Full Disclosure

by Camryn Garrett

  “It’s not fair,” Lydia says, pulling me closer. “I’m sorry.”

  This time, I can’t control the tears. I rest my head on Lydia’s shoulder. Claudia scoots closer so she can rest a hand on my back. Even though I’m crying, wiping at my face so the waitress doesn’t notice me, I don’t regret telling them. I don’t regret the weird comments or the awkward silence. They are officially a million times better than Sarah. I’ve thought about it before, but today makes it a fucking fact.

  CHAPTER 9

  My new vibrator is small but mighty.

  I picked the bullet because I figured it would be simple—shaped like a small baseball bat, silicone, no fancy features—but I was mistaken. There are twenty different settings. I’m not even sure where to start. There’s an instruction manual, but after looking at words like nonporous and multispeed and vibration patterns, I just want to test it out myself.

  I flip it on, watching the shaking intensify with each level. There aren’t any fireworks when I press my finger against it. The good news is that it doesn’t make much noise. At least I know my parents won’t hear it and walk in on me.

  Okay. I can do this. I have the time and the privacy and the equipment. It’ll be fun. Probably. I just need to be done before Claudia and Lydia come over, in about an hour. I take a deep breath, plopping on my bed before I switch it back to the lowest setting.

  “Whoa,” I say into the empty room. My voice is breathy like a porn star’s and I’m sure my eyes are bulging like a cartoon character’s.

  It’s not like using my hand, that’s for sure. It feels like I’m finished five minutes after I start, groaning into my pillow.

  “Fuck,” I say, the word muffled. “Thank God for the Pleasure Chest.”

  I’m still walking on air after I shower and make my way downstairs. Claudia and Lydia have been coming over for dinner for, like, the past two months. Dad does most of the cooking, which is funny, considering he’s usually on call or working late hours. Today, he’s making weird tiny little chickens that look so cute and utterly dead.

  “They’re rosemary-crusted,” he says when I mention this. “So they’re going to taste delicious.”

  “Oooh,” I say, peering over his shoulder. “Look at you.”

  The bell rings, but Pops gets to it before I can. It’s been only a few hours since we met up, but my friends are totally put together: Claudia’s holding a bouquet of flowers. Lydia is hiding behind them. My parents are so glad about me having friends that they don’t need to bring anything. They do it anyway. I’m an only child, and there’s still competition to be the favorite.

  Actually, that’s not fair to say. My half brother still lives in New York with the rest of our extended family, while we moved out here when I was five or six. I’m not supposed to refer to him as my half brother, but that’s exactly what he is. He barely speaks to me or Dad during the school year and lately, when we visit him over the summers, he just seems bored.

  “Hope we aren’t late,” Lydia says, glaring at Claudia. “Someone doesn’t know how to drive.”

  “Lydia’s just a hater.” The corners of Claudia’s mouth turn up. “Anyway, we brought flowers.”

  “They’re from my mom,” Lydia says, stepping inside. “She wanted to thank you for having me over all the time.”

  “That’s so sweet.” Pops smiles down at the bouquet. “You’ll have to thank her for me.”

  I lean against Claudia. Things feel more normal than they did earlier.

  “Hey,” she says, nudging me. “You never told us if something special happened at rehearsal today or not.”

  A smile blooms on my lips before I can stop it.

  “Simone can tell all of us at the table,” Dad says. “I didn’t make Cornish hens for them to go to waste. Hi, girls.”

  They wave. I huff, hiding my face in Claudia’s shoulder. I’m definitely not talking about Miles in front of my parents. It’s like Dad picked up on it before Claudia even asked. I swear, my parents must have boy radar or something.

  Claudia nudges me again as we move toward the table.

  “Your parents are great,” she says, voice lowered. “You don’t need to complain.”

  I hold back a groan. It isn’t fair when she does this.

  “I’m not complaining,” I say. “I never said anything.”

  She shrugs. “It could be so much worse. You could live at my house.”

  Claudia’s parents are super controlling, and they’ve been especially harsh since she came out as lesbian and ace. Her father had her sent to a mental hospital once—I shit you not. I’m glad I don’t get invited over there, because I’d punch the guy.

  Once we sit down, Pops turns to me. “What happened at rehearsal today, Simone?”

  I try to think of a way out of the question. Anything that happened at rehearsal apart from Miles: the scenes we rehearsed, new sets, anything, but all I can focus on is the way Miles and I swung our hands back and forth like we were the only ones onstage.

  God, I hope I’m not blushing. I stab one of the baby chickens—the hens, whatever they’re called—with a fork. I guess I can go with something that’ll make them laugh.

  “Actually, something funny happened at school on Friday. We were supposed to share in psychology, right? I don’t know why I keep doing it, because everyone is so stupid,” I say, trying to slide my meal onto a plate. “This kid kept asking what I call my parents, since I have two dads. And I kept ignoring him, because I feel like that’s a self-explanatory question.”

  “Mone, it kind of isn’t,” Dad says, cutting into his food. “I could see where the kid would be confused—”

  “I think he was being homophobic,” Lydia says. “In her defense.”

  “Fine.” Dad presses his lips together. “I approve.”

  Claudia snickers.

  “Anyway,” I continue. “I finally go, ‘I call my parents Ebony and Ivory.’ And he told me I was racist.”

  Pops snorts, a bit of water sloshing out of his cup. He glances at Dad. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of that.”

  “You missed out!” Lydia says. “Claudia, you should’ve been there.”

  “I guess so,” Claudia says, winking at me. “But I’m sure rehearsal today was better.”

  God, she’s such a jerk. I had finally succeeded in thinking about something other than Miles for the first time in hours. Dad and Pops notice everything, so I gulp at my water glass to hide my reaction. I don’t need another lecture about remaining abstinent. I’ve had enough to last a lifetime.

  “Oh yeah,” Dad says, glancing over. “What happened at rehearsal today?”

  “Dr. Garcia, did you know Simone said she wants five kids?” Lydia asks, changing the subject. Thank God for her. “It’s ridiculous.”

  “Five?” Dad scoffs. “I’ve never heard her say that.”

  “Kids are cute and magical,” I protest. “I didn’t get the whole sibling experience, so why not make a statement by having a ton?”

  “That’s not how it works,” Claudia says. “Seriously, dude. That’s not why people have kids.”

  I ignore her. “And none of the black babies ever get adopted, so I can just be like an old cat lady, except with babies.”

  I feel my phone vibrating, but I don’t have to check the screen to know who it is. Answering a text from Miles at dinner would be totally a bad decision.

  But still. It would be rude to leave him hanging.

  “Cute black babies become grumpy black teenagers,” Pops points out. “Trust me—we know.”

  “Fine,” I say. “I’ll just send them to boarding school after they turn four.”

  Another vibration makes me squirm. Pops raises a brow. Claudia and Lydia are really the only people I talk to, and they’re both here. I can see the gears in his brain turning.

 
“I completely tune you out every time you bring this up,” Claudia says. “Because every time you say you want ten kids—”

  “Five.”

  “I think about that time when we went to see the new Avengers—”

  “That’s not fair,” I say. “I was, like, fifteen.”

  “It was literally a month ago. I didn’t even know you when you were fifteen.”

  “Oh, I remember that,” Lydia says, her voice a smile. “If you can’t handle my little brother blabbering during a movie, I doubt you’ll be able to handle five kids running around every single day. What are you gonna do if you want to watch a movie? You can’t just scream at them like you did at Matt.”

  “I was having a rough day,” I say, picking at my hen. “And I’d put them outside. I’m sure they can handle that for a few minutes without dying.”

  “Remind me of that the next time you want something from me,” Dad says jovially. “They never told us that locking the door was an option at Dad Camp.”

  “I think my parents would do it more, if they could,” Lydia chimes in. “Only, I’m the perfect child. It’s the other one they have to worry about.”

  I pull my phone out, the screen flashing with more messages. Technically, we don’t have a rule about phones at dinner. That doesn’t stop me from hiding it under the table like I’m at school.

  I’m watching Sweeney Todd and I don’t get why he’s having a shaving competition with this Italian guy. When does he start slicing throats?

  I stifle a giggle. Tim Burton’s adaptation of the musical wasn’t bad, but I’m still bitter that he cut the opening number. I don’t know why Miles is watching it, though. It’s not exactly the type of movie you watch by yourself on a Saturday night.

  “Something you wanna share with the class, pal?” Pops sounds like he’s teasing, but I know he’s probing.

  “I was just thinking about the kid who set off the stink bomb in school,” I say, placing my phone in my lap. For the first time, I’m glad that Pops doesn’t teach at my school. “Did they suspend them yet?”

  “I don’t think they figured out who it was,” Claudia says, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. “And I hope they don’t. That kid deserves to run wild, pulling something like that off.”

  I slip a quick text without looking down: I’ll call you in like an hour.

  It can’t hurt to talk to him about a movie, right? Besides, it’s not like I’m ignoring everyone here because he’s the only one who will talk Sweeney Todd with me.

  “So,” I say, taking a deep breath. “What’s for dessert?”

  CHAPTER 10

  I’ve never rushed out of dinner this fast before, but as soon as Claudia and Lydia are out the door, I’m running upstairs. Then again, I’ve never had a cute guy blowing up my phone.

  “Dude, you gotta stop live-texting me.” I hold my phone with one hand and slam myself into my room with the other. “Start a blog, join Twitter like everyone else, I don’t know. But you can’t just spam me like that. My parents are gonna think something is up.”

  “Is something up?”

  “I mean,” I say. “We kissed and everything.”

  “We did. Is that…” He pauses. “Bad? You kissed back, so I thought—”

  “No, it was fine. It was great. It’s just…” My voice trails off. What am I going to tell him? That it’s complicated? It’s the truth, but it sounds like a lie. I’m certainly not about to tell him my life story. “Look, there’s just a lot that goes into it. Okay?”

  “Do you have a boyfriend or something?”

  I almost laugh at the idea.

  “It’s not like that,” I say, sitting on my bed. “There’s just a lot going on, all right?”

  He’s quiet for a moment, and I hear shuffling on his end. I force myself not to think about where he might be right now—maybe at his own dining room table, or in his bedroom. It’s so creepy to imagine someone else in their bedroom.

  “We’ll just talk about the movie, then,” he says. “That cool?”

  I want to kiss him again—in a platonic way. Wait, that doesn’t make sense. Ugh.

  “It’s not as good as the actual musical,” I say, lying against my pillows. “Burton cut a ton of songs. It’s more like a regular movie than a musical, but that’s no fun. There’s nothing to sing along to.”

  “Oh no,” he says. I picture him smiling. He makes that easy. “I can’t believe I’m missing the Simone remix. Why should I keep watching now?”

  I snort. “The movie is fine—there’s lots of blood and dead people, like Game of Thrones. Anyways, I suck at singing, dude. Be glad you’ve never heard me.”

  “I don’t believe you. Maybe you haven’t found the right song yet.”

  “I don’t think that’s how singing works,” I say, propping myself up. “Well, actually, I can kind of pull off Chicago.”

  “We’ll have to watch it sometime,” he says. “I’ve never seen it.”

  “I’ve seen it on Broadway and then watched the movie a million times.”

  “I figured you’d have it memorized.” There’s more shuffling. “Hey, hold on. It’s on Netflix. You should watch it with me.”

  “I thought I was supposed to be the big fan.” I grab my laptop from my nightstand drawer. “Wait, is this what you’ve been doing since rehearsal ended?”

  “Not exactly,” he says. “I watched Grease, but I wasn’t gonna tell you about that because I hated it.”

  “How?” I lug the laptop onto my lap and fish for my earbuds. “Grease is a classic.”

  “I regret watching it. Everyone looked forty. It was depressing.”

  “You’re so dramatic,” I say, logging on to Netflix. “Okay, if we’re gonna do this, we have to make a deal. You have to stay on the phone the entire time. Got it?”

  “Totally,” he says. “At the count of three. One, two—”

  “Three.” I tap play, and I can hear the movie starting on the other end. It’s like a disjointed robot. “If you need me to explain anything, just let me know.”

  “Please,” he scoffs. “The student is becoming the master.”

  “You wish.”

  * * *

  When I blink my eyes open, the light that was coming from the windows is long gone. I can’t hear anything except the faint sound of the coffee machine from downstairs. My laptop is still on my lap, warm like a blanket. The movie is over, the screen black. An earbud is still in my ear, but I can’t find my phone.

  I roll over. The clock on my nightstand tells me that it’s five in the morning. Five. I don’t wake up that early on school days. Five means it’s Sunday, and I’ve spoiled a perfectly good morning for sleeping in. Ugh.

  “Miles?”

  He hasn’t said anything in a while. At least, that’s what I think. I could be dreaming. I definitely lost track of time, since I managed to doze off. I fumble around for my phone before holding it to my ear. There’s the sound of soft breathing on the other end. My chest tightens at the thought of him sitting up in bed, like me, with a computer on his lap. I press the end call button.

  I’ll never get back to sleep now, so I pad down the steps, following the dim glow of a lamp. It’s hard to tell which one of my parents could be up this early, because as far as I know, they both live for early mornings. It’s disgusting.

  Pops is the one at the kitchen counter, reading the newspaper and sipping from a cup that reads WHITE TEARS. He smiles as I walk in.

  “Hey, Poppa,” I say, sliding next to him. “What’s up with you?”

  “I was having trouble sleeping,” he says. “Want a cup?”

  I nod. Coffee has never tasted good to me, but Pops knows that, and makes it accordingly. I’ll drink anything if it’s filled to the brim with cream and sugar. Plus, the smell reminds me of being little, sitting on his lap w
hile he read me picture books in funny voices. I settle myself on a stool next to him while he fixes my coffee. His hands are slow but steady.

  “I don’t know why I’m up so early,” I say, trying to stifle a yawn. “I hate waking up this early on a normal day. Does coffee actually help keep you awake?”

  “It does once you’re hooked,” he says, sliding a cup over to me. I bring it to my lips, blowing steam away. He’s watching me with smug eyes, like he’s waiting for something. “Of course, I’d be tired, too, if I was up all night making strange calls in my bedroom.”

  I splutter a bit of coffee, scalding my tongue. It’s obvious that I was texting during dinner, I know, but I didn’t think I was being that loud when we were watching Netflix and chilling in the most literal sense possible. I can’t say that I was talking to Lydia or Claudia, because they had just left when me and Miles started talking. Pops knows me too well. His expression says it all. I almost resent him for it.

  I put my cup down, bracing myself for a lecture. It could take a bunch of different forms—he could start talking about abstinence, or keeping secrets from him, or even talking on the phone too late.

  “Uh,” I say, staring at my phone on the counter. He glances down at it, raising a brow as he looks back up at me. “Um, yeah. You know…”

  “Who were you talking to, Simone?”

  I watch the steam rising off my coffee.

  “Well, it’s not like we were talking about anything weird,” I say, scratching the back of my head. I never got the chance to twist my hair last night, so now it’s a matted mess. “We were just watching Chicago. No big deal.”

  “Why do you need someone on the phone with you while you watch a musical?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug. “Why did Elphaba end up with Fiyero when Glinda was right there?”

  I can’t tell if Pops is mad or not. He makes a face, eyes narrowed and lips pressed together. I tap my fingers on the counter, waiting for him to say something, but he’s silent. He just takes a long sip of coffee. I wish he’d say something. The last time I got in trouble was probably…Well, I can’t even remember.