Under Shifting Stars

by Alexandra Latos

  “What your father is trying to say is that he will understand if you want to confide in us. We are completely open and accepting.”

  Oh. Wow. This conversation has taken a drastic turn. Beats the sex talk in elementary hands down.

  My parents are sitting there waiting for me to tell them I’m a lesbian. Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? Aren’t parents supposed to try to avoid bringing up these kinds of conversations however possible and kids are supposed to work up the nerve to ‘come out’? Here my parents are telling me they’re completely cool with my being gay, and I still can’t feel relieved because there is so much more I would need to explain. I don’t think they even understand the concept of sexuality being separate from gender.

  So I tell them, “I’m figuring things out.”

  “Okay,” Dad says, like we’ve made progress. “Now it all makes sense.”

  “What makes sense? ‘Clare cut her hair; she must be gay’?”

  Now Dad’s face turns bright red.

  “Clare,” Mom chastises me. “He’s just trying to understand.”

  My wrath snaps to her. “Is that what you both want? To make sense of me?”

  “We’re your parents. We love you. We just want to know you.”

  I pick up my fork and take a bite of the shepherd’s pie so I don’t have to talk to them anymore. From the corner of my eye I see Audrey pick up her fork as well. Everyone is so quiet, the screech of cutlery scraping china practically echoes off the walls.

  As I continue to eat, I start to feel better. Maybe it’s a good thing. If they think they have some sort of answer, they can stop fussing over what I wear or wondering if I’m depressed. They can relax a bit. My shoulders relax too and I realize a weight has been lifted off me.

  At least it’s a step in the right direction.

  * * *

  All good feelings vanish on Monday morning when I think about facing my classmates. I spent the weekend chatting on the forums, reading books, and playing video games, but I was awake all last night imagining the various ways Sharon, Billy, and the rest of them are going to tear me apart. It’s going to be like diving into a shark pit with a gushing wound.

  Mom’s surprisingly gentle when she opens the door to tell me I’m going to be late for school. She sits at the end of my bed the way she used to when I was a kid.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Terrified.”

  She nods and glances away, but not before I catch her pained expression. When she looks back at me again, she manages a small smile. “It’s going to be hard. It’s going to be really hard. But it’s going to be worth it.”

  My head snaps up in surprise and Mom doesn’t miss it. She reaches out and takes my hand, gives it a little squeeze. The contact is both foreign and comforting. When was the last time we touched each other like this? I remember when Audrey and I were little and we used to fight over who got to cuddle her in bed. In the middle of our wrestling match, Mom would laugh and catch us, one in each arm.

  “If you want your life to change,” she continues, “you have to be the change. And you have to be prepared for people not to like it.”

  I nod and return the squeeze, feeling my eyes flood with tears. It’s in this moment that I consider going a step further and telling her the complete, unabridged version of my messed-up life, but that’s impossible. I mean, it all started by finding Adam’s sexy videos. No mom wants to hear that story.

  “You can do this.” Then she perks up with an idea. “Hey, maybe you should get one of those rainbow bracelets I’ve seen kids wear. Then people will have the answer and won’t need to ask questions.”

  I laugh. “I’ve thought about it.”

  “I can weave something for you quickly if you want.”

  “Sure,” I say because her tone sounds so hopeful. She wants to do something to help me any way she can, and I appreciate that.

  Clapping her hands, she leaves the room. Through my open door I see her feet disappearing up the ladder. By the time I’m slipping past it into the bathroom to shower, she’s whistling.

  My hair doesn’t look too bad soaking wet—it kind of looks like it’s supposed to be messy—but I know after it dries it will be a different story. I can’t find any gel in the bathroom, so I use hairspray in an attempt to force it into submission.

  Back in my room I take a little longer than usual picking out what to wear. It’s a big day. I don’t want to wear one of my usual hoodies because that might make it harder, but I also don’t want to dress up too much either. In the end I choose a low-key gray sweater that doesn’t scream girl or guy and a pair of jeans.

  Audrey’s in the kitchen eating eggs when I come down. “Hey,” I say, and offer her a smile. She actually looks surprised. I don’t blame her.

  “Hey.”

  I scoop some eggs onto my plate. “How was your sleep?”

  “Good. Yours?”

  “Not so good.”

  She doesn’t say anything to that. I pull out a chair and sit down beside her to eat. When was the last time we ate breakfast together like this?

  “How’s school going?” I ask Audrey. “I heard you’re doing awesome.”

  Her eyebrows shoot up and she almost chokes on her food. “Yeah. I’m, um, it’s going . . . awesome.”

  “Good.”

  Mom comes downstairs and presents me with the bracelet. “Ta-da!”

  It’s pretty cool. I’ve never seen that design before and have no idea how she did it. It’s a loom cuff with a rainbow pattern that looks like multiple arrows fading into the next color.

  “You made this just now?” I ask in disbelief.

  “Yeah,” she says proudly. “Do you like it?”

  “I love it.”

  “Good.” She beams as I pull it on.

  My stomach is queasy as I force-feed myself eggs, knowing I’ll feel worse if I don’t. I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous about anything in my life. Okay, besides the talent show Mom made Audrey and me enter in grade four. We were wearing matching dresses and singing “Every Breath You Take.” When I watched the videos years later, I was eerily reminded of the little girls from The Shining.

  “We need to do something about your hair,” Mom says, snapping me out of my thoughts. “It’s completely uneven.”

  Guess the hairspray was a bust.

  “And there’s that blue spot . . .”

  “Can’t do anything about that.”

  “No.” She pulls scissors out from the penholder on the counter. “How about I try giving you a haircut?”

  I know I must be desperate when I hear myself agree. She slings a hand towel across my shoulders and tells me to bend over the sink so she can wet my hair before cutting it. When she turns the water off, I stand back up, reaching behind my head with both hands to keep my hair from falling in my face, but there’s nothing there. With a laugh, I give my head a shake. Water flies everywhere.

  “Hey!” Mom cries out. “Watch it!”

  “Sorry.” I’m grinning. Sorry not sorry.

  After guiding me to a chair, Mom stands in front of me with a finger on her chin like I’m a messy canvas and she’s trying to figure out if a stroke here and there will be enough to fix me. “It’s the blue spot,” she says finally. “It’s just so . . . there.”

  “Maybe we should add more blue spots,” Audrey pipes up. Images of Dr. Seuss characters waltz in front of my eyes.

  “I know what to do.” Mom goes to clap her hands together and then remembers the scissors. “I’m just going to even everything out and then I’ll grab the hair dye.”

  “Hair dye?” I squeak.

  “Yeah. You’re going brunette. I have some upstairs for when I cover my grays.”

  Brunette. I guess that could be good. Projects more of an I-planned-to-do-this rather than an I-completely-went-off-the-handle vibe.

  We only leave the dye in for twenty minutes rather than the recommended thirty. First of all I have to get to school, and
second of all my hair is so light, it dyes easily. Afterward I jump back in the shower to rinse it out, bend over, and rub my head with a towel. It’s so short now that it dries in less than five minutes. Sweet.

  When I step in front of the mirror, the breath squeezes out of my lungs. I look like a completely different person. I also look a million times better.

  In the car Audrey sits in the front like usual and I sit in the back, but I don’t put in my earphones. Instead I watch out the window, my foot tapping the floor in a frantic beat.

  Mom pulls up at the usual curb where she drops me off, and Audrey whips around to face me, eyes wide with excitement like a typical annoying little sister. Sitting on the railing laughing at something on Sharon’s phone are Sharon, Rhiannon, and Charlotte.

  My foot starts tapping double pace. I’m choking on my own heart and can’t get enough air. Mom and Audrey are twisted in their seats, their mouths moving, but it’s like looking at them through a kaleidoscope: they seem so far away and warped like they’re in a house of mirrors.

  “Clare, are you okay?” It’s Mom. She passes me a bottle of water from the console. “Drink this.”

  I chug it back, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I can do this. I can do this. Too afraid to look at them again in case I lose my nerve, I push open the door of the car and step out. A wind gust blows up all around me, bringing with it the smells of spring, but my hair doesn’t whip my face. This is worth it already. You can do this.

  Sharon & Co. are completely wrapped up in conversation as I walk up the path, holding on to the strap of my bag tightly. The outside world is so loud. Laughter rings through my ears. Someone shouts and I jump a little, look over my shoulder. No one’s looking at me. I keep walking. They’re less than ten feet away from me now. I take a deep breath and plaster on a smile and keep my eyes on them, prepared to catch their eyes and act like everything is completely, boringly normal.

  It’s Rhiannon who sees me first. She’s talking to Sharon, who has her back to me. She must feel my eyes on her because her gaze shifts away from Sharon’s face to land on me, and as if on instinct, she gives me a flirtatious smile . . . and then goes completely pale. I hurry past.

  Things are about to get complicated.

  As I walk through the front door, the sky cracks open and begins to pour.

  * * *

  My first period is graphic design and media, so it’s full of students from all over the school, not just my grade. People don’t know me as well here, so it’s a good start. Mom’s rainbow bracelet is like this giant flashing arrow pointing at me. Even as I try to focus on my work, I can’t help but notice out of the corner of my eye the students nudging each other and whispering, and some of them seriously need to work on controlling the volume of their voices.

  Most people are friendlier, though. Way friendlier. Kids who used to pass me without a glance actually smile and nod, and others make excuses to come over and talk to me, asking questions about how to use certain tools in Photoshop.

  English is another story. This is the class I’ve been dreading the most all night and morning because it’s the class I have with both Sharon and Billy the Bully. I’m practically shaking as I pass people in the hallway on my way to class. I sit down at my desk and twist around to pull my books out of my bag, and that’s when I meet Sharon’s eye. She has one thin eyebrow arched and is looking at me with complete disdain. As I watch, she turns to Rhiannon sitting beside her and says something behind her hand. Rhiannon keeps her eyes down like she doesn’t want to look at me.

  I quickly turn around in my chair, but that’s a mistake because Billy has turned around as well and is watching me. He smiles like a cat that has just cornered a mouse.

  “What’s that bracelet you’re wearing there, Clare?” he asks loudly.

  My first instinct is to lower my wrist below my desk as everyone turns to look at me. But I can’t move even if I want to. I’m frozen in place, and there’s a twitching in my throat that makes it impossible to talk.

  Billy tilts his head to the side, his cruel smile inching up a notch. “I guess that explains why you were such a shitty kisser.”

  I try to laugh it off but it comes out like an awkward bark. I feel myself redden, from my neck all the way up to my scalp, and the knowledge that I’m nervous and that Billy can tell I’m nervous makes me even more nervous.

  “You’re the shitty kisser,” I retort, and it sounds super lame.

  Billy’s full-on grinning now, relishing my discomfort the way he relished taunting Taylor during their presentation. “Good one. So what does your family think about you being a dyke? I bet that’s exactly the news they want to receive right now.”

  “My parents don’t care.”

  “That’s so much better.”

  Everyone laughs at that. When they do, I take the chance to swallow. I want to say that there’s nothing wrong with me, that he’s just a hater and that I hate him back, but the twitch in my throat has turned into a lump and my heart is beating too fast—I know if I try to speak again I’ll sound afraid for sure. And I don’t want him to know I’m afraid.

  So instead I look back down at my books. The laughter rings in my ears. Of course Sharon isn’t saying anything in my defense. For all I know, she’s one of the people laughing along.

  “I warned all the guys to stay away from you,” Billy continues. “I told them they’d be better off kissing a horse. I mean, those teeth.”

  Someone else says something, and it’s followed by more laughter, but I force myself to stop listening. I’m shaking, I’m trying not to cry, and this time I know for sure no one is going to come to my rescue. All those times I was on the other side watching the kids torment Audrey, I was only sharing a portion of her pain. The worst part is praying for the people you care about to stick up for you and knowing it won’t happen.

  The teacher walks in, but that doesn’t matter because Billy isn’t afraid of the teachers, they’re afraid of him. Before the taunting can continue, I take the chance to ask for a bathroom pass, stride through the hallways, and shove through the stall door so that it bounces off the concrete wall. Now I’m hiding like Audrey too.

  Is this worth it? Is allowing myself to go down this road worth all the bullying and bullshit? Losing my friends, living life afraid of the other kids and feeling like an outsider?

  Rubbing my face with both hands so I don’t cry, I look up at the ceiling vent. Without my popularity, what’s left? I’m turning into someone completely opposite of the person I thought I would be. Or maybe I never knew myself until now.

  When I come out of the bathroom, Taylor’s leaning against the wall by the water fountains.

  “Hey,” I say, surprised. The hallway is completely empty. Everyone else is in class. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you.”

  “How’d you know I’d be here?”

  They push off the wall, arms still crossed. Looking casual and cool, today’s outfit is black parachute jogger pants, a hooded gray sleeveless top and black canvas sneakers. “Tamra from the gay-straight alliance is in your class.”

  “So she told you what happened?”

  “She sent me a text and said I’d probably find you here. I’m in art class.” Taylor makes a motion—thumb over shoulder—at the door ten feet away. “I came to make sure you’re okay, but also to tell you not to let that crap get inside your head. You can’t worry about arsemongers.”

  As if on cue, the door to the boys’ bathroom swings open and out walks Smith, a senior on the football team. He takes one look at us and his eyebrows shoot halfway up his forehead before a sneer mangles his already-ugly mug.

  “Well, well, well. Does this finally answer what you’ve got in there, Freak?” On the last word, Smith grabs his crotch and air-humps in Taylor’s direction.

  They just laugh. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  “I would. How ’bout you pull down those knickers and show me?”

  Taylor gives
him the finger.

  Still laughing, Smith continues down the hall toward his classroom. Before I can register what I’m doing, or if I even have a plan, I run after him. With a surprising amount of strength, I grab his shoulder and force him to turn around and face me.

  “Don’t talk to my friend like that.”

  Smith blinks down at me and laughs. “Oh, I get it. You think I won’t hit you because you’re a girl. Well, guess what? You don’t look like a girl to me.”

  “I mean it, Smith.” I take a step closer and narrow my eyes threateningly. “Remember how I used to go to parties with you? Well, I’ve seen you drunk and stoned, and my friends have told me more secrets about you than you know.”

  Smith tries not to react, but the tick in his jaw gives him away. He’s thinking of the thing he doesn’t want anyone to know.

  “So be careful what you say and do, because I’m not afraid to tell.”

  Smith’s mouth forms a straight line. He stares me down for a few seconds as if considering whether or not to retaliate, but then he sidesteps me and disappears into a classroom.

  Taylor appears beside me. “That was kind of badass. Do you really have something on Smith?”

  “Other than seeing him drunk and stoned? Nothing. But nobody is perfect, right? I figured it was safe to bluff.”

  Taylor laughs, and the sound makes me feel warm inside. I no longer feel like that person in the bathroom: scared and full of doubt. Maybe I’m stronger than I think.

  “Will you come to the alliance meeting tomorrow with me?” Taylor asks. “I want to introduce you to my friends.”

  This time I don’t hesitate. Online friends are great, but I could really use some new friends at school. Mostly I want to get closer to Taylor. “Yeah. For sure.”

  “Brilliant.” They grin and the warm feeling intensifies. I feel it travel up from my belly, over my chest, and into my cheeks.

  “I, uh, better get back to class.” I reach to tuck my hair behind my ear, a nervous habit, and then laugh awkwardly when I remember I hacked it all off. Of course Taylor notices the gesture.