Reality Boy

So she knows I go to SPED class. Good. “I guess being Gerald ‘the Crapper’ Faust has its benefits,” I say. “Plus, there’s a lot you don’t know.”

“Then we’ll have to schedule long walks to talk about it,” she says.

I don’t know what to say. I give it a week, tops, before you f**k it up completely.

“Gerald?”

“Yeah?”

“So—uh—you’re not just saying yes out of pity, are you?”

“What did you mean when you said you were shy because I’m Gerald?” I ask.

“Uh—you’re Gerald. Famous. A local celeb. Generally untouchable by any reality TV star who came after you.”

“Shit,” I say.

“Sorry.”

“I’m not famous. I’m infamous,” I say. “There’s a big difference.”

“I don’t know. I think you’re famous,” she says. “And I should know. I even remember when the paper ran a story about your family and my mom cut it out for me so I could keep it.”

“You watched that crap?”

“Yeah. Didn’t you?”

“You don’t seem very shy to me,” I say.

“I’m shy until you get to know me. Then I’m just Hannah.” She laughs a little. “And, Gerald?”

“Yeah?”

“Tomorrow in school—you’ll be okay and stuff? Like—to me? This isn’t a big joke or anything, is it?”

I had no idea other people could be as paranoid as I am. Especially not Hannah. She seems so confident. Maybe that’s why she sees a shrink. Maybe she’s paranoid. Maybe she’s bipolar—up and down like Tasha. Shit.

“What?” I say. “Of course I’ll be okay to you in school. We’re friends. Like, even if this dating thing doesn’t work out. We’re friends.” I say this like I’m in some Charlie Brown movie. Like I’m Linus and she’s a girl Linus.

“That’s cute,” she says. “Probably impossible, but cute. Now go explain to your mom that I’m not a weirdo. She acted like I was some stalker or something when I asked for you. I’m guessing you guys might get that a lot.” She laughs like it’s funny, but we did get stalkers a lot, once.

“Okay,” I say.

“I’m going to watch last night’s episode of Dumb Campers that I recorded. Can’t wait to see who got voted off. Bye, Gerald.”

“Bye.”

I think, Rule number three: No talking about reality TV. Ever.

I sit there for a minute and smile.

When I open my door to return the phone to my parents’ bedroom, Mom is at the top of the steps.

“Who was that?” she asks.

“Just a girl from school,” I say.

“That’s what she told me. But how’d she get our number? I thought we only gave out cell numbers, remember?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I think I gave it to her by accident. We were in a rush,” I say.

“A rush?”

“Yeah. She needed help with linear equations,” I lie. “It was the end of class. The old number just came out, I think.”

I walk through her bedroom and return the handset. She’s still at the top of the stairs when I get back. “Linear equations?” she asks.

“Yeah. Who knew?” I say. Then I go back to my room and close the door. I lie on my bed and close my eyes and I jump back into Gersday, where I want to tell Lisi about how I have a girlfriend. I want to be on the trapeze, catching her as she catches me. I want to be the joint that she smokes so that we can finally talk about everything without having to use words, because I will be a drug in her brain. I want peach soft-serve ice cream. I want to be peach soft-serve ice cream.

I whisper, “I demand to be peach soft-serve ice cream.”

35

EPISODE 2, SCENE 0, TAKE 0

“DON’T YOU DARE say a word,” Tasha said in my ear.

She had her knee pinned right in the middle of my back. The neighbor kid, Mike, was still na**d in her bed, lying there smiling.

“I’m twelve now and I can do what I want,” Tasha said. “And you’re g*y anyway, so you should just get out of here and go dream of wieners or whatever g*y little retards dream about.”

Before I could run, she grabbed me by the collar of my polo shirt, and I could feel the button against my throat. “If you tell them, I’ll kill you.”

Then she let me go and I ran to my room and locked the door behind me.

Five minutes later, I could hear their noises from my room, so I sneaked downstairs to where Lisi was reading a book. This was the one day Mom trusted Tasha to babysit us while she went and trained for that weekend’s walk for multiple sclerosis or cancer or whatever the reason. She would only be gone an hour and a half, she’d said. Mike was in the house five minutes after Mom left. He lived two doors down.

This was our week off from cameras and Nanny. It was the perfect week for Tasha to bring a boy into the house through the back door. A perfect week for Mom to leave her in charge in the first place. We were all sneaking now.

I asked Lisi, “What does g*y mean?”

She looked over her book and sighed. “You’re not g*y. Tasha’s just mean.”

“But what does it mean?” I asked. I was six now. Lisi was eight. Tasha had had her twelfth birthday a few days after the chicken Parmesan night with Mom and Dad. She had wanted a sleepover party and invited ten of her friends, but only one came. Lisi said that was because she was a bitch to her friends, too.

Lisi sighed again. “Gay means two things. Technically, it means boys who like boys or girls who like girls. But a lot of people say it and mean stupid.”

“So, Tasha’s just calling me stupid?” I asked.

“Tasha is calling you both, I think. She says it to me, too.”

“Huh,” I said.

“She’s just being nasty. Six more years and she’ll be gone,” Lisi said.

“Six?” I asked. I did the math on my fingers. It meant that when I was twelve, I’d be free of Tasha.

“Yep. She’ll be at college or something. Which will be good for us.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me to read you some Harry Potter?” she asked.

I snuggled up next to her and she read until Mom came home. Mike sneaked out the back door while Mom showered, and Tasha said she had to shower, too. Back then, I had no idea what she and Mike had been doing. I didn’t know anything about sex, and I didn’t understand that twelve was probably way too young to be doing it.