News

“Um, why were you talking to Joe Russo during break time?” Tina has cornered me at my locker. Well, I guess I shouldn’t say “cornered.” I mean, we DO talk at my locker between classes.

“Oh, we were just talking about homework.” I hate lying to Tina, but I don’t know what else to say. I did make a promise to Joe, and one of the other things I hate besides feeling anxious, things getting dirty, or being late is breaking promises. It’s just messy in its own way—messy with feelings.

Tina still looks suspicious, though. “Hmmm . . . it seemed to me like he turned really red. I mean, would his skin change colors that much just from talking about homework?”

“Maybe he has a medical condition, too. With his skin.” Tina was born with this heart problem that sometimes makes her feel faint. I usually try not to bring it up because she doesn’t like people feeling sorry for her or thinking she’s a freak.

“No way,” she brushes off my suggestion. “I think he was telling you a secret.” She pokes my arm and grins. “I’m right, aren’t I? I can tell I’m right! I can always tell when I’m right because you look up through your bangs and won’t make eye contact with me.” She keeps poking me in the arm, crowing, “I’m right! I’m right!”

“Okay, FINE!” I give in. “It wasn’t about homework. But I can’t tell you. It’s a code of honor thing, okay?”

She nods in agreement. “Oh, yeah, well, obviously.

I really respect that and stuff. I definitely do.” She pauses. “But that’s for strangers! It’s a totally different code for best friends.” Tina leans in again, assuming I’m about to spill the beans.

“No, I’m serious. I can’t tell anyone. It wouldn’t be a code if I just broke it any old time, right?”

“But what about all the secrets I’ve told you?” Tina whines.

“Well,” I say, crossing my arms and trying to act very grown-up, “maybe you never should have told me those things. Have you ever thought about that?”

“Ugh, Julian, sometimes you are no fun at all!” She flips her heavy hair off her face and stalks off to drama class, one of the classes that we share. Okay, guess we aren’t walking there together.

You want to know my secret? My secret is that I’m tired of people telling me secrets!

Today it’s me at the bus stop, alone. I see Tina step onto her bus without even looking around. We were already in a fight earlier this year, and I’m sure we’ll get over this one eventually. If it IS even a fight. . . . Still, I’m on my phone just a couple of hours later, texting Are you mad at me? to Tina.

As usual, she writes back several texts at once.

I guess not. I don’t get why u talk to people like Dana & Joe. They r not very nice. Is it because they r cooler than me?

Tina, seriously? You know I don’t care about that...

Just sayin.

Downstairs my mom calls me to dinner. I’ve started to really hate family dinners because every time I’m headed to the dining room, I picture that time when Mom called me to dinner several months ago. On January 24^th, to be exact. I came down the hall, just like a normal kid on a normal day. I was whistling a song that I had just downloaded from the internet. I can spend hours going to band websites and listening to new songs. It’s pretty much my favorite thing to do besides maybe singing to myself.

Anyway, I walked down the hall, sat down, and right away, I knew something was different. Mom’s eyes were all red and swollen. Dad was looking down at his shoes. My mom broke the ice and started off with, “Julian, your dad and I have been talking . . .” From there, my memory gets blurry. It’s like when you make a smudge on a window with your thumb— I’ve kind of smudged out the rest of that talk. What I do remember, though, is how I felt. I felt I was lost and floating away like a balloon or something. Below me sat the earth and house and dining room that I’d always known, but the way I saw it was like a stranger seeing it. I could see all the flaws. For instance, I could see the way our kitchen linoleum was cracked and how the birdbath on the lawn did not look like a cute angel next to a tub, but more like an ugly, fat baby. I could point out the flaws in all of us, too. That was the worst part. I thought, I’m just from parents that don’t even like each other, and I’m clumsy, and everything

I like to do is not cool at all. Mom has a weird, high laugh, and she’s always forgetting her keys. Dad doesn’t like his job and he complains about it twenty-four seven. Those aren’t nice feelings—having your idea of yourself and your family pulled away, being forced to see yourselves in a harsher light.

So, can you blame me if family dinnertime isn’t exactly my favorite now? I sit down and eye the slimy-looking green beans on my plate. How come Tina always gets pizza and spaghetti nights at her house? I have to eat vegetables and more vegetables. Gross. Mom and Dad seem like they’re smiling more than usual. Mom even rubs Dad’s arm as she sets down more food on the table. I raise my eyebrows a little. It’s okay, guys, you don’t have to put on a big show or anything. It’s just me, your only son.

We start cutting our green beans in half as Mom dishes up the meal du jour. “Breaded eggplant,” she calls it. I kinda preferred Mom’s cooking before. We got to eat more macaroni and less stringy eggplant and black beans. Dad asks me about school and I tell him it’s fine. I ask him about work.

He stops and thinks for a minute and then puts on what seems like a fake smile and says, “Great!” Hmmmm.

“Actually, Julian,” Mom says brightly. “Have we told you our news?”

My heart starts to pound.

Fake smiles at the dinner table? Check.

Mom making a “nice” dinner? Check.

“Have we told you our news?” Triple check.

“Um, Mom?” I interrupt, looking at both of their faces. “I have a lot of homework tonight. Can I please be excused?”

They frown in unison, looking disappointed.

“But, this is really important for us to share . . .”

“Judy, it’s okay,” Dad says. “Let Julian get to his homework.”

I shoot a “thank you!” glance at my dad. Mom is still staring at me, looking a little sad. It’s all the warning signs that I’ve been afraid of.

When I get back to my room, I call Tina. That’s it. I need to tell someone about this! I need to calm down. Her phone rings and rings, though, and she doesn’t pick up.

R U there?

My hands are shaking a little bit and I can barely tap out the letters, even though normally I never shorten my words. No answer. I can’t concentrate on anything: not on my reading journal assignment from English or my multiple-choice worksheet from math. Even listening to all of my favorite songs one after another doesn’t help. A couple of times I hear my mom’s soft feet on the carpet outside my door. She taps, lightly. She always has been polite. Both times I pretend to be asleep.

As I finally start drifting off to sleep, my last two thoughts are Ew, I forgot to brush my teeth, and I hope I don t have any nightmares tonight. . .