bunch of times, but never gotten an answer, which backed up our story about Tammy’s mother being a drug addict who can’t manage to answer the phone.
It feels normal now to have Tammy there in the morning when we have breakfast, or waiting for a turn in the bathroom before work. At night, Tammy, Peter, and I watch TV together, and when Mom comes home from her library job and sees us all together in the living room, she’ll say “Good night, Three Musketeers,” and go upstairs with a wave.
It’s fun, spending time with Tammy and Peter. When I wind up alone with her, though—that’s harder. We told each other so much in our letters, but now that we’re in the same place, it’s as though we can’t think of anything to say. Maybe we’re afraid to.
Or maybe it’s only me who’s afraid.
On the nights when Peter goes out, I always come up with some excuse for why I need to go to bed early, while Tammy stays downstairs watching TV. I can never sleep on those nights, though. I lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, until I hear Peter come in, followed by the sounds of his and Tammy’s soft voices and muted laughter drifting up the steps.
When she finally comes up to bed, I pretend to be asleep, but that’s getting harder. Knowing she’s lying there silently on the floor beside me. Hearing the sounds of her soft, steady breathing.
“It’s been great finally meeting you, Tammy,” Kevin said, smiling his Kevin smile as he passed her a stack of silverware. “My girlfriend’s talked about nothing all year except how cool her pen pal is, so I’m glad to see she was telling the truth.”
Tammy thanked him while I turned away, blushing.
I’d given Kevin the same story we’d given Mom. I felt terrible lying to him, too, but Peter was adamant that we keep Tammy’s secret—and he was probably worried Kevin might figure out the truth about him, too.
Besides, I wasn’t sure how he’d take it. Kevin’s nothing like Gary Knopp, but I don’t have any reason to think he’s more accepting of gay people than anyone else at our school. That’s why I’ve never told him about volunteering on Prop 6. He knows I hang out at the bookstore, and he thinks that’s great since he’s always loved bookstores, but he’d never set foot inside any building that said “Women’s” on the front door. He asked me once what kind of books a women’s bookstore sold, and when I told him there were books about women’s health, he started waving his hand around frantically and said, “Sorry I asked!”
I know guys don’t want to think about periods and stuff, but Kevin wants to be a doctor, so it seemed kind of ridiculous. But it was also a relief knowing he wouldn’t ask me about the bookstore again.
It’s getting harder, keeping all my worlds separate.
“Hey, so, I wanted to say,” Peter whispered, following me into the kitchen, “thanks for helping out. With making sure Tammy can stay here.”
I turned around, startled. “You were the one helping us, remember?”
“Sure, it started because of your pen pal thing, but…” Peter shrugged. “I’m just saying, she’s really cool. Getting to hang out with her makes work a lot more fun. She gets it, you know? She’s used to hiding.”
“I’m used to hiding, too,” I whispered back. “I lie to Mom all the time about working on the Prop 6 campaign, and going to punk shows.”
“It’s not the same. I know you thought you liked that one girl that one time, but—”
“Shhhhh!” I whipped around to make sure Tammy wasn’t in earshot. I’d never told her about that, and I certainly wasn’t planning to now that she slept in my room.
“Look.” He rolled his eyes. “Tammy and me, we’re lying about who we are. It’s a bigger lie than the kind you’re used to, and it hurts a lot more.”
It hurt to hear him say that, too, but I nodded. I knew he was right.
“Unless you’ve realized you’re not that straight after all.” His lip curled up. “Have you?”