Bonjour, Monsieur Martin.
Bonjour.
I’m thinking of switching back to public school.
Is that so? He still doesn’t look up.
My parents and sister know but I’ll need your cooperation.
Now I have his attention. He puts down his pen and looks up at me. My cooperation?
Yes. I know you like having me here about as much as I like being here.
He rubs his nose with finger and thumb. The gesture makes him look old. He’s one of the youngest teachers I’ve ever had.
Which isn’t very much, I take it?
I don’t answer because it feels like a trap.
Audrey. He says my name like the effort of vocalizing it makes him very, very tired. I don’t dislike having you here. It disappoints me that you push back against the very people who are trying to help you. It disappoints me further that you continue to treat this school and everything it stands for with derision. It is one thing for outsiders to treat our students with a lack of respect, but it’s quite another coming from you.
At the end of his speech he gives me a hard look.
I’m sorry, I say. I just want to return to school with my twin.
He studies me for a long time. I fidget with my hands, wondering if I should apologize for calling the school Freak. But does he know about that? I can’t be certain.
Eventually he sighs. How do you require my cooperation?
Well, I assume my parents will ask for your opinion on the matter, I say, trying to sound as professional as possible. I would like you to tell them I am ready to return to the regular school system. S’il vous plaît.
I’d considered saying the entire thing in French because I knew it would impress him more, but the risk of losing my message was too large.
You feel you’re ready? Audrey, I called home just days ago. I found you outside on the playground in the middle of class. Then I found you drawing said playground instead of listening to the lesson.
Those are very good points and I apologize.
How can I possibly recommend that you’re ready when you haven’t mastered the basic rules of the classroom? That is pillar number one.
I knew he’d say that, so I have my reply ready.
I’m going to be the perfect student from now on and show you I can follow the rules. Then we can both be free of each other forever.
I don’t know why you would say something like that, Audrey. I don’t dislike having you here.
But think about how much easier your life will be! I make my voice sound upbeat and excited like he won a prize. Then I return to my desk so he can’t accuse me of being late.
At lunchtime I decide to do something mature (the meaning is the same in French as it is in English). I decide to leave the school grounds during my lunch hour like I’ve seen other kids at Peak do.
I always eat my lunch under the tree in the southeast corner of the schoolyard. My forehead begins to sweat as I pass the tree. My hands start to shake as I go through the gate. On the main street the cars that pass are very loud. I count two red, one black, four silver. Then I cut off the main street and arrive at a park. There’s a homeless man asleep on a bench. I take a deep breath and run past him. To be safe. When I look back he’s still asleep.
I’m walking along the path that cuts through the park when I see the yellow string. It’s a few feet ahead of me. No, not string. Tape with CAUTION written across it in bold letters. It’s attached to a black block. I squat and peer at it. On its surface is a wire contraption like a mousetrap.
What is that? I wonder out loud.
Gopher trap, says a voice behind me.
I jump to my feet and turn around. The voice came from a guy about my age holding a long wooden stick tied to a smaller stick. It looks like a cross. He has blond hair that sticks up all over the place and is wearing a T-shirt, long shorts, and flip-flops.
What does a gopher look like? My voice sounds small. I’m afraid of sounding ignorant.
But he just smiles. Like squirrels but cuter. People say they’re a pest because they leave holes everywhere.
Panic seizes me. We can’t let them kill them! These holes are their homes.
I look at his stick. Let’s stop them.
He looks at it too. Shrugs and passes it to me.
I approach the first box slowly. Timidement. I hook the stick under the wire and close my eyes. Take a deep breath. Then I flick the stick up.
The block unearths itself to reveal legs and a tail.
I scream and drop the stick. Now I understand how it works. The trap sits on top of the hole. It gets them when they’re trying to exit. When they want to see the sun or go out and run.
I imagine myself as a gopher. Leaving my family in the den to travel the tunnels and risk going outside for food. I swear this is the way out. Why is it so dark?
Hey now, the boy says and takes a step closer to me. It’s okay. There might be others we can save. Look at that one. The trap hasn’t snapped yet.
He gently takes the stick from me and lifts the trap away. See? When the wire is down, the trap is empty.
There’s still time.
We run around the park removing the traps. There is only one other gopher that we don’t save in time.
We should say a few words, the boy says. It’s only right.
Goodbye, Mr. Gopher, I say. I hope you’re in heaven with your gopher friends.
Build tunnels in the clouds, Mr. Gopher.
I smile at the boy and he smiles back. Indents appear at the sides of his mouth. Dimples. His eyes are a soft brown like puppy fur.
You’re kind of cool, he says.
Really?
I think the gophers would tell you that you’re the coolest person in the world for saving their lives.
I laugh. You saved them too.
That’s true. In that case, I guess I’m kind of cool too.
He grins at me and then something really weird happens. My cheeks get kind of hot. And then it feels like I can’t control my face. I turn around so he can’t see and put my fingers to my lips. I’m smiling super large. My lips are stretched out and I can’t stop.
I pretend I turned around to walk back to the playground. The boy follows. I can control my face again by the time we get to the swings.
What’s your name? he asks. He swings slowly from side to side rather than forward and bumps into me softly.
Audrey.
I’m Calvin.
I like the name Calvin, I tell him. I swallow and look at my shoes. I don’t just like his name. I like him. I don’t remember the last time I felt like this. It must have been in elementary when I still had friends.
Why aren’t you in school? I ask him.
I don’t go to school. I’m homeschooled. I live right there. He points at a little white house across from the park.
He asks if I go to Clare’s school and I don’t respond, but I’m on an upswing and he takes it as a nod. I don’t correct him. I don’t want him to think I’m a freak like the other kids do.
Calvin begins to pump. So, Audrey, what do you like to do when you’re not protecting the little guy?
I don’t know how to answer the question. I know normal fourteen-year-olds don’t play scenes.
I like to draw.
What do you draw?
I wish I could lie and tell him I draw a lot of stuff. I like to draw me and my dog.
Oh, you have a dog? I wish I had a dog.
I wish I had a dog too. That’s the truth. Calvin frowns and I can tell he’s confused.
Why are you carrying a cross? I ask quickly.
Oh, this? It’s actually a sword. Ever heard of LARPing? I shake my head and he says, Live-Action Role Playing. I’m hoping to participate in a LARPing event soon. I’ve been practicing with my friend Frank.
Practicing what exactly?
Sword fighting. Basically it’s a game where players act out their characters and have battles and stuff. I’ve seen them dressed li
ke sword fighters from medieval times and practicing in the park. There’s a lot of grunting.
So LARPing is kind of like playing make-believe?
Totally. It’s like when grownups started telling us we were too old to play pretend, LARPers asked why. Calvin grins and tilts his head to the side. Are you scared now? Are you wishing you were anywhere but here?
I’m not. I’m realizing Calvin might be like me. I want to tell him that I play scenes but the words don’t come out.
The other players are a bit older than me, probably in their twenties, Calvin says. They have swords and full costumes that probably cost them a lot. I don’t have anything so I have to practice with this stupid stick. My mom doesn’t let me bring “weapons” into the house, though, so I have to hide it under the pine tree in front of our house.
The front door of the house opens and a large woman comes out. She cups her mouth and yells, CALVIN!
Calvin’s face turns a bright red and he jumps off the swing, stands so that’s he’s blocking the view of his mom.
I’ve gotta go, he says. But can I have your number?
My what?
Your phone number. His face turns even redder. He pulls a cellphone out of his pocket. What’s your phone number?
I give him both numbers.
But I never use my cell, I tell him, and quickly look down so he can’t see that I’ve turned red too.
I’ll call you, he says. Then he runs away across the park.
My face is still hot when I arrive back at the path with the uprooted gopher traps lying beside it. There’s a warm feeling in my stomach too.
Did that just happen? Did a boy just say he’s going to call me?
I can’t stop smiling.
Clare
On the weekend of Audrey and my separate birthdays, Mom announces we’ll be celebrating on the same day. She’s making banana bread when she tells me this, as if the smell will warm me up to the idea. Banana bread is my favorite, especially hers because she doesn’t cook it long enough so it’s super gooey.
“Seriously?” I explode. I feel like I say that all the time now. Seriously? Are you serious? You can’t be serious. I’m living in a nuthouse.
Mom continues to mix the raw banana goodness, not giving my outburst the attention it deserves. “You two are twins. Your father and I thought we could start a new tradition. It will be a good bonding experience.”
A good bonding experience. Being forced to share a birthday is going to be a good bonding experience. And where was her urge to start new traditions at Christmas when Dad wanted to go to Mexico? Instead we sat through dinner trying not to look at Adam’s empty spot at the table. A month later we did the same thing on the date Adam would have turned eighteen.
“I just want to have my own day.”
Mom turns away to scrape the mixture into a pan. “You’re never happy, Clare. Everything is always a fight with you. Have you noticed that? Audrey’s happy to do anything, but you’re so difficult.”
“That’s not true.” My voice breaks, and I’m glad her back is to me so she can’t see how much her words hurt me. Baking banana bread together was supposed to be our bonding experience. Audrey is on a walk with Dad.
“It is. It’s like you want to fight.”
“Why would I want to fight? No one wants to fight.”
“You’re fighting me right now!”
“Because you’re being unfair!”
Mom opens the oven and shoves the bread inside. “I’m making you banana bread and you’re picking on me.”
Inside my head, I’m screaming. I’m whipping banana peels at the windows. Hurling the empty mixing bowl at the dining room table. Sweeping bags of sugar and flour onto the floor and then scooping handfuls of white and tossing it into the air over and over again, coating everything in a dusty, sparkling white. Christmas is here again.
In real life, Mom closes the oven, and before she can turn around, I go to my room and throw my pillow instead.
Sunday night I go to Sharon’s for a sleepover to celebrate like we always do, but it doesn’t feel the same. Even though I’ve been there tons of times since, Sharon’s room still reminds me of when I stayed with her after Adam’s death. And when the others basically repeat the same conversation they had a few days ago on the bleachers, I kind of wish I’d stayed at home.
Because my actual birthday comes first and falls on the holiday Monday, we go for our family dinner that night. Audrey wants pasta and I want seafood, so we go to Red Lobster where they have both. It’s one of those gorgeous spring evenings where the sun doesn’t set until close to 9:00 p.m., and Red Lobster is like entering a dark ship. By the time the food comes, Audrey and I are bouncing in our seats we’re so excited. It feels like when we were little kids. We notice each other doing it and laugh. She gives me a few scoops of her Alfredo and I give her a crab leg. I catch Mom watching us and give her a tentative smile, but she looks back down at her meal.
Is she still angry with me? I feel a pang in my chest. This is how it always is with us now. She and Dad are always rooting for Audrey to succeed and never see me as a separate entity. To them I’m just there to help Audrey too. They’re always trying to understand her, yet they have no idea who I am.
Communicate, Kyle always says to me. Tell them how you feel. How can you expect them to understand what you’re going through if you don’t tell them?
Mom excuses herself to go the bathroom.
Let them see you, Clare. Give them and yourself a chance. You deserve it.
I sit there for a few seconds, staring at my empty plate, and then I make a decision. I get up and follow her.
The restaurant is packed now. There’s a huge crowd by the front door, and a group of kids are ogling the lobsters in the tank. I narrowly miss running into a server as I try to catch up to my mother. I see her disappear into the bathroom, the door swinging closed behind her. Inside, two out of three stalls are occupied. I have to use the bathroom too but I don’t want to miss my chance to talk to Mom, so I wait by the sink. The woman in the other stall comes out first, washes her hands, and leaves. Then it’s just Mom and me.
She looks a bit surprised when she sees me standing there. “Have you been waiting for me?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
It’s clear she doesn’t like the idea. She goes to the sink and washes her hands.
I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry I got upset when you brought up sharing our birthday. I want to explain why.”
“I know why you got upset. You’re always upset if I do something for Audrey.”
“See, that’s the problem. You think I’m mean to Audrey all the time. You don’t remember how I stopped going to friends’ houses at lunch and went home with Audrey instead. You asked me to stop going so I could walk Audrey back and she wouldn’t be late.”
Mom rolls her eyes. “Was that really a big deal, Clare? You spent time with your friends all the time.”
“I’m trying to explain how I want to be seen as a separate person. As Clare.”
“Everyone sees you as a separate person, Clare.” She rips a paper towel from the machine. “That isn’t an issue.”
“It is for me.” I take a deep breath. How can I explain to her that I want space to be my own person, especially now that I’m trying to figure out who that person is? That watching Adam’s videos was like going down the rabbit hole and I need to look after me for once?
“I’ve finally had a chance to be on my own and now all of that might change.”
Mom squishes her paper towel into a ball and leans against the sink in an action that’s meant to tell me I’m going too far. But I can’t stop.
“It’s always about Audrey.”
There. I said it.
“Sometimes one child needs more help than another child, and the parent has to give it to them.”
“That’s the thing: Audrey always needs more help.”
Mom frowns. “I’m disappointed in you, Clare. I thought yo
u’d be more gracious. Is this really the person you want to be?”
“I’m not a bad person for telling you my feelings.”
“What if it was you? Would you rather you were the one with the problem?”
“Of course not.” My cheeks burn with embarrassment. I can’t believe she’d ask me that question.
“Then show some compassion. This is the last thing I need after ten months of hell.” She tosses her paper towel ball in the garbage and leaves.
I don’t go after her. I stand in the bathroom alone feeling horrible and rotten and guilty.
* * *
When we get home, I go straight to bed. Above me are the glow-in-the-dark stars Audrey and I stuck on the ceiling. Mom never noticed.
When did life get so hard? I don’t feel like I fit in anywhere anymore. My parents are acting crazy even considering letting Audrey come back to my school, and all my friends care about is trying to find a boyfriend. Do I want a boyfriend too?
I close my eyes. I’m playing the video again, but this time it’s in my head. I see Dahlia on the bed, only it doesn’t have to be with Adam. It can be any guy I want. A fantasy guy.
Think of a fantasy guy, Clare.
None come to my mind so I go with KJ Apa from Riverdale because I like the show and my friends are always talking about how hot he is. And, yeah, he is pretty built in the scenes where he takes his shirt off.
You just haven’t wanted to think about it because the guys at school are all pimply and pubescent, I tell myself. You just need a hot, older guy.
So KJ Apa is lying on the bed and I’m Dahlia, standing above him. I press my eyes closed tighter and try to put myself in her sexy body. I’m swaying above KJ Apa with my perfect boobs—man, Dahlia’s boobs are so perfect—and I’m hot and wet and I want him. I imagine my long legs, the feel of his shirt against my skin, my fingers on the buttons as I slowly reveal myself to him. Like I’m a present I’m offering to him. I try to imagine his face, the way he’d look, wanting me, aching for me . . .
But all I can see is Dahlia. In fact, I can’t see KJ Apa at all. I try to fight it, try to shift views, but it’s too late—I’m back in his body. I’m watching the strip show and I do feel all hot and wet, but for all the wrong reasons, and all I want is to let it keep going, to keep watching her. Always her.
Under Shifting Stars Page 5