Ask the Passengers
She sobs into her hands. I say, “I asked you a while ago to stop being so bossy. It was uncomfortable, but I could kinda take it, because it was the side effect of being friends with Kristina Houck, popular townie girl. I took it with a grain of salt every time you put me down and made me do shit I didn’t want to do. And then this week I kinda missed you while all the rumors started and the shit went down with Ellis and everything. I really needed you around, you know?”
“That’s kinda sweet,” she says. “Thanks.”
“But then I heard the stupid lie you told, and I was crushed. Completely crushed. Do you know that my own mom won’t believe me unless you tell her yourself that you lied?”
She cries a little more and says, “I should go.” And then she gets up and walks around the side of my house toward her house. I watch her walk all slumped over and sad, and I guess she is genuinely sad. Maybe she did have more to lose than I did. I don’t know what it’s like to be half of the loved Homecoming couple. I don’t know what it’s like being Kristina Houck, but from where I’m sitting, it doesn’t look very easy. So I jog after her and say, “Wait up.”
She stops on the sidewalk and takes a deep breath.
I say, “Come back to the table. Before the whole town sees us and says we’re breaking up for a second time.” I laugh, and it makes her smile. We walk to the side of my house again and around to the table.
“I’m really sorry,” she says. “I’ll tell Claire I lied. I know that won’t stop the bullshit. But at least she’ll know I lied.”
“That’d be cool, thanks,” I say.
“It’s f**ked up that she doesn’t believe you.”
I sigh. “You know, she’d take you over me any day.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Yuh-huh. I bet you my whole bank account,” I say.
“Will you promise you won’t get mad if I say something?”
“I can’t promise, but I can try.”
She lets out a deep breath. “Well, I’m kinda pissed off with you for lying, too.”
I wait for her to explain, but she seems to think I know what she’s talking about. “I don’t follow you,” I say. “What did I lie about?”
“Everything. You know. Your big secret.”
I look around for Frank S. I sit him on his favorite bench, and he shrugs at me.
“It wasn’t a lie,” I say. “I just wasn’t sure.”
“But I was your best friend, Astrid. You should have told me.”
I feel myself getting pissed off, so I take a minute to try to figure out how to say what I want to say. Frank S. lights Dad’s pipe. I have no idea how he knew where to find it, but I guess if I made him up in my head, he must know everything I know. I feel relaxed by association.
“I see what you’re trying to say. But you’re wrong. I mean, when did you first know you were g*y? And did you tell anyone on that first day? Who is anyone to tell me when to talk about something so personal?”
“But look at me. I’m g*y, dude. And your best friend. Right?”
“Still, it’s none of your business until I’m ready to tell you. Calling it a lie is wrong. And kinda hurtful. I really know what you’re trying to say, but try to think about it from my side. It just sucks that you’d hold my own confusion—which tortured me for months—against me. Seriously.”
“Huh,” she says. “I never thought of it that way.”
“I guess I’m just not as confident or sure as a lot of other people. I wasn’t really sure about any of it until the night we got busted, actually.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. And then all this other shit happened.”
She points to the house. “And you still haven’t told them?”
I shake my head.
“But you and Dee are okay?”
I shake my head again.
“Shit,” she says.
“Yeah.”
She says, “Can I be honest?” Like I could stop her from being honest. She smiles uncomfortably. “I don’t want to go back to school, and I don’t want to live here anymore. I swear to God I’m not trying to be dramatic, but I’d jump off the nearest cliff to save myself from the next seven months of my life.”
“I hear you,” I say.
“I’m thinking about cyberschooling or something.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Seriously,” she says.
“Dude, you’re not looking at this right at all,” I say. “Try to think about it like an ancient philosopher. WWSD, you know?”
“WWSD?” she says. It takes her a few seconds. “What Would Socrates Do?”
Frank S., puffy-eyed and slouching on the bench, gives me two thumbs up.
“Yeah. Seriously. Think about this town. It’s a cave where people are chained, right?”
“You need to stop.”
“Why? I’m right! All those people who are chained here thinking that their reputations matter and that this little shit matters are so freaking shortsighted. Dude, what matters is if you’re happy. What matters is your future. What matters is that we get out of here in one piece. What matters is finding the truth of our own lives, not caring about what other people think is the truth of us!”
“That’s refreshing, Asteroid. Really. Thanks.”
“Stop being sarcastic. Motion is possible. You don’t have to be a douche from Unity Valley for all your life. You can stop whenever you want. Up to you.”
“I knew there was a reason I should have taken humanities,” she says.
“I learned most of this stuff from watching Claire. Look at her. Miserable. So concerned with these people. Your people. You, even. So concerned about having Unity Valley friends that she befriends you. My best friend. Seriously. If you don’t step out of the cave now, that’s you in twenty-five years.”
She chuckles through her nose.
“You know I’m right.”
“Let me go inside and tell her I’m a douche, okay?” she says.
“No freaking way. If you go now, she’ll think I bribed you or something.”
We walk to the curb.
“I want to fast-forward to next September,” she says.
“Or we could just try to have fun while we’re here,” I answer.
“Ready for the big Day of Tolerance?” she asks.
“Are you kidding?” I ask. “I’d rather poke my eyes out with dull forks. But we have to do what we have to do, right?”