Across the street is a video rental store that looks fairly new.
As I open the door to the video rental, a blast of air-conditioning hits me in the face. Relief. No one’s here. I walk to the counter, and a tall, skinny kid with mega-zits shuffles out from the back. He has green hair. It reminds me of that summer Paulie started swim team at Dad’s club and spent so much time in the pool that his hair turned green from the chlorine. Except this kid’s color came from a bottle. “Who are you?” he asks.
“Who are you?” I answer.
“Who wants to know?” he says.
I sigh inwardly. “I’m looking for a job,” I tell him. “Do you need any help?”
“Does it look like we need help?”
Brat. Okay, the place is deserted. It’s possible they’d get a rush, though, right? “Weekends or something? Anything?”
His zits run down his neck to his shoulders. And he’s staring at my chest. Perv. I turn to leave and he says, “You sorta look like someone. Do you know Carly?”
I twist back. “Yeah? Why?” How does he know Carly?
“Arlo’s hiring.”
The smirk on his face answers my question. Small town. “Who’s Arlo?”
The kid goes, “Street before the light, take a right. You can’t miss it. The Egg Drop-In.”
I missed it the first time through. “Okay, thanks,” I say.
“If you ever want to browse in the adult section, let me know.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
Gross. Now I wonder if Majestic is populated with peanut-sized perverts.
The Egg Drop-In is a restaurant. More like a greasy spoon, but there are customers, at least. All the tables are full. A guy in a wheelchair is ringing up a sale at the cash register. He catches my eye, and I give him a little wave, like hi. He stares at me so long, I think he sees a ghost. Everyone in the room swivels to look.
Now I feel conspicuous, like I’m standing in the middle of the restaurant naked. Time starts again, and people resume what they were doing. Eating, talking, judging me. I approach the front counter, and Wheelchair says to the customer who just paid, “Thanks, Dutch. See you tomorrow.” The customer is dressed like a real cowboy. No kidding. Worn, saggy jeans, a cowboy hat, and boots. Is he an actor? His face doesn’t look familiar.
Wheelchair stares at me again. I open my mouth to speak, but he rolls through the swinging café doors to the back.
People are so rude here. I survey the shelves and cases. Bagels and muffins, cheese Danish. An espresso machine and a bottle of pulpy orange juice.
“Order up,” Wheelchair calls through the opening between the kitchen and the dining room as he skids two plates across the counter. His eyes rise to meet mine, and he fixes on me again.
What?
I have a sudden urge to flee. Just get out of there. As I pivot, this girl nearly bulldozes over me. She juggles a tray stacked high with dirty plates.
“Sorry,” I say.
She doesn’t budge.
I glance around. Oh.
She needs me to… I step one way, and she mirrors my move. We both step the other way. I let out a little laugh. She doesn’t.
She shoves the tray between us and cuts through. The name on her badge reads FINN. I watch her dump the tray, load up the hot plates along her arm, then serpentine through the tables and chairs.
Dyke! my gaydar screams. She has that self-confident aura. Plus, she’s wearing carpenter shorts and leather hiking shoes. Dark curly leg hair. Hel-loooo.
Wheelchair says, “You’re Carly’s girl.” He’s sitting in the doorway, propping open the swinging doors with both hands. He has on latex gloves, and he reeks of green peppers and bacon grease.
Am I wearing a scarlet letter?
“What do you want?” he growls.
“Um…” Now I’m all rattled.
“Arlo, can we get some grub?” a guy at the end of the counter hollers. Wheelchair shouts, “Finn!” She twists her head. She has this long, black braid that hits her at the waist. So cool. I’ve never seen hair that long.
Wheelchair—Arlo, I guess he is—waves toward the customer, and Finn scrambles over there.
The doors close and Arlo disappears. He reappears through the order window at the grill, pouring pancakes from a plastic pitcher. I move closer to the cash register to talk to him. “I heard you had a job opening, and I was thinking about applying.”
He doesn’t look up from the grill. “Come in here,” he says.
To the kitchen? Okay. I push through the swinging doors.
He’s sitting on a platform so he can reach the grill. He wheels around. “Did she send you here to twist the knife?”
“What? Who?”
He scans me up and down. Then shakes his head no.
Why not? What does he see that he doesn’t like? “I really need a job,” I tell him. “I’m a hard worker.”
“I’ll bet you are.”
I catch the innuendo, and heat rises up my neck. “I’m not Carly,” I say.
He mutters, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
Sure, I think.
He glides down the ramp and past me to a refrigerator. He opens it. He reaches up for something he can’t get.
I hurry behind him. “What do you need?”
“You! Outta here!” he barks.
I stumble back, and he hollers, “Finn!”
She whooshes through the swinging doors.
“The damn eggs!” Arlo yells at her. “Don’t put ’em up so high.”
I try to catch her eye to telepath God, what a jerk, but Finn just retrieves a cardboard tray of eggs from the fridge and rushes past Arlo and me to set them on the counter by the grill. The bell tinkles out front and Finn dashes out, not even glancing my way.
“You better scram,” Arlo says.
A guy in overalls appears at the swinging doors. “Could I please get a cup of stinkin’ coffee in this turd-infested rat hole sometime this century?”
Arlo grins. He wheels forward so fast, he smashes through the doors, almost taking the guy down. “The rats are working as hard as they can, Bullwhacker. Now sit Your Flatulence down and wait your turn.”
Overalls chuckles and tramps off.
Arlo scrutinizes me again. “You ever work one of those machines?” He thumbs at the coffeemaker.
“Um, yeah,” I lie. Carly has an espresso machine, which I wouldn’t even know how to plug in.
He says, “Take the counter.”
Now?
Finn flies past me and says, “I got it.”
I could’ve done it.
Arlo asks me, “You have waitressing experience?”
“Tons,” I lie again. The only job I’ve ever had is lifeguarding at Dad’s club in the summer. He never let me work during the school year because he wanted me to concentrate on my studies.
I feel Arlo checking me out. What is he looking for? I flex my right bicep.
That earns me a lopsided grin, at least. He rolls backward into the kitchen. Three people at the counter are holding up cups, and before I can even think, Finn’s filling them from a pot of brewed coffee. Arlo hollers, “Order up!” as he slides two plates of steaming pancakes onto the counter.
Finn slips behind me. “Excuse me,” she says. She has this soft, low voice. As she’s picking up the plates, Arlo says to her, “What do you think? Should we hire Carly’s girl here?”
Finn whirls and drops the plates. The shattering glass makes everyone jump. Finn is frozen in place, staring at my face, into me so far I feel her eyes ripping through my gut.
She stoops to clean the mess, and I crouch down to help, but she says, “I’ve got it.” Kind of cold. She stands and shakes her head at Arlo.
Arlo exaggerates a smile at me. “The decision is unanimous.” He aims the spatula at the exit. “Go home to Mommy Dearest.”
Chapter
3
All the way back to the house, I alternate between anger and humiliation. What just happened in there? I al
most got the job, but then that Finn blew it for me. Fine. She’s not my type anyway.
Not that I care. I’ve sworn off love forever.
Carly owns a laptop, but I haven’t seen her use it. She did say whatever I wanted I could use. I take the computer up to my room, open the lid, and press the ON button. Windows boots. I check my Hotmail and find six messages.
None from Sarah.
I don’t know why I think she’d write to me. She’d better not. I begin a letter:
Dear Sarah,
You ruined my life. Remember how much I used to love you? Double it, and that’s how much I hate you now.
I don’t press SEND. I don’t even mean it. It just feels good to get that out.
I lie in bed, and the jumble of emotions turns to tears. What did I do wrong? If I could only figure out what happened, the when and where and how of it. I thought I was the perfect girlfriend, that we were perfect together. “What did I do, Sarah?” What?
October
She came on to you. She started it. “Are you going to homecoming?” she asked.
We were at GSA, getting settled for the meeting, waiting for stragglers.
You told her, “I’m not really into football.”
“Not the game. The dance.” She bumped your shoulder with hers. She was always touching you, playing with your jewelry, sitting so close that your arms got twisted up. At every GSA meeting, she’d immediately gravitate to wherever you were. If M’Chelle or Ben was there, Sarah would insinuate herself in the middle.
You have to admit you liked the attention, the warmth of human interaction. Your last girlfriend, if you could call her that, lived in Michigan. Your whole relationship played out online. Ben would e-mail or text you: R U HAVING CYBERSEX YET?
YEH, you’d text him back. U SHOULD TRY IT. O WAIT. UR THE EXPERT.
The opportunities to meet lesbians in Virginia Beach were practically nonexistent.
“We usually go to dances as a group,” you told Sarah. “So we don’t get jumped afterward.”
Her eyes ballooned. “Would that happen?”
Ben leaned across your lap to say to her, “Want to see my battle scars?”
Our school wasn’t exactly gay-friendly. Or race-friendly, geek-friendly, or eco-friendly.
It was a wonder we even had a GSA. But it’s against the law to deny it. Ben was the one who took the initiative for getting it started last year.
M’Chelle elbowed you and whispered in your ear, “Ask Sarah out. She’s dying for you to ask her.”
Someone tapped you on your shoulder blade. You twisted your head to see Ben miming, Ask her.
You knew she was into you, but she was so young. Did you really want to date a ninth grader? She did seem mature for her age, or you were blinded by lust and loneliness. Those blue eyes. Damn.
You stalled around after the meeting, after everyone had gone. Except Sarah. She always waited to walk out with you. You figured, what would it hurt? One date. “Do you want to go to the dance?” you asked.
She threw her arms around you, almost knocking you over. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!”
You laughed, and she laughed with you. That first shared moment of joy. Admit it, you were hooked.
“It’ll be with the group,” you told her.
“That’s okay. I’ll just pretend it’s you and me alone.” Her smile cast a wicked spell.
It turned out to be the two of you alone because you stole away from the dance and never returned. You ended up making out in the backseat of Ben’s VW Bug. God, it all happened so fast. After homecoming, you and Sarah were officially a couple.
In private, anyway.
You couldn’t risk a girlfriend in school. If you openly expressed your love for her by holding hands or snuggling, people would harass you. Or you’d get expelled. M’Chelle found that out the hard way. Last semester she got caught in the restroom kissing Carmen, her girlfriend at the time, and the incident was reported to the principal. He tried to expel M’Chelle, but her parents threatened a lawsuit. Your dad’s a lawyer, but if you were the one who’d been caught, he’d be on the prosecution’s side.
M’Chelle and Ben opened the closet door for everyone else in our school. Now we had an official GSA with twenty members and counting. It was so great to have the GSA, a safe space where you could be affectionate and real.
Talk about affectionate. Sarah would sneak up behind you at the meetings (though you knew she was there) and take your face, tilt it back, and kiss you. Everyone would go, “Ooh. Alyssa and Sarah sitting in a tree…”
She’d plop on your lap and comb your hair with her fingers for an hour. Whatever went on at those meetings is a blur.
Sarah was in gymnastics. You’d go to the gym after school and sit behind the uneven parallel bars against the wall and do homework. Or watch her. Watch her watching you. Showing off for you.
“Do your parents know?” she asked one day as you walked her home—as far as the Starbucks.
“No. Not unless they read the graphic sexts you send.”
Sarah laughed. She’d trickle a finger up the bare skin of your arm and go, “You know you love it.”
Who wouldn’t? You’re only human. Everyone wants to be loved and desired.
So many times you wished you could just scream it out: I love girls!
You wanted to tell Dad, Tanith, Paulie. Maybe not Paulie. He was only ten. You hated keeping the secret from Dad, but you were afraid. Not so much about what he’d do to you. What could he do? Throw you out on the street?
Yeah, that was supposed to be a joke.
You asked Sarah—more like confirmed—“I guess your parents don’t know. Since you only let me walk you this far.”
Sarah’s eyes dropped. “I’m sorry. I want to tell them, but they’d kill me. Right before they sent me to one of those Christian asylums to take the cure.”
You both laughed about that.
How can so much joy turn to so much pain?
I’m hungry and hurting, so I go downstairs to find something to eat. I hear Carly in her exercise room, laughing with someone. I walk to the foyer and peek my head around the corner.
“Are you Alyssa? Oh my God!” This crazy lady tears up the stairs from the exercise room and crushes me in a hug. I almost gag on her flowery perfume. She holds me back to look at me and says, “You’re gorgeous. Carly, she’s gorgeous.” Through her extra-thick eyeliner and mascara, her smile extends to her wild eyes. “I’m Geena,” she says. She doesn’t let me speak before smothering me again.
“I heard you were in the Egg Drop talking to Arlo,” Carly calls up from the exercise room. She’s on the floor stretching, cooling down from her workout. “Why?”
She knows already? It only happened an hour ago.
I call down the short stairwell, “I was looking for a job. Someone told me Arlo was hiring.”
“Ooh, Arlo,” Geena goes. “Bet he was all over you like gum on hot asphalt.” She cracks herself up.
“You don’t need to work in Majestic,” Carly says. “There are probably lots of summer jobs in Breckenridge or Dillon. If you want a job, I’ll put out feelers.”
“Me too,” Geena says.
I don’t want them helping me, especially Carly. I don’t want to feel obligated to her in any way. “That’s okay. But thanks.”
Geena says, “I’d better get going. I haven’t even been home yet, and God knows I need my beauty sleep.” She lifts my chin and gazes into my eyes. Sighing, she says, “Were we ever this young, Carly? Were we ever this naturally beautiful?”
Carly doesn’t answer.
“Later, sugar.” Geena blows Carly a kiss and exits through the front door.
Carly seems entranced in her stretching, or yoga, so I lower myself to the top step and watch her. Her eyes are closed, and she steeples her hands together, takes a deep breath, and lets it out in a long stream. A slight smile curls the ends of her lips. She looks serene. I remove my right flip-flop and see I have a giant blister on my
big toe. I wish I had a needle to pop it.
Carly pulls her knees to her chest, opens her eyes, and rolls her head my way. “Who cuts your hair?”
Both hands fly up to cover my head. I know it looks terrible. I cut it the night of prom, when Sarah…
“It’ll grow out,” I say. It already has, a lot, although I’d really just like to shave it all off. That’d freak Dad out.
Carly says, “I don’t suppose you’d let me trim it.”
I stand to signal this convo is over.
“You’re going to have to talk to me sometime, Alyssa. You owe me that.”
I whirl on her. “I owe you? What about everything you owe me?”
“Me?” she goes.
“You abandoned me when I was a baby.”
Her face flushes bright red.
I can’t believe I said that out loud.
“I didn’t abandon you.” Her voice is flat.
I mutter, “What do you call it?”
“I left you with your father. But I always intended to come back. And I did.”
“Then you disappeared again.”
When I was thirteen. No more cards or presents, not even a phone call to check in. “I haven’t heard from you in four years, Carly.” Not that I care.
Carly goes limp. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles into her knees.
Sorry. Is that all she has to say? I head for the main level. Behind me, I hear, “You want to tell me what happened to make your father disown you?”
That stops me short. Who said he disowned me?
“Tanith was less than forthcoming with details when she begged me to take you in.”
I turn around. Tanith called Carly? “What do you mean, she begged you?”
Carly pushes to her feet. “I shouldn’t have said—I told her I’d have to think about it, is all. When she said your father wanted you gone and no one else in the family could take you in, then of course there was no question.”
The tension in the house was unbearable. A week went by after the… the incident. But I didn’t know Dad had disowned me. I thought we were going through a cooling-down period, that he’d come around. There’d be tension, sure, but we’d work through it.