Fans of the Impossible Life (14 page)

Dave got up and made tea while Dad ranted. He came back and put a mug in front of me.

“Jeremy,” he said quietly, when Dad had finally tired himself out. “Do you think that these kids are assuming things about you because of us?”

I stared at the steam coming off the cup of tea. I shook my head.

“I mean,” I said, “I think that I probably am gay.”

This was not the way that I wanted to have this conversation. But this was not the way that I wanted any of this to go, so who cared at that point.

“Do you really think that's true?” Dave asked. “Or are you
just reacting to what other people think of you?”

“I think it's true,” I said. That was when I started crying.

Dad came and sat next to me and put his hand on my back. But he let Dave continue to do the talking. He knew Dave was better with things like this. This did not need ranting, or even charm. This needed Dave's gentleness.

“You know, people used to assume I was gay in high school too,” Dave said. “And I knew that I was gay, but somehow everyone else knew before me. It's a strange position to be in, because it doesn't let you decide how you feel about it on your own time. And the kids in school just tortured me for it. That's when I really started drinking.”

Dave had been in AA since before he and Dad had gotten together. He went to meetings every Wednesday night.

“But the thing is,” Dave said, “there was also something liberating about it all being out in the open. There was no opportunity for me to hide, so there were no choices to make. The kids who wanted to torture people were going to torture me because I was an easy target, but at least I knew who my real friends were. And those people were very important to me because they were kind, good people.”

“I don't think I have real friends,” I said. I wiped at the tears on my cheeks with the back of my hand. I had never felt more like a little kid. Dad was rubbing my back in circles now, like he used to when I was young and had trouble falling asleep.

“You will,” Dave said.

“I was a jerk in high school,” Dad said. He let out a little
laugh.

“You were?” I said.

“I mean, I wasn't mean to anyone, but I hung out with people who were and I didn't say anything about it. I guess I was scared that they would find out who I really was. And that lasted until, well, after you were born.” He squeezed my shoulder. “I don't know what I would have done without you, kiddo. But some people got hurt along the way, and I think I could have avoided that if I had been truthful with myself.”

“Like my mom?”

He nodded. “Sure. And her family. And my family. There were a lot of people involved when I finally realized some things about myself.”

“You're a strong kid,” Dave said. “And you're going to be even stronger because this happened to you.”

I wanted to say, “I'm not.” I wanted to ask if could just move far away from there and call it a day. That's what my mother did. I was her child too, after all, and I had it in me to run.

But I was learning not to say what I was thinking. So I went to my room and I stayed there and let everyone else figure out what they were going to do.

Peter called the next day and asked if I wanted to stop by his house after school to pick up my homework assignments. That started a week of afternoons spent with him, sitting on his back porch with glasses of lemonade sweating in our hands, watching things sprouting into their summer glory in his jungle of a yard, talking it all out. Everything, about my mom, my dads, his life
before he came to St. F. And on the last day he convinced me that I should try to go back. He said I couldn't let this beat me, couldn't let other people's stupidity control how I lived my life.

I did try. It was the middle of the next week when I decided to stop by in the afternoon, in the middle of a period. I had some library books in my locker that were due, so I figured I would drop them off and at least see how it felt to be there. Maybe Peter was right. Maybe it wasn't a big deal after all. Just one stupid day of someone doing something stupid.

The halls were empty when I got there. Everyone was in class. I made my way to my locker. I could smell the fresh paint before I even got to it. The other lockers hadn't been painted in years, so mine now stood out as a slightly lighter color. I tried not to look too closely at it, wondering how many coats it had taken to cover up the black spray paint.

I opened the combination on the locker, let the door swing open. There was a folded piece of paper stuck in the slot at the top of the inside of the door. I pulled it out.

I had thought, just for a second, that it might be something nice. Maybe a note of concern from one of my “sort of” friends. And then I unfolded it.

It was a photocopy of Dad and Dave's wedding announcement from the paper, their two smiling faces, Dad's head tilted just slightly toward Dave. Someone had drawn in the rest of their bodies under the picture, cartoon pants with open flies and crudely drawn penises sticking out, with a figure on its knees in front of them. My name had been circled in the announcement
(“The couple have a son, Jeremy Worth, who is a freshman at St. Francis Preparatory”) with an arrow pointing to the drawn figure.

I looked into my locker and saw a pile of folded notes at the bottom that had been shoved in the slots in the door. I picked up another one and unfolded it. It was another photocopy of the announcement. This one said, “DIE, FAGGOT FAMILY” on the top of the page.

I stared helplessly at my locker for a minute, then slammed it shut and ran. Down the hallway, out the front door, down the hill, into town. I didn't stop running until I had to, until I felt like either my heart was going to explode or I was going to throw up.

I was in the middle of town when I finally stopped on a side street and bent over in a doorway to catch my breath. I wanted to set the school on fire. I wanted it to not exist anymore. There wasn't enough paint in the world to paint over this bullshit.

Next to me on the street was an old pay phone. I stared at it as my breathing started to go back to normal. I wasn't thinking. I just knew that I had to do something.

It seemed impossible that the pay phone actually worked, but when I picked it up there was a dial tone. I found a quarter in my wallet, put it in the slot. I dialed information. My hands were shaking.

“St. Francis Preparatory Academy,” I said, watching the street to make sure no one was walking by. I pressed the button to have them dial for me, put in another quarter.

“St. Francis Prep, how can I help you?” It was Denise in the office. Denise, who was always nice to me.

I almost hung up. But then I didn't.

“There's a bomb in the school,” I said, making my voice low. I hung up.

I walked the rest of the way home quickly with my head down.

The only thing that really happens with a bomb threat is that everyone gets to go home early. The police come with special bomb-sniffing dogs and search the entire building. That's it. So really everyone should have thanked me.

The problem was that there was one other person home from school that day, one other student with a reason to make a prank call like that. Tommy, who had muttered under his breath about me in class, who had been at school for sports practice over that weekend, who had already been under suspicion for the spray paint on my locker, and had spent the previous week defending himself in the dean's office. But Tommy was a scholarship kid. And there was only so much that the school was willing to take from a scholarship kid. And unfortunately for him, Tommy had called in sick that morning. So when they traced the call to a pay phone near his house, and Denise in the office said she thought that the voice on the phone had sounded vaguely like his, that was a good enough reason to expel him for good.

Maybe I thought that if Tommy had been the one to deface my locker, then he deserved to be expelled anyway. But I didn't know for sure that it was him. If I had turned myself in I might have been okay. There would have been consequences, but I wouldn't have been expelled. My parents paid full tuition, after all. It wouldn't have ruined my life. Any more than it was already ruined.

After that I knew that I was someone who was capable of doing something shameful and then running away. And I didn't like knowing that about myself. And I didn't like myself much at all anymore.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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Mira's birthday was the week before winter break, and Sebby was determined to plan something exciting.

“All I want is pizza,” she said in Art Club that week. The meeting was over and we were all staying after to work on our projects. Mira's dress form was starting to have an actual form on it, as she meticulously sewed together tiny squares of fabric.

“Yes, but we could do anything,” Sebby insisted as he sat there cutting more squares for her. “Secret picnic at the top of the Empire State Building? Hot-air balloon ride along the Delaware Water Gap?”

“First of all, you know I'm afraid of heights,” Mira said, “Second of all, my parents been very happy with my lack of drama recently and I would like to keep it that way.”

“If you were better at lying to them we could have a lot more fun,” Sebby said.

“So what do you want to do?” I asked.

“Just pizza,” she said. “Literally only pizza.”

“The woman knows what she wants,” Rose said from her hot-glue-gun station.

So the day of Mira's birthday the four of us headed to the cheapest, greasiest pizza place in Mountain View and ordered four large pies, one for each of us.

“This is disgusting,” Mira said, obviously delighted, when we set her personalized pie down in front of her. One quarter pepperoni, one quarter mushrooms, and half mushrooms with pepperoni, for all possible flavor combinations of her favorite toppings.

We were each only two slices in (Sebby was insisting that we had to finish at least half while sitting there or else the evening would be a failure) when a car pulled up to the sidewalk in front and Talia got out.

“Look out,” Rose said. “Art Club reunion about to happen.”

We all turned to look through the window. Talia was leaning into the car saying something to the person driving.

“That's Peter's car,” I said.

“Are you serious?” Rose said.

As Talia stepped away from the car we could see Peter in the driver's seat.

“She's coming in,” Mira said.

The bell on the front door jingled, and Talia came in and headed to the counter.

“I'm picking up a large margarita,” she said to the man at the register. He went to check on her order, and she turned and
saw us.

“Oh, hello, everyone!” she said. I had never seen her so cheerful before.

“Hey,” Mira said, “Hi, Talia.”

“Having some pizza?” she asked.

“Yup,” Sebby said. “Just having some pizza. At the pizza place.”

“Wonderful.” Talia nodded.

“How about you?” Rose said.

“I'm picking up,” Talia said.

“Large margarita to go,” the guy at the counter called. Talia went over to pay.

“What. The. Fuck?” Sebby whispered under his breath. Mira kicked him under the table.

“Well, see you all later. Have a wonderful evening,” Talia said, holding the pizza box.

“Yeah, see you later,” Rose said.

Talia practically skipped out the door, got back into Peter's car, and they drove off.

“Okay, what the fuck?” Sebby said, no longer whispering.

“What the actual fuck,” Rose agreed.

“Maybe they're having a meeting or something?” I said. “Or she's helping him with something?”

“Yeah, I think we know what she's helping him with,” Sebby said. He stuck his tongue in his cheek and moved it around. Mira kicked him again.

“He's our teacher!” Mira said.

“I've seen the man's bedroom,” Sebby said. “He's basically a teenager.”

“You've been in his bedroom?” Rose said. “What were you doing in his bedroom?”

“That's between me and Jeremy,” Sebby said.

“Ew, you guys hooked up in Peter's bedroom? That is sick.”

“We did! We totally hooked up in Peter's bedroom. Right, Jeremy?”

I conveniently already had pizza in my mouth and couldn't respond. Rose and Sebby egging each other on was something I couldn't quite keep up with.

“This is weird,” Mira said. “I feel weird about this. Did you see how happy she was? I've never seen that girl so happy.”

“I'm sure there's a normal explanation,” I said.

“Only one way to find out,” Sebby said.

“What?” Mira said. “What sick plan is your twisted brain crafting right now?”

“Just eat your birthday pizza,” Sebby said. “Then we'll go for a walk.”

It was dark and freezing outside by the time we finished the dictated half of our pizzas. We combined the rest into two boxes that I was now carrying as we made our way back toward St. F.

“Does Peter live at school?” Rose said.

“Right down the street,” I said. “The school owns the building and he rents it from them.”

“And what, you guys hang out there?” Rose said.

“Jeremy does,” Mira said.

“Last spring,” I said. “Sometimes. Guys, why are we doing this?”

“We're not doing anything,” Sebby said. “We're walking off our extravagant dinner. And if we happen to walk by Peter's house and happen to see if he and Talia are having a very intimate pizza party, then so be it.”

“I'm with Jeremy,” Mira said. “This is creepy.”

“Listen,” Rose said. “We were sitting in a public place when we were literally assaulted by the sight of Talia experiencing some kind of joy aneurism. We need to make sure she's okay. Plus it is completely unfair that everyone else in the world other than me has seen where Peter lives.”

So Mira and I followed dutifully behind as we passed St. F, the lights of the empty cafeteria still glowing from the second floor as the janitors made their way through.

“Are you having a good birthday?” I asked Mira.

“You know I'm going to eat the rest of that pizza before I go home,” Mira said. “So, the answer is yes.”

“Your mom wouldn't even allow sometimes pizza? Birthday pizza?”

She shook her head. “It would interfere with my allergy-elimination diet.”

“So, have you found out what you're allergic to?”

She smiled. “Difficult to determine when I keep sneaking pizza,” she said.

“Oh my goodness,” Sebby said, in a voice of mock amazement. “How weird. Look, we're right outside Peter's house.”

We were standing across the street from it. The light was on in the downstairs living-room window.

“That's it?” Rose said. “What a shithole.”

We all stood for a minute watching.

“Okay, it's really cold out,” Mira said. “What are we doing?”

Just then we saw Peter walk past the window. We all instinctively ducked.

“Is he alone?” Rose said.

“He looks alone,” Sebby said.

“Guys, this is super creepy,” Mira said.

“Fine,” Sebby said. He straightened up and walked across the street.

“Sebby!” Mira whisper-shouted at him, but he was already ringing the bell.

Peter answered the door.

“Neighborhood watch,” Sebby declared.

Peter looked across the street at the rest of us standing there sheepishly.

“Hello,” he said.

Rose and Mira and I made our way over to the door.

Sebby held up a tiny birthday candle.

“It's Mira's birthday. We need something to stick this in,” he said, grinning.

“Hmm . . .” Peter smiled. “I might have a muffin.”

He moved away from the door and we went inside.

“I'm going to stick this in Peter's muffin for you,” Sebby whispered to Mira. Rose laughed and Mira pushed him.

We followed Peter into his little kitchen. I set our pizza boxes on the table.

“You brought a whole party?” Peter said, rummaging through his fridge.

“We ate at Anthony's,” Rose said. She let a pause go by before saying, “We saw Talia there.” Another pause. “Picking up a pizza.”

Peter emerged from the fridge with a blueberry muffin.

“Talia was just here,” he said.

Rose gave Sebby a meaningful look.

“Did you have an Art Club meeting without us?” Sebby said. “Your favorite members of the Art Club?”

Peter put the muffin on a plate.

“I'm always here when a student needs to talk,” he said.

“Or needs a muffin,” Sebby said, sticking the candle in.

We sang “Happy Birthday” to Mira over the muffin candle and she blew it out. Then we sat in Peter's living room and ate the rest of the pizza.

At one point Rose, determined to see Peter's bedroom, followed Sebby upstairs to “see where the bathroom was,” leaving me and Mira alone with Peter.

“This has certainly been an unexpectedly eventful evening,” Peter said.

“Is Talia okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “Everyone just needs someone to talk
to sometimes.”

“She certainly isn't going to talk to us,” Mira said.

“What do you mean?” I said.

“She's really weird with us,” Mira said.

“I think she has some trouble with people her own age,” Peter said. “She's an old soul.”

“She's a weird soul,” Mira said.

Peter smiled. “Possibly.”

There was an awkward pause, broken by Rose and Sebby coming back downstairs.

“Top-notch medicine cabinet, Peter,” Sebby said. “Don't worry. We only took a handful of Viagra.”

“Aaaand it is officially time for my students to leave,” Peter said, standing up.

“Sebby, too far,” Rose said.

“Shoot,” Sebby said. “I never know.”

Peter showed us out the front door and we made our way back to the school. Mira's mom had offered to pick us all up.

“That,” Rose said as we walked, “was awesome.”

“I know, right?” Sebby said.

Mira and I were walking behind again. I looked at her in the dark. She looked back and half smiled.

“Good birthday?” I said.

“Sure,” she said. “Good birthday.”