Been Here All Along (15 page)

“Obviously I have no clue how they're going to react. I can speculate with you all day long, but I know I'll never hit the nail on the head with them. They can be unpredictable, like every other person on earth.”

He nods.

“But one time Dad told me that he wasn't so much disappointed in me for picking up and leaving the way I did as he was disappointed in the dreams he had for me. He was disappointed that he had been so narrow-minded when it came to what he wanted and expected of me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“God, they never stop shocking me.”

“For real,” I say. “I don't know that Mom sees it the same way, but that made me feel a lot better.”

“They're pretty cool parents.”

“Way better than the Cunninghams.”

He stares at me blankly.

“You know, from
Happy Days
. The Fonz? ‘Ayyy,' and all that stuff?”

“I know what you're talking about, I just don't know why you're referencing such outdated pop culture.”

I shrug. “There was a marathon on one of those channels that no one ever remembers we get. Like channel 289. For future reference.”

“Thanks for talking this through with me,” he says.

“Yeah, no problem,” I say. “And just think, if they disown you, you and I can strike off together somewhere and live off the land.”

“You mean live off my bar mitzvah money.”

“Well, yeah, something like that.” I turn to leave.

“Wait, Ezra.”

I look at him, and his face is so open and innocent somehow. It reminds me of when he was little and would get in trouble for something dumb like pouring cereal all over the floor.

“I don't want to pry and you don't have to tell me, but did you run out of money?”

I stare at him for a second. Someone finally asked.

“Yes.”

He nods and chews his bottom lip.

“But it's okay. I'll figure it out. I'll get back to it eventually.”

“That sucks and I'm sorry.”

“Thanks, Gid.”

Our mom yells up the stairs then to see if we're ready.

“Guess it's time to go,” he says.

The drive to the restaurant is uneventful and our table's ready when we get there, so in no time we're seated and a basket of bread is placed in the middle.

I reach for a roll and know immediately I should have buttoned the top button of my shirt.

“Is that another tattoo, Ezra?” my mother asks, a little too loud. “How many do you have now?”

“Oh, come on, Ma,” I say, buttering my roll. “I thought we've been over this. I thought you were okay with them.”

“What mother would be okay with her child graffitiing their whole body like that? Where do you think you're going to be buried? No Jewish cemetery will take you.”

“Pretty sure that's an old wives' tale, Ma,” I say.

My father nods in agreement but doesn't offer an opinion. I swear he fears her wrath almost as much as Gideon and I do.

Gideon

I honestly was hoping that the Ezra tattoo conversation would take up the whole evening and then I wouldn't have to come out.

I can't seem to stop moving. Every time I try to control one part of my body, it's like the next part starts up. I go from tapping my foot, to bouncing my knee, to chewing my lip, to rapping my knuckles on my chair.

My dad tells me to stop, and I do, for a few minutes. But then the cycle starts all over again.

After we order, he turns to me. “What is going on with you, Gideon? You're like a whirling dervish over here.”

I rub my palms together. They're slick with sweat.

“I know, I'm sorry.” I take one look over at Ezra, and he smiles encouragingly. “There's just something I've been wanting to talk to you guys about.”

“Okay,” my mom says.

In the moment, I'm sure they think this is going to be about a college choice they won't approve of or maybe a plan for my senior year schedule that isn't optimal for my college applications.

“Well. It's just … It's that I'm gay.”

I look from my dad, slightly stunned, to my mom, a little confused, to Ezra, who's giving me double thumbs-up like he's the Fonz.

My dad is the first to break the silence. “Is that what you've been so nervous about?”

“Well, yeah.”

And then something completely bizarre and unexpected happens. My mother leaps up from the table and comes around to hug me. She squeezes my head and kisses my cheek.

“I am so happy for you, Gideon,” she says, in between kisses. “I was getting so worried that you didn't show any interest in girls or anyone. I kept thinking you were going to end up alone.”

“Ma,” I say. “Ma.” I can't stop smiling, I'm so relieved, but I'm pretty sure she's going to choke me to death.

“I know,” she says without me even having to say anything else. She moves back around to her side of the table and sits down. She dabs at her eyes. “We're in public.”

“So you're okay with this?” I ask.

“Of course,” my dad says. “Why wouldn't we be?”

“Some people aren't,” I say with a shrug.

“We're not that kind of people, Gideon,” my mom says. “We want you to be healthy and happy and mostly just not to die alone.”

Ezra rolls his eyes, but luckily she doesn't see.

“Thanks, Ma,” I say.

“We should have a party.”

“A what?”

“A party. My friend Cheryl had one for her son when he came out of the closet. It was a good time.”

“How was Cheryl's son ever in the closet?” my dad asks, mostly looking at Ezra, who shrugs.

“I don't know about that,” I say.

“We'll talk about it. We don't have to make any decisions tonight,” she says.

“The other thing is…” I start to say as our food is delivered.

Everyone is distracted by their food for a few minutes, and my mother tsks when Ezra rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing his other tattoos.

“You were about to say something else, weren't you, Gideon?” my dad says. “You might want to get it out now, before your mother starts nitpicking about your brother's tattoos again.”

“Yeah, yes. Um, the other thing is that I'm kind of dating Kyle.”

This news barely seems to faze them.

“That's so nice for you boys, honey,” my mom says.

“Makes sense, you've always gotten along really well,” my dad says.

I smile down at my chicken parmigiana and just hope that my mother was kidding about having a party.

 

seventeen

Kyle

On Thursday morning I have the big meeting about my “school problems,” as my mom has been calling them. So instead of going to second period, I go down to the guidance office, where my parents are waiting for me along with Ms. Gupta, my guidance counselor, Mr. Nelson, and this other guy, “Call me Craig,” who works for the school district to test kids with problems.

Ms. Gupta starts the meeting by describing my “problem areas” and then launches into the results from my testing. They all seem to agree I probably have dyslexia but not necessarily where I see letters backward, which is what everyone assumes dyslexia is like, just where it changes how I read and process things.

Apparently everything I've ever known about learning disabilities has been wrong. Because they don't actually make you stupid or unable to learn. They just put obstacles in your brain that make things harder.

It's still really complicated, but it doesn't actually feel like anything to be ashamed of.

My parents do most of the talking up to a certain point, but then people start talking about me like I'm not there. I try to pay better attention so I can speak on my own behalf, and that helps.

“How did he get so far in school without anyone catching it?” my mom asks. “I'm not pointing fingers at all. I should have been aware he was having trouble. I'm his mother. And I was aware, to a point. We started working harder at home to make sure he stayed caught up with his class. But I just thought he was kind of a flighty kid.”

“He's gotten very good at compensating,” Craig says. “He works hard at making up for his deficiencies by being organized. At least most of the time. But his writing is scattered and his comprehension just seems off for a kid who is obviously intelligent. I think his potential has been limited by the obstacles he has with reading.”

I swallow and look away. It's hard to hear someone talk about you like that. Complimenting you in some ways, but talking about what's wrong with you in the next sentence.

I take a deep breath. “I also used to be in classes with my best friend, Gideon, like in elementary and middle school. It's not like he did my homework for me, but he would explain things to me the way I needed them to be explained. But now we don't have classes together like that. 'Cause he's basically AP everything.”

“I have a feeling you learned some methods during those years for how to rethink and reorganize your brain, in part thanks to Gideon,” Ms. Gupta says. “He's a nice kid, but I do want you to realize that you've done a lot of this on your own.”

“I guess I don't understand how I have dyslexia when I don't have trouble with letters and stuff. Like, I know the whole Elvish alphabet.”

“The Elvish alphabet,” Call Me Craig says with a grin teasing his lips.

“Yeah, Gideon and I pass notes in Elvish.”

I can feel my mom rolling her eyes, but then Mr. Nelson says something really awesome.

“You know, it's interesting,” he says. “But I've read a lot about how much knowing a second language can help kids with dyslexia. It never said anything about the language having to be real.”

“So this is just how it is for me?” I ask.

“Yes,” Mr. Nelson says.

I hold back all the questions I have about next year and college and the rest of my life. Thinking about it makes my heart pound. I have enough to deal with at the moment.

By the end of the conversation it's decided that I need to take a couple of tests next week, and then there will be more meetings and further discussions and eventually maybe I'll know exactly what kind of learning disability I have.

Leaving the meeting, I somehow feel both better and worse.

Better because it wasn't as scary as I was expecting, but worse because soon enough everyone is going to know about me. Like, they'll have to tell my teachers and I'll have to tell my friends.

My day goes downhill from there.

Ruby's at the lunch table with her new boyfriend, Josh Barton, just as she had threatened last week. Of course this is the day that Gideon has a meeting during lunch, so it's not even like I can go sit with him and Sawyer and Maddie. I take the chair next to Buster after I go through the food line and zone out while stabbing at my school-issued meat loaf. The table buzzes around me, but I have plenty of things to think about.

For instance.

Josh Barton is a douche canoe of the highest order.

He's the kind of guy who wears his varsity jacket even when it's ninety degrees out. He always smells vaguely of wet dog and sweat. And he spits when he talks.

But for some reason he's the most popular guy in the senior class. I will never understand the high school hierarchy.

It makes sense that Ruby would be dating him now, seeing as how she's basically the most popular girl in the senior class. She was slumming with me for the past six months. It's a good thing she doesn't know I have a learning disability, or else she would realize how deep her slumming went.

I would hate to ruin her image with my issues.

I know I have no right to be jealous of her and Josh. And even though it's obvious that she and I aren't together anymore, there aren't any rumors swarming about our messy breakup, and from what I can tell, most people think it was mutual.

With ten minutes left in the period, I get up to throw my garbage out and decide not to go back to the table. It's just too much. I'd rather go wait for Gideon outside the student activity room and at least get to see him for a couple of minutes before we have to head to separate classes again.

I set off in that direction, feeling lighter.

Ruby

I wish I could let this go, this whole thing with Kyle, but it bugs the crap out of me. I follow him out of the cafeteria at a safe distance, telling Josh I need to get something from my locker and that I'll meet him in study hall in a few minutes.

Gideon comes out of the student activity room just as Kyle's about to open the door, and they do this goofy, awkward smiling thing at each other.

Neither of them has the balls to show much affection at school, which is probably a good thing, because I would want to wring their necks.

The bell rings and they part ways, never even noticing that I was right here, that's how up each other's asses they are. Gideon squeezes Kyle's arm before he walks away, and Kyle stands there making heart eyes at him as he leaves.

I decide to take my opening.

“Hey, Kyle,” I say, approaching him from the side.

“Oh, hey, Ru.”

How dare he call me Ru? I keep my anger off my face.

“I hope lunch wasn't too weird for you or whatever,” I say innocently. “You seemed kind of upset.”

“Um, well … It's weird. But I figure it'll be weird for you to see me and Gideon together, too. So no harm, no foul, right?”

“Right, just wanted to make sure,” I say, continuing my innocent act. “You just had a look on your face that made me think you weren't doing so well.”

He seems kind of surprised. “Oh. I had a … I had a…” He pauses, collecting his thoughts and looking at the spot where Gideon was standing moments ago. “It's nothing.”

“Trouble in paradise already?” I ask, teasing him.