Goth Girl Rising (36 page)

Tell him...

How sorry...

"Hey, Mom?" he says from the back seat. "Can we have a couple of minutes?"

It's like the boy can read my mind.

"Betta's still wide awake," he says quickly, "so maybe you could drive around a little more until she falls asleep?"

She twists to look back at the baby. "Yeah. Yeah, OK. But..." She faces front again, takes a deep breath, then turns to me. "You need to understand something, Kyra. I'm not leaving here tonight until I see your father in that doorway. You understand? You're not sneaking into the house and trying to avoid this. I need to know that your father sees you tonight and knows what happened."

The usual Kyra stuff bubbles up in my throat and fills my mouth. But instead I just say, "I understand."

Fanboy and I get out of the car and she drives off.

So.

Here we stand at the foot of my driveway in the freezing cold.

"I really wrote to you every—"

"I know you did," I tell him. "I know. My dad must have wiped stuff from my computer, I think."

He just nods, like that makes all the sense in the world.

"That asshole." God, I still can't believe it! "That effing
asshole.
Who does he think he
is?
"

"He's your
dad.
"

"So? That doesn't give him the right to—"

"I'm not saying it gives him any rights. I'm saying..." He stops and sighs, the sigh a dissolving cloud on the cold November night.

"Look, let me tell you a story, OK?"

"You're always telling me stories, Fanboy."

"Well, what can I say? That's, like, the only thing I'm halfway good at in this world, you know?" He grins, and I want to fling myself at him and kiss that grin, but I hold back.

"Anyway, when Betta was born, my mom had all of these toys and things, right? Stuff you buy for babies. And I really ... When we brought her home from the hospital, I was like, you know, she's not that bad. I mean, I was really dreading her being born..."

"I remember."

"Yeah, but I was wrong. Because I love her. I really do. So when we got her home, I wanted to do something for her. So I was in my room and I looked around and I rummaged through my closet and I found ... Man, this is weird ... I found my old teddy bear. I couldn't believe I still had it. It was in a box way in the back. And I said to my mom, 'Can I give her this?'

"And my mom sort of laughed. Because, see, when I was real little, she gave me that teddy bear. And it turns out that it was
her
teddy bear, when
she
was a kid. And I was like four when she gave it to me. I don't even remember. But apparently she gave it to me and she was like, 'This was Mommy's when Mommy was little. And I saved it all these years to give it to
you.

"And, like, I said, 'I don't remember any of this, but Mom says that I started to cry. And she couldn't figure out why. And apparently I said to her, 'I don't ever want to have kids! And when she asked me why, I said, 'Because I don't want to have to give away my stuffed animals!'"

I wait for a punch line, but he just stands there, grinning at me like he's revealed something amazing.

"I, uh, think I missed the point of that story, Fanboy."

"Look, Kyra. Look. Here's the thing. She was doing something nice for me, right? She couldn't know that in my little four-year-old brain, I would somehow twist it into something
bad,
right?"

"So?" This has got
nothing
to do with me and Roger and deleted e-mails.

"So, the point is this: Parents screw up no matter what. If you fix one thing, you just screw up another one, is all. Even if your dad had let those e-mails go through, he would have messed up something else. Or maybe one of those e-mails would have said something that would have hurt you even
worse
than never getting all of the other ones. That's just the way it is, you know? You can never know for sure.
They
never know. You're the one who told me adults were idiots, remember?"

Yeah. Yeah, I remember. "They're idiots. They're just grownup kids with more money who listen to shitty music..." That's what I told him.

"They don't know what the hell they're doing. They're just trying." He shrugs. "That's just the way it is."

"What, you're saying I should
forgive
him? For violating my privacy? For making me think that ...
people
forgot about me while I was gone?"

"Forgive? I don't know. understand, maybe."

We both start shivering at the same time, which makes us laugh, which makes us a little warmer.

"I think we're both gonna be blue soon," he says.

"That's fine. If I freeze to death out here, I don't have to confront my dad."

He nods like he knows. But he's never really been in trouble. So he can't know.

"My mom should be back soon..."

"Right. Look..." God. Look, Kyra, you just need to
do
this, OK? Just get it all out. After Roger finds out you were arrested, you might never see him again, for all you know. So say it.

"I'm the one who spread the rumors that you were gay."

He just laughs. "Wow, you really
were
pissed at me, huh?"

"Aren't you angry?"

"Nah. Like that's so terrible? Besides, I don't care what other people think. isn't that what you taught me? And I'm not a complete idiot. I sort of figured that out. I mean, it was a hell of a coincidence—you come back to school and then all this weird stuff starts happening to me."

"I don't get it. If you knew I was doing all of that, if you knew, then why are you even here? Why were you nice to me? Why are you still my friend?"

"Jeez, Kyra. I know that you ... Look, when my parents got divorced, I went through a lot, OK? Not saying it was the same thing as your mom dying, but I went through a lot. I mean, for a while there I thought I was going nuts. Even worse than when you met me. So I mean, I know that you're having a tough time. And I want to help you. Because I like you. And because ... I don't know. I guess I feel guilty. About calling your dad last year. And getting you sent away to the hospital."

"That was my dad's decision. Not yours."

"Yeah, but..." He sighs. "I don't know. I feel bad about it. So, I figured I'd make it up to you. Somehow."

And wow. Wow. This is so much better than him lending me his hat.

"What the hell happened to you while I was gone?" I ask, but not in a tough way. In a totally admiring way.

"What do you mean?"

"You're different. More confident. It's like you're a grownup or something. What happened?"

He stares at me like I've just asked him to perform brain surgery on me. Then, slowly, he smiles, and it's this open, honest smile that just kills me. It's this smile that says,
Hey, right now? This very moment? This is a great moment. This is a really awesome moment.

"
You
happened, Kyra."

"I was away—"

"No. You weren't. Because I kept thinking about you. All the time."

And yes. Yes, this is
definitely
better than his hat.

I
T'S A GREAT MOMENT
. O
NE OF
the greatest in my life, and I feel like it might get even better, but then I hear a car and see headlights, and Mrs. Marchetti's SUV comes down the street.

He hears it, too. "Let me walk you to the door," he says.

He doesn't grab my hand or anything. He just walks up the driveway with me. I feel like, as long as he's next to me, maybe I can handle this. Maybe I can.

I take off his hat and hold it out to him, but he shakes his head. "Keep it for now. For the next time you decide to escape when it's, like, absolute zero out."

It makes me way,
way
too happy to put his hat back on my head. Even through the scarf, I can feel it on my bald dome and it's so nice and so cool to have something of his touching me like that.

His mom stops at the foot of the driveway and waits there, watching. I don't have my keys. I'll have to ring the doorbell. Roger will get up. He'll stumble out of bed. Put on a robe. The porch lights will come on and then the door will open and then I'll have to take my medicine.

We stand there at the front door. "Want me to ring the bell?" he asks.

"No. That's OK." But I can't move my arm. I can't raise my hand to do it. It's not that I'm afraid of Roger or of what will follow. It's just that I don't want
now
to end. I don't want
now
to become
then.
I want it to stay
now
forever. Even though it's so damn cold.

"Here." He takes my hand, and it's not cold out anymore. "We'll do it together." And he lifts my hand to the button. Yes. I can do it. We can do it together.

"Wait." I pull my hand away from the button, gripping
his
hand tighter. "Wait."

He tosses a worried glance down the driveway. "What?"

"One thing, first. You have to tell me something."

"What?"

"The third thing. Your third thing."

He pulls out of my grasp and goes all ... withdrawn. I feel like he's running away from me even though he's standing still.

So I reach out and grab him. Grab the hand that held mine just a second ago. "Come on."

"Kyra. No."

"Why not?"

He looks away. Looks at the sky. Looks at the road. Anything but me. "I told you. I told you before. If I tell, I'll ... I'll never get it."

"That's not true. That's not ... That's like superstition. Magic bullshit. Just tell me. I won't tell anyone else. I promise."

He shakes his head.

"Please," I say. I've said the word to him before, but never like this. Never the way it was supposed to be said. Asking for something. Not being sarcastic. It's the first time I've said it to him for real.

"Please," I say again, and it's easier the second time.

He sighs and leans into me, our hands still touching, now the fingers intertwining like they were meant to, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

He puts his lips close to my ear, so close I want to turn my head just a little bit, just enough to feel them. But I stay still and I let him whisper it to me. The third thing.

Then he pulls back a little bit and looks at me like he expects me to laugh. Or to snort. And a little while ago maybe I would have. But not now.

Because you know what? It makes perfect sense. It really does.

"Me, too," I tell him. "Me, too."

He grins at me. "You ready?"

Not really. But all good things must come to an end.

But...

I want...

Oh, just do it, Kyra. Give him a kiss. He's dying for it.
You're
dying for it. Just lean in so that we're as close as before...

No. No. I want it and
he
wants it, but not now. Maybe another time. When there's less going on. When his mother isn't watching.

"I'm ready," I tell him, and I'm surprised that it's the truth.

Together, we reach out for the doorbell, our hands tight. I unfurl my index finger and he unfurls his and we both push the button. Through the door, I hear the muted chime.

"Thanks," I tell him.

"Thanks to you, too," he says, then lets go of my hand and stands there for just a second—hug her? kiss her? no, not yet—and starts to walk down the drive.

He's halfway down when I call out to him in a loud whisper.

"What?" he asks, turning around.

"Hey. So, uh, I know that you hate 'Donnie'and all that, but I was thinking ... Maybe it would be cool if I called you Donald. Or just Don."

He chuckles. "I don't know. I was kinda getting used to Fanboy."

I flip him the bird, but I'm smiling. "In that case, I'm
definitely
switching to Don."

He laughs and goes to the car and I hear footsteps inside and the outside lights come on and I turn to the door and steel myself to take my medicine.

the room the room the room is rosevomit because
roger left roses and
mom threw up before i came in
perfect timing

("Honey?" she said
In that clouded, confused way.)

cancer had eaten a path to her brain
yum-yum cancer loves brains
like zombies
eat her memory
she has trouble remembering me
remembering the year

(When I was eight years old, I
Had the stomach flu
And threw up in the kitchen
And then in the hallway
And then twice in the bathroom
—Only hitting the sink once)