My phone woke me up. I didn’t remember falling asleep, but at some point I must have set down the notepad and pen on my desk, along with my phone. I rolled on my side, back to the phone, as I waited for the ringtone to play out. That ringtone made me sad. I wished I’d remembered to change it. It was the opening theme song for Synthetica.
Note to self: Change ringtone. Way too early to get kicked right in the feels.
Maybe I’d change it to the opening of Attack Girl Tokyo. Maybe it’d help me forgive myself for not leaving sooner, for putting up with the jokes, the derogatory comments, for my inability to walk through a convention without someone grabbing my ass. My inability to tell people to back off, that I didn’t feel like it or just plain didn’t want it.
You know what’s the worst part? These people weren’t all strangers. These were people I knew, people I thought were friends. I figured I’d hurt their feelings if I told them. And what if in the future I wanted them to treat me like that? To objectify me as something sexy, something desirable? If I said no once, they wouldn’t get that out of their heads, would accuse me of sending mixed signals.
So I didn’t say anything. Not one word. Nothing. Disappearing without a goodbye or a hint about where I’d be.
My phone stopped ringing. About three seconds later, the ringtone started again. Three times in a row meant it was important. I dragged myself out of bed and padded across the room. I blinked a few times at the name on the screen before I picked up the phone and pressed it to my ear. “Mom?”
“Took you long enough,” she said.
“Sorry, just woke up.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Why?”
“I was starting to wonder if they locked you in the church to pray the Devil out of you.”
“Nah, that’d be way too much effort,” I said. “They want me to see the light on my own.”
“Woof. That bad?”
“Eh. They have their moments.”
“Uh huh.”
“Honestly, Mom, they’ve been fine overall. Aunt Anne Marie actually took some of my cosplay to the post office.”
“The post office? Why are you shipping your cosplay? Are you going to a convention?”
“No. No, definitely no.” I paused. “I, uh, I sold some.”
“. . . You sold your cosplays?”
“Some.”
“Oh my God. You’re not going to regret this in a few weeks, are you?”
“Mom, no. I won’t. I made a lot of new things with fabric I had. Sorted through some old.”
“You spent so long making them.”
“I didn’t sell everything. And even if I did, it’s fine. I’m not going to be cosplaying again.”
“But if you change your mind—?”
“Hypothetically if I change my mind, I’ll make new ones that don’t have bad associations with them. A fresh start.”
We were quiet for several seconds. Mom eventually sighed. “I hope you at least made some decent money on them.”
“I did,” I said, omitting the part about giving a thousand dollars to that Anthony guy. “It was a good move. I needed to do this for me.”
“If you say so.”
“So how are you?” I asked, trying to change the topic.
“Tired,” she said. “Still working on a transfer. I started peeking at some other jobs online. Thought maybe I could find something.”
“You’re on your way to pension, though.”
“You’re more important.”
“Mom, don’t you dare quit it because of me,” I said. “Remember, I’m going to college next year. I wouldn’t be home anyway.”
“Are you really going to last that long at your aunt and uncle’s?”
“Of course,” I said although my tone was strangely unsure. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“You know they’re going to make you go to Catholic school next year, right?”
“Uh . . . ?” My exchange with Reverend Monsignor Kline surfaced in my mind. Maybe that was another term of my staying here my aunt and uncle had failed to mention to me.
“If your uncle’s the one making the final call, you’re not going to be going to public school,” Mom said flatly. “And Catholic school’s a lot of work. Tons of homework. Uniforms. No sense of individuality.”
So I’d be invisible. Perfect. “I could live with that for a year.” Worst case, there were other options too, like taking the GED so I could get my high school diploma and still go to college, or taking as many credits as I could to graduate earlier.
I could picture Mom pacing the kitchen the way she always did when she was on the phone, no matter the type of call. “Have you made friends?”
“Sort of. There’s this nun, Sister Bernadette, who talks with me a bit. And this guy Dima. They’re both pretty nice. They seem pretty open-minded.”
“Do they know?”
“No. I mean, Dima sort of. I don’t know.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Sorry, I’m kind of out of it today. Still adjusting to all this.”
“Oh. Then let me let you get a move on.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” Mom said. “You’re just having a day, aren’t you?” By her tone, I could tell she was smiling. That put me at ease but wow, it made me think about how much I wished she was here.
“I miss you.”
“I miss you too. Cross fingers that I get a transfer soon.”
“Crossing my eyes and toes, too. But I mean it. Don’t quit your job because of me or I’ll never, ever forgive you.”
“Oh, come on.”
“I swear, I’ll convert if you do.”
Mom burst out laughing on the line. “Threatening your own mother. What would your father think?”
“He’d think it was hilarious.”
“He would, wouldn’t he?” Mom took a breath. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
We hung up. I realized that for the first time in ages, she hadn’t asked whether I was Alexis or Aleks. Did she know by the way I spoke or did it not matter because I was me no matter which gender? And if it didn’t matter, why should I suddenly feel as hollow as I did?
I sagged into my desk chair way more exhausted and drained than when I first woke up. Mom had me thinking about things I didn’t want to, like my attachment to my cosplay and maybe some regret. But I wasn’t going to cosplay anymore, and selling my stuff was for a good deed, and it had gotten me enough money for some classes at a community college. And if I ever wanted to try again . . . well. I was good at sewing. And fast. I could always make something new. Set aside a couple hours, then bam. Done.
There was a tap at my door.
“Come in,” I said.
Aunt Anne Marie walked in. “I thought I heard you on the phone with your mom.”
Crap. Was she eavesdropping? “Uh, yeah. Just a short catch-up.”
“Figured you’d be awake.” Aunt Anne Marie folded her arms as she peered around. “I don’t see any costumes out.”
“I sold out.”
“Sold out?”
“Yeah. The first day, really. It was weird.”
“Wow. The Lord works in mysterious ways, doesn’t he?”
I didn’t answer. What was I supposed to say? I’m pretty sure the internet doesn’t do the Lord’s bidding, but thanks anyway!
“Are you making any new costumes?” she asked.
“Don’t you hate those?”
“You make them for different purposes than demon worship. I thought . . . I thought maybe I could learn about how you do it.”
I looked over her face. She really was trying. That much, I was certain of. “Well . . .” I picked up my phone and started to scroll through my saved photos. It was hard to find a costume based on something that didn’t have some kind of religious connotation, since those costumes tended to be more elaborate and I liked making interesting things. I found one of a schoolgirl outfit. “If I were to make something like this, I’d do the blouse, then the square collar, and a pleated skirt. Might do a mockup for the cutouts and to get better A-seams. And here,” I added, using my index finger and thumb to zoom in the picture, “I’d use my embroidery setting to stitch the seal.”
“How’d you figure this out?” Aunt Anne Marie asked. “This is really hard to do.”
“Practice, I guess. Trial and error. I’m not the best, not even close. If you look at some of the professional cosplayers in Japan—they have impressive stuff.”
I could tell I was losing her, so I stopped talking. This wasn’t like talking to my parents. They both had a nerdy side—Mom with sci-fi, Dad with comics—so they sort of got cosplay and anime fandom. Kind of. This was new territory for my aunt.
“I’m, uh, I’m talking a lot about myself,” I said. “Sorry.”
“You were excited. Nothing wrong with that. And I doubt I have much to say that would interest you.”
“That’s not true,” I said even though I agreed with her.
“I’m serious. Ask me anything.”
Crap. Now I had to think fast. It wasn’t that I wasn’t curious about Aunt Anne Marie. But maybe because I spent so much energy trying to put a positive spin on her actions and beliefs, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know more about her. I suspected that the more I found out, the less I would like her. That all her niceness would be outweighed by hatefulness.
Surely I could think of one question. “Why did Uncle Bryan become a priest?”
Wow. My question for her wasn’t even about her but her husband. Top-notch work.
My aunt’s smile waned. “The Good Lord called him to the ministry when he was very young. He was already studying to be an Episcopal priest when I met him. And then later on, he realized God wanted him to be a Catholic priest.”
“Yeah, but I mean, why? Like, you’re married. I thought the whole point of being a Catholic priest was celibacy and everything.”
“It’s not common, true,” my aunt said. “But this was his calling. God was telling us this was his plan when he gave me ovarian cancer.”
My eyes shot wide open. For real? Did she seriously believe she’d gotten cancer so her husband could become a Catholic priest? I didn’t know if it was the most messed up or most depressing thing I’d heard in my life. Maybe both.
“It’s in remission,” she said. “Which happened right after he started the conversion process. If that isn’t a sign, I don’t know what a sign is.”
She gazed at me like I was supposed to say something profound, but how was I supposed to answer?
“I think I need to go on a walk,” I said, swallowing hard. “It’s—it’s nice talking to you, but that’s a lot to take in.”
She nodded. “There’s a lovely park a few minutes’ walk from the school. With a lake that I think is technically just a pond, but everyone here calls it the lake. Just be careful not to go too far out or you’ll end up in the swamp.” She stopped and cleared her throat. “Well, I’m rambling. I’ll see you later.” She left the room, closing the door behind her. It still seemed like she was disappointed in me. No. Disappointed was the wrong word, but I didn’t know what else could fit.
I walked to my closet and pulled out jeans and a T-shirt from the left side of the closet. As I dressed, I looked at myself in the mirror. I twisted my body, sucking in my stomach as if I’d like what I saw better. Hideousness looked right back at me.
Maybe you can just work out a little bit more, Aleks’s voice said in my head.
“Great pep talk, Aleks,” I grumbled as I pulled on shoes and headed out.
♱♱♱
How do geocachers do it? Seriously. How? Without using my phone as a map, I felt instantly lost in the woodsy area near the church. My chest kept pounding with each step I took away from familiar territory. I couldn’t imagine anyone voluntarily going off into the wilderness just so they could hide a toy in a lunchbox under a rock near a snake pit in a field of poison ivy and were those vultures overhead? I swore I saw vultures.
I’d barely set foot in the park when I was hit with the urge to turn around and head right back to the rectory. As I turned, though, I stopped in my tracks.
Sister Bernadette and Deacon Jameson stood near a group of children—the summer camp?—as the kids ran around, sometimes splashing into the water at the edge of the “lake.” They were both laughing. I watched with an open mouth. It was still weird to me that people in positions of power in the Catholic church were allowed to have fun. I kept expecting them to be stern like in all the movies.
There was a shriek and a few yelps. I recognized Dima, holding a huge Super Soaker, drenching Deacon Jameson. “Who’s going to yell at me for being late again?” Dima cackled.
What the actual hell?
I must have blinked, because the next thing I knew Dima was sprinting across the grass. His hands flailed in the air in total over-the-top camp. Deacon Jameson was right on his heels with the Super Soaker, pumping jets of water at Dima’s back as the summer camp kids cheered and laughed. Sister Bernadette overdramatically face-palmed as she called, “Deacon Jameson, you’re giving me a migraine!”
I couldn’t help it. I pulled out my phone and started recording. This was literally the best thing I’d seen in my entire life. A deacon. With a Super Soaker. Going after a dude who probably was regretting every single one of his life choices right about then.
“Ahem.”
I turned and faced Sister Bernadette. Immediately, I stopped recording. “Sorry, I—”
“Don’t,” she said, and I winced, prepared to be berated, until she continued, “you dare not text me that video.”
I blinked. “You’re not mad?”
“About Joey being a moron?” Sister Bernadette laughed.
Wow. I felt so much lighter. Her smile was radiant. Warm. It made me want to smile like some love-struck idiot. But if I did, I’d need to accept that yes, I had a crush on a nun. And yikes.
And then the shadow of the overheard confession hit me.
“I don’t know how you do it,” I said softly, smile vanishing from my face as Deacon Jameson and Dima ran off into the trees.
“What do you mean?”
“Like with Deacon Jameson. Being around him all the time. I don’t think I could if I were you.”
Sister Bernadette’s eyebrows rose. “. . . Okay?”
“You know,” I said.
“Can’t say I follow.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “I mean because you like each other. And you’re not allowed to be together with all the celibacy stuff.”
Sister Bernadette gawked. “Are you implying that there’s something romantic between us?”
“Well, it’s kind of obvious.”
“Not obvious to me.” She laughed. Hard. I flinched. Was Sister Bernadette a great liar, in denial, or totally unaware that Deacon Jameson was in love with her? It wasn’t like I could tell her what I’d overheard in the confessional and that yes, he did like her. A lot. “I’m sorry,” she said between giggles. “But . . . but have you never had a friend that you were just silly with?”
Was she intentionally deflecting? I didn’t think she was. “What do you mean?”
“That’s literally what I mean. Someone you joke around with. Don’t you have that?”
“Uh . . . no. Pretty sure not.”
“Close your eyes. Think harder. Surely there’s been someone.”
I barely suppressed a groan. Evidently this was my penance for listening in on confessions instead of, you know, minding my own business as Sister Bernadette would say. I closed my eyes, reluctantly thinking back to my anime conventions and the people I hung out with.
Everyone was a blur. Well, everyone except Lee.
Forget him, forget him, forget him.
My eyes snapped back open. “What’s your number so I can send you the video?” I said, anything to change the subject. And that's how I got Sister Bernadette's phone number. She didn’t press me further on the friendship question, although she hovered over my shoulder to make sure I hit send.
Then she stepped away from me. “I better get back to the kids or else instead of a day at the park, we’re going to have Gold Riot.”
“You know Gold Riot?” I asked, shocked. It was a super obscure, super old series. People had to team up and survive a ton of obstacles over a thirty-day span, and if they survived, they’d get enough gold to last a lifetime. It started out great until power-lust took over and soon it was all-out war with zombies. (No, really). How were there so many nerds at Saint Martha’s?
The way she smiled at me made me question everything I thought I knew about her. “I’m a nun. Not a hermit.”
I watched Sister Bernadette leave, heart pounding. I wanted to stay, ask if I could volunteer just so I’d be near her. But I made myself walk. Someone like me wasn’t qualified to volunteer to help a bunch of Catholic kids.
As I got to the footpath, I noticed the abandoned Super Soaker. I stooped down to pick it up. A bird cawed. I lifted my head in time to see the black. My eyes traveled up to Deacon Jameson’s lip-locked face. His back was pressed to a tree, arms wrapped around someone’s back.
They kissed hard, oblivious to everyone in the world except each other. And it was beautiful and sweet and everything both parts of me would dream of because it was something I’d never find.
Quietly, I set down the water gun and slipped back. I didn’t need to go through the foliage to realize yet again how wrong I’d been. Because it wasn’t Sister Bernadette who Deacon Jameson was in love with.
It was Dima.