“My dad knows I would switch if I could, I think. Maybe that’s why he never wants to hang out with me anymore. Because he sees it on my face.” Even as I’m talking, I realize this is not quite true. I just think he finds Rachel more interesting.
My mom got sick right around the time when I was supposed to stop wanting to hang out with my parents—when the pull was supposed to turn to pushing—and yet that never happened. I didn’t just love my mom, I liked her. And though she was only genetically obligated to love me, I’m pretty sure she liked me too.
“Maybe you remind him of your mom, and he’s trying to move on,” Theo says, which is sweet, him defending my dad.
“Maybe,” I say, even though I don’t think that’s quite true either. My mom and I looked nothing alike, were nothing alike. She was brave and big-mouthed, more like Scarlett than like me. And she used to joke that she wouldn’t have believed I was hers—we were physical opposites in all ways—if she hadn’t seen me come out herself.
I don’t remind my dad of my mom, I know that, but for the first time I wonder if he wouldn’t switch us too—me for my mother—given the chance.
“You and Ethan are friends, right?” Theo asks, seemingly apropos of nothing, and yet I’m happy for the change of topic. I don’t want to think about my parents. About how little control we have over our own lives.
“Yeah, I guess. Sort of. I don’t know,” I say.
“I saw you eating lunch together.”
“We’re partners in English. The ‘Waste Land’ thingy.”
“Right. It’s just that—and not to get all big brother on you—”
“I’m pretty sure I’m older,” I say.
“Whatever. Just be careful with him. I’m not trying to throw shade or anything, but I get the sense that he’s…trouble.”
“In a Taylor Swift way? Or like, for real?” “Damaged” was the word Dri used, which makes him sound like a defective iPhone.
“I don’t know. It could just be rumors. But I think he could be into some heavy shit. Like his brother.”
“What do you mean? Like drugs?” Ethan’s brother must be older and out of the house. He’s never mentioned him. Funny how having no brothers or sisters myself, and no aunts and uncles (both of my parents were only children), I always forget about other people’s. It just seems so unnatural to me, the idea of a family being more than three, shaped in a way that is not a triangle, though come to think of it, mine is now 2-D: a line.
“Yep.”
“I don’t think Ethan’s on drugs.” Of course, I have no basis for defending him. I don’t know what he does or even where he goes. Three times this week alone, I’ve seen him leaving campus before lunch, coming back just in time for English. He arrives dazed and withdrawn, but then again, he always seems dazed and withdrawn. And onstage, he looked altogether unfamiliar, like someone who could easily spend his days and nights shooting up.
“I hope you’re right. He always looks pretty rough, though, and his family is just so screwed up. You have no idea.”
“I’m so tired of the Wood Valley learning curve,” I say, wondering how different it would be—how different I would be—if I’d grown up here with these people, had known their families and histories and awkward phases as well as I know my own. It’s so inefficient playing catch-up.
“I’m just saying be careful, that’s all,” Theo says.
I think of Ethan’s eyes—the pockets of shiny purple underneath, the swelling of his lids, the bright blue center—and I wonder if I’m capable of being careful. Because I think of those eyes, open and looking at me, closed and asleep at Gem’s party; I think of his hands fixing me a plate, almost touching my banged-up face, and all I can think about is how much I want to kiss them: his eyes, his hands too.
All of him.
His damaged parts.
All of him.
CHAPTER 25
Me: French fries or potato chips?
SN: easy. ff any day of the week. ketchup or salsa?
Me: Ketchup. Harry Potter: the movies or the books?
SN: you’re not gonna like my answer…but honestly? the movies.
Me: Seriously?
SN: I know, I know. you’re never supposed to admit to liking the movie better than the book, but come on. two words: Emma Watson. Starbucks or Coffee Bean?