“It’s not like her school’s a prison!” I was yelling by then. “We can bring her home. Or visit her. That could be fun, right?” Mom clenched her fist like a boxer’s. I knew she wasn’t going to hit me, but she still looked scary, like a volcano about to erupt.
“We can’t see her.” She whispered it, but I still heard her. That made me even angrier. Because we could see you, if Mom and Dad would stop being so stubborn. If you would stop being so ashamed.
You had a baby. It’s not like you committed a crime.
Your school is only six hours away. It’s not like you’re in Australia.
(Even though I bet you’d love that. Remember that time we went to the zoo and you spent a whole hour staring at that special koala exhibit? They were the cutest things there, way cuter than the baby monkeys everyone else was looking at.)
Mom didn’t back down, though. She kept saying, “We can’t, we can’t,” like she was a robot or something. I got so freaked out that I went back to my room to listen to the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack. (It reminds me of June.)
Dad’s taking the ham out of the oven now. Mom cooked about a billion side dishes. I’m in charge of dessert. I baked the cinnamon apple pie that June and I made last month. It didn’t come out as good (and wasn’t as fun to make this time), but I think it’ll taste okay.
I’m going to e-mail June now to say hi. I haven’t seen her since Thursday because of the holidays, but we’re meeting after school tomorrow to start working on our project.
I’m excited. Nervous, too. So nervous that I just set up a separate e-mail account, since Mom knows my password and checks my regular e-mail every once in a while. (Not that I wanted her reading my e-mails ever, but I definitely don’t want her reading them now.)
Love,
Evie
P.S. I miss you.
P.P.S. I just e-mailed June. She wrote back right away. In all caps. HI. EXCITED TO SEE YOU IN SCHOOL!
P.P.P.S. I have absolutely nothing cute to wear tomorrow.
TUESDAY, APRIL 23RD
Dear Cilla,
We finally talked about what happened.
And she held my hand.
I’m freaking out too much to write anything else.
Love,
Evie
P.S. AAHHHHHHHHHH!
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 24TH
Dear Cilla,
June’s hands are soft, like she’s never washed dishes in her life. Her nails are long and sharp and smooth. The pearl ring on her left hand was cold against my palm.
It was weird and so normal at the same time.
Holding hands was even better than a kiss.
We didn’t kiss again. Which is good, because I think the kiss freaked both of us out. We’re only in seventh grade. I know other people are kissing, but I don’t think I’m ready yet. Especially the kind of kissing where spit gets involved.
I bet you’re super curious about what happened. I remember every single detail. I bet I’ll remember every single detail forever.
I went over to June’s house to work on the project yesterday. I said “no way” to working at our house. I knew that the second Mom saw us together, she’d know what had happened. She’d have June arrested and ship me off to one of those “De-Gay Your Child” camps.
I didn’t even tell her I was going to June’s. I said I was going to Maggie’s and crossed my fingers that she wouldn’t call the Taylors.
We worked on the project for about two hours. Italy’s a cool subject, especially since Mr. Gardner said we could choose any aspect of the country. I really wanted to do Italian cooking, but June convinced me to do art, since we had such a fun time painting the sets. We borrowed June’s mom’s laptop and searched for different artists (Leonardo, Michelangelo) and places (the Sistine Chapel, the Spanish Steps). I wasn’t sure landmarks could be considered art, but June said it’d be okay.
We still hadn’t talked about “the kiss” by then. We talked about a horror movie that had been on TV the night before (June watched it with her mom and I caught the late-night showing after Mom and Dad went to sleep) and giggled about how Mr. Barrett must have had a cherry Popsicle with his lunch because he looked like he was wearing lipstick when June stopped by his room at the end of the day. We talked about whether we wanted to do set crew in the fall or try out again (June wanted to try out; I decided that my performing days are over). She asked about you.
I must have looked all serious because June poked me in the side. I laughed. (Of course I laughed. I’m the most ticklish person in the entire world. You made me pee my pants that one time at Uncle Bobby’s birthday party and the twins didn’t stop calling me Peepee Evie for three years.)
Then June tickled me again. So I tickled her. Turns out she’s as ticklish as I am. So she grabbed my hands and I grabbed hers and we wrestled a little standing up and then we got all close. We both stopped laughing. My cheeks turned red. June bit her lip.
“I guess we should get back to work,” I said.
“Yeah.” She bit her lip again. It was cute. “I’m sorry I disappeared for a while. I really was sick.”
“I believe you,” I said. I did. Really. But what happened was still bothering me. We hadn’t talked for almost a week. “Were you avoiding me at all, though?”
June looked at the floor. She looked at the ceiling. I looked up, too. There was nothing there.
“Okay, yeah,” June finally said. “But only because I was nervous. And scared. I’ve never done anything like that before. I thought I was bad at it. Or that my braces hurt you.” She paused. “Or that you didn’t like me.”
“I didn’t even feel your braces!” I said. “And I kissed you. Of course I like you.”
I like you.
There were the words, right out in the open. I couldn’t take them back. I didn’t want to, either.
“I like you, too,” June whispered.
It felt like someone had taken scissors and snipped open the knot that had been in my chest all week. Then I realized June was still holding my hand.
“I’m scared,” I whispered.
“Me, too,” June said.
We didn’t say anything else. We didn’t have to.
But you know what the most extra-cool, super-fantastic, best part of the whole afternoon was? We didn’t stop holding hands after we were done talking. And we stayed in June’s room for another hour! Sixty minutes of me turning library-book pages with my right hand and June taking notes with her left hand.
Sixty minutes of silly and awkward and sweaty and … awesome.
Love,
Evie
P.S. I miss you. I wish I could have told you this in person.
FRIDAY, APRIL 26TH
Dear Cilla,
Katie and Ethan hold hands in the hallway.
Miri and Nolan hold hands in the hallway. (Sometimes she even puts her hand in the back pocket of his jeans, which is way gross.)
I bet Maggie would hold hands in the hallway with Dominic if he went to our school.
I only get to hold June’s hand when we’re in her room. Or in my room. Or under the table at the library if we get the table in the back corner, behind the oversized books, where no one ever goes.
We’ve held hands every time we’ve been alone together since that first time in June’s room. At first it was awkward. My hands were sweaty and so were hers, so they slipped against each other. I didn’t know how close to sit when we were on the bed.
Here’s what my head sounded like:
If I get too close, will she think I’m too forward? But if I’m too far away, she might think I don’t like her. But I’m holding her hand so of course she knows I like her. But what if she’s just holding it to humor me? Does she want to kiss me? Do I want to kiss her again? Does my breath smell gross?
That was all in the span of about ten seconds, too.
Did you think like that around Alex?
Dating (or whatever we’re doing) is way too confusing!
I don’t th
ink I could hold June’s hand in public. I’m too scared about what everyone else would think. What if people yell at me? Or I get in trouble? What if I get sent to the principal’s office and she calls Mom and Dad?
I feel like I shouldn’t care about that. I should tell people I like June.
I’m not ready to do that, though. It feels too weird still.
I don’t want to be ashamed of myself, but I am a little bit.
I’m an awful person.
Love,
Evie
P.S. I miss you.
WEDNESDAY, MAY 1ST
Dear Cilla,
After school today, June and I went out to get pizza. We’d both brought money for lunch and the choices were either Meat Surprise or Pasta Alfredo (which is basically ziti covered with glue). The clear choice was NONE OF THE ABOVE, so we were starving by three o’clock.
The pizza place was busy, but there was an empty booth way in the back. After we argued over what toppings to get (I like pepperoni, June likes pepper and onion—we compromised with half and half) and picked out which songs to play on the jukebox in the corner (Remember when Mom and Dad played their wedding song and danced in the corner? You were sooooo embarrassed!), I finally asked her the question.
Well, I started to ask her the question. Then I got nervous and we started talking about the book we’re reading in language arts class. (It’s called Fish in a Tree, which sounds like a ridiculous title, but it’s awesome.)
Then we played a game where we made up life stories for the people sitting around us.
We pretended this tall guy with a black mustache was a French painter here to find the woman he’d met in Paris years ago.
We pretended the old lady picking up a to-go order used to be a famous Broadway actress.
Then we saw something that finally made me ask June the question: the “Are you my girlfriend?” question.
We saw two girls sitting at a booth together. They were holding hands. They weren’t kissing or anything, but we knew. We knew we didn’t have to pretend they were girlfriend and girlfriend.
They were girlfriend and girlfriend.
They looked happy, too. Happier than I’ve felt in a long time.
I did pretend then.
I pretended that other people in town besides us felt like this.
I pretended that I’d be happy someday, too.
I pretended that I wouldn’t have to hide because I was a sinner.
It was nice. It made me happy.
That’s when I asked the question. Because right then, I didn’t care if I was going to Hell or that I was going to grow devil horns and a forked tail. I just wanted to keep being happy.
June said “yes” in a small, squeaky mouse voice. “I mean, I think so,” she said. She reached for my hand under the table, then pulled it away when the pizza guy came with our pizza. He warned us that it was hot and walked away. My face felt as hot as the pizza.
“Sorry,” she said. I told her it was okay. It’s going to take us a long time to not be scared of the world.
Maybe we’ll always be scared of the world.
At least June’s mom doesn’t care if she’s gay. She told her that once, a long time ago. June’s still scared, though. She says it’s because she’s already a minority and she’s seen how her mom is treated sometimes.
She’s afraid of making her life even harder.
I’m afraid of Mom and Dad.
But we like each other.
Is this worth it?
I don’t know the answer yet.
So we ate our pizza. We played our game some more. We pretended the little boy who walked in with his mom had telekinesis. We pretended the girl flipping pizzas behind the counter was going to grow up to be the first woman on Mars.
We pretended we were on a date, too.
Love,
Evie
P.S. I miss you.
THURSDAY, MAY 2ND
Dear Cilla,
We pretended at school today, too. We didn’t hold hands and we didn’t kiss (we still haven’t had our second kiss), but we still pretended.
Being girlfriends isn’t so much something you do. It’s something you feel. It’s something you think.
All through the day, I thought of my girlfriend.
It made the day different. Brighter, like even though it was raining outside, there were little rays of sunshine lighting my way. It was like the difference between seltzer and water. There were bubbles inside of me, popping and sizzling all day long.
I told June what I was doing at lunch, like I was confessing something really awful: “I’m pretending you’re my girlfriend today.”
June giggled. “I am, too.” Then she bumped her elbow against mine before taking another bite of her sandwich.
It was a pretty great day. When I got home from school, I imagined what it might be like to tell Mom and Dad. I imagined they were the type of parents who would hug me and tell me they loved me no matter what.
I wished that for a while. Then I looked around the living room. At bloody, thorn-poked Jesus looking down from the wall. At the wilted palm from Palm Sunday that’s still tucked behind the picture of the Virgin Mary. At the four Bibles in the bookshelf (one for everyone!).
I thought about the day Mom and Dad found out you were pregnant.
I realized that my wish was never going to come true. If I told them I liked girls, they’d think I’m worse than you. They’d hate me.
They’d send me away.
I felt alone for a few seconds, like I did that time I lost Mom in the mall when I was five. Even though I was little and Mom says I probably don’t really remember it, I do. I remember my heart racing as fast as a cheetah. I remember how the air smelled like French fries and soy sauce from the food court. I remember thinking that Mom left me and was never going to come back again, that I’d have to sleep on one of the beds in Sears overnight.
Then I saw Mom, still in the checkout line where she’d been the last time I saw her. I’d forgotten what she was wearing and kept looking past her.
That’s what it was like yesterday: like when all of a sudden I realized Mom had been there the whole time. That I wasn’t alone anymore, doomed to a life wandering the mall.
Except instead of Mom, I saw Katie and Maggie.
I remembered what they were wearing.
I realized that maybe I could tell them.
That you’re not the only one I can ask for help.
Love,
Evie
P.S. I miss you.
SATURDAY, MAY 4TH
Dear Cilla,
After I wrote my last letter, I remembered something you said last year. You might not remember, but I do. It was the night of the homecoming dance and you had the biggest pimple ever in the middle of your forehead.
I bet you remember the pimple. It was big and red and gross and the color matched your dress perfectly. I saw it before you. I was afraid to point it out, but I didn’t want someone else to do it first. Especially Alex. I was expecting you to shriek and refuse to leave the house, but you just shrugged and put on more lipstick.
“Can’t change it now,” you said.
“But aren’t you afraid of the kids laughing at you?” I asked. “Do you need concealer?” Maggie’s sister, Hannah, uses concealer a lot. She’s very pimply.
You looked me right in the eyes. It was a very “big sister” thing to do. “Nah. I hate the way it feels. It’s just a pimple. I’m not going to let something I can’t change ruin the dance.”
You were so mature. I remember thinking you looked pretty even with that bull’s-eye on your face.
I keep thinking of what you said: I’m not going to let something I can’t change ruin the dance.
Here’s what I’m going to do: I’m not going to let something I can’t change ruin my life.
I’m going to tell Katie and Maggie about me and June. This is the right decision.
And whatever happens, I’m going to be okay.
B
ecause here’s what I’ve finally realized: How can something that makes me so happy be a sin? God wouldn’t want me to be sad. No one who really loves me would want that.
Love,
Evie
P.S. I miss you.
P.P.S. Wish me luck. I’d usually say “pray for me,” but I’m not sure that’s going to do any good.
MONDAY, MAY 6TH
Dear Cilla,
I was going to tell Katie and Maggie today, but I chickened out. I had everything all scripted, too.
My plan was simple: no stalling, no changing the subject. I knew that if I was going to do this, the only way would be to blurt it out, not even pausing for breath:
“You guys don’t know this but Cilla got pregnant last year and Mom and Dad hated her so much they basically brainwashed her into going to some super-strict Catholic school and now she’s being really weird in her letters and I’m so worried and I really need to find her because I think I’m gay and I don’t know what to do.”
Then I’d need to take a huge gulp of air so I wouldn’t pass out.
I practiced my speech all day. I practiced it with June, before school. I practiced it in my head at lunch. The only time I didn’t think about the big reveal was when June and I were presenting our Italy project. (Which turned out awesome. We made this fancy map where we highlighted towns and featured one piece of art for each place. Instead of using clip art, we made our own versions out of random things we found around town. June made a Mona Lisa out of leaves and berries. I made the Trevi Fountain out of rocks from Freeman Lake. I bet we’ll get an A.)
And then, of course, I turned into a massive coward. We were outside school, waiting for Maggie’s mom to pick her and Katie up for voice lessons. June left us alone, so I could talk to my best friends on my own. It was the perfect time. It should have been the perfect time.
“So what’s this big thing you need to tell us?” Maggie asked. She kept checking the time on her phone. Her case was new, white with fake diamonds around the outside.
I hoped they were fake diamonds. Maybe Maggie’s parents had won the lottery and I didn’t know because we hadn’t been talking much.
P.S. I Miss You Page 12