“First question is always the classic Did you always know you were g*y? That’s a good one,” he says, looking at me without really looking. “Answer? I don’t know. I don’t really think so, because I didn’t really know what g*y was ‘til I was like ten. So I’m not sure. When I knew, I knew and I didn’t really try to figure it out but people always ask that one.”
He picks up a gray squishy eraser thing and rubs it against the paper.
“Next one is usually Have you ever been with a girl, and if you haven’t, then how can you be sure you’re g*y? Answer? Not telling. None of your business. Next.” He puts the eraser down and looks at the picture like he’s not happy with something.
“Then there’s the one I don’t mind answering. Were your parents pissed?” The eraser is back again. “Not really. I don’t think they were pissed. They didn’t tell me if they were. Disappointed? Maybe. But if so, they didn’t outright say that either. I got the It may not be the path we would have chosen for you, but we just want you to be happy speech. It’s a classic. I think it’s on a website or something so parents can just print it off and read it, because both of them said the exact same thing, like they coordinated it or something. They haven’t been together since I was two, so I had to do the coming out thing twice with them. I think Janice, my dad’s wife, was a little freaked out, but I didn’t care what she thought so much. And she’s been cool since.” Damn, this boy can talk. I don’t think he took a breath once. I wonder if I should be embarrassed that I wanted to ask him every one of those questions, and if I talked, I probably would have by now.
Clay is looking happier with the picture now. His face is relaxed. When he’s frustrated, his face tenses and he twists the bottom of his shirt around. I spend a lot of time staring at him, too. Not much else to do.
“But enough about me. Let’s talk about you. What first? I bet your classic is why don’t you talk? I’m right aren’t I? But I’m going to skip that one. I think there are far more interesting questions to ask.”
He asks his questions. Lots of them. But he doesn’t get any answers from me so he comes up with his own. He takes pleasure in telling me how the world is coming to an end because Josh Bennett lets me sit with him at lunch and has been seen not only having unsolicited conversations with people but also, gasp, smiling. And that thought makes me smile, which Clay seems to appreciate.
According to Clay, the prevailing explanation for my foray into the Josh Bennett Dead Zone is that I must already be dead. That one amuses me because they think it’s funny, but I think it’s kind of true. Other people are sure I’m in a cult and I’m brainwashing him. That theory is my favorite. I’ll have to let Josh know.
“At least you shouldn’t have to worry about that shitdick Ethan after today,” Clay continues.
I look at him, confused.
“You didn’t hear about that?” His eyes are wide but I don’t know why, because he knows no one really speaks to me. “This afternoon, Ethan was walking down the hall and bragging about you blowing him in the bathroom.”
I shrug. This isn’t anything new. Ethan spews this crap all the time, especially since he’s figured out that I don’t dispute it. The only three people I care about know it’s not true, and I have a feeling that everyone who knows Ethan, knows it’s not true also. Clay must see my lack of shock and it makes him almost giddy at the fact that he gets to tell me the rest of this story.
“Yeah, ok, not a big deal, right? But this time he did it with Josh walking behind him. It was awesome. Michelle and I had a front row seat. Josh nailed Ethan to the wall and Ethan’s like ‘You don’t scare me, Bennett.’ and Josh is like ‘Good. Then you won’t run the next time you see me coming, because if you ever say her name again, I’ll make it possible for you to suck your own dick.’ The best part was that Josh never even raised his voice. Just flat, scary freaking calm. Then he let Ethan go and walked away like nothing happened.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “See? Awesome.”
I don’t really think it’s so awesome. I know how much Josh hates to call attention to himself and I wish he didn’t think he had to do it for me.
Clay finishes the drawing, and when he starts cleaning up, I go grab my stuff. At this point, I’ve paid my debt for his door-holding ten times over. I figure he owes me something now. When he’s done, I pull the photograph I’ve been holding for days out of my backpack and hand it to him. Then I grab a sheet of paper and a pen and ask for what I want.
CHAPTER 45
Nastya
I didn’t remember what actually happened to me until over a year after it did. For days, then weeks, then months, I knew what everyone else knew. I knew that I left home to walk to school to record my last audition piece. I had gone home to change and get ready first, before heading back to campus. I agonized over every aspect of my appearance that day, especially my hands. I meticulously painted my nails to perfection. I wore a pale pink blouse with pearl buttons and a white eyelet skirt and everyone knew what I was wearing because they found me in it, even if the buttons were torn off.
I knew exactly where I was found in a heavily wooded section of the preserve that separated the park I cut through that day from the subdivision behind it. I knew that they didn’t find me until late that night because a thunderstorm had rolled in, making the search nearly impossible. By that time, the Amber Alert had been running all over the state for hours. My name, my picture, my description. Everywhere. Even after they found me, the morbid curiosity didn’t stop. People never can get enough of tragic stories about pretty little girls. I was good entertainment for a while, especially during the will she or won’t she period, when they didn’t know if I’d live.
I knew that when they got me to the hospital I was taken into surgery immediately and my heart stopped on the table for ninety-six seconds before they were able to restart it again.
I knew what had happened to me by piecing together an extensive list of injuries. For months, that’s what I felt like. A list of injuries. A sum total of hurts. My entire body was made of pain.
One day I overheard one of my many doctors talking to a police detective when he didn’t know I could hear. Have you caught that monster yet? he asked. The detective told him that they hadn’t. You should string him up when you get him. He ruined that poor girl. I guessed he was right, because that was exactly how I felt, and when you hear your doctor saying that you’re ruined, you figure he knows what he’s talking about.