Guess what it said? The last ten years have been the hottest in the last century and a half, and “paleoclimatic” research shows that the earth hasn’t seen such rapid climate change in six to twelve centuries. Before that, abrupt warming of the climate was the result of “known climatic conditions” that were nothing like what exists today.
But who knows if it’s really the so-called greenhouse gasses? Who knows for sure, I mean? Science isn’t religion after all. It’s based on questions, not faith.
Then I thought I might as well do the analysis that I missed last week, so I pulled a piece out of one of Dad’s old Audubons. After I finished with science, my math and history books were burning holes in my backpack, and I had to have something to do besides hang around waiting for a call from DJ.
Homework is okay, I decided, if you use it as an escape from reality.
I also talked to Liz—we’re meeting at her house after lunch tomorrow to hang out. That’s about it, Di. All caught up and here I am, stuck with myself again.
14 October
After hanging around this morning and giving my hair a fresh buzz, I went over to Liz’s. Quill was there already, and DJ arrived right after I did. It was so good to see him. I got a nice long hug and we went down to the basement and played pool to a soundtrack of very loud Ramones, a band I’m starting to appreciate. “Hey! Ho! Let’s go!” Sort of stupid, but fun. We played pool in partners, girls against the boys—an even match because Liz and Quill can play, and DJ and I can’t.
Then they all wanted to go to the pines. It was windy and cold, but I was up for it. We trooped off down the alley and through the neighborhood to the creek and up into the secret glade.
Quill brought a blanket in his backpack, and spread it for him and Liz. DJ and I leaned against the old stone foundation, or he did, and I leaned back against him. It felt so nice to close my eyes and lie back as he wrapped his arms around me.
Liz and Quill were in a “lip-lock” right away, and I started feeling uncomfortable as they got into it pretty heavy.
I looked up at DJ, his eyes a deep brown flecked with gold.
Liz gave a sort of shriek and started giggling.
“Want to take a walk?” I asked DJ.
“Yeah,” he said. “This is getting sort of awkward.”
“You mean us, or them?”
“Them,” he said. “Let’s go.”
We went down through the fence and along the creek. The sun broke out of the clouds and turned the dirty little creek bottom into a golden hall. Sunlight, passing through yellow leaves of cottonwoods and willows, came out like a semi-solid, radiant thing. Gusts of wind tore the leaves free and sent them falling around us, while those on the ground sent the light back up into our eyes from below.
We walked in silence until the creek disappeared into a culvert, and we had to climb the bank up to the bike path.
“I tried to call you Saturday,” DJ said.
“I got your message. I hope my dad didn’t give you a hard time.”
“No, he was cool.”
“I guess he saved the hard time for me.”
“Did I get you in trouble?”
“Oh, no, my mom and dad are both cool,” I said. Then I was afraid that it sounded like I was saying his weren’t. “But they gave me a huge lecture that same night.” I told him about the wine incident.
“We don’t have a drop of spirits in the whole house,” he said. “And if my mom caught me drinking, she’d kill me.”
“What about your dad?”
“He’s in California. Don’t see him much.”
We were walking side by side. I looked over and saw him shake his head, and I squeezed his hand. “Tell me about it?”
His parents had split up when he was five and his brother David was eight. They had never said why it happened, and they never talked about each other, which he said was better than stories you hear of parents who keep running each other down. His father was married again but didn’t have any kids, and Mommy sent David to California after he got in big trouble his freshman year at Parker. With David, she had been using that as a threat the same way she threatens DJ with Christian school now. But she doesn’t threaten DJ with going to his dad—she’s afraid he’ll want to.
“Do you?”
“No way. Dad’s okay, but my brother’s, like, a total jerk. He always used to beat me up and stuff. I’m glad he’s gone. Mostly. He was cool sometimes—and if he was in trouble, I usually wasn’t. But he got me in trouble too, so I’m better off.”
He wanted to know all about my family, but I felt sort of bad because I have it so good. I told him all about Ally, the summer, my trip to Oregon.
On the way back, he started complaining about how his mom never lets him do anything. Then he backed off, saying that she didn’t want him to mess up like David, how he was all she had now, and she wanted him to stay close.
By the time we got back to the pines, it had gotten late. The sun was behind a bank of clouds over the mountains, and the wind was tossing the trees around like mad. We stopped before we got to the glade and held each other. The ground was steep there, and I was uphill, which made me even taller, so his head was right at my chest. I didn’t mind, except it was sort of like embracing a little kid.
“Here,” I said, and turned us around to level us out. His soft, fleece jacket had that same laundry-scent, combined with a snowy, outside sort of smell and the piney scent of the woods. I squeezed him and kissed his neck. “You feel so good.”
“You don’t mind me being short?”
“I don’t mind anything about you,” I said. “Come on.”
“Where have you guys been?” said Quill when we entered the glade. He and Liz were huddled under their blanket against the stonework.
“Just walking,” said DJ.
“I bet they have another secret place,” said Liz.
“A secret more secret than the secretest of secrets,” said Quill.
“Anybody have a watch?” DJ said.
I pulled up my sleeve. “Five-thirty.”
“I’m dead,” said DJ. “Murdered.”
“Let’s make tracks, Master Dwarf,” said Quill. “And let’s think up a good lie.”
“Let’s just hurry,” he said.
We all rushed down from the pines, and when we got to the alley behind my house, DJ bolted, with Quill trailing behind and not so much as a “see you tomorrow” called back at me on the run.
“Why did we have to walk so far?” I said to Liz. “We totally lost track of time.”
“He’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”
“But if he’s grounded, I’ll never see him.”
“There’s always school.”
“You really know how to cheer a girl up, don’t you, now?”
She answered with a hug. “Later, bud.”
“Okay, see you tomorrow.”
I never thought school would be a comfort, Di, but at least we have lunch. Can you believe it? Me looking forward to school?
I just hope Mommy’s not too mad. This afternoon was wonderful, and I can’t bear for it to end with DJ having to pay the price.
15 October
Tell me: how is it that Kel can write a disgusting and bloody slasher story, and nobody bats an eyelash, but my story has a little weed and a suicide, and everybody suddenly becomes “concerned”?
First things first. DJ is grounded for the week because he was forty-five minutes late. He’s off this weekend, if his grades are good at the end of the week. He is going in early tomorrow morning to meet me for more homework help. Mommy thinks he’s meeting Quill, who she ought to know would be worthless. If she only knew that he is hanging out with Miss Straight-A Cassie, she might actually approve.
Or not. Especially since I’m no
t Miss Straight-A anymore. I got grade checks in all my classes, and I’d better hope they count the late work I turned in because I have a C+ in history, a B in English, and a C in math. Man, those zeroes add up.
But the real kicker is Griffin. I was in Sinclair’s room, almost at the end of Frankenstein, when he came and called me out of class. He led me into the teacher’s meeting room across the hall, propped the door open, and we sat down.
“I read your story last night,” he said, not sounding as if he had exactly loved it.
“What did you think?”
“Incredible.”
“Really?” Now I began to think he’d come to talk to me because it was so good.
“Really,” he said.
In that case, why did he seem so serious?
“And very disturbing.”
“That’s bad?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” He had the story on the table in front of him. He looked from it, to me, and back. “Cassie, are you suicidal?”
Why do I have to laugh in these moments? I did, and then said, “No.”
“Have you ever made an attempt?”
“No.”
“Considered it?”
“Thought about it—as a subject—but not about doing it.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that, but I still wonder.” He flipped through some of the pages, sighed, and looked back at me. “Let me tell you what I’m thinking. It’s clearly fiction, but some of the characters are real people. Your protagonist is you, and though you came back from Oregon alive, it seems like a fantasy that’s … becoming too real. So, ethically, I have to tell the principal. Personally, I’m worried about you.”
“What about Kel’s gory thing?”
He shook his head. “That wasn’t serious at all. It’s probably healthy—maybe not. I hated the pointless violence—but it’s not the sort of thing that makes me think he’s going to hurt someone.”
“And mine is?”
“I don’t know. I wanted to talk to you first—tell how much I respect the work. But I’ve got to tell Mrs. Trumbull, and I’m going to call your parents.”
“Don’t, please don’t. It’s just a story, it’s not real. Mr. Griffin, really, I’m not going to kill myself. I’m actually happy now—things are going great, and now everybody’s going to freak out on me.”
“But what about when they go south? What are you going to do then?”
“I’ll just deal.”
He looked at me. “I’d like to think that we have our little talk, and you reassure me that you’re all right, and you are. But what if you aren’t? You understand?”
“Yeah,” I said. “But I really am okay.”
“Good,” he said. “And take this.” He passed my story across the table. “If Mrs. Trumbull reads it, she’ll probably get sidetracked by the marijuana, so I’m not going to give it to her. Not that I’m saying drugs are okay—but I recognize they’re not a concern here. She won’t. Sorry about this.”
“That’s okay.”
“Let’s get you back to class. What’s the book?”
“Frankenstein.”
“Excellent. You’re a romantic. You think you’re some kind of existentialist, but you’re really not.”
When I got home, there was a message from Griffin on the machine. I was tempted to erase it, but he’ll get through eventually. I don’t want to violate their trust, do I? Especially now that I have to convince them that I’m not about to jump off a cliff.
Why can’t everything be normal—DJ not having an overprotective Mommy, me not being a freak? Okay, I like being a freak. But I wish people would just let me.
Mom’s at rehearsal tonight, so it’s just me and Dad. Maybe I’ll surprise him with dinner.
Uh-oh. Griffin got ahold of Dad at work. He just called to tell me that Mom is bailing on rehearsal and they’re both on the way home. They’re very concerned.
I had hardly written that last bit when they both rushed in the door as if they expected to find me tying a rope to the rail of the staircase. Mom wrapped her arms around me and held me like there was no tomorrow.
“Sweetie, sweetie. What’s happening with you?”
“Air, please,” I said. “Don’t suffocate me.”
“Don’t goof around, Cassie,” said Dad.
“It’s okay, don’t worry. I’m okay.”
Mom let go, and looked at me, tears running down her face.
“Alright,” said Dad. “Should we eat first? Before we talk? Have you eaten, Deb? I don’t think I can eat.”
“I can’t eat now, either. I need to know what’s going on.”
“Okay, let’s sit down.” He dropped onto the couch. Mom sat next to him, and I placed myself on the chair in front of them.
“First,” said Mom. “Tell me what Mr. Griffin said. As soon as I heard suicide on the phone, I couldn’t hear anything else.”
“Maybe we should hear it from Cassie—”
“Just tell me.”
Dad took a breath. “I came back from court and got a message to call Mr. Griffin. I got him on the phone at home, and it appears that Cassie has written a story for writing club, semi-autobiographical he said, which ends in her suicide, or her character’s suicide. It takes place in Oregon. He spoke to her and thinks she is all right, but he wanted us to talk to her and read the story. Which, he said, is incredible. But disturbing.”
There’s no way I’m letting them read that story.
“Cassie?”
“I’m all right. Really.”
“Here’s the trust thing again,” she said. “It could be that you’re fine. Or it could be that you want us to think you’re fine, so that we’ll leave you alone.”
She was closer than I wanted to admit. How many times had I pretended everything was cool?
“You see what I mean?”
I nodded.
“Which is it?”
“The first.”
“Good,” said Dad. “Good. We believe you, right, Deb?”
“I think so. But I’m still worried. We should read this story. You have a copy of it?”
I didn’t say anything for a moment. I didn’t know what to say. All I could think was, There’s no way I’m letting you see that story.
But I said, “Yes. I’ve got one.”
“Will you get it for us?”
“No,” I said, and she said, “No?”
“I don’t think I can let you see it.”
They looked at each other. I saw the hesitation—they were shocked, and they didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what the other was thinking.
“In fact, I know I can’t. I can’t let you see it.” I groped for something to add, something to give them that would throw them off or lessen the stubbornness of my refusal. “Not until I write the third part.”
“But what’s to say,” said Dad, “that you won’t change the first two parts, sanitize it so that we won’t worry about you?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Trust?”
They looked at each other again.
“Or, I’ll give you the first two stories,” I said, “and I’ll trust you not to read them until I give you the third.”
“How could you let Mr. Griffin read it,” Mom asked, “and the other kids, but not your parents?”
“I just could, Mom. It was easy. They aren’t judging me and worrying about me. They aren’t going to look at every little thing and see it as some kind of a warning sign.”
“Mr. Griffin did. He called us, didn’t he?”
“He had to.”
“Don’t you think he’s doing more than covering his butt?” said Dad.
“Okay, he’s concerned, but it’s different. With you guys, it’s personal.”
<
br /> “I don’t like this,” said Mom to Dad. “I don’t think I can sleep tonight. I don’t think I can let her out of my sight until I see this story.”
“You can’t read it,” I burst in. “It’s mine. I wrote it. You have no right. This is my privacy, and I can show it or not show it to whoever I want. Now I’m never going to let you read it, and if you try to steal it, I’ll never trust you again.”
We sat there for a while. I could tell Dad was surprised, but he also had a calculating expression on his face. Mom looked devastated.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t let you read it.”
“Let’s leave the story issue for a while,” said Dad. “We seem to be at an impasse. Anyway, the story was just a way for us to get a glimpse of your thoughts. So instead, why don’t you tell us? And then we can tell you some of our thoughts, because we have some strong feelings about our daughter’s life. Deb?”
“I’m so upset I don’t know what to think. Fine. Let her tell us, if she will.”
“Cassie, can you tell us about the story, or tell us how and why you came to write your fictional alter-ego into oblivion, to send her off into the eternal abyss?”
“Goddamn it, Gale. Will you can the bullshit for once?”
Whoa. I was just thinking up something smart-ass, and then, boom.
“Cassie,” she said. “Speak.”
“Okay. So. You know I’m not the world’s happiest person. I mean, I know I really have a great life. So why should I even think about it, right? Why should I hate myself? But I do sometimes. You know I was really down last year. It was like I was walking around in a fog, and—so that you’d just leave me alone—I did try to pretend that everything was cool.”
“I knew it,” she said, “we both did, but we wanted to believe you were okay. Sweetie, you should have told us.”
“Told you what? That I had no friends? You knew. That school sucks? You knew. That I was sad all the time about everything and half the time I didn’t know why?”
“Let it out, sweetie, let it all out, it’s okay.”
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