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“That’s the weird thing,” Emily agreed. “I thought everyone was going to be mean today—like, teasing me or whatever. But instead…I’m suddenly crazily popular. People didn’t even pay this much attention to me after Ali disappeared.”
Maya grinned and touched Emily’s chin. “See? I told you it wouldn’t be so bad. Wasn’t it a good idea?”
Emily stepped back. In the kiln’s pale light, Maya’s face shone a ghoulish green. Yesterday, she’d noticed Maya in the natatorium stands…but when she’d looked after discovering the photo, she couldn’t find Maya anywhere. Maya had wanted their relationship to be more open. A sick feeling washed over her. “What do you mean, good idea?”
Maya shrugged. “I just mean, whoever did this made things much easier for us.”
“B-but it’s not easier,” Emily stammered, remembering where she was supposed to be right now. “My parents are livid about that photo. I have to go into a counseling program to prove to them I’m not g*y. And if I don’t, they’re going to send me to Iowa to live with my aunt Helene and uncle Allen. For good.”
Maya frowned. “Why didn’t you tell your parents the truth? That this is who you are, and it’s not something you can, like, change. Even in Iowa.” She shrugged. “I told my family I was bi last year. They didn’t take it that well at first, but they got better.”
Emily moved her feet back and forth against the kiln’s smooth cement floor. “Your parents are different.”
“Maybe.” Maya stood back. “But listen. Since last year, when I was finally honest with myself and with everybody else? Ever since then, I’ve felt so great.”
Emily’s eyes instinctively fell to the snakelike scar on the inside of Maya’s forearm. Maya used to cut herself—she said it was the only thing that made her feel okay. Had being honest about who she was changed that?
Emily closed her eyes and thought of her mother’s angry face. And getting on a plane to live in Iowa. Never sleeping in her own bed again. Her parents hating her forever. A lump formed in her throat.
“I have to do what they say.” Emily focused on a petrified piece of gum someone had stuck on a kiln shelf. “I should go.” She opened the kiln door and stepped back into the classroom.
Maya followed her. “Wait!” She caught Emily’s arm, and as Emily spun around, Maya’s eyes searched her face. “What are you saying? Are you breaking up with me?”
Emily stared across the room. There was a sticker above the pottery teacher’s desk that said, I LOVE POTS!
Only, someone had crossed out the s and drawn a marijuana leaf over the exclamation point. “Rosewood’s my home, Maya. I want to stay here. I’m sorry.”
She snaked around the vats of glaze and potter’s wheels. “Em!” Maya called behind her. But Emily didn’t turn around.
She took the exit door that led straight out of the pottery studio to the quad, feeling like she’d just made a huge mistake. The area was empty—everyone was at lunch—but for a second, Emily could have sworn she saw a figure standing on Rosewood Day’s bell tower roof. The figure had long blond hair and held binoculars to her face. It almost looked like Ali.
After Emily blinked, all she saw was the tower’s weathered bronze bell. Her eyes must have been playing tricks on her. She’d probably just seen a gnarled, twisted tree.
Or…had she?
Emily shuffled down the little footpath that led to Lorence chapel, which looked less like a chapel and more like the gingerbread house Emily had made for the King James Mall Christmas competition in fourth grade. The building’s scalloped siding was cinnamon brown, and the elaborate trim, balusters, and gables were a creamy white. Gumdrop-colored flowers lined the window boxes. Inside, a girl was sitting in one of the front pews, facing forward in the otherwise empty chapel.
“Sorry I’m late,” Emily huffed, sliding onto the bench. There was a Nativity scene placed on the altar at the front of the room, waiting to be set up. Emily shook her head. It wasn’t even November yet.
“It’s cool.” The girl put out her hand. “Rebecca Johnson. I go by Becka.”
“Emily.”
Becka wore a long lacy tunic, skinny jeans, and demure pink flats. Delicate, flower-shaped earrings dangled from her ears, and her hair was held back with a lace-trimmed headband. Emily wondered if she’d end up looking as girly as Becka if she completed the Tree Tops program.
A few seconds passed. Becka took out a tube of pink lip gloss and applied a fresh coat. “So, do you want to know anything about Tree Tops?”
Not really, Emily wanted to answer. Maya was probably right—Emily would never be truly happy until she stopped feeling ashamed and denying her feelings. Although…she eyed Becka. She seemed okay.
Emily opened her Coke. “So, you liked girls?” She didn’t entirely believe it.
Becka looked surprised. “I—I did…but not anymore.”
“Well, when you did…how did you know for sure?” Emily asked, realizing she was brimming with questions.
Becka took a minuscule bite out of her sandwich. Everything about her was small and doll-like, including her hands. “It felt different, I guess. Better.”
“Same here!” Emily practically shouted. “I had boyfriends when I was younger…but I always felt differently about girls. I even thought my Barbies were cute.”
Becka daintily wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Barbie was never my type.”
