“Stevie,” Mom called as she knocked firmly on my door, “are you up?”
“No,” I called back, and buried my head under the pillow.
“You better get moving.”
“No,” I said, softer.
“I heard that.”
I groaned and pushed myself into a sitting position, then swung my feet onto the floor. “I’m up.”
“Good,” she yelled, and I promptly fell back onto the bed. The lethargy consuming me now stemmed from more than merely the early hour and another restless night. My weariness encompassed more than sandpaper eyelids and muscles too listless to perform basic functions like getting out of bed. My lassitude was born more from emotional exhaustion than physical.
How could I face another day in high school knowing what I now knew about my prospects for breaking out of this existence? Replaying some of the most frustratingly worthless experiences of my life had barely been sufferable under the impression that my plight held purpose, that I had some modicum of control over its final outcome. Now, with nothing left to gain, I no longer had the strength to hold myself upright long enough to face the onslaught of the day ahead.
I closed my eyes and let myself drift back to the last time I’d felt something other than turmoil. I was in St. Louis again, my lips against Jody’s, her slender fingers running along my sides. My breath grew quick and shallow at the memory of her body against mine. I fought the urge to slip my hand down the flat plane of my stomach and under the waistband of my pajama pants. What was the point of having a teenager’s body if I didn’t get to enjoy the libido that came with it? Then again, why waste a perfect first kiss if I wouldn’t get to relish the memory of it or chase a follow-up. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. My body was on fire for Jody to the point I feared combusting when I saw her this morning. I wanted to go in early, close the door to the classroom behind me, and pin her against the wall. I wanted to lay her back on her desk and—
No.
This had to stop.
None of these fantasy scenarios would bear fruit. I forced myself to remember the confusion creasing her forehead, the anguish cracking her voice, the dark circles of worry under her blue eyes. And why? Because I thought I could save her? I couldn’t even save myself. How the hell could I face her today and tell her I couldn’t handle the pressure any more?
“Stevie,” my mom called, “if I don’t hear you moving around in thirty seconds, I’m coming in after you.”
I considered telling her I was too sick to go to school, but my mom the doctor and human lie detector wasn’t nearly as likely to fall for that as other parents. I rolled out of bed and braced myself on the wall until certain I wouldn’t fall back down. Then I worked my way over to the mirror. I looked like I’d been on a tequila bender. My eyes were red and bloodshot, my skin pale. Worst of all, my hair stood out like a Chia Pet on steroids. I needed to pull myself together, but instead of asserting control over my life in some reasonable way like drinking coffee or taking a cold shower, I reached for a pair of scissors I kept in the top drawer of my desk.
The first cut came before I fully realized what I was doing. The second one brought more awareness as I watched several inches of black curls flutter to the floor. The next snip echoed through my ears with a metal snap, satisfying in its finality. With one more slice, I reduced the length of my hair by a third, so it hung just above my shoulders. I then set to work thinning the remainder with a few well-placed cuts to the under layers near the base of my neck. The end result was a shorter, shaggier style, a compromise between the Chia Pet and the closer cut I’d favor in a few years. It wasn’t fashionable but an infinite improvement on how it’d looked before. A shower with some extra conditioner subdued the frizz, and when I added a pair of khakis and one of Andy’s hunter-green pullovers, I felt almost human again.
In less than half an hour I’d transformed myself from awkward teenager to burgeoning baby dyke. I might not be able to control anything about my life, but if I had to face the daily hell of high school, I could at least look like myself while doing so. I wouldn’t win any points for fashion, but I arrived at school feeling a little less helpless.
Nikki intercepted me as soon as I came through the door. “What happened to your hair?”
“I cut it.”
“Yourself?”
“Yeah, can you tell?” I glanced at my reflection in the glass front of the main office. “I thought I did a passable job.”
“No, it’s actually pretty good, but why did you change it?”
“Because it looked like a blimp that dropped its toaster in the bathtub.”
She laughed, then caught herself. “And Andy’s clothes?”
“They’re much more comfortable.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.” I lied, unable or unwilling to explain I was fighting an overwhelming sense of vulnerability.
“All right,” she said, but didn’t move out of the way of my locker. I glanced from her to my watch, then back to her.
“You in a hurry to get to Miss Hadland’s class?”
“What? Why?” My stomach felt like I’d swallowed a bucket full of rocks. Why bring Jody into the discussion? Did she suspect something, or was I paranoid?
“You’re spending a lot of time with her before school, and now you show up with a new haircut and wearing someone else’s clothes.”
So she didn’t know what was going on, but she’d figured out something was up. “Maybe I’ve just got senioritis. I’m getting excited about New York, you know?”
She nodded. “Okay, but if there’s anything you want to tell me, you know you can, right?”
The offer was sweet, and I was so tired of hiding I almost took her up on it. Maybe I should give her a chance to be a closer friend than I’d let her be the first time around. I entertained the possibility of coming out to her for about thirty seconds before she added, “You could tell me where you were all night on Saturday.”
My chest tightened. “What’s going on, Nikki?”
“I saw you drive out on I-55, and I started calling at eleven, then again at one a.m. By sunrise I got worried and drove over to check on you just to see you pull in at six in the morning.” She waited quietly for a few seconds while my mind spun like a hamster wheel.
I had to say something, but what? It wasn’t just about me. I’d put Jody at risk too. If someone noticed me heading to St. Louis, maybe they’d seen her also. Then again, Nikki didn’t seem to know anything about Jody’s involvement.
“Stevie,” she prodded me, “are you in trouble?”
“No.” Maybe.
“Then why won’t you talk to me?”
“I’m just not really sure what’s going on.” It was the only truth I could voice at the moment. “But you’re a good friend, and I appreciate that. As soon as I figure some things out about myself, we’ll talk. But right now, can you not tell anyone about Saturday night?”
She looked torn between her desire to know more and her natural instinct to uphold a friendship. I pushed a little harder. “Please. It would mean a lot to me.”
She sighed dramatically, blowing a strand of hair off her forehead and stepping away from my locker. “Fine, but please promise me you’re not doing anything that could get you hurt.”
I smiled weakly. I wasn’t sure that was true in every sense, but I chose to believe she was only talking about my physical well-being. “I promise.”
The bell rang, and I kicked myself for missing my chance to talk to Jody before class started. Then again, with as much trouble as I’d had facing Nikki, maybe I needed a little longer to decide what I intended to say to Jody.
*
“Good morning, Stevie. Nice haircut,” Jody said as soon as I walked in. She looked terrible and tired and so damn beautiful as she scanned me up and down appreciatively.
“Thanks.” I tried not to make it too obvious that I wanted to unbutton her white oxford shirt with my teeth.
She seemed as though she wanted to say more or hear more from me, but neither one of us had the words or the privacy to express what was happening between us. Students took the seats behind us, and Jody did a commendable job of calling them to order. I doubted anyone else noticed the distracted way her eyes kept meeting mine or that she didn’t appear to have a detailed lesson plan like she usually did.
Instead she declared the period a reading day for us to catch up or reread challenging parts of The Things They Carried, followed by a one-page reflection. She didn’t engage us again for the rest of the period. I opened my book but never turned a page, instead wondering if she’d checked out of today’s class because she was too upset to focus or if she’d simply lost her will to care.
I would’ve been thrilled with her lack of commitment three days ago but now found it troubling. I glanced at her over the top of my book and found her watching me too. In the second our gazes connected, I noticed her eyes were red rimmed but bright. She likely hadn’t slept any more than I had, but she didn’t seem nearly as downtrodden. I quickly buried my nose back in my book.
The aftermath of the kiss we’d shared should’ve been more gut-wrenching for her than for me. With the way she valued the boundaries of a teacher/student relationship, she shouldn’t be able to reconcile what we’d done with the teacher she hoped to become. Why wasn’t she avoiding me? Why wasn’t she terrified of me? Why did she seem to want contact instead of distancing herself behind her professional façade?
I set to work writing a reflection on truth versus reality. It was basically the same paper I’d written last week, and I could barely bring myself to acknowledge that reality or truth even existed. Nothing felt real right now, and truth seemed such an idealistic concept when I couldn’t believe the basic laws of science. I certainly didn’t trust my own judgment enough to decipher the difference between it and reality. It took everything I had not to blurt that out after class when I handed my paper to Jody.
I waited until all the other students had left before asking, “Are you okay?”
“I am.” The corners of her mouth quirked up. “Or I will be soon.”
“Really?” I asked, distracted by the memory of her mouth against my own. How in the hell would we mange to last three more months without ripping each other’s clothes off? And why wasn’t she more upset about that prospect?
“I’ve made some big decisions.” She shook slightly as though she’d just suffered a chill.
The hair on my arms and neck stood on end. Something wasn’t right, something I couldn’t place yet. “Do you want to tell me about them?”
“We can’t talk now. If we’re going to do this, we need to do it right.”
“Okay,” I said, not at all sure what she meant.
“I have to make it through the day, and so do you.”
“Do you want me to come in after school?”
“Please.” She reached out as if she intended to take my hand, and I wanted to give it to her, but I couldn’t. Not here, not now. Someone might see, so I stepped back. Her smile faded, and the spark left her eyes.
“After school, okay?”
She pursed her lips together and nodded. Then I left quickly before either of us said or did something we’d regret. I had to stay strong, but as I neared the door she called out, “I really do like your hair.”
I turned to see her looking so very young and hopeful, as though she were the schoolgirl instead of me. My heart twisted sharply because, of course, she was. I couldn’t shake the feeling I was destined to break both our hearts.
*
I spent the rest of the day in a stupor. I have no idea what happened in any of my classes, and I spent lunch sitting in my car in the school parking lot. After all I’d been through, it seemed weird to say, but something wasn’t right, and not just the time-travel business. My every sense seemed deadened, as if I had cotton in my ears and mouth. Maybe I was in a coma and nearing the end. Or maybe everything else felt dull and colorless compared to Jody’s touch.
Jody. What big decisions had she made? Why did she get to be clear-eyed and smiling while I muddled through a gray fog? I would’ve resented her peace if I didn’t care about her so much. I wanted her to be happy, and even more, I wanted to be part of that happiness, but I didn’t want to risk public condemnation in the process. Maybe we could be friends until we were in a better position. Then again, isn’t that what we’d done the first time around? Why couldn’t that be good enough for God, or the universe, or my coma?
I slammed my gym locker in frustration.
“Not eager to get back to gym class?” Kelsey asked.
“Something like that.”
“Well, it’s basketball day. That should be easy on you.”
“Why?”
She shook her head and whispered, “You’re on the basketball team.”
“Right,” I said with all the confidence I could muster, then under my breath added, “eleven years ago.”
Drew Phillips set up the girls on one half of the gym and the boys on the other. I still wasn’t cleared for contact sports, so he relegated me to retrieving balls that went out of bounds.
“And try to pay attention this time, Geller,” he instructed me.
I rolled my eyes and jogged to the other side of the court before I said something inappropriate. I spent the next fifteen minutes chasing out-of-bounds plays while Drew settled himself comfortably in the first row of the bleachers and proceeded to watch only the boys’ game. I found the entire exercise tedious, with the exception of the sarcastic remarks I occasionally whispered to Kelsey, who mostly ignored me in favor of trying not to trip over her own two feet. I didn’t think anyone could be clumsier than I, but somehow she managed.
Of course Deelia didn’t help anyone on the court with her overblown belief in her own athletic abilities and her insistence on playing the annoying role of ball hog. She missed shot after shot, at least half of them air balls, then managed to blame her teammates for a bad setup or insufficient block while growing embarrassment fueled her sharp tongue. I glanced at Phillips, wishing he’d realize she needed to be taken out, but women’s sports apparently deserved even less attention than the dirt he was currently scraping from beneath his stubby fingernails. I tried to ignore Deelia’s mini-meltdowns until she stomped her foot as she threw another ball so hard it ricocheted off the backboard and bounced into the boys’ game.
“You shoulda got that one, Stevie,” Michael barked as he picked up the ball.
I ignored the comment and extended my hand for the ball, but instead of passing it, he turned to Deelia. “Here ya go, babe.”
In true show-off jock form, he inbounded the ball too hard, and Deelia took an abrupt step backward, which sent her directly over Kelsey’s feet. She went down dramatically on her backside, hitting the floor so hard it jarred her whole body onto the court. She let out a high-pitched yelp and glared at Kelsey. “You tripped me!”
“I didn’t,” Kelsey said, her eyes wide with panic.
“You did. You did it on purpose.”
I started toward them but wasn’t fast enough to beat Michael. He flew across the court and towered over Kelsey. I watched helplessly as she cowered in his shadow and began to apologize profusely.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I mean, I didn’t know she needed to back up.”
The entire gym class stopped to watch the exchange, and even with several yards between us, I had no trouble hearing what came next. Michael reared back and shouted, “Shut up, you worthless sand nigger!”
A violent shake caused my stomach to lurch painfully. I don’t know where I found the strength, but I charged through them all until I pushed my way in front of Kelsey to face Michael. “Take it back, you ignorant, racist asshole.”
“Stay out of this, you fucking dyke.”
He spat the word down into my face with more venom than anything I’d ever had directed at me. I fought the acidic tide of bile in my throat but didn’t step back. Maybe I was frozen in terror or shock, but I didn’t move until Drew Phillips put his arm between us.
“Break it up, you two. What’s going on here?”
“Kelsey tripped Deelia, and Stevie snapped on me.”
“Liar. I snapped on him because he used a racial slur.”
Drew turned to Michael, who rolled his eyes.
“He did. He called her the n-word.” I couldn’t even bring myself to repeat the comment. It hurt bad enough just to think about. “And then he called me a dyke.”
Drew rubbed his forehead. “All right, everybody needs to cool down. Deelia, go to the nurse. Michael, get back to your own game.”
“What?” I exploded. “Did you hear what I said? He used a racial and a homophobic slur. That’s hate speech, and the school is supposed to have a zero-tolerance policy. You can’t let him walk away without any punishment.”
“Fine.” Drew shrugged. “Michael, if I hear you cuss in class again, you’ll have to run some laps.”
“Okay, Coach,” Michael said, then smirked at me before jogging back to his game.
“Cuss?” I couldn’t let it drop. “Racial slurs aren’t cuss words! Do you not understand that, or do you not care?”
Drew’s face turned red, then purple. “He got his warning, and here’s yours: if you don’t want people to call you a switch-hitter, maybe you should dress a little nicer.”
Several of the students snickered or laughed outright at the comment, and my face burned so hot I feared passing out again. I’d never considered hitting another human being in my life, but my hands balled into fists at my side, and I had to grind my teeth in order to restrain the terrifying flash of rage pushing up from my core.
“Now hit the shower,” Drew ordered us. “All of you.”
The others made a break for the locker rooms, but I stood, feet cemented to the floor, until Kelsey and Nikki flanked me on either side and pushed me toward the locker room. I let them lead me blindly, shuffling through a red haze of hurt and anger.
I sat on the bench and kicked off my shoes, then pulled off my shirt, all fear of high-school locker rooms gone. I couldn’t see anything but red, anyway.
“Are you okay?” Nikki asked.
“I don’t know.” I pulled on my khakis. “I guess. What about Kelsey?”
“I’m fine,” she said from behind me. I turned to see her dressing quickly, her head down and her hair covering her face.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry I got you in trouble.”
“You didn’t.” I jumped up and grabbed her by the shoulders. “That wasn’t your fault.”
She lifted her chin and shook her dark locks from her eyes. The pain and embarrassment I saw there were more terrifying than Michael’s wrath. She looked haunted or, worse, dead. I dropped my hands to my sides, fear turning the embers of my fury to ice.
“Hey.” Nikki nudged us both. “Everybody’s okay. It’s not that bad.”
I stared at her in disbelief, and she shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other.
“Really,” she continued nervously, “I’m sure he didn’t mean it. Besides, he’s a jerk and no one likes him anyway.”
Some of the girls around us nodded. Others looked away nervously. Nikki plastered a fake smile on her face. “Everything’s all right. Just let it go and get to class, okay?”
Kelsey nodded, and I did the same, even though I knew neither of us would be able to let it go. We’d carry the trauma of those words with us for the rest of our lives, no matter how long or short they might be.
*
I stumbled more than walked into Jody’s classroom, and her eyes darkened immediately. She scanned me up and down, then looked past me to Kelsey, who slumped into her chair and put her head down. Jody joined us immediately and crouched between our desks. “What’s the matter, you two? What happened?”
“Nothing,” Kelsey said into her hands
I inhaled sharply at the low monotone of her voice, catching the scent of Jody, so close, so comforting. We couldn’t do this on our own. I wasn’t strong enough, and neither was Kelsey. The words spilled out of me. “Michael Redly called Kelsey the n-word, and he called me a dyke.”
Jody gasped. “That’s it. We’re going to the office right now.”
“No! Please, no,” Kelsey pleaded.
“We have to. That’s harassment—it’s abuse. It can’t be tolerated.”
“It already has been,” I said. “Mr. Phillips heard him say it and didn’t do anything.”
She eyed me seriously, silently asking for the rest of the story. “And he told me if I didn’t want people to think I was a switch-hitter, I needed to dress nicer.”
Her blue eyes turned dark and stormy, and her face flamed red. She pounded her fist on her own leg. “Unacceptable. I’ll go over his head.”
“Don’t do something to make it worse,” Kelsey said in a trembling voice.
Jody glanced at her and froze. Maybe she saw the extent of her pain or her own fear mirrored in Kelsey’s eyes, but her expression softened drastically.
She took a deep breath before smiling at Kelsey, then back at me, all hints of her anger fading under a mask of compassion. “Okay, you’re in control of this situation. I know it may not feel like it at the moment, but you aren’t alone.”
Kelsey nodded, and her chin quivered before she flipped her hair back into her face.
“Stevie, you can sit out your monologue today if you need to.”
I couldn’t collapse. I had to stay strong for her, for Kelsey, maybe even for myself. “I think I can do it.”
Jody smiled sadly and squeezed my shoulder. “Okay, the floor is yours.”
I stood on weakened legs and took a few tentative steps to the front of the room. “This is the subtext from Zubaida Ula’s monologue from, um…” I closed my eyes and composed myself. “It’s from The Laramie Project.
“I was at a memorial service for Mathew Shepard, and it made me feel better to know I wasn’t the only one who felt terrible. I’d thought maybe I didn’t have a right to be so upset because it hadn’t happened to me. Then someone said, ‘We have to show the world we’re not the kind of people who do stuff like this.’”
I snorted bitterly, a rusty taste like blood coating my tongue at the memory of Michael’s words and Nikki’s attempt to whitewash them away.
“It’s a lie. We are the kind of people who do bad things because we let them continue. How can we pretend we’re not? We already let it happen. What kind of backward thinking are you deluding yourself with to be at the place where bad things happen, where you see them with your own eyes, and hear them with your own ears, and then you say, we’re not really like that?”
My voice picked up and so did my pulse. I was moving away from the script, away from the subtext, away from acting. I looked from Kelsey to our classmates, then to Jody, pleading with them all to give me some answers. “We have to address this, we have to admit we’re part of it. We can’t look the other way or sweep it under the rug. We need to take responsibility for our own part in all this hurt and pain. We have to admit part of it is our fault. It is our fault.”
My voice echoed loudly through my ears and rattled into my chest. “It is our fault.”
I didn’t wait for their reaction. I didn’t look at their faces or listen to their delayed applause. I took three steps and collapsed into the nearest empty desk. Jody was on her feet in an instant standing beside me.
“Thank you, Stevie,” she said, looking intensely into my eyes. “Thank you, very much. I know you’re supposed to run the discussion, but I’d like to say a few things first, okay?”
“Okay,” I croaked gratefully.
“A teacher has to think about so many things, and they’re all important. At any given moment, I’m worried about each one of you. Will you understand the reading? Did I challenge you enough? Will you pass the state tests? Have I prepared you for college? Will I make it through all the course material in time? Did I remember to take attendance?” She sighed, then smiled. “It’s so easy to get overwhelmed that sometimes I forget the most important things we can learn will never show up in a textbook or on a test or on a college syllabus.”
She walked around the room as she spoke, making eye contact with each student she passed. “Our responsibility as human beings far outweighs our responsibility as students or teachers, and Stevie’s monologue reminded me that each time we fail in those human responsibilities, we hurt not just ourselves, but everyone around us.”
She pulled up a student desk and turned it to face us all. “Let’s circle up and talk for a while.”
The students looked nervously at each other before moving their desks into a circle. “We’re not going to do the rest of our monologues?” one of them asked.
“We’ll have time for monologues later. Let’s focus on creating a dialogue,” Jody explained gently. “I want to hear your thoughts on bullying.”
The room was dead silent, and everyone struggled to avoid eye contact by staring at their shoes.
“I understand it’s not an easy topic,” Jody said. “I was bullied pretty badly through middle school and high school. I even considered killing myself for a while.”
I expelled a breath of air like I’d been punched in the stomach, and Kelsey looked up with wide eyes and rapt attention.
“I complained to the administration, but they were too busy to listen or too overwhelmed to care, and bullies are smart. They learn early what they can get away with and when and where.” Jody continued, her complexion pale without the flush of anger that had marred her skin earlier. “I used to wonder why no one ever stopped them, why otherwise good people let the taunting and harassment continue, but then I realized they were being bullied too.”
Jody’s eyes grew piercingly bright, and as she talked her natural coloring also returned. I watched, transfixed as she came more fully alive than I’d ever seen her. “You see, a bully doesn’t have to actively terrorize everyone. They just have to make one person so miserable no one else would dare cross them for fear of becoming a target themselves. All those other students who stood by and watched me drown were just as scared as I was. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
One of the students raised her hand, and Jody acknowledged her with a gracious smile.
“I just, I wanted to say sorry to Kelsey.” The girl stared down at her desk, as her voice grew thick with emotion. “I don’t agree with what Michael said, but I didn’t know what to do.”
Kelsey’s tan skin lightened with a pink tint as she mumbled, “It’s okay.”
“It’s not really,” the girl said. “I just didn’t want it to happen to me, and then when he unloaded on Stevie, I got even more scared.”
“That’s important to admit,” Jody said, getting up and moving over to stand beside the student.
A boy near her raised his hand, then said, “I didn’t hear it. I only learned what happened on the way to this class. I’ve been sitting here telling myself I would’ve said something, but that’s probably not true. I’m fighting to keep my grades up and stay on the baseball team. I don’t have the energy to fight other people too. And I feel guilty about that.”
Jody regarded him with nothing but compassion as he struggled to find more words. She’d opened up to them, so naturally they couldn’t help but respond. She hadn’t pressured them. She’d merely met each student where they were and gracefully led them to a better place. I’d never seen her so at ease with her role or with herself. Not even when she’d surrendered to my kiss.
Especially not then.
“But we’ve all got our own problems, and if I don’t stand up for what’s right, how can I ask anyone else to?” the boy asked.
“I think this is where I need to remind you all you aren’t alone,” Jody said, taking the floor again. “Bullies thrive by isolating people, but you don’t have to face them by yourself. You have friends, you have parents, you have teachers.”
One of the students scoffed. “The teachers don’t help.”
“Some won’t, you’re right,” she admitted sadly. “But some will, and you know who they are. You have coaches and pastors and school counselors and the nurse too. You may have to try more than one option, but you have to keep trying.”
Why didn’t she just tell them to come to her? They clearly wanted to. I saw it in their eyes—even Kelsey’s. They were pulling strength from her the way she’d always hoped they would. She’d just done exactly what she became a teacher to do. Why not embrace that final step? Why not encourage them to lean on her?
Then her words rushed back to me. “I’ve made some big decisions.”
She’d decided to leave with me. She refused to tell the students she’d be there for them because she wouldn’t. I should’ve been thrilled. I should’ve jumped over my desk and pulled her into my arms. I should’ve wanted to carry her out the door.
Instead, the weight of guilt pinned me to my chair. It held me down and choked out my voice. It clogged my ears and drowned out the remainder of the conversation. She’d just found her purpose. I’d watched her transform from a girl into the woman I’d already known she’d become. In setting aside her own needs to meet those of her students, she’d actually become a more full version of herself. A better version than I’d ever inspired her to be.
I couldn’t let her quit.
I couldn’t let her leave these kids behind.
I couldn’t let her settle for me when she could have something so much more meaningful.
*
The bell must have rung because everyone else packed up their things and left, but I never heard it. I didn’t move either. Not even when Kelsey said she was headed out. I should’ve gone with her, but I couldn’t.
When Kelsey was gone, Jody closed the door. She turned to me looking tired and conflicted, but smiling. “You were magnificent today, Stevie.”
“No.” I shook my head. “You were. I’m so impressed with how you stood up for those students. How you guided them through those emotions. I’m so sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”
“See what?”
I stared at her for as long as I dared, trying to memorize her features one last time, to pack away one more happy moment. I let my eyes caress the slender curve of her hip and trace the arch of her neck. I ran my gaze along her jawline and lingered at the corner of the lips I’d kissed. Then I glanced up and met the deep blues that called to me across time. “You belong here.”
“What?”
“You’re where you’re supposed to be. These students need you.”
She looked at me with wide, wounded eyes as if I’d betrayed her. “What about what I need?”
“You need them too. They’re part of you.” My voice cracked, raw and broken, an outward sign of how my heart felt. “I was selfish to tell you otherwise. I wanted you for my own. I thought I could give you a better life, make you happier, but I saw the way you connected with them today. I can’t give you anything better than that.”
“I’m not asking you to give me anything. I’m offering myself. I’m ready to walk away.” She glided her hands through her light hair and shook them out. “I’ve written my letter of resignation. I’m giving it to my advisor tonight.”
“No.” I jumped up. “Jody, you can’t. Where would you go? Think about your future.”
Her eyes were frantic, like a wounded animal’s. “I did. I wanted you to be a part of it. And I can’t have a relationship with a student. I won’t be that person, but I won’t be without you either. I thought you wanted me too.”
“I do. God, I do…but there’s no way. Maybe someday, but not now. Do you have any idea how much trouble we’d get in if someone caught us? It’d be worse if they found out you resigned for me.” I paced around the room, trying to make her see the consequences of following me down the path I’d advocated days ago. “You’d never teach again. We’d be in the papers. We’d never get out from under a scandal like that.”
“All I’m hearing is you talking about what everyone else needs or wants or will do.” She came closer, dangerously close, so close I broke into a sweat at the physical battle to keep myself from falling into her arms. “What about your monologue? What about taking responsibility for what you want, for what you know is right?”
“I don’t know what’s right any more.”
She froze, then, looking heavenward, shook her head. “I can’t believe this. You’re a liar.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. You’re a liar and a coward. You’re so afraid of making a scene, of taking a stand you’re even lying to yourself.”
The words stung.
“I thought you were different. I thought you’d changed. Then when you kissed me…” She covered her face and stifled a scream into her hands. “I let you kiss me. Damn it, I can’t undo that, Stevie. I have to resign now.”
“You don’t. No one will ever know.”
“I will know!” She staggered, and I reached out to steady her, but she pushed me away. “I will know, and I’ve made my peace with that. It wasn’t easy, but for you I did. I believed you would do the same for me.”
“I’d do anything for you, if I could. Please believe me.” I begged frantically for her to understand me. “If I knew of any way out of this situation, any legitimate option or alternate reality, I’d take it.”
“Alternate reality? This one isn’t real enough for you?” Her shoulders sagged, and she leaned against the wall to support herself, or maybe to bear her disappointment in me.
“What do you want me to do?” I pleaded.
“Create your own reality.”
“I can’t.”
Jody hung her head, then looked back up, her eyes meeting mine before she said, “Fine. I can’t make you take responsibility for your own story, but if you want to be a writer, you’d better learn to craft better endings than this.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come, and it didn’t matter anyway. Jody had stopped listening. She turned her back to me and stared out the windows of her classroom. I wanted to go to her, to touch her, to comfort her. Instead, I ran.
*
I tore through the hallway and down the stairs, intending to blow past my locker. Everything had backfired. Lancing, piercing pain tore at my chest and burned my lungs. The first time I’d done something for the right reason, or at least for selfless reasons, I’d ended up feeling worse than ever. My breath rasped in harsh gusts, raw against my throat and shaking all the way to my stomach. I’d destroyed Jody. I’d wrecked her dream, then failed to provide her with a new one, and in doing so I’d cut off my one refuge in this endless nightmare. I saw no relief, no solace, no hope left anywhere on the horizon, no future for either of us. No future at all, only the constant downward spiral of the past.
Blinded by tears, I careened around the corner only to draw up short a few feet from a group of students. Michael and Deelia led the horde, and I took a step back. What where they still doing here? It didn’t matter. I was already running.
Then I heard Kelsey’s voice, small and scared, over the pounding of my own heartbeat.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“Sorry’s not good enough when my girlfriend has a sprained wrist.” Michael sneered.
I skidded to a stop. White-hot rage boiled up inside me and lent so much force to my voice I hardly recognized it as my own. “Leave her alone.”
The crowd turned to look at me. Michael’s eyes narrowed to angry slits. “Excuse me?”
“Leave. Her. Alone.”
“Why should I? Because some dyke bitch says so?”
“Go ahead and call me a dyke if it makes you feel better about yourself. It must be hard for you to see people like me and Kelsey headed for bigger, brighter lives, when you know you’re barreling toward a dead end.”
“What are you talking about?” Deelia snapped.
“Oh, come on, Deelia. Even you aren’t that dumb.” I circled closer to them now, something I couldn’t explain taking over and subduing the fear inside me. “You know how this story ends.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, raising her nose in the air.
“I’m going to NYU in the fall. You’re going to cosmetology school.”
“Michael’s going to State.”
“Where he’ll major in drinking until he accidently knocks you up and has to marry you.” Once I’d started spinning this narrative, I couldn’t stop. The words poured out, each one like a boulder being lifted from my shoulder. “Then he’ll work a series of dead-end jobs until he gets so resentful he’d rather make love to a bottle of whiskey than you.”
“That won’t happen.”
“It will,” I said smugly, while their eyes bulged and a thick vein popped out on Michael’s neck. “And you’ll both get fat.”
Kelsey laughed, and they all turned menacingly to her, but I got between them quicker this time.
“Don’t even try to pin any of this on Kelsey. She’s not responsible for your failings or your insecurities. She’s moving on to better things than you can even imagine.”
“Stevie,” Kelsey whispered, “don’t say anything else.”
I turned to see her shaking her head and backing away. “I have to.”
“I don’t want to know the ending.”
The ending. Jody’s voice rattled through my memory. “Learn to craft better endings.” Kelsey’d already said she’d be stuck with whatever I told her about the future. I could tell her anything. I could create a new reality. “Kelsey, you have to listen to me whether you want to or not, because you’re going to get through this. You’re going to make it through three more months, and then you’re going to find a whole new world for yourself in college.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. You have to. You have to go on to become a scientist.”
“A scientist?”
“Yes, and an amazing doctor who blends traditional medicine with new technology and ancient wisdom. You’ll help people in ways other doctors won’t even consider.”
Kelsey continued to shake her head, but she was smiling now, a smile like I’d never seen, one of disbelief but also of wonder. It changed the shape of her entire face and lifted the corners of her big brown eyes.
“She’s crazy,” Michael said, then shouted again, “Stevie Geller is crazy.”
“Yes, I am,” I shouted back with equal force, drawing the attention of everyone up and down the hall.
Doors opened, and Drew Phillips stepped out of the administration office. “What’s going on out here?”
“Stevie’s yelling at everyone,” Deelia complained. “And she’s lying too.”
“Yelling, yes,” I admitted, “but not lying.”
“Is this still about the name-calling?” he asked sternly.
Footsteps fell rapidly on the stairs behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder to see Jody approaching. “This is about taking ownership of my own story, and since everybody’s here now, I’ll only have to say this once.”
“Say what?” Drew asked through clenched teeth, his face turning a disgusting shade of maroon.
“I’m gay,” I said resolutely, then for emphasis added, “very, very gay.”
Gasps echoed through the hallway, and Drew looked like he might be physically sick. “I won’t have that kind of talk in my school.”
“Would you rather I call myself a ‘switch-hitter’? That’s the term you used, wasn’t it?”
“Stevie,” he shouted.
“What? You don’t want everyone to know you directed a homophobic slur at a student? Or maybe you don’t want them to know you’re really bad with sports metaphors because I’m not a switch-hitter. I bat for the other team.”
“Get out of here right now, all of you,” Drew snapped, then turning to me specifically added, “You tell your mother to expect a call from me.”
I raised two fingers in a Boy Scout salute, then whirled on my heel, immediately locking eyes with Jody. The disappointment had vanished from her expression, replaced by sheer pride, accompanied by a dazzling smile. I took one step toward her, but as I did, my foot connected with someone’s leg.
I had plenty of time to process the fact that someone had tripped me and to wonder why I hadn’t expected it. The fraction of a second before I hit the ground was also enough to see the admiration on Jody’s face transform to fear as she reached out for me. I wanted to catch her hand, to pull her close, to touch her one more time, but the last thought that pushed through my mind was that I was about to hit my head.
Hard.