Freshman Year (16 page)

“Yes, Mrs. Cabrera told me you've been very distraught about your dad and that it has been causing you to get behind in class.” Then she gives me a look that says something like
and we both know what a bunch of bs that is.

So my lying either has to continue, or I can try telling Ms. Morvay the truth…the whole truth instead of the little bits I tell everyone else. I take a few breaths to summon my courage and say, “Um, do you have, like, a patient-doctor confidentiality rule or something?”

“Well, kind of, but you're not my patient and I'm not a doctor. I am required by law to report if a student tells me they have been physically or sexually assaulted by someone or if they plan to hurt themselves or others. But”—she glances at the door to be sure it's closed—“if you just want to talk about what's on your mind, I can listen and maybe even help.”

I decide I can trust her. “My dad didn't die in November,” I confess.

She smiles and nods like she's proud of me for telling the truth.

But I don't feel at all proud. All I feel is my stomach knotting up. “You probably think I'm pretty pathetic.”

“Well, I suspect you have a good reason for lying.”

I shrug my shoulders. “No, actually, I don't.”

“Really? Because I think I know what it is.” Ms. Morvay leans forward in her chair. “Let me give it a shot.”

“Okay…” I say, baffled at how the entire world seems to know what's going on with me, except me.

“Everyone takes time to adjust to high school, Abbey. Everything's confusing and you're trying to figure out your place in the world.” Ms. Morvay puts down her mug. “What you're going through is completely normal. I see it all the time with my freshmen.”

The old
adjustment to fill-in-the-blank
theory? I'm disappointed but say, “You're right. It is a lot to get used to, I guess. And it was hard at first, but things are getting better.”

She nods slowly but doesn't respond.

I pick up my stuff to try to make a quick getaway and mutter, “Well, thanks for checking up on me, but I'm okay.”

“Are you sure things are getting better, Abbey?” Unlike most of the adults in my life, it appears she's not buying it. Then she asks, “Are you really doing okay?”

That's when my stupid bottom lip begins to quiver. I bite it hard to try and hide it but can't.

“Abbey,” she says softly, coaxing me in with her voice like I'm a lost puppy. “My office is a good place for crying. I own stock in Kleenex.”

My eyes are welled up with hot tears, so I give in and sit down again. I don't know where to start, so I just sit there looking at my hands, and we both listen to nothing for what seems like forever.

Finally, Ms. Morvay hands me a tissue and ends the silence. “Why don't you just tell me how you're feeling at this very second?”

I blow my nose and find my voice. “I don't know. It's like…like I'm trying to figure out who I am, but I don't really know how to do it. I've become this giant liar and all I can do is keep on saying,
I'm not like this, this isn't me
, but it must be me, because I keep on doing it.” I wipe more tears off my face.

“What else, Abbey?” She asks like she can read the tear gauge on my face and knows I'm not even close to empty.

I let out a gasping sob. “I mean, I think I like…this”—I can't say it—“this person, but what if I'm just being influenced by, um, this person, I mean…her, and the other girls on the team? I just don't know for sure if I'm that way. Okay, maybe I am, but what if I'm not? How can I risk everything for nothing? What if I'm totally crazy and imagining it all? What if it's just a game they play with all the new girls on the team?” I look up at her. “But what if I'm gay?”

I can't believe I'm saying any of this out loud and I can't believe Ms. Morvay is still looking like she cares. Or maybe she's looking contemplative because she's thinking up a list of insane asylums to tell my mother about.

“I know you're scared, Abbey,” she says, “but what you're feeling is okay. You're young and you're figuring out who you are. It's totally normal.”

Normal? How can all this madness in my head be normal?

Then I start to cry again and more truths make their way to the surface. “But I don't want to be like them. I don't want to be stared at. I don't want to be laughed at. And I could never tell my mom.”

Ms. Morvay frowns sympathetically and says, “Let's take one thing at a time here. First, try not to judge yourself. Just go with what feels right. I bet if you just listen to your heart, you'll know all you need to know. But, at the same time, don't be afraid to change your mind. You're allowed to do that.”

Her advice is kind of confusing, but once I figure out what she's saying, I realize she's right. I know the answer. I know who I am. I just can't figure out how to be brave enough to accept it.

“And,” she adds, “your mother doesn't need to know everything that's going on in your mind. But what makes you so sure that she won't love you for who you are?”

I finally look up at her. “I don't know. I'm just scared.”

The corners of Ms. Morvay's mouth turn up in a slight smile, but not in a mean way. It's like she really gets it. “Abbey, you have to believe me when I say it will be okay. Trust yourself and be true to who you are. You'll see.”

I take a deep breath. “Yeah, okay.”

“And my door is always open, so come see me if you need to,” she says, as if she can tell I'm done crying for now, which I am.

“Thanks, Ms. Morvay.” School is almost over, and I know I don't want to have that emotional-basket-case look as I walk through the halls, so I change the subject and ask about my algebra class and if I'm going to be able to take it next semester.

“Yes, we have a section of Accelerated Algebra and a new teacher already lined up.” Then she laughs and says, “Still hoping to graduate early?”

I shrug and a tiny smile gets out. “No, I guess it's not that bad here.” Finally, I'm not lying. I mean, minus all the things that are making me cry, I'm sort of enjoying high school.

After my eyes clear up and my face feels less red, I leave her office with very clear sinuses and less worry. Talking to Ms. Morvay made me feel a million times better, so maybe it's time I talk to Kate, too.

I'm in the locker room changing for basketball practice when Garrett turns down my row and surprises me. I instinctively cover my chest with my shirt even though I'm wearing a sports bra.

“Girl, how many times do I have to tell you?” Garrett says and sits down to tie her shoes.

“Oh right”—I play along—“you're taken. Oh cruel, cruel world.”

“Yeah, someday you'll get over me, Abbey. In the meantime, what did Ms. M want with you yesterday?”

“Oh, nothing. Just checking in,” I say. It feels like more than a day ago that I talked to Ms. Morvay, and I thought telling her the truth might have a more permanent effect on me, but my lies continued as soon as I got home. I wonder if my mom even believes me when I do it. Like when she asked me last night if I did my homework, and I told her I finished it before practice. Did she believe me? Or when she came into my room before going to bed and asked if I was okay, and I said I was fine. Did she buy that or has she figured me out, too? Sometimes I feel like I've told so many lies that if each one were a snowflake I could cover Gila's football field with a six-inch layer of powdery white…lies.

“Come on, Abbey. Ms. Morvay doesn't pull kids out of biology just to check in and say hi.”

It bugs me that, thanks to Tai, Garrett knows my every move, but I play it cool. “So, Tai tells you everything, huh?”

“Yep. Everything. Speaking of my g.f., I've never asked you what you think of her. Pretty hot, huh?”

I wager the risks of telling the truth and decide Garrett will probably like to hear it. “Yeah, she's a total hottie,” I bravely say. “How long have you guys been together?”

“It'll be ten months next week.”

“Wow.” I want so badly to know how it all happened. Like, who asked who out? And how did Garrett know Tai liked girls, too?

“Go ahead. Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” I say as I brush my hair, wondering how all my friends can read my mind so easily.

“Whatever it is you're trying not to.”

I'm scared to ask the questions, but here's my chance. “Okay.” I put down my brush, lean back against the lockers, swallow loudly. “Did you think she was, you know, cute when you first met her? I mean, did you
like her
, like her, right away?” With that simple question, I feel like I've just given Garrett the final confirmation she needs that I'm a you-know-who girl, too.

“Yeah, I guess I did like her, but for a long time I just thought it was because she was so cool and she was paying attention to me. It's nice to be the object of someone's attention, you know?”

“Yeah,” I say, way too dreamily.

“I bet you do,” she says, then continues with her answer. “Anyway, it all started on this road trip to Douglas last year. I was a freshman and Tai was a sophomore. So, Stef and I were sitting together, and then Tai and Keeta sat in the seat behind us and talked to us the whole ride there. Mostly, though, Tai talked to me, and Keeta talked to Stef. But it wasn't just talking going on. Tai did stuff like try to braid my hair, feed me Doritos, and make me laugh every time I drank my Gatorade. By the end of the trip, I realized Tai was doing more than being nice. Of course, Stef helped me see the light because that same night Stef confessed to me that Stef and Keeta had messed around a few times already.”

As Garrett tells her story, I am right there with her on that bus. But instead of seeing Garrett and Tai talking and flirting, I see Keeta and me talking and flirting. Everyone else on the bus becomes fuzzy and soft around the edges and everything sharp and mean about them disappears.

I must look as far away as I feel because Garrett clears her throat loudly and slaps my forehead.

“What?” I say, jumping back into reality.

“Girl, you've got it bad.”

I bend forward to look for something in my bag so she can't see me as I add another white lie to my snowstorm. “Whatever, G, I don't have anything.”

She pulls me up by my arm to force me to look at her. “Come on, Abbey. I know you like her. I'm not surprised. I mean, why wouldn't you? Those amazing brown eyes, that long black hair, that sexy muscular body. Admit it, something about Keeta's got a hold on you.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

Garrett rolls her eyes and lets go of my arm. “You're such a bad liar,” she says but then leaves me alone. “Anyway, after that trip to Douglas, I felt like everyone could tell I liked Tai. Like I was walking through the halls holding a big sign over my head that said
Garrett Church likes girls!
You know what I mean?”

I know exactly what she means. Every time someone ends a conversation when I walk into a classroom or laughs as I pass by in the hall, I'm convinced they're talking about me, seeing through my heart like a window. And inside, there's Keeta, kneeling like Princess Charming and kissing the palm of my hand.

“You know what, though?” Garrett says thoughtfully. “No one really noticed.”

“But it seems like everyone knows about you now. Doesn't that scare you?”

“Abbey, there are people in my life that I care about, whose opinions actually matter. Then, there are the other thousand or so morons at this school. I had to stop worrying about what they think. I could have hidden forever, but I couldn't think of enough reasons why I should.”

I feel like I've had the opposite problem: too many reasons why I
should
hide. But playing a really long game of hide-and-seek can get tiring. You know, like one of those games where your hiding spot is so good eventually you have to jump out and say, “Here I am!”

*

“Gatorade and water?” Kate reads from the list we made up last night on the phone.

I look in the giant duffel bag I've packed for our first long-distance away game. “Check. My mom even froze two for us so they'd be cold after the game.”

“Travel games and deck of cards?”

“Check.”

“Assorted flavors of M&M's?” she continues.

“Peanut, mint, and dark chocolate. I couldn't find the peanut butter ones, so I got some Reese's instead.”

“Two major dorks?” Jenn says from the bench she's sprawled on, as we wait for the bus in front of Gila. “Check.”

She, Stef, and Garrett are laughing at us now, but at least Kate and I won't be crying for water on the way home.

A decrepit yellow school bus pulls into the parking lot and parks in front of us. The toxic exhaust gets us all moving very quickly to get on, but keeping with tradition, the varsity team boards first. I wait outside and watch as Keeta and Tai walk the length of the bus to claim the long seat in the back. JV goes next. Naturally, Stef and Garrett join their girlfriends, and if it weren't for the fact that I'm pretty much in love with Stef's girl, I would have loved to sit back there, too. I actually feel like being as far away from them as possible so I won't have to witness their lovefest, but I've been told the front seats are for shy loser freshmen and coaches. So I end up picking a seat in the middle, but a little toward the front.

Once my JV teammates and I are settled, the freshmen climb aboard. Kate approves of my seat choice but then says, “Move it, loser. I get the window.”

“Bossy much?” I complain but move to the hotter aisle seat.

Even though no one is listening, the bus driver gives her obligatory speech about emergency exits and procedures. Then the front door closes and the bus jerks forward, beginning our journey.