And then BANG.
I am outside. I am alone. The sky glows a deep, velvety blue, and an enormous moon looms above the trees. Everything looks more sharply defined than in the real world. I can see the air particles, I swear I can.
It lasted only an instant, and then I was back in bed. The house was quiet in a flat, familiar way, and my room was the same as ever. The only thing different was me. My body tingled, as if I’d dropped from a strange and wonderful world into this quite ordinary one.
I pushed myself up, blinking in the afternoon sun. What had just happened? It wasn’t a lucid dream, at least not the way the book defined it, because I certainly hadn’t been in control of what happened. If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if I’d had an out-of-body experience. That’s what it felt like—as if I’d been flung out of my body and into a new realm altogether.
But I did know better. One thing my dream book taught me is that there’s no such thing as an astral body that separates from your physical body and goes drifting off into space. Sometimes people think they’ve left their physical bodies, but that’s just their brains’ way of dealing with the vividness of the dream. The experience feels so real that people assume it is real, and their brains, whose job it is to process information, come up with the best explanation they can: they’ve had an out-of-body experience. Or astrally projected themselves. Or whatever.
I thought it was interesting how the brain worked that way, how it went to such lengths to make things fit with prior experience. It reminded me of the time I’d gone to the beach with Kate’s family, when I’d spent an entire morning searching for sand dollars. For the longest time I couldn’t find any, because I was used to seeing nothing but sand, and so that’s all I was able to see. But once I found my first sand dollar, I was able to find them everywhere. I just had to develop a new way of seeing.
That’s what I had to do now, only with dreaming instead of seeing. Next time, if there was a next time, I had to remember that I hadn’t really left my body, even if that’s what it felt like. Once I could accept the fact that I was actually dreaming, even if it felt like I was awake, then I could enter fully into the dream and explore it intentionally. At least, that was my hope.
I drew my legs to my chest and thought again about what had just happened. Whatever else it was, it wasn’t a normal dream, that’s for sure. Which meant that maybe I was making progress. Who knows?
I rested my cheek on my knees, letting the memory of the dream wash over me. I’d never seen a moon like that in my life.
CHAPTER 11
IT OCCURRED TO ME, THE NEXT DAY AT LUNCH, that maybe my moon dream was a lucid dream after all.
“Mashed potatoes?” the woman behind the counter asked.
“Huh? Oh. Yes, please.” It had to be, because it had the same larger-than-life quality as the dreams described in my book, the same feeling of wow, this is totally incredible.
“Carrots?”
“No, thanks.”
She handed me my plate, and I picked up my tray and headed for a vacant table at the far end of the cafeteria. So all I had to do, I concluded, was figure out how to stay in that strange dream state long enough to control it. And I could do that. Right now, with the buzz of excitement giving me a rush, all sorts of things felt possible.
“Hey! Lissa! Over here!”
I turned. It was Kimberly/Ariel, gesturing to the empty seat beside her. Or rather, to the many empty seats beside her. The only other person at her table was Finn O’Connor, a guy I vaguely knew but had never really talked to.
I hesitated, and Ariel’s expression changed. I could tell she regretted calling out to me, and I couldn’t blame her. The wonder of it was that she kept trying at all.
A group of girls brushed past me, chatting loudly as they ambled toward their table. Not one of them looked my way. I squared my shoulders and strode across the room, telling myself that surely I could put up with Ariel for half an hour.
“Hi,” I said, nodding to her and Finn.
“Hi,” Ariel said. She took a sip of iced tea. “I was just telling Finn about Entrées on Trays, which, I’ve decided, is my favorite job of all time. Did I tell you I got a twenty-dollar tip last time?”
Her tone was light. She was pretending everything was normal between us.
I unloaded my tray and said, “Darlin mentioned it. Way to go.” I smiled, determined to be nice if it killed me.
“Darlin’s the owner?” Finn asked. “The one you’re going clubbing with?”
My smile froze.
“Not clubbing,” Ariel said. She gave me a nervous grin. “We’re taking her out, that’s all.”
“Going to wear your gold lamé?”
“Ha, ha, Lissa knows you’re kidding. Right, Lissa?”
I buttered my roll, telling myself to relax. So what if Finn knew I was joining a forties-and-over singles’ group? Who honestly cared? I took in Ariel’s gauzy blouse and thick eyeliner, the silver hoop in her nose, and I said, “So, at school, do you still want me to call you—”
“Ariel,” she finished. “Absolutely. Hey, I like that: Absolutely Ariel.”
“You know, you’re just encouraging her,” Finn said to me. “First the name change, now the nightclub—oh, and did she tell you her I-am-an-ancient-priestess dream?”
I blinked. What was it with her and this ludicrous dream, the one she hadn’t even actually had? I felt a stab of sympathy for her, which surprised me.
“She did,” I said. “Pretty interesting, huh?”
He snorted. “I’ll say.”
Ariel shot me a look of gratitude, then crumpled her napkin into a ball and threw it at Finn. “Do not make light of the divine. That was a very revealing dream.”
“My point exactly.”
Ariel’s gaze shifted, and she nodded toward the front of the room. Hey,” she said, “isn’t that your friend Kate?”
I glanced up. There she was, walking out of the food line. Her hair was held back in a loose French twist, and she wore a faded denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She looked beautiful.
“Kate!” Ariel called out. “Over here!”
I grabbed her arm. “Ariel, stop!”
“What? You don’t want her to sit with us?”
I dropped her arm and hunched lower in my seat. Kate had turned and was heading our way.
“You guys have a fight or something?” Ariel said. “You’re all pale. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Shut up. Please.”
Kate stood in front of us. She glanced from me to Ariel, then back to me. “Hi,” she said.
I swallowed. “Hi.”
“What’s up?”
I didn’t respond. I wasn’t trying to be a jerk. In fact, I was making a deliberate effort not to be a jerk, even though every muscle in my body had gone stiff the moment she approached. But I couldn’t find it in me to make polite chitchat, either. There was just no way.
Beside me, Ariel wound a strand of hair around her finger. She’d planned on asking Kate to sit with us, I guess, but now she didn’t know what to do. “Nice necklace,” she finally said. “The turquoise matches your shirt.”
My eyes dropped to Kate’s neck, the hollow above her collarbone.
“Thanks,” Kate said. “My boyfriend gave it to me.”
I looked away.
Kate waited a few more seconds. “Well, I’m going to go eat. My food’s getting cold.”
“So go,” I said. It came out before I could think.
She exhaled. “Lissa.”
I blushed and stabbed at my mashed potatoes.
“We need to talk,” she said. Her eyes darted to Ariel and Finn, and she lowered her voice. “Call me. Okay?” She paused, searching my face, then pressed her lips together and walked to the other side of the cafeteria, where she sat down with Ben and some of his friends. Ben tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and she cast a nervous look in my direction. Then she leaned toward Ben and said something that made him l
augh.
“God, she’s gorgeous,” Ariel said. “If I were a guy, I would have such a crush on her.”
I pulled my fork out of my mashed potatoes, wiped it on the side of my plate, and cut a bite of meat loaf, trimming the edges so it was a perfect square.
“Is that her boyfriend? Ben Porter? He looks full of himself. Is he, or is he a nice guy?”
I shrugged.
Ariel tipped back her chair. “I mean, God, her hair. I would kill for hair like that.”
“What, so you could dye it purple?” Finn said. He glanced at me. “I’ve always liked brown hair. It seems more real.”
I cut the square into four smaller squares.
Ariel leaned forward so that the front legs of her chair banged on the floor. She rapped the table with her knuckles. “Hey! You going to eat that meat loaf or play with it?” She laughed. “Ha. I sound like my grandmother.”
I put down my knife and fork. I made myself smile. “So, uh, have you told Finn about all of that collective unconscious stuff? How our psyches have layers, like an onion?”
“Yes, I have, and shut up, Finn, because Carl Jung is not some crackpot and you know it.” She tore off a bite of roll and stuffed it in her mouth. “Jung also says that ignoring your dreams is like ignoring your shadow, and that people who refuse to embrace their shadows are doomed to be incomplete. What do you think of that, Mr. Too-Cool-for-School?”
Finn laughed. “I think that anyone who tries to embrace his shadow is going to end up with a broken nose.”
“Not your real shadow, dummy. Your symbolic shadow.” She leaned forward. “Your dark side.”
“Lissa?” Finn said. “Do you have a dark side?”
He used the same intonation as Ariel, and I knew he was joking. Still, I busied myself with my potatoes. “Hey, don’t talk to me about it. Ariel’s the one with the answers.”
Ariel whacked her forehead. “Shit. Speaking of answers, I’ve got to get my French done before next period. Shit, shit, shit.” She stood up and lifted her tray. “You guys coming?”
“Yeah,” I said. I reached for my napkin, then drew back, confused. What startled me was Finn’s hand, hanging by his side as he stood up. His right hand was normal, but his left hand was tiny. Like a baby’s, almost.
He caught me staring and juggled his tray so that the left side was propped on his forearm, hiding his hand from view. His neck and face flushed red.
Silently, I followed them to the side of the cafeteria where we dumped our trash. It was obviously some kind of birth defect, Finn’s hand. How had I not seen it until now? He kept it in his lap during lunch; that’s why I didn’t see it while we were talking. But I’d been in school with him since we were freshmen. Two years.
You’d think you would notice something like that. If someone were that different, you’d think everyone would know.
CHAPTER 12
BETH AND VANESSA WERE IN THE DEN when I got home, watching a soap opera and eating Doritos. On the soap, a woman snooped around in somebody’s room, and Vanessa explained that Evelyn—that was the woman’s name—was searching for her ex-husband’s checkbook to see if he’d made a purchase at Victoria’s Secret recently.
“Evelyn’s still in love with Vance,” Vanessa said, “but Vance is in love with Jewel, Evelyn’s sister. Yesterday Jewel wore this sexy nightgown that Evelyn knew Vance had given her, so now she’s trying to prove it.”
“Oh,” Beth said.
“Hi, Beth,” I said. “Hi, Vanessa.”
“Hi,” they said, eyes glued to the screen. Evelyn found the checkbook and flipped through it, lips parted in concentration. “That bastard!” she cried. She hurled the checkbook at the mirror and burst into tears.
“Why aren’t you watching the Cartoon Network?” I asked.
Beth turned to me and glared. “This is better. Shh.”
I went into the kitchen to get a snack. When I passed back through with a Coke and a handful of M&M’s, a dark-haired woman was locked in an embrace with an older man.
“Oh, my darling,” Vanessa mimicked, drawing her hand to her chest and batting her eyelashes at Beth.
Beth giggled. “Oh, Jewel, you are so passionate.”
Vanessa heaved a sigh. “Kiss me, Vance. Kiss me this instant.”
Still giggling, Beth leaned in closer, her lips grazing Vanessa’s cheek.
“Ew!” Vanessa cried. “Not really, you lesbo!”
I set my jaw and strode through the room. I was trying to like Vanessa, but it was hard. Besides, I hated that word, lesbo. Last year, or even last month, I’d have gotten up on a soapbox if I’d heard Vanessa say that, telling her how wrong it was to make fun of being gay, blah, blah, blah. Now the last thing I wanted to do was make a big deal over it, and my face burned as if I were the one who’d done something.
But I didn’t think being gay was wrong. Did I?
One of Jerry’s frequent customers was gay. Her name was Heather, and I knew she was gay because she told me and Jerry about the commitment ceremony she’d had with her partner last New Year’s Eve. Her partner’s name was Katrina. Heather acted like it was perfectly normal that she loved another woman, and I’d felt all proud of myself for treating it that way, too. And no, I didn’t think there was anything wrong with a woman loving another woman, or a man loving another man. Deep down, I knew I didn’t. But it was one thing for someone else to be gay. It was something else entirely if that person was me.
Maybe it was better once you were an adult, although even then I was sure you’d run into people who didn’t understand. But in high school? God. If the kids I knew found out two girls were into each other, they’d treat them like pariahs. Not all the kids, but enough. And guys like Travis Wyrick would go nuts, tossing out insults and calling them “dykes.” Or making jokes about forming a sex triangle, if the girls were pretty.
My cheeks were still hot, even though I was alone in my room. I hated how edgy I felt, how all of a sudden I was afraid of my own emotions. And I hated that I had no one to talk to about it. I wrapped my arms around my ribs, my body tight with anxiety.
Once upon a time I could have talked to Kate, and once upon a time she would have listened. And the ironic thing was the two of us did talk about being gay once, before things got so screwed up. It was during one of our late-night conversations up in her room, me on one twin bed and her on the other. It was so dark that we couldn’t see each other. We could only hear each other’s voices.
“In some ways I bet it would be really nice,” Kate had said. “You know? I think about how much closer I am to you than I am to my guy friends, and I wonder if that’s what it’s like. Like, you’d understand everything the other person was going through, and you’d take such good care of each other. Not like when you go out with a guy and he dumps you for a football game or something.”
“I know what you mean,” I said, although really I didn’t. Having boyfriend after boyfriend was Kate’s scene, not mine. “Although I’m sure gay couples have problems, too. But maybe they’re able to talk about them more easily.”
“Maybe. I guess it just depends. But think about it: if you were dating a girl, you’d have so much in common. You’d like the same kinds of books, the same kinds of movies—God, no more Jackie Chan!”
“Or John Wayne,” I groaned. In ninth grade, Kate had dragged me with her on an absurdly bad double date to a Western film festival. It was torture.
Kate laughed. “Seriously. You could see all the chick flicks you wanted, one after another, with a huge bowl of popcorn and a box of Kleenex.”
For a while neither of us spoke. I thought Kate had fallen asleep—she did that sometimes, just dozed off in the middle of a conversation—but then I heard her roll over so she was facing me. “What about the physical part?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You know.”
“It’s . . . kind of hard to imagine, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I mean, what do they do, exactly?”
/> Both of us were silent.
“It might not be so bad . . .” Kate started.
I stared through the dark at the ceiling. “I don’t know. Maybe kind of soft? And just, you know, comfortable?”
“While at the same time wildly passionate and hot, hot, hot,” Kate said. She giggled. “I mean, come on. You know where everything is, she knows where everything is . . .” Her tone changed. “But see, that’s how I know I’m not gay. I’m not attracted to girls like I am to guys. I’m just not.”
“Well, yeah,” I had said. I’d felt confused, as if I’d been scolded for something I hadn’t done. “Same here.”
I thought of that now, and I closed my eyes. A whisper in my mind quickened my pulse: Please, God, don’t let it be me.
Later, after Vanessa went home and we’d eaten dinner, Beth found me in the kitchen and stood around doing nothing until I looked up from my calculus.
“What?” I said.
She traced the pattern of the linoleum with her toe. “What’s a lesbo?”
I put down my pencil. “Vanessa shouldn’t have called you that.”
“Is it a bad word?”
“No. Well, sort of.”
“Why? What does it mean?”
“It’s short for lesbian. Do you know what a lesbian is?”
She nodded, then shook her head.
“A lesbian’s a woman who loves other women.” I picked up my pencil and bent over my work.
Beth shifted her weight to her other foot. “What do you mean, loves other women?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean? If you’re a lesbian, then you love women instead of men. You’re attracted to them, you want to be with them. But you’re not a lesbian, Beth, so don’t worry about it.”
“Is it the same as being gay?”
“I said don’t worry about it.” I could hear how sharp my voice was. “Now leave me alone. I’ve got to finish this.”
Beth watched me for a couple of seconds, then turned and went into the den. Two minutes later she came back. “So how do you know if you’re a lesbian?”
“Jesus, Beth. How am I supposed to know? You wake up with a big, red L stamped on your forehead. You crop your hair and stop shaving your legs.”