photographer, but I inherited my creativity (orlack of it) from him. Other than that, the room is bland. Whatâs the point in unpacking, though? All the things that will make my room feel like meâmy Pride memorabilia, pictures of Dana and me, my coveted Ruby Rose posterâwonât fall into Dad, or should I say Mrs. Foley, approved décor.
I pull up one of the DIY boards I follow on the computer and start looking at cool light fixtures when Dana pops up on my chat.
How goes it, oh suburban one?
Itâs tight. Got me a boyfriend. Took myself to the Baptist church. Call my grandpa Tater.
Youâre shitting me.
Sort of. The guy is my friend and Tater gives me Life Savers.
Any babes?
My eyes are closed to babes.
Donât believe you.
Dana should believe me. Iâve never looked at girls, except for some clandestine make-out sessions on the fly, because girls mean heartbreak and Iâve never needed a girlfriend because Iâve had her. Except right now I feel confused. B.T.B.âs sister keeps popping into my head. And even though Mary Carlson thinks Iâm straight (go me) and dating her brother, I couldnât stop glancing her way duringyouth group. Itâs stupid because I donât even know her, but sometimes you see someone and thereâs just this flicker. Like a light bulb that glows around the person, making them shine brighter than all the others. Itâs not that theyâre more attractive or smarter or funnier than anyone else. Itâs just they have a combination of all the things that speak directly to you. And Mary Carlson, stranger that she is, fascinates me. But itâs stupid. Mary Carlson probably has a six-foot-tall boyfriend named Charles III who they call Trey and a promise ring on her pinky. And Iâm not like Dana, I canât hook up for funsies. Truth be told, Iâm terrified to hook up at all.
Seriously, Dana. Better off not to look if I canât sample.
Whatevs. Off the hook party this weekend you missed.
She attaches a selfie of her licking a shot off some little pink-haired scene girlâs chest.
Nice. You playing it safe?
Condoms in my pocket, bitch.
Not what I meant. I want you with me next summer on those killer waves.
Mamaâs in Rome. Babyâs gonna play.
That pisses me off. Iâm not her mother, and even if I am a bore compared to her when it comes to drinking and drugs, she doesnât have to treat me like I bring her down. Most people would kill to have their very own designated driver.
OD for all I care.
You worry too much.
My residual anger over the whole wedding night incident flares.
Because youâre an idiot.
Oooh, pink-haired girl on my chat. She calls herself Willow.
As quick as Dana bounced on the screen, she bounces off. I rub my face and am surprised when my hands come away with makeup on them.
The next week at school, I follow my newly established routine. Discuss elephant facts with B.T.B. in the morning. Go to my first two blocks. Discuss elephant facts and Marnie with B.T.B. at lunch. Go to my second two blocks. On Wednesday, in my Latin I class, a guy with glasses and a perfectly round face turns around from the desk in front of me.
âYou came to my church on Sunday. With B.T.B.â He smiles. âI didnât know they let Mr. Nedâs kids take foreign language classes. Iâm George.â I guess he must have gotten a schedule change, because I donât remember him being in here before. He holds out his hand to shake mine. I stare at it. People are quick to jump to any conclusion up here.
âRight,â he says, pulling his hand back. âYou might not like contact. Iâve heard that. But hey, you know, if you want help donât be afraid to ask.â
I donât bother opening my mouth, only stare till he turns around and faces the teacher. I would text Dana to tell her about my ongoing disguise, but I havenât heard from her since she ditched