one who does all the laundry around here, remember? I thought about rearranging your closet one day, and there it was in your sweaters.”
“You hid your notebook in your closet?” Ro says from behind me. “How interesting. It’s almost like you wanted Mom to find it.”
I give him the stink-eye over my shoulder. “Leave me alone, Dr. Freud.”
He leans forward. “By the way, have you finished another one? Did you put a list of issues in the front so you can reference them easier?”
I nod, grinning. “Yeah, you were right. That made it so much easier to find a specific—”
Dad cuts me off. “It doesn’t matter. You’re still grounded, and I don’t think you should see this boy anymore.” He stands like the discussion is over.
“Why?” Mom and I both say at the same time.
“Because he’s the cause of all this, obviously.”
“Logan didn’t ask me to lie.”
“Let’s not be too hasty here, Hank. He seemed like a good kid.” Mom’s always been a romantic.
Dad throws his hands in the air. “Whatever, but you’re still grounded.” He stomps off to the living room.
“Yes, sir,” I call after him.
“And no allowance for this month,” Mom says.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s it?” Ro slaps the back of my chair. “That’s all you’re going to do to her? If I’d done all this, you guys would have locked me in the basement.”
“That’s ridiculous, Roland,” Mom says. “This is Louisiana, we don’t have basements because of the water level.”
I leave Mom and Ro to their bickering and head for the stairs. Dad is sitting on the bottom step. He rubs his forehead like he has a headache, then looks up at me. “We don’t have to have our marathons anymore, if you don’t want to. If you’re really concerned about what the kids at school will think, then—”
“No, that’s… I love the marathons. I love hanging out with you.”
He smiles, then quickly goes back to his stern-dad face. “Don’t do anything like that again, Maddie.”
“I won’t, I promise.”
He stands and hugs me like he hasn’t seen me in years. “It doesn’t matter what you like to read, you know that, right? You’re so smart, I don’t see how you got this idea in your head. Who cares what other people think?”
“I know, it’s just… It’s high school.”
“It’s not just high school. People are going to judge you for all kinds of reasons for the rest of your life. Because you vote one way or the other, because you go to one school or the other, because you look a certain way. It’s a fact of life: you can’t make everyone happy. But you can make you happy.” He pokes my shoulder.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“You’re welcome. Now, go up to your room, and you know, think about what you’ve done and stuff. I’m going to take some aspirin.”
…
I’ve been trying to fall asleep for a good three or four hours. The house got quiet a long time ago except for the TV downstairs. I’m sure Ro passed out on the couch and forgot to turn it off.
But you can make you happy, my father’s voice repeats over and over as I stare at my ceiling.
Have I been trying to do that all this time? Has that other part of me been trying to break through because deep down I know I’ll never be happy until… Until what? Until I’m able to freely discuss who I think would win in a battle between Darth Vader and Lord Voldemort? (The answer obviously being Lord Voldemort. He’d Avada Kadavra Vader way before Vader could even think about the force choke move.)
The crazy thing—okay, maybe one of the crazy things—is I broke up with Eric and my house hasn’t been egged or rolled by the football team. He even said he likes the same things I do. Plus, I told Terra and Rayann about Logan and last I checked, I haven’t been unfriended by everyone on Facebook, even though I’d bet money Rayann has told everyone she could send a text message to. And Terra, even after I was such a bad friend to her, was still concerned enough to make sure I was okay tonight.
For a long time, I thought this hiding habit was harmless. I wasn’t hurting anyone, right? After everything that’s happened these past few weeks, I can admit I was wrong. I was hurting someone: myself. Instead of protecting myself, I’ve been pushing everyone I care about away. I’ve hidden who I am from my friends for years. I’ve lied to