On a Tuesday afternoon, they have the park to themselves. Aleah wheels Gypsy along the asphalt path that circles the lake. Gypsy is wearing a sunhat and long sleeves despite the eighty-degree temperature. She points to a row of ducks on the water.
“I wish I could swim with them,” she says.
“Maybe I could take you out sometime. They rent paddle boats here on the weekends.”
“I was hoping someone else would take me,” Gypsy says. She laughs, covering her mouth with both hands, a habit meant to hide her crumbling teeth.
“Who’d you have in mind?” Aleah asks, playing along. She imagines Gypsy will name some popular heartthrob—Justin Timberlake, or maybe Ryan Gosling.
“Can you keep a secret?” Gypsy asks.
“You know I can.”
“I’ve got a Secret Sam.”
“A what?”
“A boyfriend, silly. No one is supposed to know. That’s why he’s a secret.”
Aleah wants to be patient, but she is not in the mood for another of Gypsy’s daydreams. Her own boyfriend broke up with her less than a week ago, and she just learned that her SAT scores won’t help her chances of going to college—especially out of state. No way can she stay stuck in Springfield another year!
“A boyfriend?” she asks. “How? I mean, no offense, but you never leave the house unless you’re with me or your mother.”
“He visits me at home.”
Aleah rolls her eyes.
“Is this some kind of riddle, Gypsy? ’Cause I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep last night, so you might have to help me out.”
Gypsy giggles, her hands once again flying up to cover her mouth.
“A riddle,” she says. “I like that. Let’s make it a riddle. I’ll give you a hint: sometimes you visit me the same way.”
Just tell me already, Aleah thinks. She’s about to change the subject completely when it dawns on her: Gypsy must have a crush on one of her Facebook friends. Something about this makes Aleah sad; her own problems seem suddenly trivial.
“You’re chatting with someone online?” she says.
“He wouldn’t be a Secret Sam if all we did was chat.”
Now Aleah is concerned. She doesn’t know how, exactly, but she’s sure that poor Gypsy is about to get her heart broken.
“What do you mean? What more can you do on Facebook?”
“Who said anything about Facebook?”
Aleah wheels Gypsy over to a bench and parks the chair so that they can sit facing one another.
“What’s going on, Gypsy?”
“Gosh,” Gypsy says, batting her eyes. “Why the long face? Is someone jealous?”
Gypsy is in playful mode, which means it will be hard to get any real information out of her. Aleah gathers herself, tries to be the friend she imagines Gypsy wants.
“I’m not jealous,” she says. “I’m happy for you. But the suspense is killing me.”
Gypsy looks over each shoulder, adjusts the tubes in her nose.
“Not fair,” she complains. “I can’t see the water from here.”
Aleah stands, wheels Gypsy to the end of the bench and positions her chair so that they can sit side by side, both facing the lake.
“Now tell me!” she says.
“You’re sure you can keep a secret?” Gypsy teases.
“Of course.”
“You’re the only person I’m telling, so if you-know-who finds out…”
“I won’t say a thing.”
“All right. I signed up on a dating site.”
Aleah feels her stomach sink a little. Gypsy notices.
“It’s not like that,” she says. “It’s a Christian dating site.”
Aleah does her best to appear comforted.
“Aren’t you a little young for a dating site?” she asks.
“It’s not like they check your ID. And it’s just flirting, mostly. Or it was.”
“What is it now?”
“I told you…I’ve got someone. And I need your help.”
“Help with what?”
Gypsy flashes a coy grin.
“You got your driver’s license, right?”
Aleah sees where this is going.
“Gypsy, I can’t—”
“You wouldn’t have to take me far. Just to the ice cream parlor on Pearl Street. He wants to meet me for real.”
“Why doesn’t he just pick you up?”
“You know why. Mama can’t find out. Besides which, I got butterflies. I need you with me.”
Better and better, Aleah thinks. She sees herself playing chaperone, sitting beside Gypsy in a cramped booth, looking across at…She hates herself for being mean, but what kind of guy would date Gypsy?
If there even is a guy, she thinks. Maybe Gypsy is playing some kind of game. Maybe she doesn’t know herself that she’s playing. Maybe this is a fantasy spun out of control. Whatever the case, Aleah does not want to encourage her. Then again, she doesn’t want to discourage her, either. It’s hard enough being Gypsy Rose Blancharde.
“I want to help,” Aleah says, “but—”
“No!” Gypsy cuts her off. “No buts! Please, I’m begging you. I have to see him now, before I can’t anymore.”
“What does that mean?”
“I told you, I have to have another surgery on my eyes. What if something goes bad?”
“Nothing will—”
“The doctor’s hand could slip. Or I could have some kind of allergic reaction. Or maybe he just won’t be able to fix me. I have to see him while I still can. That way, if we end up together, I’ll be able to picture him when I hear his voice. I’ll be able to see his smile. I’ll know what he looks like when he looks at me.”
Aleah hesitates. Her instincts are screaming at her to stay away, but Gypsy looks so desperate, and in the end she has a point: how many opportunities will a girl in Gypsy’s situation have? If this is even a real opportunity.
“All right,” she says. “But maybe you better tell me a little about him first.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Gypsy says.
And then she goes quiet for a long beat. When Aleah looks over, she sees that her friend is crying.