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Justin’s still annoyed with me. “Feeling better, I see,” he says when we meet at his locker before class.
“Yeah. It must’ve been a twenty-four-hour thing.”
He scoffs and I get defensive.
“Sorry I didn’t text you a photo of my puke,” I tell him.
“I didn’t say a thing,” he replies, slamming his locker.
I’m not being fair. I’m getting mad at him, when I’m the liar.
Then I add another lie.
“I’m glad I’m better, since we’re going to see my grandmother this weekend. And I wouldn’t want to make her sick.”
As soon as I say this, I remember Justin’s own grandmother, who’s actually sick.
“When are you leaving?” he asks.
“Tomorrow,” I say. Then I realize what I’ve done, and add, “But I promised Rebecca I’d go over to her place tonight.”
“Whatever,” Justin mumbles. Then he walks away without saying goodbye, which is about what I deserve.
The reason I’ve mentioned Rebecca is because that’s what I’m going to tell my parents—that I’m spending the weekend with her. They like Rebecca, so they won’t mind. But I realize now I will have to at least spend tonight with her, since I’ve told Justin that’s what I’m doing.
When I see her in art class, I ask her if she has plans. I pray that she doesn’t.
“Nope,” she tells me. “Any ideas?”
“How about a sleepover?” I suggest.
Rebecca looks so excited. “You’re on! It’s been a while since we had a Mean Girls / Heathers double feature.”
“Or Breakfast Club and Pretty in Pink.”
These were our go-to movies, back when we were sleepover age. It makes me happy that Rebecca remembers, since it’s been a long time. Or at least it feels like a long time. That’s my pre-Justin life. Another lifetime ago.
“I have to do a few things after school,” I tell her. “With my mom. But how ’bout I come over around six?”
“Will you bring the cookie dough?” she asks.
“As long as you have the ice cream.”
It feels so good to be talking like this that I almost forget all the lies that surround it. I almost forget all the things I’m not telling her.
—
I meet A back at the bookstore. Today he’s this somewhat pudgy Indian girl. And I feel awful for thinking that right away, for noticing that first. It’s A. I am spending time with A. Focus on the driver, not the car.
As we decide to go for a walk in the park, I stare hard at Surita and imagine her as a boy. It’s not that hard. If you stare at anyone’s face long enough, it’s easy enough to imagine them as the other gender. Then I stop myself and wonder why I’m doing this. It’s not like I would stare at her and imagine her white. That would be messed up. But I still want to see her as a boy, to think of A as a boy inside.
Part of the problem is words. The fact that there are separate words for he and she, him and her. I’ve never thought about it before, how divisive this is. Like maybe if there was just one pronoun for all of us, we wouldn’t get so caught on that difference.
Part of me wants to ask A about this, to ask, Are you a he or a she? But I know the answer is that A is both and neither, and it’s not A’s fault that our language can’t deal with that.
I’m sure A must notice. The fact that I’m not holding Surita’s hand. The fact that there’s not the same charge in the air as there was when A was in a guy’s body. I want to undo this. I understand it’s the wrong way to feel. But it doesn’t feel like a knot I can actually untie.
A explains that Surita lives with her grandmother, and that her grandmother doesn’t really pay attention, so she can be out as late as she wants. Which means I’m the one with the time limit today. I tell A about this, but then I also tell A I have a plan for the weekend, and that I know a place we can go. I don’t tell A what it is, or where it is. I want there to be some surprise.
