Amy, Dare and I are on the floor in Dare’s bedroom.
It’s the first time the three of us are having a sleepover.
I’m nervous at first, about how Amy will react to me—the me I get to be at Dare’s sleepovers—but when Amy is painting my nails a bright sunflower yellow, I know she’s fine with the real me. I should have figured she would be from how cool she was with my mermaid costume at Halloween.
Dare asks, “Did you hear about Dunkin?”
“What about him?” My heart speeds up.
“You didn’t hear?” Amy asks, which makes me feel left out.
“What?”
“He got carted off the basketball court in handcuffs.”
“Dunkin? What? Why?”
“I heard he went psycho,” Amy says.
I want to tell her that’s not a nice thing to say, but she’s painting my nails and I don’t want to make her feel bad since she’s being nice to me.
“He was talking to himself and running all over the court,” Dare says, twirling a finger near her head. “They had to call the police.”
“No,” I say. “That’s not possible.” I think about Dunkin in the tree with me. I remember when he was talking way too fast in the restaurant the next morning, but I thought that was from all the coffee he drank. “Maybe it’s just a rumor.”
Amy shakes her head. “Nope. Heard it from too many people. Want me to paint smiley faces on your nails with black polish over the yellow?”
“Sure,” I say, distracted, not wanting to talk about nail polish. I want to talk about Dunkin, to find out what’s going on. “But it could be a rumor,” I say. “It’s possible. Right?”
“Doubt it,” Dare says. “All the lacrosse girls were talking about it. Lots of people saw it happen, Lil.”
I pull my hands back from Amy because they’re trembling. “Do you know anything else?”
Dare shakes her head.
“I think they put him in the loony bin or something,” Amy says.
I cringe. How can this be happening?
Tentatively, Amy takes my hand back and focuses on painting a smiley face on my thumbnail.
I try to keep my hand steady while she paints. It’s hard because a jumble of questions collide in my mind: What’s happening to Dunkin now? Is he going to be okay? Will he be able to come back to school? Will he be different when he does?
“What happens to a frog’s car when it breaks down?” Amy asks.
I’m not in the mood for stupid jokes right now. Something serious has happened and no one except me seems to really care.
“What?” Dare asks.
“It gets TOAD away,” Amy says, dropping my hand and rolling on the floor on her back as though it were the funniest joke ever. She’s careful to hold the paintbrush up while she acts like a fool.
Dare shakes her head at Amy, but she’s grinning.
I’m glad when Amy is finally done painting my nails. It’s too hard to sit still because I’m so worried about Dunkin.
After watching a stupid horror movie, we turn out the lights. I hear Dare and Amy fall into the deep breathing of sleep, but I’m wild awake.
My heart hammers. My breath catches. My thoughts ricochet against each other.
Be okay, Dunkin.
Please be okay.
Please…
Exposed
In school, I go to the nurse’s office when it’s time for PE, but when I get there, the secretary says, “She had to step out. Can I help you with something?”
“No.”
I drag myself to the PE locker room. I don’t feel like lying to the secretary about being sick. It’s not as if she could give me a note to get out of PE anyway. I’ll hustle into and out of the locker room as quickly as possible.
The locker room smells particularly bad. I look up at the ceiling and notice more wads of gross toilet paper.
In front of my locker, I change out of my jeans at lightning speed.
Vasquez and the Neanderthals are nearby. I feel them looking at me, and realize it’s too quiet. They’re usually laughing and horsing around.
I shove my jeans into my locker and turn the combination lock. Then I walk down the row, toward the exit.
Vasquez steps in front of me. “What’s the hurry, McGrother?”
I look around—panicked—and think about dashing past, but the Neanderthals are surrounding me. Jason Argo—a non-Neanderthal kid—is watching us, and Vasquez growls, “What are you lookin’ at?”
Jason bolts out of the locker room like his feet are on fire.
I wish I could leave with him. My legs tremble, and I will them to still themselves, like a tree trunk. I hope Jason gets help, but I know he won’t. I’m on my own.
Vasquez steps closer. He’s so tall. I have to look up at him, and I hate looking up at him. “I said, ‘What’s the hurry, McGrother?’ ”
I don’t answer. There is no answer.
“So,” Vasquez says. “Me and the guys were wondering…” He looks around. The Neanderthals smile and nod, silently encouraging him.
Alarm bells go off in my head. “I’ve got to go,” I say in my bravest voice. And I step forward.
Vasquez puts both hands on my chest and holds me in place. “Not yet.”
“But…” It’s the only word that chokes past my tight throat.
The Neanderthals draw closer.
“We were wondering…” Vasquez locks eyes with me. I see his father’s eyes. Hard. Cold.
I consider screaming in hopes someone would hear, but know it’s the worst thing I could do. They’d be on me in a second, pounding the life out of me before anyone could get here. Same would happen if I tried to run. And honestly, I’m too terrified to do either of those things. Dunkin’s face flashes in my mind, and I wonder what would happen if he were here. Would he defend me? But he’s not here. According to Dare and Amy, he’s someplace even worse.
“We were wondering,” Vasquez says, “what you really have under those shorts.”
I gasp, because now I know what they plan to do.
Vasquez grins. “I mean, you’re wearing yellow nail polish. With smiley faces. My sister wears nail polish, McGrother. Girls wear nail polish.”
“Yeah,” Birch says. “You a girl, McGrother? ’Cause you sure act like one.”
I stand still like a stone statue, barely breathing. Every cell in my body on high alert.
“Well,” Vasquez says, looking at the Neanderthals, “there’s only one way to find out. Right, guys?”
“Right!” they say in unison.
“Shhh,” Vasquez cautions as he nods toward the exit. And they’re silent because they don’t want Coach Ochoa to see what they’re about to do. They don’t want to jeopardize their spots on the basketball team.
In one swift, surprising motion, Vasquez bends and yanks down my shorts and underwear.
“Well, look at that,” he says. “You are a boy. Barely.”
They all crack up.
Someone smacks me on my bare rear end.
And they run out of the locker room in hysterics.
I stand there, my underwear and shorts around my ankles.
Exposed.
After
As I yank my underwear and shorts up, I notice my fingernails. Yellow with smiley faces that don’t make me happy. They make me feel dirty. I wish I could pull them off.
I open my locker and put my clothes back on.
I walk out of the locker room, out of the gym and out of the school.
No one tries to stop me, which surprises me.
As I walk away from the building, I breathe in short gasps.
Can’t go home.
My feet keep moving and before I know it, I’m at the spot where Bob used to stand. Not even his stump remains. The whole area is cordoned off because the playground is being built. I sit on the curb at the edge of the property, feeling sick.
I sit there a long time.
Then I walk.
Later, at home, I don’t join my family for dinner.
I go upstairs and take a shower. But I don’t feel clean when I’m done. Even though the water is so hot my whole body turns pink.
In bed, I feel uglier than my ugly brown comforter.
Uglier than I ever have in my life.
I can’t go back to that school.
I can’t face those people.
I bury my face in my pillow. And sob.
And when I’m spent, I think of Dunkin and what he might be going through.
I wish I could help him, but apparently…I can’t even help myself.
Ever After
I do not go to school Tuesday.
“Don’t feel well,” I tell Mom.
She places her cool, dry palm on my forehead. “You do feel a little warm. Want me to get the thermometer?”
“No,” I say. “It’s mostly my stomach. I think I’m going to throw up.”
“Want some ginger tea, sweetheart?” she asks, brushing the hair from my forehead.
Her kindness makes me sad. “No thanks.”
“Want me to stay home from my class?”
“No, go,” I say. “Your yoga people need you.”
Mom kisses my cheek. “I like your nail polish color. It’s very cheerful.”
When she leaves, I get up, find Sarah’s nail polish remover and scrub the smiley faces and bright yellow polish from my nails.
I stay in bed the rest of the day.
A GOAL
I’m in bed.
Now that I’ve been here a few days, they put me in a bigger room with two beds. I have sheets and a pillow with a pillowcase. There’s a bathroom in the room, too.
And I have a roommate.
Poor guy doesn’t eat. Ever. He’s so thin I see his ribs when he pulls off his shirt.
Phin and I try to help him. We let him talk about his problems, but we don’t tell him our problems.
When it’s time to go to the lounge to watch TV, Phin and I look around as much as we can, but we don’t see Dad. It’s kids around my age and the people who work at the facility.
They changed my meds when I got here, which mostly just made me sleepy, but the fake doctor says they’re going to put me back on what I was taking (or wasn’t taking) when I first came in. Except here, they make me take my meds and watch to ensure that I swallow.
The fake doctor also says I’m doing well and being cooperative, so I’ll be able to have visitors soon.
Maybe Dad will visit.
Mom has deep, dark circles under her eyes when she comes into the recreation room for our visit.
She puts her palms on my cheeks and touches her forehead to mine. “Oh, Norbert.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, even though I’m not sure what I’m sorry for.
“It’s not your fault,” Mom says, and sits in the chair across from me. “None of this is your fault. Your bubbie and I have been so worried about you, sweetheart. I…I should have done more. Should have paid more attention. Watched to make sure you were taking your pills. Something.” Mom squeezes her hands into fists. “But I just haven’t been myself since…” She sniffs hard, then sits tall. “But that’s no excuse.” She leans forward and pats my knee. “How are you, honey?”
“When can I leave?” I ask.
“As soon as the doctor says.”
I lean close. “I’m not even sure he’s a real doctor.”
“Oh, Norb. I’m pretty sure he’s a real doctor.”
“Well, Phin and I don’t trust him.”
Mom closes her eyelids and lets out a breath. Then she looks at me. “Please do what you have to and come home. We want you back.”
“Mom?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Did you know there’s going to be a dance at school?”
“Really?”
I can tell Mom’s not sure whether to believe me or not.
“It’s real,” I say. “I’ve been thinking about it. It’s a big deal for the eighth graders. Right before the holiday break. I was wondering if I’d be out by then?”
“I don’t know,” Mom says. “I hope so. Do you want to go to this dance?”
I think of Tim asking me about it when we were out to breakfast. “Yes,” I say. “Definitely.”
“That would be a good goal, sweetheart. Let’s shoot for that.”
Suddenly my brain gets fuzzy. I look right at Mom and say, “Shoot for what?”
Mom’s face tells me I disappointed her, but I’m not sure how.
Telling
When I refuse to go to school on Wednesday, Mom makes an appointment with Dr. Klemme.
I like her a lot, but I don’t tell her what happened. I don’t tell anyone. I’m too ashamed.
Mom says I have to go to school Thursday, so I do.
But there’s no way—no way I’ll ever go to PE again.
Vasquez comes up to my locker right away. “Listen, McGrother,” he says. “Like, I’m really sorry about what happened.”
I’m shocked. I feel like I returned to some alternate universe where Vasquez is a decent human.
“So don’t tell anyone. Okay?”
And I get it. Vasquez is afraid he’ll get kicked off the basketball team, and he probably would. I have the power to do that to him. If I told, he might even get kicked out of school.
“Okay,” I say, looking down.
CARRY ON
I wake feeling better than I have in a long time.
“Phin?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer.
“Who are you talking to?” my roommate asks.
“No one.” Sorry, Phin.
“You wanna play Ping-Pong?”
I can’t believe how much fun it is. My roommate actually smiles while we’re playing. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile.
A counselor comes up and knocks on the table with her knuckles. “You two are doing so much better.” She nods at each of us. “Carry on, gentlemen.”
I know this is a good sign. It means I’ll get to go home soon, but I haven’t found Dad yet. I figure he’s on a different floor since this floor is for kids.
Before bed, Phineas’s voice is thin, quiet. I can’t stay much longer.
“I know,” I say. Because somehow I do. “But before you go, can you help me find my dad?”
Yes, he says. That would be a good idea, Dunkin.
It’s time.
THE TRUTH
Today’s the big day. Phineas is going to help me find my dad.
We tiptoe into the room with the Ping-Pong table, except it’s folded up against the wall.
I need to talk to you.
His voice is like wind through the leaves of a tree.
You’d better sit for this, pal.
I sit on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs.
About your dad.
“Yes?” I say, aware that no one else is in the room except the attendant standing at the doorway.
He’s not here, Phineas says.
“I can’t hear you too well,” I tell Phin. “You’re…fading.”
I am fading, Dunkin. This is a good thing.
I smile because somehow I know it’s a good thing. “But my dad,” I say, trying to hang on to Phineas long enough for him to help me find my dad.
You’re not going to find your dad here.
I wonder how Phin knows this.
Or at any other facility.
“What do you mean?” My heart gallops.
Dunkin.
It’s almost like I feel his hand on my shoulder.
Your dad’s gone.
“Gone?” I say a little too loudly.
“Do you need something?” the attendant asks me.
“No,” I say, wishing he’d go away.
I whisper to Phin, “What do you mean?”
You know what I mean.
And just like that, a door swings open in my brain. The door I’d worked so hard to keep closed since that night in New Jersey. Images whoosh out and swirl around. Like movie clips. I squeeze my eyelids tight to shut them off, to stop the images and clips from running. But I can’t stop them.
Not anymore.
So I take a deep breath, open my eyes and remember. Mom answering the door. Mom screaming, shrieking. Falling to her knees.
He’s not coming back.
Mom wearing the black dress and shiny black shoes.
Mom crying.
Crying.
Nonstop crying.
Ever.
The six pallbearers carrying the coffin.
You know who’s in the coffin, Phineas says, his voice almost nothing, a whisper, a wisp, a molecule. Except I think it’s actually my own voice, inside my head now.
“I do know who’s in the coffin,” I say, because suddenly I do.
And a lone sob escapes. Then another. Then I’m wracked. I’m wailing, like Mom did that awful night with the police officers at our door.
“Phineas?” I blubber.
No answer.
“Phineas?”
He’s gone.
And the tears won’t stop.
I feel a strong hand on my shoulder. “Phin?” I look up into the face of the attendant.
“Do you want me to get someone?” he asks.
I nod. “My mom.”
But he takes me to Dr. Carter, who I know now is a real doctor. A psychiatrist.
“He’s gone,” I say, wiping hot tears from my cheeks.
“Who’s gone?” Dr. Carter asks.
“Phineas,” I say. “He’s gone, and I don’t think he’s coming back.”
Dr. Carter smiles. “That’s great, Norbert. You’ve made incredible progress here in the hospital.”
I nod. “And my dad.” I sniff hard.
Dr. Carter puts his hands on his desk and leans forward. “Yes?”
I swipe at my eyes. “He’s gone, too. Isn’t he?”
“That’s right,” Dr. Carter says in a quiet, kind voice.
Then I admit the one thing I couldn’t face until now: “He killed himself. That’s the reason Mom and I moved here to Beckford Palms.”
Dr. Carter stands and comes around his big, wooden desk. For the first time ever, a psychiatrist eliminates the barrier between us. He comes over to my chair, leans down and puts his arms around me. He holds me fiercely, like my dad would have.
And I let him.
I sob onto Dr. Carter’s shoulder, soaking the material of his shirt.
And he lets me.
When I’m done and Dr. Carter lets go, he stands beside me with his strong hand on my shoulder. And I know—for the first time in a long time—I know that everything’s going to be okay.
That I’m going to be okay.
Maybe not right now.
But someday soon.
GOING HOME
Mom takes my hand as we walk away from the facility. Her palm is sweaty and warm. It makes me feel safe.
Before we get to the car, she stops and looks up at me. “I’m proud of you, Norbert. This was so, so hard and you did it. You’re very brave, you know that?”
I nod.
“Thank you for getting well and coming home to me.” Mom lets out a shaky breath. “I couldn’t lose you, too.”
That’s when I squeeze Mom into the tightest hug. “He’s gone,” I whisper into the top of her hair. “He’s really gone for good.”
I feel Mom nod into my chest.
I pull back and look at her. “Mom?”
She wipes at her eyes.
“I want you to know I’m going to take my medicine.”
Mom smiles.
“Really. I’m not going to stop taking it unless my doctor tells me to.”
“That’s wonderful, Norbert.”
“And I said good-bye to Phineas. For good.”
Mom puts her arms around my waist. I feel her body heave. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”
In the car on the way home, I say, “You know, I don’t think I could have dealt with the truth about Dad before now. It’s like my mind knew I couldn’t handle it, so it kept that part locked away.”
Mom pats my knee. “The doctor told me it was a kind of protection mechanism in your brain, that you’d remember when you were ready.”
“Well, now that I remember, I’m really sad. I couldn’t stop crying this morning.”
“I’m sad, too,” Mom says. “But I’m really glad you’re okay, Norbert.”
I look straight ahead. “Me too.”
“Before I left to get you, Bubbie was baking some bran raisin muffins for your big homecoming.”
“Oh boy.”
“While doing deep knee bends. And mangling the words to some song.”
I laugh, eager to get home and spend time with my meshuga—nutty—bubbie, but not to eat her sawdust and raisin muffins. “Mom, I’m not sure I can eat Bubbie’s muffins right now. The food in that place was pretty gross. Think we could stop at Dunkin’ Donuts on the way home?”
Mom lets out a big breath. “Definitely.”
Getting Ready
It’s the night of the eighth-grade holiday dance.
I’m in Mom’s closet. I pull the lily of the valley dress off the rack. “This one?” I ask.
“Sure,” Mom says, and she grabs a pair of sandals and hands them to me. “Go.” She gives me a little shove. “Get beautiful.”
In my room, I slip into the dress. It feels as good as it did that first day I tried it on when I met Dunkin. I get a pang when I think of him. Please be okay.
I go into Sarah’s room so she can do my makeup.
“You ready for this?” Sarah asks, her long red hair pulled back in a ponytail. She’s wearing one of Dad’s reject T-shirts: Jupiter Academy Chool of Music.
I give my sister a huge hug. “Thanks for being you.”
Sarah shrugs. “Like I could be anyone else.”
And, I think it’s the same with me. I can’t be anyone but exactly who I am, even if John Vasquez and the Neanderthals don’t like it.
I look at myself in the mirror. Mom’s dress and sandals. Bright red nail polish. My hair long enough to put up in two little clips on each side. I think about what Vasquez did to me in the locker room, how he tried to shame me for being myself. I think of the reaction I’ll get when I walk into the dance as me—Lily Jo McGrother—girl. “I’m ready!” I say.
Sarah applies my eye shadow and blush. I do my own eyeliner, mascara and lipstick.
“You need something else,” Sarah says, examining me.
I look in the mirror but don’t see anything missing. Except for the fact that the dress is still a little baggy in the front, I look pretty good. “What?”
“My black onyx pendant. The one with the teardrop stone.”
“You’ll let me wear that? It was a birthday gift from Grandpop Bob.” I know it’s precious to her because she wears it only for special occasions.
“It’ll be perfect,” Sarah says. “It’s in the jewelry box on the shelf in my closet. Go get it, and I’ll help you put it on.”
I can’t believe Sarah is letting me wear that necklace. “I’ll take good care of it,” I tell her as I open the closet door and turn on the light.
“I know you will,” she says. “It’ll be nice for you to have something from Grandpop Bob tonight. I only wish he could have met you as Lily. I know he would have—”
“No way!” I shriek.
In the corner of my sister’s closet are half a dozen plastic pink flamingos, adorned in various scarves, hats and costumes.
“I should have known!” I turn and see Sarah beaming.
“It wasn’t just me,” she says. “It’s a Knit Wits project. These things are going up in neighborhoods all over the world.”
“Really?” I ask. “That’s so cool!”
Sarah nods. “Besides, sterile Beckford Palms needed something…unexpected.”
I look at the hilarious flamingos my sister has been planting all over the neighborhood. I look down at my dress and sandals. “Well, they sure got it from the McGrother house.”
We both crack up.
Sarah helps me put on the gorgeous necklace from Grandpop Bob, and I’m ready to make my grand entrance downstairs.
Mom’s waiting at the bottom of the steps, camera in hand. She gasps when she sees me, which makes me feel terrific. And she takes about a billion photos—which is a conservative estimate.
Meatball barks his approval. “Thanks, boy.” I scratch behind his ears.
When Dare and Amy arrive, Mom takes a bunch more photos of the three of us glamming it up. And she takes a few of Sarah and me.
Then Sarah gives me a big hug and stands in the doorway, waving, as Mom drives me, Dare and Amy to the dance.
We’re nearly there when I ask, “Where’s Dad?”
“Hmm?” Mom says, as though she hadn’t heard me.
“Dad?” I say louder.
“Oh,” Mom says. “Your dad needed to take care of something at the shop.”
Yeah, sure he did. I touch my sister’s pendant and decide I’m not going to let anything ruin this night—even Dad’s absence.
The Real Me
The dance is held at a fancy country club.
I don’t even know if the administration from my school will let me in dressed like this, so Mom comes up with us to make sure I get in.
Dare, Amy and I walk arm in arm, three across, with Mom behind us.
Mr. Andrews, the vice principal, is at a table checking IDs.
My stomach is in so many knots I can’t stand it. My hand trembles as I pull out my ID. Dare lays her warm hand on mine for a second, which is enough to still it.
Mr. Andrews looks at me, then up at Mom.
The moment seems to last years. I’m sure he’s going to embarrass me, tell me to go home and change into something more appropriate. And I have no idea what I’ll do if that happens. Probably dissolve into a puddle of tears. I think of Sarah and the necklace and the flamingos. I think of Grandpop Bob. And I look at my friends and Mom standing beside me. I pull my shoulders back and look right at Mr. Andrews. Let him try to keep me out!
“Go ahead,” he says, waving his hand.
Mom kisses me on the cheek, and I walk into a dark room with Dare and Amy.
It’s amazing. There’s a sparkly ball on the ceiling that sends bits of rainbow light onto the floor. There’s a DJ playing music, and a table with drinks and food. We head over that way.
While Amy and Dare pile little plates with snacks, I stand and survey the scene. The kids look so pretty—the girls dressed up and the guys in suits. I don’t see Vasquez or the Neanderthals, and that makes me incredibly happy. I know they can walk in at any moment, but I choose not to focus on that. Tonight is not about them.
Lots of people are staring at me, and I let them. I stand tall, tip my chin up and take a deep breath.
I let them see me.
Lily Jo McGrother.
Girl.
THE DANCE
I’m halfway through my second doughnut when Mom says, “Sweetheart, did you still want to go to that dance?”
I do want to go. I told Tim I would be there. “Nah,” I say. “I don’t need all the kids staring at the guy who just got out of the loony bin.”
“Norbert,” Mom says. “This might be the perfect thing to do. Go to the dance. Let everyone see that you’re okay. Then enjoy your holiday break. That way, it won’t be so hard to go back to school when the break’s over.”
I imagine walking into the dance with everyone staring at me, whispering to each other behind their hands. “I think it will be too hard.”
Mom laughs. “Seriously, Norbert, after all you’ve been through? Going to a school dance will be too hard? But if you really don’t want to go…”
I think about Tim there and wonder if maybe Vasquez would bother him, pick on him, embarrass him in front of everyone. Maybe if I were there, too, I could protect Tim—keep that from happening. “Yeah, I’ll go.”
Mom raises an eyebrow.
“You’re right. It’ll be easier to let everyone see me tonight than worry about it all during break. I’ll need clothes, though. It’s fancy.”
“Well then,” Mom says. “Let’s go.”
And she takes me to a men’s clothing store near the mall that has things for tall guys like me. Mom pays for the clothes, then makes me lean down so she can whisper in my ear. “I got a job.”
My eyes go wide.
Mom nods, all proud. “Yup. I’ll be making gourmet cupcakes at this place in town called the Cupcakery.”
“That’s so great,” I say, because it is, and not just because I’ll probably get to eat way more sweet stuff now. But because Mom used to love her job working at a bakery, when we lived in New Jersey, back before Dad’s illness got really bad. Besides, this means that instead of sitting around being sad, Mom’s finally moving forward.
I look down at myself, wearing spiffy clothes and dress shoes.
And so am I.
Sharing Secrets
I grab a glass of punch and realize my hands are trembling.
Vasquez and the Neanderthals have come in. They look uncomfortable, tugging at their ill-fitting suits. When Vasquez sees me, his eyes go wide, but I don’t move. I hear him call me “fag” to his buddies and point in my direction, but still, I don’t move.
They move.
They go to the other side of the room.
Score: Lily—1, Neanderthals—0.
Dare and Amy ask me to join them on the dance floor, but I’m not ready yet, so I don’t go. And I’m glad I chose to stay back when I see how silly Amy dances. She looks like a chicken with poor muscle control.
Songs play. Everyone dances under the disco ball. And it’s a really nice night.
I don’t move from my spot, though, and I keep an eye on the door. Wishing.
After a long time, I realize Dunkin’s not coming. I’d overheard he was getting out of the hospital and hoped he’d show up.
I look across the room and see Dare and Amy along the far wall. Dare reaches out and takes Amy’s hand. And they stand like that, holding hands with each other. Dare and Amy are holding hands. And smiling like crazy.
And suddenly, I get it.
I wasn’t the only one keeping a secret. Dare could have told me. I guess if I were paying closer attention, I could have figured it out.
When I look away, I see someone walk in.
“Dunkin!” I rush over to him. “You’re here!” I want to throw my arms around him, but refrain.
“Wow,” Dunkin says, looking me up and down. “You’re…you’re…you.”
He couldn’t have said anything better.
We go to the table and get a drink together.
“It feels like everyone’s staring at me,” he says.
I laugh so hard I spit my drink. “You?” I ask. “I walked into the dance wearing a dress and makeup, Dunkin. I’m pretty sure everyone’s staring at me!”
He laughs. “Yeah. I didn’t think of that. Thanks for deflecting attention from me like that.”
“Hey, no problem.”
Dunkin clinks his plastic cup with mine. “Seriously, you are really brave to do this.”
I nod. “It was time.”
“Does this mean I can call you Lily now?”
I feel like all the light in the world has filled me up. “I guess it does.”
We go to a deserted corner, and Dunkin tells me where he’s been and why.
I can’t believe everything he’s gone through. Then again, I can’t believe what I’ve endured with Vasquez and the Neanderthals.
Then Dunkin tells me something else. “You know,” he says, “my dad died.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“He killed himself.”
“Oh.”
“That’s why we moved here.”
I bite my lip. “I’m so sorry that happened.” Then I look up into Dunkin’s eyes. “But I’m so glad you’re here.”
MAY I HAVE THIS DANCE?
Her kind blue eyes and just-right words burrow softly into my heart.
The room is dark with sparkly bits of colored light.
The DJ says, “Last song of the night.”
And Donna Summer’s “Last Dance” remix blares from the speakers.
Kids crowd onto the dance floor.
“May I have this dance?” I ask.
“Are you sure, Dunkin? Everyone’s going to stare at us.”
“They’ll stare anyway,” I say. “Remember, I just got out of the loony bin.”
This makes Lily smile. “Okay.”
We walk onto the crowded dance floor. People make space for us. And we rock out to the music, just like everyone else.
I bend and say into Lily’s ear, “This isn’t so bad. Is it?”
“Nope,” she says, moving from side to side and waving her arms around. “It’s actually pretty awesome.”
Way #11 to die in South Florida: of happiness.
Perfect
When the lights go on, Dunkin and I back up a couple steps from each other.
I blink, blink, blink.
The spell is broken.
Kids are looking at us.
Teachers are looking at us.
I feel exposed in the bright light and want to run out, like Cinderella ran from the ball when the clock struck midnight. I’m about to do it, too, when something catches my eye. Someone, actually.
“Dad?”
He’s standing there looking at me like I’m the only person in the crowded room. His thick arms wide open.
I take a step closer and squint. He’s wearing a T-shirt that says: I love my DAUGHTER!
I take another step closer, feeling like my legs are going to give out.
That’s when Dad moves toward me in sure, strong strides and scoops me into his arms. “I love you,” he says.
“I can see that.”
Now everyone has turned to stare at us. A teacher is dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. A couple of girls have their hands over their mouths. Some people nod. Mr. Creighton gives me a warm smile. Vasquez and his goons are gone, and I’m so glad they’re not here to ruin this moment. Dare and Amy are still holding hands. They wave at me with their free hands, and Dare gives me a thumbs-up, as if to say, You finally did it, McGrother.
Dad takes my hand and squeezes. We turn toward the exit.
“Bye, Dunkin,” I call.
“Bye, Lily!” he says, and it sounds so good.
In the car on the ride home, Dad pats my knee. “You’re so brave, you know that.”
I smile.
“I mean it,” he says. “I wouldn’t have the guts to go to that dance in a dress, but you…” He sniffs. “Grandpop Bob would have been so proud of you.”
I touch the teardrop pendant and let Dad’s words fill me.
We’re quiet for a while. “Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Can you tell me what Dr. Klemme said that day? When we first went to her? It felt like you…you changed after that. Everything changed after that.”
Dad inhales deeply. Maybe Mom’s having an influence on him after all. “The doctor said something that completely upended the way I thought about everything.” Dad pulls into our driveway and cuts the engine, but doesn’t open the car door. He turns to me.
“Lily? That’s what you want to be called. Right?”
My name never sounded so wonderful. I blink back tears. “Right.”
“She showed me a statistic. Forty-three percent of transgender kids try to kill themselves.” Dad sniffs again, hard. “Then she said, ‘Would you rather have a dead son or a live daughter?’ ”
“Oh, Dad.” I put a hand over my mouth.
“She explained that kids who get a lot of love and support have a much lower suicide risk.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” I tell him, thinking of what Dunkin told me about his dad. “I would never hurt you and Mom and Sarah like that. Never.”
“I know,” Dad says, choking back tears. “I’m glad.”
That’s when I look at Dad’s T-shirt. Really look at it. “You know,” I say, “how you sometimes make mistakes on your T-shirts?”
He smiles. “Yes.”
“Well, Dad, you got this one just right. It’s perfect.”
“So are you, Lily.” And he squeezes me into the tightest hug. “So are you.”
