Gemini (19 page)

No, I reminded myself, she wasn't giving up. She was just postponing. And who knew? Maybe that was all I was doing
too. Maybe eventually Clara would agree to let us, too, move away from here and on to other things. When she was ready.

Not too much money?
I typed.
Or too far from the community college?

I think it will work. Still a lot cheaper than four-year college, and I'll have flexibility to work a lot at the same time.

Do you promise to transfer to four-year after?

When I have the credits. I promise.

I nodded again, looking into the darkness but seeing something bright inside it. Feeling my lungs expanding with new oxygen. Maybe all of this wasn't so terrible. Maybe this place, this tucked-away part of the mountains, could really be an okay place to live and study and begin to grow, for all of us. For now.

Okay. Good night, Juanita.

Good night.

I opened her video clip. It was from Halloween two years earlier, when Clara and I had been Batman and Catwoman, posing for the camera with a series of goofy postures and expressions. That made me smile.

I scrolled through the others. Mostly, everybody had sent clips of me and Clara doing obvious, everyday things. There we were, walking down the school hallway, in our sort-of-funny, not-that-graceful little shuffle. There we were at our desks, always together but always turned away from each other.

There we were in the girls' bathroom, the main one next to the school library, angling back and forth as we took turns washing our hands in the scratched-up little sink, each of us looking up into the mirror under the subtly vibrating, blue-tinged fluorescent light. Always feeling each other's presence but mostly just seeing ourselves.

Me, leaning in toward the mirror to examine a blackhead swelling up through my makeup, while behind me you could see Clara in a forty-five-degree profile, distant, just far enough away and just blurred enough by the video's middling quality that it smoothed out her skin and obscured her flyaway hairs, making her seem like an almost flawless version of me. You could see my blackheads, but you couldn't see hers.

Come to think of it, I've never seen hers.

And farther back on the screen, Vanessa's reflection caught just at the edge of the mirror, a glimpse of her walking out of the bathroom, removed from us just enough to look as glossy and smooth-edged as a Photoshopped girl in a magazine.

Vanessa pretty much always looked like that. But then again, when had I ever stood face-to-face with her, leaning in until I could see her from just an inch or two away, as I did with myself at the bathroom mirror every day? When had I ever inspected Vanessa's pores?

Not that she would ever allow me to.

Not that I had ever thought to ask.

But even Clara. Even my own twin, who was never apart from me, whose legs and feet were like a part of my own body—even now I could feel the sheets, cool against the skin of my sister's legs. But even with her, there were close-up things about her that I couldn't see, and things in her mind that I would never be able to feel. And as for me, there were things about myself that I would never be able to see directly, as others did. Things that I could only see through the limited, distorting lenses of cameras and mirrors.

I watched the clip again, and then I watched it a third time.

I wanted to stay home from school on Monday, but Hailey wouldn't let me. As we walked to our first-period English class in the early morning fog, I kept my head bent low, unwilling to meet anyone's eyes. I could hear groups of kids talking, whispering, laughing. Even with my head down, I couldn't avoid seeing what seemed like dozens of couples holding hands or walking arm in arm, their hips pressed into each other.

My brain knew that none of this had changed since last week, but my stomach didn't know it. My stomach believed that all the whispers and not-quite-heard conversations were about me. My stomach was sure that all the other students were staring at me and Hailey and thinking,
Disgusting. Horror show. Get away.
And that was why my stomach was clenched and nauseated.

I really did feel sick enough to stay home, but I understood that it wasn't a virus. I was just sick of being myself, and that wasn't the kind of thing you got to stay home for.

I stared at my shoes as we walked into class, and I managed to get out my things and arrange them on my desk without ever looking up.

I knew when Max walked in, and when he passed by me on the way to his desk. My peripheral vision couldn't avoid him entirely. But I didn't look up. All through class I was focused on not looking his way, and also trying not to think about him—though this was laughable, because he was all I was thinking about.

I wanted to hate him. I wanted to believe he was an idiot, a bigot, a complete and utter asshole for talking about me the way he had. For
thinking
of me the way he did. I would have given anything to have believed that, if only I could.

Without discussing it, Hailey and I lingered a couple of minutes after class, taking longer than necessary to put on our jackets and pack up our bags. But when we finally walked out, with my head bent as low as it would go, the first thing I saw in the hallway was Max's giant sneakers.

I sucked in my breath, and barely stopped myself from looking up.

“Hey, Clara. Morning, Hailey.” His voice was easy this morning. Whenever his voice was relaxed, it was deep, warm, and low-pitched, with tones that were somehow vaguely soothing, even now. After all those things he'd said about me, his conscience apparently wasn't
bothering him enough to cause him any tension at all.

I stopped walking, my head still down, but Hailey stepped forward, pulling me along. Max fell into step with us. Hailey stopped.

She drew in her breath to speak, and I silently urged her with my mind,
Don't tell him off. Don't tell him off. Please be quiet. Just ignore him. Just keep walking.

If she told him that we'd heard him talking about us at the party—if she even hinted at it—our humiliation would be so much worse. And it was already more than I could handle.

I looked at her and quickly shook my head, though I knew there was a fifty-fifty chance she would just ignore me.

After a moment Hailey said, “I forgot something. I dropped a pencil. We'll see you later.” She turned us back toward the classroom, and I felt myself breathing again.

There was a pause, and when Max spoke, his voice wasn't quite as low-pitched as it had been before. “All right,” he said. “I'll s-see you later, then.”

•  •  •

That afternoon we were walking to the Sandwich Shack and had almost arrived when Max caught up with us. “Hey, Clara, Hailey,” he said, nodding as he fell into step with us, his voice once again just as easy as it had been that morning. “Braving that bad coffee again?”

I watched my feet as we walked. I couldn't think what to say. How could I just make him go away?

“We go there every Monday,” Hailey said.

We all kept walking.

Max cleared his throat. “So, what did you guys think about that physics homework?”

We had arrived at the Sandwich Shack's front doors, and he moved forward and pulled one door open, then stood waiting for us.

I forced myself to look up at him. “Were you, um, planning to stay? Because we . . .” What excuse could I make? I was so desperate to find some diplomatic, creative, and clever way to get rid of him that my mind had gone completely blank.

“We're meeting up with our friends,” Hailey said, “and there's going to be so much girl talk, you'll get sick if you get within twenty feet of us.”

“Oh.” He was still standing there, holding the door. “Um, okay.” He turned, peeking inside. “I was thinking of maybe just grabbing a snack? And then I'll go?”

I sucked in my breath. My face was as low as I could make it, but probably not low enough to hide how red it was. It was unbearable. I twisted away from Max, which forced Hailey to look at him straight-on.

“Just go to the convenience store,” she said. “It's right across the street.”

I caught my breath. She had basically just told him that he couldn't even come in. Any hope of dodging him subtly was gone.

He let the door swing shut, but he didn't leave. “Wow. Okay,” he said. “Um, sorry, but what's going on? Did I do something to piss you off?”

I looked up, even though I knew my face was still red. “It doesn't matter. Can you just go? Can you just please drop this and stop trying to pretend that we're friends or something?”

He stared at me, his brow wrinkled with what might have been confusion or annoyance, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

He stepped forward. “I'm m-missing something here. You know, what you s-said on Halloween—and what I s-s-said—maybe I should have explained—”

I drew back, taking Hailey with me. “It doesn't matter.” My voice came out so squeaky and quiet, I couldn't even understand myself. I cleared my throat. “It doesn't matter,” I repeated, “what you said on Halloween. Just leave us alone, all right?”

I brushed at the corners of my eyes. I looked around, hoping that no one else from our school was near enough to witness my little episode. We stood right at the edge of the main road outside our school. Various classmates were bound to be driving by, and there would usually be a few walking, though I didn't see any right then.

Finally I looked back at Max. His face had gone from
pink to red. “W-wait a second,” he said. “What are we talking about?”

“We're not talking about anything,” Hailey said quickly. “Just leave my sister alone. Leave us both alone. We just want to go in there and drink some bad coffee and eat some chips and talk with our friends. All right?”

“About Halloween,” Max said. “We were talking about Halloween.”

I tried to look up at his face, but I got only as far as the slightly frayed hem of his jeans. “We're not talking about Halloween,” I said.

“I only talked to you guys for a few minutes,” he said. “I don't think I did anything terrible. I know it ended a little abruptly, but I figured I would see you again later, at the party I mean, but somebody told me you guys had left early. . . . And that was . . . That was after I came in, after . . .”

A silence fell around us. Behind me I heard a couple of cars go by, but thankfully, there were still no other pedestrians.

Hailey took my hand. To Max she said, “Just let us go in. You're blocking our way.”

“But I'm worried now,” he said.

I drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “Max, for God's sake,” I said, addressing myself to his big, long-fingered
hands. “Why do you keep talking to us in public? Don't you realize that anybody at all could be driving by right now and see you here with us? It's like you
want
people to call you a pervert.”

I bit my lip, my heart pounding as I realized the implications of what I'd said. But maybe it was for the best. Nothing else seemed to be able to shut him up, to make him go away.

He didn't say anything. When I finally looked up at his face, all its color had drained away.

“Holy shit,” he said.

“It's all right.” I finally managed to look him in the eyes, and I held my voice steady. “Nobody asked you to be a pervert. Nobody asked you to be disgusting. If you think I was asking—”

“Clara! I can't believe you had to hear that crap those assholes were saying about you. And Hailey. Both of you.” He took a step toward us, and Hailey and I stepped back.

He stopped, looking at us, then looked down. “I had no idea you heard any of that. God, I still want to pound their faces in.” His fists were clenched, and he started to raise them, then stopped. He was looking somewhere over our heads. “They've known you all these years, they've hung out with you, and then they talk about you like you're . . . I don't know, exotic sex toys or something. What the hell
is the matter with them?” He looked at me. “Did you know they were like that?”

“Jesus, Max, you're the one who said I was disgusting! You're the one who said you're not a pervert!” I clapped my hands over my mouth as I realized that I was shouting.

Hailey reached back and held my hand. Hers was damp and shaky, and she didn't say a word.

“I said
you're
disgusting?” Max demanded. “What? Did someone say I said that? They were lying if they did.”

“Max, for God's sake, I heard you say it!”

He moved in, and before I could draw back, he grabbed my arm. “You did not. When did you hear me say that?”

“At Halloween. They said—they said—and you said that was disgusting. I heard you!”

“I said
they
were disgusting. They
are
disgusting. They're worthless piles of crap for talking about you that way. You thought I said
you
were disgusting?”

I pulled my arm away from him, looking up at him warily, my other hand still gripping Hailey's. “So I'm not disgusting, but the idea of—the idea of—well, thinking of me like that. That's what's disgusting.” My heart was jackhammering away at my chest wall, trying to burst out as I said, “Right?”

He stared at me. His lips were parted slightly, and some wild, insane part of my mind created an image, a stupid, ridiculous image of me throwing myself at him, grabbing
him by the shoulders and pulling myself up onto my toes and kissing those lips, that almost-open mouth.

“That's not what I said.” He shook his head. “It's not what I meant. But, Clara, I'm not saying . . .” He closed his eyes, and though he didn't take a step or shift his position, I thought I could see each molecule of his body pulling itself back from me ever so slightly, by no more than the width of an electron or two.