P.S. I Miss You

by Jen Petro-Roy

  I haven’t talked that much about set crew so far. I bet you’ve been wondering why. It’s not for the same reason I haven’t been mentioning church.

  I don’t talk about church because you know what happens there. It’s the same every week. We get there super early so Mom and Dad can socialize and Mom can help set up the desserts and coffee. Mom wears her pearls and Dad wears his suit. We parade down the aisle so Mom can wave at all her friends and then we sit through a boring sermon I’m not allowed to fidget through. (Meanwhile, Julia Chen is allowed to be on her phone the whole time. It’s so not fair.)

  Then Mom and Dad make us sit there for an extra ten minutes to pray and say the rosary before I’m dragged downstairs to make small talk with old religious people and play Ring Around the Rosie with a bunch of snotty, juice-and-doughnut-sticky toddlers.

  (Even if they force you to go to church every day at your new school, at least you don’t come home with jelly stains on your pants.)

  Set crew is the complete opposite. We do something different every day. Even though I was disappointed at first that I didn’t get a speaking part, now I’m glad. I’d be bored saying the same lines all the time. It’s way more fun to say my own words instead of the words someone else wrote for me.

  Because when I’m talking to June, I love what I have to say.

  Here are some things we talked about today:

  1.  How June finally answered more questions right than her mom when they watched Jeopardy! last night. (Mrs. Reynolds is obsessed with that show. She uses a pen as a buzzer and won’t let anyone talk to her during the whole thirty minutes, not even during the commercials.)

  2.  Which is better, peppermint stick or mint chocolate chip ice cream.

  3.  Whether boogers have any nutritional value.

  4.  Why God isn’t real.

  We really did talk about that last one. For a long time, too. June says she can’t believe in anything if there isn’t any proof. So I told her about faith. I talked about how I prayed for help during tests and thanked God after. I told her about the beautiful sunsets and all those images of Mary people have seen, all stuff Mom and Dad have said before, all stuff that used to seem so real to me. But when I heard the words coming out of my mouth, they felt limp, like overcooked spaghetti. Flop flop flop!

  June said that if she thanked God for helping her get an A on a test, it would take away from her hard work. She said sunsets have scientific explanations. She rolled her eyes when I talked about all those Mary appearances.

  Everything she said made sense. Which was weird.

  I’m glad no one heard us talking.

  We played the Would You Rather? game at the end of set crew, when everyone else was on the other side of the stage and nobody could hear us talking. We asked each other questions like:

  Would you rather spend ten minutes in a room full of mosquitoes or eat a full jar of mayonnaise?

  Would you rather have the paparazzi follow you around every minute of your life or never have anyone speak to you again?

  Would you rather lose your sense of hearing or your sense of taste?

  This was her last question: Would you rather kiss a girl or kiss a frog?

  I knew my answer right away.

  And when June asked me, she had this weird expression on her face, like she was actually asking me another question entirely.

  I wanted to give her my answer, but I wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear it. Maybe I was reading her wrong. Maybe I was reading me wrong.

  So I didn’t say anything. I finished painting another rock and June started another tree. Then Mrs. Harper asked me to go work on something else.

  Which made me happy and sad at the same time.

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. I miss you.

  P.P.S. I’m scared.

  MONDAY, MARCH 25TH

  Dear Cilla,

  Forget I sent that last letter. I didn’t mean anything I wrote. Burn it. Don’t tell anyone. Whatever. Forget all about it.

  Love,

  Evie

  TUESDAY, MARCH 26TH

  Dear Cilla,

  I’m serious. Forget everything.

  Love,

  Evie

  FRIDAY, MARCH 29TH

  Dear Cilla,

  Now I’m curious about your answer: Would you rather kiss a girl or kiss a frog? Have you ever kissed a girl? Probably not. The Bible says homosexuality is a sin and until you got pregnant, I don’t think you did anything wrong. Anything really wrong, I mean. Spike-heeled boots and being late for class aren’t sins.

  Kissing a girl is definitely a sin. Well, according to Mom and Dad.

  What was kissing Alex like? Katie kissed Ethan yesterday after school. She told us today. It was the first time she’s told me anything important in more than a month. She dragged me and Maggie into the bathroom before rehearsal, even though Maggie kept saying she couldn’t be late.

  (Maggie is getting a really big head. She’s Belle, not Queen of the World.)

  Katie walked home with Ethan after rehearsal the other day and he kissed her behind a tree near his house. She said his mouth was all smooshy and wet and she didn’t know where to put her hands. It didn’t sound fun to me, but Katie said she got shivers all over her body when they kissed.

  Shivers are pretty cool.

  Maggie was mad that Katie took almost a whole day to tell us, but I understand. Sometimes you need to have secrets so you can figure things out.

  Or maybe Katie liked having the kiss belong only to her. I like to hug some memories close so I can pull them out when I need them, like the blanket I used to drag around when I was a kid. I still have it, on the top shelf of my closet, in the very back. Sometimes, when I’m really upset about something, I pull it out and run my fingers over it. It’s not as soft as before. The edges are fraying and the fabric’s all rough.

  It still feels comforting, even though it’s falling apart.

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. If you do come home, I really need you to forget what I said. I’d never want to kiss a girl. Really. I promise.

  SATURDAY, MARCH 30TH

  Dear Evie,

  Don’t talk to Mom and Dad about me. I’m not coming home. I like it here. I’m making new friends and learning lots.

  Bringing up what happened would only make Mom and Dad upset. They were right to be upset, too. I shouldn’t have gotten pregnant. I did do something wrong. Me and Alex did. That’s why I don’t talk to him anymore. That’s why Mom and Dad don’t talk to him, either. He’s not a good influence.

  June doesn’t sound like a good influence, either. I’d stay away from her. It’s the right thing to do.

  Stay away from me, too.

  Love,

  WEDNESDAY, APRIL 3RD

  Dear Cilla,

  Stay away from June? You might as well ask the sun to stop rising in the morning!

  Stay away from you? That’d be worse than a bunch of angry eagles swooping down and attacking me with their talons, over and over again! (We’re learning about hyperbole in language arts today, which is when you super, super exaggerate something for effect.)

  I’m not doing it for effect here, though. It’s the truth. I can’t do either of those things.

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. Because then I’d miss you both!

  FRIDAY, APRIL 5TH

  Dear Cilla,

  The musical is tomorrow night. Maggie’s super nervous, even though she did awesome at dress rehearsal today. But she told me there’s some superstition that a bad dress rehearsal means a good show. She’s convinced that since she rocked rehearsal, she’s going to forget all her lines tomorrow. Or lose her voice. So she’s been drinking tea with honey all day and doing these weird “lay-la-lee-lo-lou” voice exercises.

  She sounds totally fine, but she’s going to lose her voice if she doesn’t shut up.

  The set looks perfect—June and I stayed late tonight putting the finis
hing touches on everything. We laid out everyone’s costumes in the cast room and made sure nothing we’d painted had gotten dirty. No one else on crew stayed to help us, but that was okay. It was more fun with just us. Mrs. Harper was there, too, but she was in her office the whole time, on the phone with the company that made the programs.

  The programs came yesterday. June’s and my design was on the front (it came out so awesome for the shirts that Mrs. Harper wanted it for the program, too!), but guess what it said at the top? BEAUTY AND THE BAST. Can you believe it? Mrs. Harper had ordered eight hundred copies, too. She was freaking out.

  It was dark backstage tonight. They did a lighting check earlier, but those guys left way before us. So June and I had to turn on the stage lights while we cleaned up. It wasn’t exactly being in the spotlight, but we pretended it was. We knew a lot of the lines from hearing Maggie and John rehearse, so we started joking around and acting out the last scene in the show, when Belle and the Beast dance around the ballroom.

  It’s the scene where they kiss, too. (Maggie didn’t want to kiss John at first, because he always smells like bologna, but she eventually agreed. It is in the script.)

  When June suggested acting out that scene, I didn’t want to at first. My heart started pounding and my palms got all sweaty. It made me think of an article I read in one of your magazines, right before you went away:

  FIVE SIGNS YOU’VE GOT A CRUSH ON A BOY

  1.  You can’t stop thinking about them.

  2.  Your heart races anytime you see them.

  3.  Your palms sweat.

  4.  You stumble when you speak.

  5.  They make you feel alive.

  I remember the tips because I read the article a bunch of times. I wanted to remember it in case I ever felt that way. So I’d know when I met the right boy.

  The article was wrong, though. They should have changed a word in the title. Because when June/Beast whirled me around backstage, everything on that list happened.

  I finally knew that it was real.

  I have a crush on a girl.

  I’m a sinner like you.

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. I miss you.

  P.P.S. Not for long, because I’ll probably be joining you at school soon.

  SATURDAY, APRIL 6TH

  Dear Cilla,

  I know I’m not supposed to be writing about this. I’m not supposed to be thinking it or feeling it. But just one time, for this one letter, I want to be excited. I want you to imagine me squealing and shrieking and twirling around my room. I want you to do that and not disapprove. I want you to be happy for me.

  Because when I was dancing with June, she was smiling back at me the whole time.

  I think she likes me, too.

  Ahhhhhhhhhhh!

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. I do miss you, but right now I’m way too happy to be sad!

  SATURDAY (LATER), APRIL 6TH

  Dear Cilla,

  I know you said that June is probably a bad influence, but you can’t really mean that, right? I know you’d like her if you met her. I wish you could meet her.

  I don’t understand why you said all that stuff about her, though. It doesn’t sound like you. You’re not usually so judgmental. Even though our religion basically teaches us to judge people. Or to judge ourselves.

  Thou shalt not do this. Thou shalt not do that. Thou shalt not do anything.

  What if we want to do this or that? Isn’t it more important to be happy than to follow some thousand-year-old law about not eating meat? Or not wanting the cute new boots Miri showed up wearing yesterday?

  Or not liking girls.

  Or having … you know.

  I thought that you, of all people, would understand.

  Maybe you’ve changed, though.

  That’s why I can’t tell you what happened tonight yet.

  I want to tell you. I want to tell someone.

  I’m scared, though. It’s scary to write down what happened. That makes it real. That makes it something I can’t hide inside anymore. Something people will know.

  I can’t let it out yet. This secret is like a little bird peeking out of its nest, not quite ready to fly. There are scary things out there in the world.

  Predators.

  Storms.

  Worse.

  I need to build up my strength first.

  Either that or hide away forever.

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. I miss you.

  SUNDAY, APRIL 7TH

  Dear Cilla,

  We kissed!

  KISSED.

  Like “Evie and June sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

  Like “lips touching, me tasting her strawberry lip gloss, her probably thinking my breath smells like hot dogs” kissed.

  I can’t believe my first kiss was with a girl. When I was little, I used to sit on your bed while you looked through magazines and talked about the actors you thought were “sooooo cute.” I agreed with you because I wanted you to think I was grown-up like you. I didn’t really think they were cute, but I assumed I would someday.

  Because that’s what happens. There are steps to follow:

  1.  You grow up.

  2.  You think boys are cute.

  3.  You kiss boys.

  4.  You marry boys.

  5.  You have kids.

  6.  Your kids do the same thing.

  I know the Bible doesn’t say anything about girls liking girls, but what if I do like them?

  What if I decide to change step two? What happens to the rest of the timeline? I know I can marry girls, but Mom and Dad won’t want me to. They’ll hate me like they hate you.

  (Not that June and I are going to get married. That’s ridiculous. We’re kids. They don’t make wedding dresses that small.)

  I don’t know what to do, and I can’t talk to Katie and Maggie about the kiss. If I kissed Joey Witter, that would be different. They’d shriek and scream and gush about how cuuuuuute his eyes are. (Which they’re not. They’re boring blue eyes that don’t ever sparkle. June’s eyes always sparkle. They’re big and deep and brown, with little flecks of gold like reflected sunlight.)

  If I told Katie and Maggie I’d kissed a girl, they’d give me weird looks. Or they’d tell their parents. Who’d tell our parents. Who’d kill me.

  You’re the only one I can talk to.

  You know how on TV shows, first kisses are always a surprise? Like the boy and the girl bump into each other and look at each other and then all of a sudden there’s kissing? Or they’re watching a movie and the boy puts his arm around the girl all casual-like and then leans over to kiss her?

  They never talk about what’s going to happen; they just do it. Then there are lips and spit and moving heads and arms all over the place.

  It was different with me and June. Maybe that’s what I should have expected. Because we’re different. We’re not a boy and a girl. We’re girls. Two girls. We’re already different.

  So we talked first. We talked a lot, actually.

  We both got to the theater early on opening night. I thought Mrs. Harper said to get there at three o’clock, and I told June the same thing. She really said four, though, so we hung around outside the stage door by the picnic tables and the weeping willow tree. It was windy, so I kept pushing a stray piece of hair out of my eyes.

  After I did that about ten times, June reached into her pocket and pulled out a clip. She clipped my hair behind my ear, then left her hand on my cheek for a second more.

  It was only a second, but it felt like a year. Okay, maybe not a year. But way longer. She stared at me. I stared at her. I didn’t know what she was thinking. I knew what I was thinking, but I also didn’t know what I was thinking.

  I was really, really confused. Are crushes on boys this hard?

  So we stared some more.

  (This is when the people in TV shows and movies would have sta
rted swapping spit.)

  But we’re different. So do you know what we did? We started laughing. Snort laughing. Holding our sides laughing. Hiccup laughing. A lady walking by with her dog stopped and stared at us, we were laughing so hard.

  “Was last night weird to you?” June asked the question first. I was glad, because it felt like my mouth was stuffed full of cotton, or like if I said anything it’d come out in another language. “Us dancing, I mean? Did something about it feel different?”

  I took a deep breath. I felt like I was in the middle of a dream. Not because it was my “dream come true” or anything, but because what was happening didn’t feel real. It was like I was a ghost hovering outside of myself, watching some alternate-world Evie have a conversation with the girl she liked.

  “It was weird. And different.” I forced the words out, then wanted to take them back. But I made myself say more. I made myself tell the truth. “But I kind of liked it.” I looked down at the picnic table, where someone had carved a pair of initials into the wood: AJ + EB FOREVER. I wondered who AJ and EB were. Amy and Elliot? Andrew and Elizabeth?

  Amy and Elizabeth, maybe.

  Amy and Elizabeth forever.

  “Me, too,” June said.

  I traced my finger over Amy’s and Elizabeth’s initials for bravery. I took a deep breath and forced myself to ask the question I’d been wondering for weeks now. Months, even. “Do you like girls?” I avoided her eyes. I didn’t want to see the look of shock I knew would be there if I was wrong. “Do you like me? Like like me?”

  I’ve spent a lot of time wondering if I’m a sinner for liking June. I’ve spent a lot more time trying to figure out if she feels the same way, whether her comments about girls being “cute” mean anything. Wondering why our “hanging out” feels different than when I’m with Katie and Maggie.

  Then June nodded. She didn’t say anything, but she did nod. And I knew the answer! Yes! She liked me, too!

  “Have you ever … you know … before?” June pointed between us. “Done stuff like this? Stuff like dancing.” She looked down at our hands. They were at least a foot apart, but right then, a foot didn’t seem that far. “Or holding hands. Or—”