Beautiful Americans

by Lucy Silag

  I hope Jay got an A on the test. I hope he gets to keep his scholarship for the rest of the year.

  Flopping onto my stomach, I flip through the contacts list on my cell phone, thinking maybe I’ll call Olivia, wish her a Merry Christmas. Before I come to her name, though, I stop at Jay’s and look wistfully at his number, wishing I had the balls to call him up.

  “Hey, Jay,” I’d say casually. “Did you hear that weird thing Alex said in the Lyon McDonald’s? She’s right, I’m gay. What’s more, I have the hots for you like I’ve never wanted anyone before. Want to come over?”

  Ha.

  While I’m staring at the screen, my phone starts to vibrate with an incoming call. Confused, I see Jay’s name flash at me and I start to try and hang up, thinking I’ve accidentally called him. But no! He’s calling me.

  “Hey, Jay,” I say casually, or as casually as I can manage under the circumstances. “What’s going on?”

  “Zack!” he says. “Oh, man, I’m glad you answered. Listen, I need to talk to you. Can you be at the Parc Monceau in a half hour?”

  “At the Parc Monceau?” I ask, perplexed. Neither Jay nor I live up there, in the seventeenth.

  “I’ll explain when you get there,” Jay says hurriedly. “Meet me at the Colonnade.”

  I dress quickly and carefully, selecting a light blue slim-fitting button down with some loose True Religion jeans and a wide army-print belt. A newsboy cap and my long wool coat will keep me warm, but at the last minute I grab a cashmere scarf Alex bought for me at the Galeries Lafayette. I had thought it was a little too gay to wear to school, but today, I can’t help admiring how nice it looks tied around my neck.

  The Colonnade de Naumachie is a half-ring of crumbling stone ruins around a small, murky pond in the northeastern corner of the Parc Monceau. The water’s surface is thick with fallen leaves. Jay, obviously quite distressed, is pacing around the path that runs alongside the ruins when I arrive.

  “Hey, man,” I say easily.

  “Zack!” He shakes my hand in greeting, the way straight guys always do. “This is going to sound weird, but there’s something I have to tell you.”

  I hold my breath, waiting for the words I’ve always wanted to hear. “I’m gay, too, and I love you, Zack.”

  “Look!” Jay hands me a postcard with a portrait of a young man from the nineteenth century. “It’s Ingres! It was slipped under my door this morning.”

  I flip over the postcard.

  Jay,

  I’ll never forget you.

  One day, maybe we’ll meet again and I can explain.

  I’ll write when I’m ready to be found,

  Love,

  PJ

  Jay can’t keep still. “Do you see that?” he asks me. “Did you read what she wrote?”

  I don’t understand.

  “PJ’s running away from something,” he says. “She must have had to leave all of a sudden and couldn’t tell anyone why. I called her house; no one answered.”

  “Jay, slow down,” I say, still totally mystified. “Is PJ in some sort of trouble?”

  “That’s what I am trying to tell you!” Jay practically shouts. “All I know is that when I woke up this morning, I went out to get the paper and found this postcard underneath it. She must have come by my house while we were sleeping. That means something, man. It’s got to mean something. I don’t know what yet, but I swear I am going to find out.”

  I read over what PJ wrote again.

  “So, wait a minute,” I say. “Why did you call me?”

  “I need your help, man!” Jay tells me again. “You’re the one kid in this program who’s got a good head on his shoulders. You’ve always been solid to me, man. None of the other guys are going to take me seriously. Everyone will think I’m just hot for PJ and blinded by how much I love her and not thinking straight. But this is serious. I’ve got to find her. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t.”

  “But, Jay,” I say. “I’m not ‘solid.’ You and I aren’t friends. I mean, we are, sort of. But, the reason I’ve, I mean . . . I like you. Because I’m gay. Couldn’t you tell? On the Lyon trip, or since then?”

  For the first time since I got to the Lycee, Jay stops moving around. “What are you talking about?” he says, not meanly, but plainly puzzled.

  “Remember how I went and sat with you guys at the McDonald’s in Lyon?” I tell him quickly, each syllable of explanation more heart-wrenching to get through than the last. “And Alex was pissed. Couldn’t you tell that she was jealous, when she came over and pulled me away and chewed me out in front of everyone?”

  “Alex was chewing you out?” Jay says. He thinks about it. “Oh!” he realizes, coloring red as he puts things together. “I guess I didn’t get it. I figured she just didn’t want you to sit with Sammy and Cory and me because we’re not cool enough for your crowd.”

  We both fall silent.

  Jay’s innocence, his fundamental goodness, his naïveté about matters of sexual orientation, about the bitchy things Alex would do to embarrass me and put me in my place, is heartening and heartbreaking at the same time. If it is even possible, I’ve fallen for him more than ever, and just at the moment he’s telling me . . . he’s in love with PJ?

  “So you like PJ?”

  “Oh, man,” Jay says in agreement. He shakes his head, but not to say no—to show there are no words for how much he likes her.

  “And does PJ like you?”

  “Well,” Jay says, gesturing at the postcard in my hand. “She trusts me. She wrote to me. That’s all I know right now.”

  “Tomorrow morning,” Jay continues, “I’m going to withdraw the rest of my scholarship money. I just got the disbursement for next term. I’m going to use it to find PJ.”

  “Jay, no! She didn’t even say where she was going! How are you going to find her? She probably just went back to Vermont.”

  “I don’t think she did. Did she ever once tell you anything about her family? About missing anything from home?”

  “No,” I admit. “But where else would she go if not home?”

  “She wouldn’t leave France.” Jay kicks at the snow, already dirty and melting. “There’s something keeping her here, I just know it.”

  “You’ve got to help me, Zack,” he says. “Whatever the reason for your friendship, I know you’re a good guy. I don’t care if you’re gay; stuff like that doesn’t bother me. It shouldn’t keep anyone from being friends. Please help me find her.”

  I can see Jay is going to do this with me or without me, and as nasty as it is to be this near to him and know that my worst fears are true—that Jay is straight and will never see me the way I see him—I can’t resist how much he needs me right now. My heart feels like it’s being squeezed, like my lungs might actually capsize, at the notion that Jay doesn’t like me at all; had never even thought of me in that way. But the one thing that keeps me from throwing myself into the muddy, freezing pond next to us is that he also didn’t shun me, either. Being gay was no big deal to him. I never thought I could come out to a guy—a guy who was good at sports, running for trains, and playing video games—and that guy would not even blink twice. I can only hope that everyone else I ever come out to is just as cool about it.

  “This is ridiculous,” I say finally. “Maybe Olivia knows what’s going on. She lives down the street, let’s go ask her. Before you do anything crazy with your scholarship money.”

  “Will she mind if we barge in this early on Christmas morning?”

  “No,” I say, totally certain. “Livvy will want to help.”

  “Awesome. Let’s go!”

  Just then, I get a text from Pierson.

  Merry Christmas! It says. Wish you were here!

  Hustling toward Olivia’s homestay, I can’t help but relish the feeling of Jay and me together, whatever the reason might be.

  You never know, I text back as we wait for a green light at the crosswalk at the Parc’s gates. In the new year, I might very we
ll be.

  26. OLIVIA

  Joyeaux Noël

  Zack shrieks bloody murder when he opens my bedroom door first thing on Christmas morning. Thomas and I are still asleep in bed together, our bodies still intertwined from the night before.

  “Zack!” I gasp, pulling the sheets up to my neck as I sit up and try to locate my clothes and my senses. Thomas, equally shocked, just stares at Zack.

  Zack covers his eyes and goes back out to the hall. “Oh, my God,” he says through the door. “I am so sorry. Elise let me in. I had no idea . . .”

  I pull on Thomas’s shirt and some black dance leggings. The shirt comes down to my knees. I toss Thomas his boxers and pants and let Zack back in when we’re both decent. “Shhhh,” I say. “Don’t wake up Mme Rouille!”

  “So y’all are . . . a couple?” Zack says, still unable to look at us. He looks like a scared little boy. I glance over at Thomas and then back at Zack.

  “I’ve got to go,” Thomas says as he darts out of the room. “I shouldn’t be in here.”

  “It’s complicated,” I answer Zack. “What are you doing here? It’s only eight o’clock in the morning. And it’s Christmas!”

  All of a sudden, I’m terrified. “It’s Alex,” I guess. “Alex is in trouble. I knew something was the matter when I called her yesterday. Where is she?” I start pulling on my Ugg boots and combing out my bedhead with my fingers.

  “No, it’s not Alex,” Zack tells me. “It’s PJ. And Jay. Jay’s actually . . . Jay’s in your living room.”

  “What?” I freeze. “Oh, God. You guys have to get out of here. Mme Rouille and Thomas have a train to catch. . . . My family will be here any second. Does Alex know anything about this?”

  Zack shrugs. “I don’t think so. Why would she?”

  You never know with Alex. I start walking Zack out to the front door.

  “Jay, I’m really sorry but you have to go.”

  “But Livvy, aren’t you going to help us?” Zack asks.

  I take a breath. “I am. Just give me . . .” I look at the grandfather clock in the foyer. “Give me a half hour. I’ll meet you at Alex’s!”

  Just as the boys leave, the buzzer rings. Oh, no! My parents! But it’s not them; it’s the taxi for Mme Rouille and Thomas.

  “Olivia!” Mme Rouille greets me. “Où est ta famille?”

  “On their way!” I answer cheerfully. “Any minute!” I can’t help being jumpy. I am, after all, still wearing her son’s shirt.

  She doesn’t notice. “Elise will be here for anything you need today and tomorrow. I’m so sorry that you are leaving me so soon. We were just getting to know each other. You’re welcome here anytime. I’m so sorry I didn’t get to meet ta famille.”

  “Another time,” I say in a rush, trying to push her out the door. “Thanks for everything!”

  Thomas gives me a bise on either cheek, each one lasting a bit longer than the custom requires. “Well?” he says. “There’s still so much of France I’d like to show you. Will you ever come back?”

  “I’ll keep in touch,” I say hurriedly. God, how could I not? Memories of us, our bodies touching, flood me, nearly knocking me over. “Happy holidays!” I wave freakishly out the window until I can see that their taxi has driven off, Thomas looking up at me from the back window. I’m not worried about him, not after last night.

  I run back to my room to prepare for my parents’ arrival. I put on my “O” necklace, knowing my mom will appreciate the gesture. She’s not going to like what I have to tell them.

  The buzzer rings again, just as I’ve slipped into my jeans. I answer the door, their four smiling faces lined up in the doorway.

  “I can’t go back home with you,” I blurt out, not even saying hello. “I don’t want to.” I stand back to let them into the apartment. My dad and Brian are wearing red sweaters that they bought here (none of their other clothes were quite warm enough), and my mom’s blonde hair is in pigtails.

  “Livvy, what do you mean?” my dad says, reaching out to me for a hug. I hadn’t noticed that I’d started crying, but when I wipe at my face, it is wet with tears.

  “I’ve been offered a place in the Paris Underground Ballet Theatre. I’ve been dancing with them for almost a month,” I tell them, my voice sounding different now that I’m not trying to please them with everything I say. “It’s a really prestigious company. More experimental, funkier. I love it.”

  “What?” my parents gasp. Vince’s face is stricken.

  “I’m accepting the offer. It’s my dream come true.”

  “But, Livvy,” my mom protests, “what about UCLA?”

  “What about me?” says Vince.

  “Maybe one day, I’ll go to UCLA,” I say. “But I’ve made up my mind—I’m staying in Paris for now. I want to dance here.”

  Some small part of me had been expecting that they would be able to talk me out of my decision, that when they got here, my family and Vince would convince me to come home to California tomorrow with them after all. Some part of me had actually been hoping for it. After all, it isn’t going to be easy here. If the guilt doesn’t kill me, the rigorous rehearsal schedule of the Underground might.

  “Livvy, when did this happen?” my mom asks me. “How could you audition for a job without even discussing it with us? How could you do this to me?”

  My dad intercedes. “Leslie, she’s not doing anything to us. She’s just going after her dream.”

  “But I thought your dream was to go to UCLA,” my mom says. The bags full of brightly wrapped Christmas gifts are still in her hands.

  “It was my dream,” I say. “But my dream changed. I’m a different person than when I left San Diego in September. When I came over here, I was scared, excited, and was having fun, but all I cared about was UCLA. When I sprained my ankle—”

  “You sprained your ankle?” my parents ask in unison. Oops, forgot that I hadn’t told them that so they wouldn’t worry.

  “Yes, but it’s all better now.” I continue. “When I sprained my ankle, I thought my chances at UCLA were over. I even danced on my ankle before I was supposed to because I was so eager to stay in shape.”

  “Oh, Livvy,” my mom clucks in shame. “You know better than that.”

  “When I danced on it, I made it even worse,” I admit. “But the day I went to class, a talent scout from the Underground was there. I didn’t even know I was trying out. But my dancing was so good that day because I’d been aching to dance for so many weeks that I felt like all the emotion was pouring out of me. I have to dance just to dance, not as a means to another end. As much as I’d love to be a doctor one day, I don’t know if that’s really what I want to be going for right now.”

  My dad and mom look at each other for awhile, and then back at me.

  “And what if we had said no?” my mom asks me. “You’re still a kid, you know. You still have to run important life decisions by us.”

  “Then I would have had to defy you,” I tell them. “But I would never want to do that. So I can stay? You’re not mad?”

  “Of course not,” my dad says. “This is amazing news. I’m thrilled for you!”

  “Oh, Livvy, I’ve been going crazy without you,” my mom admits, hugging me. “And I do want you to go to college—that’s why we supported your decision to come to Paris.” Here she looks up at my dad, then back at me.

  My dad has tears in his eyes. “You’re the best daughter we ever could have asked for,” he says, his voice breaking. “When you love someone, you have to let them go when the time comes. You deserve this, Livvy. You’ve worked so hard.”

  “I’ll miss you so much, Livvy!” my mom says through her tears.

  I hug them both, not wanting to let them go. Behind us, Vince clears his throat.

  I throw myself into his arms next and sob into his chest. “I’m so sorry, Vince,” I say, meaning it.

  He doesn’t say anything, just holds me for a long time.

  “So you can cancel my ticket
?” I ask finally.

  “Of course,” my mom says, smoothing my hair. “Just let us know when our superstar ballerina wants to come home for a visit. We never did get your hair fixed, did we? Maybe you can do that when you come home.”

  “I was thinking I might go back to my natural color,” I tell my mom. “I don’t know if I want to be a blonde anymore.”

  She’s taken aback. “Livvy, I’ve had about enough for one morning. Let’s just take one thing at a time.”

  My dad rolls his eyes at her. “Who’s ready to open some presents?”

  I lead them into the living room and help them set their gifts under the tree.

  “Elise made coffee and tea for you guys,” I say. “It’s all in the kitchen. I’ll have her bring it out before she leaves for the holiday.”

  I hesitate, hating to disappoint them again, but remembering PJ. If she needs me, I have to be there.

  “I have to run out for awhile,” I tell them, making a break for the door. “Don’t open presents until I get back!”

  Zack and Jay meet me outside Alex’s apartment building. When I get there, I realize that in all the drama of the past few weeks I haven’t seen my friends in quite awhile. I realize how happy I am to be here, despite whatever the creepy circumstances are. I need my new friends right now, to reassure me, to make me feel like Paris is home.

  “What’s going on, you guys?” I ask Zack and Jay as we climb the stairs to Alex’s homestay.

  “PJ ran away,” Zack says, before Jay can answer. “She left Paris, and we don’t know where she went, or why she ran.”

  Alex looks thin and gaunt she answers the door and shows us into her bedroom. She curls up on her windowsill, practically drowning in her bulky sweat. I can imagine her sitting here before we buzzed up, her ears plugged into her fancy Bose headphones that are hanging around her neck now, smoking and ashing out the window. Marithe has strict rules about smoking inside the apartment—Alex is well aware that this is way against the rules. But the stink of the room tells me that she’s been smoking in here all morning.

  I grab her iPod to see what she’s been listening to.