I didn’t know what to think except: What was I supposed to do with this version of Campbell Ahers?
11
After church, during Sunday brunch—egg, sausage, potato, and cheese casserole on Nan’s “good” china—I told my grandparents about Mom and Dad wanting to stay in Burkina Faso if I agreed to move there with them for the extension.
Nan folded and refolded her napkin before saying, “I don’t know why your parents feel the need to do all that. They’ve served and done enough. They’ve given up two years of their life.”
I swallowed. “I know, Nan. But the work they’re doing is really important. It’s making a difference.”
She huffed and added too much salt to her casserole. “Yes, yes, fine. It takes a village and all. Though they’ve somehow elected themselves president and vice president of the whole village.”
“Nan . . .”
“What? I’m being honest. I saw a thing on the news about all the humanitarian aid in Haiti that never even got to the people. There were cases of water bottles stacked in government offices that weren’t distributed!”
I blinked. “But they’re not in Haiti.”
Nan tsked as if every third world country was the same. “You know what I mean. I’m not sure those people want all this assistance. People don’t like others doing things for them. They want to help themselves.”
“They’ve started a school, Nan. I can’t imagine that anyone in the village is upset the girls there are getting an education.”
Nan stared at me and asked, “Do you want to go live with them, Chloe?”
I looked at my lap and heard Pops, who’d been eating silently the whole time, shift in his seat. I cleared my throat. “I’ve already been away from them too long. They miss me a lot. I know they do. And I miss them too.”
Pops leaned forward. “That’s not an answer, doll. We know you miss them. Summers and winter break aren’t enough. But this traipsing about the world? You know I love your mother, but running away doesn’t make problems go away. No matter how long you’re gone from home.”
And there it was, the thing none of us ever talked about: Mom’s broken heart after the miscarriage. How I had to go live with Nan and Pops for a few weeks back then when Mom’s crying started to scare me, and Dad thought she might need to go to the psych hospital in Newton. How Mom spent a full month after the baby died talking to her as if she were in the same room. I cleared my throat again. “She seems better, though, Pops. She has all these girls there who need her and it’s made her better.”
“She has a girl here who needs her too,” Nan said.
“Yeah, but it was my choice not to stay with them. I know she’d love for me to be there with her. Plus, I have you guys.” I offered them a shaky smile.
“Of course you do, doll,” Pops said, shoveling little pieces of sausage to one side so he could eat them all in one large bite. “But I worry about your mother. When she was a teenager and went through a hard time, I told her, Nothing is so bad that you can’t change it by moving. She seems to have taken that to heart too much. If you don’t want to go to Burkina Faso, then you need to tell them.”
I sighed. “But those girls at the school . . .”
Nan waved a hand. “Enough. The weight of the world shouldn’t fall on your shoulders or your mother’s. All this do-gooding. There is plenty of good to be done at home. No one needs to go to Africa to save the world.”
I knew Mom and Dad would disagree. They’d explain about global responsibility and what those of us who are privileged can and should do to redistribute that privilege. It would be a big fight and Nan and Pops would blame my dad for turning their daughter into a socialist.
I shoved a bite of casserole in my mouth and barely chewed before swallowing, then said, “Thank you again for letting me live with you. I know I don’t say it enough, but I’m glad I’m here. I’m really lucky.”
Which was true. Even with my grandparents’ overly simplistic view of life and the world, I felt grateful I got to spend time with them and that they offered me an alternative to my parents’ plans in Africa.
Pops blew his nose into his napkin. “We’re the lucky ones. You can stay as long as you want.”
* * *
Monday morning, Eve was waiting for me at my locker before first period—another thing she hadn’t done in a while—but when I got there, all she did was adjust the slightly see-through blue T-shirt she was wearing and say, “Remember you promised not to say anything about Friday?”
I nodded and yawned, having stayed up way too late thinking about everything going on in my life—my parents, Chloe Donnelly, the game, Mateo. “I remember.” I looked at her hands, rings on every finger of the left one. Again. But she wasn’t wearing her BEST FRIENDS charm bracelet, which I tried not to wonder about.
“Good. So I talked to Chloe yesterday, and we’re playing again on Friday.”
“Even Aiden?”
Aiden was the hope I glommed on to the moment I agreed to play one more time. I couldn’t believe he’d ever go for it again, particularly after he lost his letter to Chloe Donnelly. I thought if anyone would put a stop to the game, it’d be super-serious Aiden. Mateo might also pass, but he wasn’t really one to rock the boat and make a fuss. Aiden had no problem declining anything that detracted from his agenda.
“He’s playing. I texted him yesterday and he said he would.”
Eve smiled smugly as if she was the reason he’d agreed to play again, which I didn’t believe for a second was the case. Chloe Donnelly must have talked him in to it. Which meant she probably found out something about him. Or maybe they were hooking up on the sly, and she had him pussy-whipped or whatever that absolutely gross term was for when a guy did everything a girl said.
Part of me hoped the hookup theory was true, if only because it would mean Mateo didn’t do sex things with Chloe Donnelly. He hardly seemed the type to go after another guy’s girl, and I had to believe that Aiden would’ve staked some sort of claim on Chloe Donnelly to the other guys, even if it all was in some sort of mumbling guy way. The other part of me couldn’t believe a guy like Aiden, who’d shot down Eve’s relentless flirting for the past three years, would be lured by an arty girl with bright eyes and a hand full of rings.
God, my head hurt. I wished I could have seen Chloe Donnelly in action during the game. It couldn’t be much worse than what I’d imagined happened. I knew I should just ask her how she got the guys’ letters. I’d thought about it all night and braced myself to hear whatever response she’d give me.
“Other Chloe,” Eve said, impatience ringing through her voice, even though I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say. On Saturday, when she was freaked out and feeling guilty, I’d been Chloe again. She must have gotten her confidence back over the past two days.
“Hey,” a voice called from down the hall, drawing the word out until the few people near us turned to look. Chloe Donnelly walked toward us wearing the exact same ultrathin T-shirt as Eve, only in black instead of blue.
My gaze bounced between them both. “Nice shirts.”
Eve beamed. “Thanks. Chloe gave me this one because she said it brought out my eyes. I swapped for my Tillys dress.”
Eve’s eyes were brown. The shirt did nothing for them. If anything, the shirt probably looked better on Chloe Donnelly, her bright-blue eyes popping even more from that shade of blue. The Tillys dress likely cost way more too. The jealous part of me that wanted someone to swap clothes with relished how gullible Eve was. Then I felt bad for being a crappy friend.
“Those shirts are pink,” I tried, but cringed at how stupid it sounded.
Eve and Chloe Donnelly laughed and I felt even dumber. They were coconspirators now, which explained everything about why I’d been downgraded in Eve’s eyes back to “Other Chloe.”
Chloe Donnelly did her quick-gaze assessment of me and grinned. “Your legs go on forever. I wish I had legs like yours.”
I didn’t want to blush, but
my cheeks weren’t cooperating, same as always. I let my hair fall in front of my face, and Chloe Donnelly laughed and tucked it back behind my ear. Again. “Don’t be shy, Other Chloe. Take a compliment already. Girls are the worst with taking compliments. It’s a societal problem. We’re raised never to expect anything but crumbs, so when someone actually acknowledges us, we’re left with an inability to accept it as a true fact.”
I laughed and tugged at the skirt I’d picked out to wear that morning. “You sound like my mom.” Though my mom would never compliment a girl on her looks. I’m not perpetuating an attractiveness-based value system. It breeds unnecessary competitiveness between women, who should be building each other up, not tearing each other down.
Chloe Donnelly nodded. “Good. I hope your mom gives you lots of compliments.” And then her face changed as if she’d just realized what she’d said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”
I swallowed down the choking feeling I got when any of my friends mentioned my parents in that pitying voice, and shook my head. “No big deal. I heard from my parents last week. They’re doing great. There’s this program they’re implementing at the girls’ school—”
“Other Chloe,” Eve cut me off. “You’re rambling and the bell is about to ring.”
I blushed again, but Chloe Donnelly squeezed my hand and whispered, “Tell me the rest at lunch. I’ll save you a seat.”
Then she and Eve headed down the hall toward their first periods. I watched them until the first bell rang, realizing I hadn’t gotten the chance to ask Chloe Donnelly about how she played the game. Instead, I stood puzzling over all the sides of her, the ones I liked and the ones that made me feel out of sorts.
* * *
I ended up in a chem study session at lunch, so I didn’t see any of my friends until I bumped into Holly in the bathroom between sixth and seventh periods. She was covering up a hickey on her neck, her charm bracelet jingling on her wrist. The hickey was big and dark, like it hadn’t been an accident but Cam going to town without giving the first shit. I rolled my eyes and muttered, “Classy.”
She put down her cover-up and said, “Jealous much?”
“Of you? No.”
For a second she looked hurt, but then she threw back her shoulders and said, “Yes, you are. Tell me again how many times you’ve made out with Mateo? What’s that? None. Yeah, I thought so.”
I inhaled deeply through my nostrils and channeled my mom, saying, “It doesn’t have to be like this with us, Holly. I don’t have any problems with you.”
She shoved her cover-up in her bag and turned to me. “Yes, you do. You hate that Eve is my best friend. You’ve been horrible and cold to me ever since I started going to school here.”
“What? No, I haven’t.”
“You have.”
“I didn’t mean to be. . . .”
“Sure you did. You and your perfect parents, who are out saving the world and telling everyone how to live their lives. As if it’s all so easy. As if worrying about normal things is beneath you. Eve told me how cool your parents are, how smart and progressive and friendly they are. She envies you so much.”
“Me? You think I’m perfect? What are you even . . . ?”
She held up a hand. “Save it, Other Chloe. You made your choice when it came to me. But it was stupid to be so clingy and insecure. You didn’t want anyone wedging in on your death grip on Eve, and surprise, surprise, she dropped you as soon as she could breathe again. Guess you’re not so perfect after all.”
“I never said . . .”
“Whatever you seem to think I did to break up you and Eve, I’d look at yourself first. No one wants to be friends with someone who’s so needy they suffocate you.”
Then she grabbed her cheap Walmart bag and walked from the bathroom all full of dancer grace, as if she hadn’t just stomped on my self-esteem and made me feel greedy and oppressive with Eve. And what was all that stuff about me and my perfect parents? The conversation was overwhelming, leaving me reeling.
I considered going after her, trying to hash it out, but then Chloe Donnelly stepped out of the last bathroom stall and washed her hands. I flinched when I saw her pitying face in the mirror. She dried her hands on her jeans, then turned and tucked my hair behind my ears, saying, “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Don’t let her make you doubt yourself. You’re a good friend. She’s the one who’s been suffocating Eve. Do you see how clingy she is with Cam? It’s the same with Eve.”
“Did you hear what she said about my parents? She doesn’t even know them.”
Chloe Donnelly tipped her head slightly and then shrugged. “I’m not sure what that was about, but it sounds like a her problem, not a you problem.”
I nodded, but I didn’t really believe her. Not when a little part inside of me kept shouting that Holly was right about me and Eve. That I had been needy and insecure, that I’d even given up some of myself because I was afraid to lose Eve as a friend. Would I still be playing the game if Eve hadn’t insisted? I wouldn’t. I knew I wouldn’t, but it didn’t matter, because I was playing, to hold on to her.
By the time Spanish rolled around, I was itching to talk to Mateo. But when I got to class, Chloe Donnelly was already there in deep conversation with him.
My steps faltered and I paused at the door. Chloe Donnelly looked up, her thin black shirt going see-through with the afternoon sunlight. “Other Chloe,” she said. “We were just talking about you.”
I caught Mateo’s eye and his mouth curved into a rare full smile. A distracting, flustering, beautiful, full smile. The lip ring probably didn’t stop him from being a great kisser. Or maybe it only caused him a problem if he kissed someone else with a piercing.
“Do you really have your labia pierced?” I blurted to Chloe Donnelly. “Oh God. Sorry. That was . . .”
Stupid. Inappropriate. Awkward. Humiliating.
Chloe Donnelly cackled. “You are so random! It’s excellent and refreshing.”
I glanced at Mateo to see if I could read his face, but it was completely expressionless. Did he know about the labia piercing? Did he have firsthand experience with it? Was the thing about easier orgasms actually true? Maybe he didn’t even know what a labia was. I probably wouldn’t have if my mom hadn’t insisted I read Natalie Angier’s Woman: An Intimate Geography when I was thirteen. Not that I really remembered much more than having a solid grasp of anatomical part names and a near certainty that lots of women book clubs spent a box wine–filled evening talking about the struggles of periods and menopause because of that book.
Before any of us could say anything else, Señor Williams came in, followed by a bunch of students. He told us to move our desks into a large circle for the day’s interactive discussion on Latin American literature.
Chloe Donnelly planted herself between me and Mateo, cutting off any chance of me talking to him about what had happened at the game. Señor Williams asked Chloe Donnelly a couple of questions during the discussion that she obviously couldn’t answer—what was she doing in such an advanced-level Spanish class?—but she flirted with him to deflect. Flirted! And it seemed to work. I caught Mateo’s eye after, and he raised his eyebrows in this way that made my heart want to explode, and made the bottom of my stomach swoop and feel sort of warm. God. I liked him so, so much. But when the end-of-class bell rang, he bolted for the door with nothing more than a quick head nod and wave.
Chloe Donnelly offered a little shrug. “He told you he had baseball practice, didn’t he?”
My shoulders slumped. Of course he didn’t. But he’d told her. I only remembered because I’d memorized his schedule. Like a lovesick puppy. I checked my phone. No texts. I looked at Chloe Donnelly, ready to have a conversation with her about how she’d gotten letters at the game, but she’d already gathered up all her stuff. “I’m meeting my mom in Iowa City,” she said, with a hint of pity when she glanced at my phone. “But I’ll text you later, okay?”
“Sure.”
Then I headed to the media center and spent the next two hours doing my homework. When the clock read five thirty, I packed up my gear and headed for the baseball field. Dinner with Nan and Pops was at six thirty every night—right after the first daily airing of Two and a Half Men—but I figured I’d have enough time to quickly talk to Mateo and thank him for not giving me up during the game.
Only, when I got to the baseball diamond, the field was empty. Coach Sykes must have ended practice early. My whole body wilted. I shuffled toward the locker rooms, noting a new sliver of nail growing on my pointer finger and thinking maybe I should try growing my nails out. The field house was a ghost town. I shouldered my bag and turned the corner to a rarely used side exit. My breath caught in my throat.
Josh was pinned to a wall and Aiden was kissing him. Seriously kissing him. Their hips were pressed together and Aiden’s hands were planted on both sides of Josh against the wall. And Josh was making these little moaning sounds and scraping his fingers along Aiden’s lower back as if he was trying to drag Aiden closer.
I gasped, and Aiden must have heard me because he pulled back and turned himself to block Josh from my view. His cheeks were scratchy and red—razor burn?—and his mouth was reddish purple and slick with spit.
“I’m sorry . . . ,” I stammered. “I was looking for Mateo. I . . . uh, I don’t care that you’re gay.” Blurt, blurt, blurt. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Josh’s arm reached around Aiden’s waist and he buried his face in Aiden’s back. I’d wondered about Josh’s sexuality more than once, and suspected part of the reason I never saw him with girls was because he wasn’t into them. But I knew never to ask him. My parents had drilled into me to keep my questions to myself, and that people should be allowed to talk about their orientation when they wanted to.
Aiden scrubbed a hand through his hair, shook his head, and mumbled, “Another fucking Chloe.”
Another. Fucking. Chloe.
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