“So many things are going on all at once, and I just sort of feel unmoored or something.”
“Unmoored? Because your dad left?”
“That’s part of it.”
“And?”
“I’m worried that we just lost Booker, too.”
“We didn’t. Trust me,” Alex said, and then he kissed me on the lips.
He tasted warm and a little sweet from the gum he was chewing.
“Is that Wrigley’s Doublemint?” I said, because he was always trying to emulate his favorite fictional character.
“Of course!” he said. “What else would it be?”
For some reason, I got a bad feeling. Chewing that brand of gum was no big deal in and of itself, but I had begun worrying that Alex was taking his hero worship of Wrigley a bit too far.
“What are you going to say to those kids’ dads?”
“I’m going to play the Cyclops.”
“By doing what, exactly? Waving your hands over your head with one eye closed?”
I didn’t mean it to sound sarcastic, but it definitely did.
“You don’t know what it’s like to be Oliver. Someone has to do something. I’ll talk to those fathers. Try to reason with them.”
“When I was Oliver’s age, everyone used to cough into their hands and say ‘dyke’ really fast when I walked by. I pretended that it didn’t bother me, but it did. I don’t know if that’s worse than having your glasses broken or not, but kids call me even worse homophobic slurs today.”
“Really? Why?”
“I have no idea, since I’m not a lesbian. I don’t know why being called a lesbian is such a bad thing anyway. And since I’m not homophobic, why does it even bother me? I can’t figure it out.”
“What are the names of the boys who do this?”
“Girls do it, too.”
“Give me all the names.”
“Seriously?”
“Dead serious.”
“There are dozens. What would you do if I gave you a list?”
“I’d take care of it.”
“What does that mean? You can’t fight everyone, Alex.”
“Sure you can!” he said, and his voice cracked a little. “You fight everyone who needs fighting or nothing changes! Nothing!”
We were silent for a time, and then I said, “Don’t get into any trouble tonight. Promise me.”
“What sort of trouble do you think I could get into by having a conversation with a bunch of suburban dads?” He smiled at me in a way that let me know the anger had subsided and he had control of himself again. “Will they make me mow their perfectly manicured lawns? Wash their minivans? Have a catch with them?”
“I don’t know. I just have a bad feeling, that’s all.”
“Well, then let’s give you that good feeling,” he said as he leaned in to kiss me.
We made out for a little and then I said I had to go.
When I went inside, my mother was drinking a bottle of wine alone in the kitchen. Two-thirds already was gone. “You okay, Mom?”
“Yes, I am,” she said, slurring her words just a bit, but not too bad. “I was saving this 2002 Diamond Creek Gravelly Meadow for a special occasion, and then I thought tonight could be special if I opened it. Do you think we should update the kitchen? I’ve been sitting here looking at the appliances, and I feel like they say we’re living seven years in the past. We need to catch up!”
“Okay?”
“So update immediately, correct?”
“Like—right now?”
“No time to be in the present like the present.”
“Can we just keep things the way they are until I graduate? I’m not sure I can handle any more change.”
“So wait until summer?”
“Yeah, if possible. I’d appreciate it. There will probably be newer updates by then anyway. Better appliances. Maybe they will have robots that cook the food for you and then clean everything up. Could we wait for those?”
“For you, Nanette,” she said, pointing a finger at my face, “I will do this. For you.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Are you using protection with that boy?”
“What?”
“Do you need to be on the Pill?”
“Um, I’m going to my room now.”
“Be smart, Nanette. We’ll talk more in the morning over breakfast. No unprotected sex! No glove, no love, we used to say!”
I shook my head in disbelief, went up to my room, and lay down on my bed. So many thoughts were swirling around in my mind—I started to feel like I might vomit from dizziness.
I picked up Mr. Graves’s copy of The Bubblegum Reaper, randomly opened up to page seventy-one, and read these words: “I knew that I had reached the end of childhood once I realized that the adults in my life didn’t know any more than I did—and then in a flash I knew that everything that had preceded that exact moment was a sort of game played by the so-called adults who winked at each other when you weren’t looking . . . people who pretended to be things they were not, like Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, athletic coaches, teachers, our heroes, too. But the sad truth was that they were no better than we were, and more often than not, they were much worse because they had been here on this planet longer than we had and therefore were able to collect more vices, worries, and sadness.”
The words stopped the spinning feeling in my head, if only because it felt as though someone had had all my thoughts before, which was comforting, like knowing that people had survived a tornado using the same basement you were currently locked away in, so I read on until there were no more words left in the book—just as I had so many times before—and only then could I fall asleep.