Luna (22 page)

Mom bands my braid and sighs wearily. Liam trails us to the foyer, then stands with his hands in his pockets as we start out the door. “I’ll meet you guys there,” he says. “I told Aly and Jessica I’d go with them.”

“No,” Mom snaps. “You’re coming with us. I’m not leaving you here alone. We’re all four going together.” This surprises me. Dad’s the one who’s always griping about how we never do things together as a family. How everybody’s too busy with their own lives, their own activities. He’s the one who insists we sit down and eat breakfast together every morning. He calls it our family time.

Liam runs his shoe in an arc across the quarry tile. “I promised Aly I’d go with her.”

Mom says, “I don’t care if you promised Aly the moon —”

“Pat,” Dad cuts in. “Let him go with his girlfriend.” He slips an arm around Mom’s waist to steer her out the door. On the front stoop, I see Mom twist back and narrow her eyes at Liam through the screen.

Liam steps out of view. I hear him murmur, “She’s not my girlfriend.”

Dad calls to him, “One o’clock, buddy boy. You be at that pitching booth at one. I’ve got money riding on this. And don’t forget to lock up when you leave the house.”

We drive the ten blocks to school. As we’re pulling into the parking lot, I remember: “Mom, we forgot the cakes.”

“Oh, for chrissakes. Jack...?”

Dad groans. “Do we have to?”

Mom eyes me over the seat back.

“You’re the one who signed up for the cake walk,” I remind her.

Mom sighs heavily. “We’d better go back.”

Dad grumbles under his breath, but turns the car around. When we pull into the driveway, Mom tells me to run in and get the cakes. She hands me her house keys.

The two angel food cakes are sitting on the dining room table where we left them. They’re beautiful, and perfect. I balance one in each hand and head out. Just as I get to the door a noise in the house stops me, drawing my attention back. There’s a presence in the house.

I hear the noise again — singing. It’s coming from down the hall, from Mom and Dad’s bedroom.

I set the cakes on the buffet. I should be frightened. What if there’s a burglar in the house? For some reason I’m not afraid. Just... curious.

The door’s ajar and I push it all the way open. My eyes fix on the girl who’s sitting in Mom’s vanity seat, spreading lipstick over her stretched-back lips. She has long blonde hair and she’s wearing a sweater exactly like Mom’s. It is Mom’s. The new cashmere sweater Dad bought for her birthday last week. The radio’s playing softly on the bureau — golden oldies — and the girl stops putting on lipstick for a moment to sing along. “First time, ever I saw your face.”

I’m mesmerized. This girl, whoever she is, is in her own little world. She caps the lipstick tube and laughs suddenly. She speaks to herself in the lighted mirror: “I know. Could you
believe
he said that to her?” She clucks her tongue and flips a lank of hair over her

shoulder.

I say, “Hello?”

The girl jerks around. She stands and knocks over the vanity seat.

It takes a moment to register who she is, and when it does, my jaw unhinges.

“Regan.” My name escapes his painted lips like a whisper in the woods.

I want to laugh. I squelch the urge. Something tells me this isn’t a joke. The sheer terror on his face, maybe.

We stare at each other for a long moment, neither of us knowing what to do, I guess. I take a step backward.

Liam surges forward. Not only is he wearing Mom’s sweater, he has on her pearls and my black stretch pants and a pair of Mom’s summer sandals. I don’t know where he got the wig.

“Re, please.” He catches my arm as I’m whirling to flee. “Don’t tell Mom you saw me in here. Don’t tell Dad. Please. Pleeease.” He grips my arm. “Don’t tell Dad.”

At once I relax and turn around. “I won’t.”

He smiles, tentatively. “You can never tell anyone. Ever.”

I look deep into his eyes — deep inside his eyes — and ask, “Who are you?”

He mimics this gesture of Mom’s, where she runs her hand down the back of her hair, stopping at her neck. His head tilts to the left and he rests his cheek on his arm, his elbow on his breast. His... breast?

He’s wearing a bra.

“I’m Lia.” He smiles shyly, dropping his eyes to the floor. “Lia Marie.”

“Okaaay,” I say slowly.

She lifts her eyes and adds, “I’m a girl.”

Chapter 22

T
he door to my room swung open. Aly and I both whipped our heads around as Luna stepped out. “Here I am,” she said.

It wasn’t a shock to me, of course. I glanced over at Aly and saw her scanning Luna up and down. What did she see? A girl, dressed in jeans and a velour top. The girl’s cheeks were flushed, partly from blusher and partly embarrassment. Light blue eye shadow. Pale pink lip gloss. Nothing garish or outrageous. She’d styled the blonde wig in a ponytail to match Aly’s.

“Let’s finish our game.” Luna strolled over to the computer. She curled cross-legged on the rug and added, “I believe I was beating the crap out of you. Oh yeah. A hundred thousand points to ten.” The monitor beep-beeped to life.

Aly rose and crossed the room, then slowly lowered herself to the floor. She lifted her joystick and set it in her lap.

Luna said, “If you think just because I’m a girl I’m going to let you win, you are mistaken beyond belief. If anyone advocates equality of the sexes, it’s me.”

Aly went, “Ha, ha.”

My heart sang. She was going to be okay with this. Everything was going to be —

“Oh God. You know what?” Aly shot to her feet. “I told my mom I’d pick up some milk on my way home. She’s probably waiting for me.” Aly grabbed her backpack and purse off the floor and charged up the stairs.

Luna called at her back, “E-mail me later?” The lights flickered and the door slammed.

Luna didn’t meet my eyes. Smiling oddly, she maneuvered the game characters into position and fired her bazooka. Aly’s scream split the air. Again. And again. And again.

By the time I hit the front porch running, Aly was backing down the driveway. I waved frantically for her to wait, but her eyes remained focused on the rearview mirror. “Aly, stop!” I yelled. I smacked my hand against her front windshield.

Her 4Runner lurched to a halt. I motioned Aly to roll down her window. It took a minute.

“Don’t do this to her, Aly. She needs you.”

Alyson stared at me, through me. “Don’t do this to
her
?”

“Look, I know it’s weird. Not weird, just different. But you’ll get used to it.”

“Why didn’t you
tell
me?” Her voice oozed with anger. “I thought you were my
friend.
”

“I am. Aly —”

Her searing glare cut to my marrow. Tears sprang to my eyes.

Aly hit the gas pedal and squealed into the street. Sand and salt spewed from her tires as she roared off, leaving me to eat her dust.

I was still questioning whether I’d betrayed Aly when I got to school the next day. Was I the one who should’ve told her? Did I betray our friendship? Was it my fault she couldn’t deal with the truth? I’d been up most of the night thinking about it, agonizing. The look on Luna’s face yesterday when Aly deserted her . . .

I’d warned Liam, hadn’t I? I told him she couldn’t handle it. Not yet. Not ever.

After Aly fled, Liam had shut himself in his room, doing what, I don’t know. If it were me, I’d be burying that treasure chest. Burying myself. He wasn’t crying. No sounds had penetrated the wall between us. All I could visualize was Liam lying prone on that naked mattress, staring at the ceiling, wishing himself gone.

Maybe I could’ve made it easier — softened the blow or prepared Aly. I could’ve dropped a few hints, given Aly time to digest the news. She might’ve been able to —

“To what?” I finished aloud. “Accept the fact that the guy she’s been in love with all her life is really a girl?” How do you deal with that?

Why didn’t Aly see it herself? Why didn’t Liam see that Aly was more than a friend? Or wanted to be? Maybe he did see. He saw, but couldn’t see what he was supposed to do about it.

Tell her, that’s what. Not leave it to me. Not always leave it to me.

School. Again. I couldn’t decide if I hated it more here or at home. I had nowhere to escape now. No job. No friends. I wrenched open my locker and an object fluttered to the floor. I picked it up. An envelope, addressed to me, note card size. Someone must’ve slid it through the vent in my locker.

Aly? My stomach knotted. What if it was a hate card? She’d written one of those once to this girl who’d accused her of stealing money from her purse. Which, of course, Aly would never do. She’d called this girl a pathological liar. Is that what Aly thought of me? Liam and me, we were both liars.

I couldn’t deal with it. Not today. I just wanted to check out — permanently. Sliding the card into my chem book on the top shelf, I gathered books and spirals for my morning classes.

The lab experiment today was called Stoichiometry. Great. I couldn’t even pronounce the title. I read over the instructions, which boiled down to mixing liquids and solids and determining the percent composition of each. The worksheet was one problem about figuring out the percent of each component in a Big Mac. Oh, brother. This was a calculation I’d need to know later in life, when I began my career as a high school dropout.

I couldn’t extrapolate the equation. It made me mad, frustrated. Bruchac purposely created these impossible problems to trick me. As he wandered the room harassing people, I surreptitiously glanced around to see if anyone was watching me. Like they would. I removed Liam’s Stoichiometry lab and worksheet from my backpack and slipped them inside my spiral. If it wasn’t for the fact he was ruining my life, Liam would be the coolest brother in the world. Or sister. Whatever.

I opened the spiral and skimmed down the lab. Then closed the notebook. I couldn’t do it; couldn’t cheat. What gratification would there be in earning an A for work I didn’t do?

I disgusted myself. I was such a nun.

There were five minutes remaining in the hour when Bruchac announced, “I have your tests graded. If the suspense is killing you, you can pick them up as you leave. Otherwise, we’ll review the answers tomorrow.” Did he intentionally zero in on me? Did he shake his head?

The masochists in the class, including me, trooped to the front. I waited until I was out in the hall to look at my test. All the way down the left side of the page next to every problem Bruchac had scrawled in red ink, “Nope. Nope. Nope.” At the top he’d given me twenty-five points. “For effort,” he’d written. Underneath, “Why don’t you ask your brother for help?”

Burn my nun’s habit. Bring on the Bruchac Papers.

As I jammed the test in my chem book, the note card from Aly sailed to the floor. I retrieved it and studied the envelope. Reread my name on the front: “Ray Gun.” It hadn’t registered the first time. Dad was the only one who’d ever called me that. His pet name. How could Aly have known?

Duh. We’d practically grown up together. She’d have heard it a million times. She remembered that, but she blocked out Liam’s bra? Denial runs deep.

I really did
not
want to know what Aly thought of me.

What
did
she think of me, though? Masochism may run deeper than denial. I sliced through the envelope and removed the card. On the front was a photo of Earth taken from space. The caption read, “Love makes the world go . . .”

It continued inside.

I opened the card. No words. Only the earth again, totally obliterated. What did that mean? There was no signature. Wait. On the back was scrawled a long message. “Dear Regan,” it began.

“I know you never want to talk to me again and I don’t blame you. I’m a total jerk and I know it. I don’t deserve you . . .”

Who was this from? I skimmed to the bottom. “Chris.”

Chris? He didn’t deserve
me
? The writing was cramped, itty bitty printing. I read the rest. “You probably don’t give a rat’s ass, but I’d at least like to apologize in person. Will you meet me before 6th period in the gym? It’s okay if you miss Skills for Living cuz girls already know how to cook.”

I snorted.

“If you don’t come I’ll understand. I’ll just leave your purse with Bruchac.”

My purse! Did he go back for my purse? All that way? How sweet. Thoughtful. Apologize.
He
wanted to apologize? For what? I studied the note, reread it, absorbed every word. I loved his handwriting. Before sixth period.

Sixth period? That was now.

The gym was cut in half by a rolling wall divider. The half I walked into was split again with a volleyball net. No Chris. I’d missed him. Panic rose in my chest. He’d given up on me. As I reversed direction to try the other side, a sound snagged my attention. Scraping. Clanging. Metal on parquet wood. I turned around. This ... this mechanical beast came barreling toward me. A full suit of armor: leggings, breastplate, helmet with feathered plumage.

My prince in shining armor, I thought. Stupid thought. The armor wasn’t shiny. It was tarnished and bent and falling apart at the seams.

The visor raised and Chris’s eyes twinkled at me. “Cool, huh?” he said.

I realized suddenly what the armor was about — he was protecting himself from me. He should. I was dangerous. “It looks hot,” I said.

“It is. If I sweat any more, I’m going to rust shut.” He lifted off the helmet and smoothed down his hair. We stood for a moment in awkward silence. Then we blurted in unison, “I’m sorry.”

Chris frowned. “What are
you
sorry about? I’m the one who screwed up. I assume you got busted for getting back so late and that’s why you’re not talking to me. One of the many reasons.”

“I’m the one who got
you
busted,” I said. “I broke your car window. I scratched your CDs and made you get a speeding ticket.” I hurt your feelings, I didn’t say.