I return to that Starbucks. He’s cleaned up a little, but he still looks like a guy who’s lost a fight.
I see him. I see him seeing me. I go to get some coffee, to give myself one more minute to think.
“I really need this,” I tell him as I sit.
“Thank you for coming,” he says. Like he wasn’t sure I would. Like I’m doing him a favor.
“I thought about not coming,” I admit. “But I didn’t seriously consider it.” Up close, he looks even worse. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” he says. He does not sound okay.
“Remind me—what’s your name today?”
“Michael.”
I look at him again. I remember that this boy is supposed to be in Hawaii right now.
“Poor Michael,” I say.
“This is not how I imagine he thought the day would go.”
“That makes two of us.”
This morning seems like a million years ago. I was so mad at him. Now I’m just sad.
“Is it over now?” he asks. “With the two of you?”
How could it not be? I want to ask him. In what universe could Justin understand what I’ve done?
“Yes,” I say. Then I add, unfairly, “So I guess you got what you wanted.”
He does not appreciate this. “That’s an awful way to put it. Don’t you want it, too?”
“Yes. But not like that. Not in front of everybody like that.”
He reaches up to touch my face, but it doesn’t feel right. I flinch. He lowers his hand.
This makes me even sadder. What I’m doing to him.
“You’re free of him,” he says.
I would love for it to be that easy. It is not that easy.
“I forget how little you know about these things,” I tell him. “I forget how inexperienced you are. I’m not free of him, A. Just because you break up with someone, it doesn’t mean you’re free of him. I’m still attached to Justin in a hundred different ways. We’re just not dating anymore. It’s going to take me years to be free of him.”
I don’t know why I’m saying this to him. Why I want us to hurt. Maybe I just feel less guilt if I feel more pain.
“Should I have gone to Hawaii?” he asks me.
I almost lost him. I have to realize I almost lost him. The thing I feared the most yesterday almost happened today. He did everything he could to stay, and now I’m punishing him for it.
I have to stop.
“No,” I say, “you shouldn’t have. I want you here.”
His eyes light up with the chance I’m giving, with the possibility that even though everything’s gone wrong, it might ultimately be right.
“With you?” he asks.
I nod. “With me. When you can be.”
It’s the best we can do. He knows it. I know it. And we also know we could settle for much less. We could give up.
He asks me more about what happened after he left, and I tell him. He wants me to understand why he had to run—he couldn’t get Michael into even more trouble—and I tell him I understand.
We need to know there’s no way Michael can be taken to Hawaii, so we use my phone to make sure all the last flights have left. Rather than have Michael take all the buses back, I offer to drive him—it’s not like I’m in any rush to get home. I’m going to have to tell my parents I’ve broken up with Justin, before they hear it from someone else.
As we drive, I ask A to tell me more about who he’s been. The damaged girl yesterday, and other people before that.
He lets the stories range all over the place—some sad, but most happy. As he’s telling them, I realize that for each event, he has to remember two things, while the rest of us only have to remember one. Not only who he was with, but who he was. Like with his first kiss. I remember my first kiss with Bobby Madigan—it was a dare in fourth grade that both of us had secretly wanted to take. When Mrs. Shedlowe wasn’t looking, we sneaked at recess into the woods. I remember how soft his lips were. I remember how his eyes were closed. It hadn’t occurred to me to close my eyes; if this was going to happen, I wanted to see it.
A tells me his first kiss was in fifth grade. He was in a basement and they were playing spin the bottle. He’d never played spin the bottle before, but the other kids seemed to know what to do. He spun and the bottle landed on a blond girl. He remembers her name was Sarah and that, before they kissed, she said, “Keep your mouth closed!” I ask him who he was at the time. He shakes his head.
“I’m not sure,” he tells me. “All I remember is her. I can tell you she was wearing a dress—like a Sunday school dress—so maybe we were at a party for something. But I can’t remember who I was.”
“Not even if you were a boy or a girl?”
“A boy, I imagine—but, honestly, I wasn’t paying attention either way.”
It’s strange to think about: All this time we’re spending together, all of these days. I am trying to remember who he was each day. But A?
A will only remember me.
—
Eventually, the map on my phone tells us we’re getting close to Michael’s house.
“I want to see you tomorrow,” A says.
“I want to see you, too. But I think we both know it’s not just a matter of want.”
“I’ll hope it, then.”
I like that.
“And I’ll hope it, too,” I say.
—
I float on that for a while, driving home. Then I remember everything else that’s happened, and I start to sink. When I get home, I can’t bear the thought of telling my parents about Justin, so I avoid them. My mom yells something about missing dinner, but I can’t even begin to care.
I call Rebecca for a status report. She tells me, again, that everything’s going to be fine. It will all blow over.
After I hang up, I stare at my phone. I click on the photo folder and it’s like my whole history with Justin is there. He couldn’t rip that up.
I know what I told A is true: It’s not over.
Justin and I are in the bad part now.
Chapter Twenty-Six
School is brutal the next day. All the whispering. All the stares. All the talk. Some of it ridiculous. Some of it true.
Everyone in this building has gone years without caring about me. Now I do something wrong, and suddenly they care. It’s disgusting.
There’s no email from A when I wake up, and I don’t check again. I feel I need to navigate this alone. A can’t help me here. I need friends like Rebecca and Preston to help me.
It is amazing to me how many people are fine with calling me a slut to my face. Girls say it low and guys shout it out.
Justin has made it clear to my friends that they have to choose, and that he’s the one who’s been wronged. He doesn’t care about Rebecca and Preston, which makes it easier for them. Stephanie, though, says she’s going to have to keep her distance when Justin’s around. Steve, too. She says she hopes I understand. I tell her I do.
“You’re too nice,” Rebecca says, overhearing this.
“No,” I say. “I don’t think niceness is my problem.”
It’s like it’s not entirely real to me. There’s a piece of me that’s still calling out for Justin, that thinks we’re still together, and meant to be together.
I can fix this, that piece believes. When, really, it’s the broken part.
It also asks, You gave up Justin for what, exactly?
I don’t know how to answer that.
—
I check my email quickly before third period. There’s a message from A, saying he’s on his way. I write back:
I don’t think today is really a good day.
But I’m not sure the message will get to A in time. A’s probably already kidnapped whoever’s body he’s in. I can’t stop it.
—
I tell Rebecca that I’m going to skip lunch. I know she’s going to offer to join me, but I tell her I’d rather be alone, to try to process everything.
Mostly I want to hide, and it’s easier to hide when you’re just one person.
“Are you sure?” Rebecca asks.
I tell her I’m sure.
“Remember, this is the worst of it,” she tells me. “The first day is always the worst.”
This is a little less than credible from a girl who will no doubt now go find her boyfriend and sit with him at lunch. But I resist telling her that she’s not allowed to talk to me until she cheats on Ben and he dumps her.
I don’t know where I’m going to go after Rebecca leaves me. Some dark corner of the library should be safe. I’ve never seen a librarian turn a girl away because the whole school is calling her a slut.
I’m about to head there when a voice behind me says, “Hey.”
I am not in the mood for someone else to give me an opinion on my behavior. I turn around and look at the person stopping me. It’s a boy, I think. Maybe a freshman. Also maybe a girl.
I’m confused. Then I look in his/her eyes and am not confused.
“Hey,” I say. “You’re here. Why am I not surprised?”
I know I should be more excited that A’s made it. But honestly? This is one more thing than an already hard day needs.
“Lunch?” A asks.
I guess I might as well. It’s not really the hiding I’d planned, but I don’t know how to explain that.
“Sure,” I say. “But I really have to get back after.”
“That’s okay.”
We walk down the hall. And you would think that maybe some people would be staring at the stranger next to me, a person they’ve never seen before. Maybe not the same guy I am rumored to have had sex with in the gym (there’s no mistaking him for that), but still—someone different.
But no. I’m still the main attraction.
A’s picking up on this, too. He sees them looking at me. He sees them turning away.
“Apparently, I’m now a metalhead slut,” I explain. I genuinely don’t care who overhears. “According to some sources, I’ve even slept with members of Metallica. It’s kind of funny, but also kind of not.” I stop talking for a second and look at A. “You, however, are something completely different. I don’t even know what I’m dealing with today.”
“My name’s Vic. I’m a biological female, but my gender is male.”
A says it like this is obvious. I sigh and tell her, “I don’t even know what that means.”
“Well, it means that her body was born one way, but her mind—”
This is not what I want people overhearing. I interrupt, “Let’s just wait until we’re off school grounds, okay? Why don’t you walk behind me for a while? I think it’ll just make things easier.”
I feel like a jerk asking this. But I also feel I need space. Just a little space.
—
I take her to the Philip Diner, which is like an old-age home that serves food. Nobody from school except the most die-hard hipsters ever eats there. And I figure I can take my chances with the hipsters. They have enough problems of their own to care about mine.
The waitress treats us like we’re spies about to take away her Social Security. It’s not until she’s gone that we can talk.
“So how is everything?” A asks.
“I can’t say Justin seems that upset,” I reply. “And there’s no shortage of girls who want to comfort him.” Thank you, Lindsay. “It’s pathetic. Rebecca’s been awesome. I swear, there should be an occupation called Friendship PR—Rebecca would be ace at that. She’s getting my half of the story out there.”
“Which is?”
“Which is that Justin’s a jerk. And that the metalhead and I weren’t doing anything besides talking.”
“I’m sorry it had to all go down like that.”
“It could’ve been worse. And we have to stop apologizing to each other. Every sentence can’t start with ‘I’m sorry.’ ”
I should be sorry for snapping this out. I just don’t have the energy. Especially with someone so complicated sitting across from me.
“So you’re a girl who’s a boy?” I ask.
“Something like that.”
Oh, great. Now A’s snappish, too.
“And how far did you drive?”
“Three hours.”
“And what are you missing?”
“A couple of tests. A date with my girlfriend.”
I can’t help it. I ask, “Do you think that’s fair?”
“What do you mean?” A asks.
“Look,” I tell A, “I’m happy you’ve come all this way. Really, I am. But I didn’t get much sleep last night, and I’m cranky as hell, and this morning when I got your email, I just thought: Is all of this really fair? Not to me or to you. But to these…people whose lives you’re kidnapping.”
“Rhiannon, I’m always careful—”
“I know you are. And I know it’s just a day. But what if something completely unexpected was supposed to happen today? What if her girlfriend is planning this huge surprise party for her? What if her lab partner is going to fail out of class if she’s not there to help? What if—I don’t know. What if there’s this huge accident, and she’s supposed to be nearby to pull a baby to safety?”
“I know. But what if I’m the one that something is supposed to happen to? What if I’m supposed to be here, and if I’m not, the world will go the wrong direction? In some infinitesimal but important way.”
“But shouldn’t her life come above yours?”
“Why?”
“Because you’re just the guest.”
It comes out sounding harsher than I mean it to be.
I go on, “I’m not saying you’re any less important. You know I’m not. Right now, you are the person I love the most in the entire world.”
“Really?” A sounds skeptical.
“What do you mean, really?”
“Yesterday you said you didn’t love me.”
“I was talking about the metalhead. Not you.”
The waitress brings our grilled cheeses and our French fries.
“I love you, too, you know,” A says once she leaves us alone.
“I know.”
“We’re going to get through this. Every relationship has a hard part at the beginning. This is our hard part. It’s not like a puzzle piece where there’s an instant fit. With relationships, you have to shape the pieces on each end before they go perfectly together.”
—
Relationship. I want to know if that’s what this really is. But A is not the right person to ask.
Instead, I point out that A’s piece changes shape every day.
“Only physically,” he argues.
“I know.” I eat one of the fries. I’m tired of talking, but don’t know how to get out of it without making A feel bad. “Really, I do. I guess I need to work on my piece more. There’s too much going on. And you being here—that adds to the too much.”
“I’ll go,” he says. “After lunch.”
“It’s not that I want you to,” I try to assure him. “I just think I need you to.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” I make myself smile. I need to change the tone. “Now tell me about this date you’re going on tonight. If I don’t get to be with you, I want to know who does.”
Then I sit back and listen as he tells me about this girl named Dawn who this boy-born-a-girl, Vic, loves like oxygen and needs like nothing else in the world. It’s a love story, pure and simple, and I find myself glad that someone in the universe gets to have one.
Even though I’m only meeting Vic this once and I’ve never set eyes on Dawn, I think about them after A leaves. I imagine the shit they must have to steer through to be together. It’s the first thing today that feels perfectly timed. I have it bad, sure. But people can put up with a lot to get to the place they need to be.
I need to remember that.
—
After school, Rebecca, Ben, and Preston take me for ice cream. They want to know more about my Myste
ry Man—that’s what they call him, and I don’t know that they’re far off.
I don’t tell them much. They respect that. But it’s also clear that their curiosity is going to continue, and I’m going to have to either invent some further lies or break up with Mystery Man pretty quick.
I am sure to make it home on time for dinner. Over chicken and potatoes, I tell my parents that Justin and I are over. To my extreme mortification, I start to cry. Even though I know it’s the right thing, and even though I know it’s my fault, saying it at the dinner table makes it more real than it’s ever been before. I don’t tell my parents about any Mystery Man. So the full story is that Justin and I are no longer together.
I know they’ve never liked him. I know they’re not going to tell me to try harder, to make it work. I am grateful for that. My father says, “There, there.” My mother says she’s sure it’s for the best. Then they just sit there and watch me cry. They wait for me to put myself back together. They change the subject, and ask me how Rebecca is doing.
I calm myself down as I tell them about an invented weekend—basically, I take the night with Rebecca and spread it out over two days. Lots of movies. Lots of talk. Lots of memories.
Justin isn’t mentioned again.
—
I know that I owe A some kind of communication. Later that night, I send an email.
A,
Today was awkward, but I think that’s because it feels like a very awkward time. It isn’t about you, and it isn’t about love. It’s about everything crashing together at once. I think you know what I mean.
Let’s try again. But I don’t think it can be at school. I think that’s too much for me. Let’s meet after. Somewhere with no traces of the rest of my life. Only us.
I’m having a hard time imagining how, but I want these pieces to fit.
Love,
R
After telling so many lies to so many other people, it feels good to be honest with someone, and to know that honesty will be appreciated. If A is going to be the one true thing in my life, I have to keep it true…even as I wonder if I can make it real.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I am ready to meet him wherever and whenever I have to. But when I finally get an email from A the next morning, it’s to tell me he’s woken up in the body of a boy whose grandfather has died. He has to go to the funeral today. There won’t be any way to meet.
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