I mean. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble with Mom.”
Jill waves me off. “Whatever. I can handle my sister just fine, thank you very much. I’ve been doing it for thirty years.”
“Still, it wasn’t fair for me to drag you into that.”
“Lan, honey. Is that why you needed to talk to me? You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. I’m a grown-ass woman. I make my own decisions, and you better believe I don’t regret a single moment of helping you get out of that apartment and be sixteen.”
That’s easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one making horrible mistakes.
“But what if I regret it?”
Her brow droops, disturbing the familiar constellation of freckles on her forehead. “And why would you?”
My heart pounds against my chest like a jackhammer. I search for something to count, but I can’t focus long enough to get past three pinecones. I try numbering my gasping breaths instead.
A warm hand touches mine, fire meeting ice.
“Jesus, Lan. You’re a popsicle.”
“S-Sorry,” I manage through chattering teeth.
Jill just laughs. “You’ve got to be the only person I know who would apologize for their body temperature.”
A breeze moves the branches overhead, their leaves spinning as they fall to the ground. I shiver, but it’s not from the breeze. If I tell her what happened, then it’s all out there. I’ll be telling the truth, which I try to do whenever possible, but it also means telling Jill about me and that thing I don’t particularly like about myself.
“Lan, you don’t have to—”
“I can’t go back to school,” I cut her off. Maybe I can ease into this. Explain why it is I feel this way, so I won’t seem so crazy. Because lately, that’s the only way I see myself. “I can’t face West again.”
“And why’s that?” Jill prods, wrapping blazing fingers around my icicles. “Did you throw up in his shoes or something?”
“No. We had sex.”
The words just fall out. I don’t have time to think about them. Jill’s face falls blank, blue eyes vacant as she wraps her head around what I’ve said.
“You and West?”
I nod, looking away as my cheeks burn with a heat so intense it might burn the flesh off my bones.
One pinecone. Two. Three.
“Oh.”
She doesn’t let go of my hand. If anything, her grip tightens. We stay like this for so long I lose count of the joggers passing by and my left leg falls asleep, but I can’t think of anything else to say, and I can’t look at her on the off chance her face has morphed into a mask of strained tolerance, concealing her disappointment.
When Jill finally breaks the silence, her voice is quiet, blending with the rustling of the leaves overhead. “I’m sorry, Lan.”
Why is she sorry? She’s the least of my problems.
“What for?”
“I don’t know.” She pauses, and I finally look her way. Tears cling to the ends of her lashes, and black mascara streams down her cheeks. “I guess for a lot of things. But that’s my can of worms. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Absolutely not,” I say then add, “But I’m going to have to at some point, so it might as well be now.”
Jill nods, sniffling as she wipes her face on the back of her hand. “Right. I’m here for you, Lan. One hundred percent.”
“Y-Yeah.”
Silence blooms, and we remain frozen in place, the two saddest people in the park.
“Was that your first time?” Jill asks me, and I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.
My tongue seems to have lodged itself in the back of my throat, so I just nod.
“Were you two safe?”
I nod again. Maybe a comet will fall from the sky and incinerate me? That would be awesome. Save me from this awkwardness and the urge to crawl out of my skin.
“Did you consent?”
“Yes.” I sigh, my free hand wringing the back of my neck. “I mean, we were both really drunk. But I didn’t say no.”
“And have you two talked about it?”
“No. Hence my being here and not in class.”
“Is West gay?”
I nod.
“And you?”
That’s a complicated question. Maybe that’s why I’m terrified right now. If I face West, knowing what we’ve done—knowing what he is—I won’t be able to lie to myself any longer. I’ll have to say it out loud—those words I’ve dreaded since the day they first popped into my head.
I’ll have to stop lying to myself, and that’s not something I’m prepared to do.
“I’m not sure.”
My second lie of the day.
“Okay, let’s forget the labels for a second.” She snags the bottom of my chin, pulling my face to eye level. “How do you feel about West?”
I swallow hard. I hadn’t even bothered asking myself that question. How do I feel about him? I mean, obviously Drunk Lock finds him attractive. But now I’m sober, my feelings won’t even register. How messed up is that?
“Lan, you know you can tell me anything.” Jill’s thumb traces the back of my hand. It’s a comforting gesture. “I mean it. You could tell me you punched a baby seal in the face, and while I may be incredibly disappointed, I would totally go to bat for you in baby-seal-punching court.”
“Wait, what?”
“Forget it.” Jill laughs, the remnants of her tears twinkling in the corners of her eyes.
It’s bizarre to see her cry, like I’m watching my favorite movie in a foreign language. Familiar but unnerving. In this moment, I want to be honest with her. Truly honest. So, I tell her the thing I don’t want to admit, even to myself.
“I think I’m gay, Jill.” I stare at the cracks in the sidewalk, letting the weight of the words sink into my skin. “That night kinda put everything in perspective. And that’s the problem, I don’t want it to be true.”
Jill is quiet and moves her hand away from mine. It’s like she’s pulled my lifeline, leaving me to drown in waves of confusion and pain.
Her teeth click together, fingers fidgeting in her lap. Maybe she lied when she said I could tell her anything. Maybe she’ll be the first casualty in the long list of people my sexuality alienates. Better get used to it, I guess.
I push off the edge of the bench, wobbling as my leg is still asleep. “Sorry to make you drive down,” I say, angling away from her. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
Two steps are all it takes for Jill to catch me around the wrist. She almost runs over my toes with one of her wheels.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I-I thought you were—”
“You obviously weren’t thinking.” She drags me back to the bench, managing to steer herself with one arm, which is impressive. “Now, sit your ass back down, I’m not done being supportive.”
My ass sits back down, and Jill pulls her brakes up so she’s right in front of me.
“Lan.” She lets out a breath, wiping the thin layer of sweat from her forehead. “You are one of my favorite people. And I’m not just saying that because you’re family. I’m not one for nepotism. But I want you to know you’re still one of my favorite people. If nothing else, you’ve moved up a couple of notches.”
“Because I’m gay?”
“Kid, I wouldn’t give two shits if you told me you were dating that tree over there. Okay, maybe I’d have a few questions about bark-rash… Anyways, the point is, I love you for you. And this is just another part of you I get to know.”
Maybe I’ve psyched myself out because here we are, Jill and I, discussing the thing I don�
��t talk about, and the world isn’t ending. My request for death-by-comet has been ignored, and not a single person has appeared out of thin air to thump my head with a bible.
“Have you, by chance, told your mom about this?”
I stifle a laugh. “Uh, definitely not.”
Jill nods, smile vacant. “It may be wise to keep this between us,” she says, quickly adding, “Just for now. You know, with everything that’s happening.”
“Right,” I agree.
But the truth is, I wasn't planning on telling her. Like, ever.
“Would you please watch the road?”
I ignore Chels’s bitching, finishing the text message and pressing send. With a swoosh, it’s sent, and surprise, surprise, we’re fine.
“You need to chill out,” I tell her, setting my phone in the cupholder. “I think I’ve been driving long enough I can send a two-sentence text message without careening into a gully.”
“You’ve had your license for six months.”
“Exactly.”
“Oh my god, whatever.” She holds her own phone in a death grip, like she’s expecting to have to make an emergency call.
“It’s an important message,” I explain. “I’m waiting to hear whether or not Dennis choked at his audition. Tammy T. said she saw him leaving in tears, but Tammy S. sings a different song of near-perfection on his part. I need to figure out which Tammy is full of shit.”
“They both are,” Chels huffs. “I don’t know why you go through the trouble of trying to interpret their gossip when they’re going to post the cast list tomorrow. That’s the only way to know if Dennis beat you again, so chill.”
“I’m chill,” I contradict her, but that’s a boldface lie. To be completely honest, my unease isn’t because of the auditions, even though they make an excellent excuse. I haven’t been able to get my mind off Lock, the homeschooled boy wonder, all day. I even fucked up my monologue, swapping a few lines around in my scrambled brain. But I recovered handsomely, if I do say so myself. And let’s be honest, if it’s not from Romeo and Juliet, Mr. Routon is clueless when it comes to Shakespeare. I’m sure he didn’t even notice.
Lock & West Page 7