Ask the Passengers (22 page)

Mom is still in bed when I get home.

They say:
Did you hear Claire Jones is sick?

They say:
That kind of news could kill a person.

I hear the low murmur of Mom talking to Ellis through the bedroom door again—the two of them giggling and chatting about something giggly and chatty, so I knock.

I stand outside the door for a few minutes, and the two of them stay quiet. Then I slink to my room and close the door.

I call Kristina, and she answers on the first ring.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey.”

“You ever coming back to school?”

“Maybe Friday. The Houcks are taking a last-minute autumn vacation to see the glorious leaves of New England,” she says.

“Aren’t the leaves all done already?”

“I don’t know. It’s all bullshit because my mother is still freaking out. Jesus. You’d have thought I killed someone.”

“Have you talked to Donna?” I ask.

“We’re texting, mostly. I don’t want to piss off the parental units too much. But I told them that I love her, and I’m guessing it’ll sink in one day. Maybe the leaves of Vermont will help them not be amoral assholes.”

“So it’s Astrid against the world this week, eh?” I ask.

“I guess. Believe me, I’d be there if I could. Being stuck in a car with these two for a few days is probably worse.” I know it’s not really worse. Mrs. Houck will probably let her drink fancy coffee drinks and eat pastries to make everyone feel better about their ruined lives. “Anything else?” she asks.

“Uh, no, I guess.”

“I have to pack, you know?”

“Yeah. Of course,” I say. “Have a nice trip.”

She hangs up before she can even hear me say that.

Dad and I eat alone again. Pizza this time. He takes half of it upstairs, where the exclusive Mommy and Me–type slumber party is going on without us. He’s too stoned to talk, and eats like a college student. I don’t see Ellis until we meet in the hall outside the bathroom on our way to wash up before bed.

“You go,” she says quietly. “I can wait.”

“So what’s with you?” I ask.

She sighs and crosses her arms. “Look, just leave me alone, okay? And whatever you do, don’t talk to me in school. Let’s just pretend we’re not sisters for the rest of the year.”

“Wow,” I say. “That’s shitty.”

“You want to know what’s shitty? Everybody in my homeroom calling me a dyke!” She points to herself. “What’s shitty is having to explain to people that it was you,
not me
, who was caught in a seedy gay club. What’s shitty is what this whole thing has done to Mom. She can’t even get out of bed. She knows everyone is talking about her.”

I so want to tell Ellis that Mom can get out of bed. She’s not paralyzed. She’s just using this as another way to pull Ellis closer to her and farther from me. But I don’t say that. Instead, I say, “She knows everyone is talking about her?”

“And me.”

“And you,” I say. “About her and you?”

“Yes, Astrid, I
know
the whole world is talking about you, too, but you
are
the one who chose to go out and shake your booty with your gays, you know?”

I stare at her before I turn around to leave.
Ellis, I love you even though you are a complete idiot.
It doesn’t work.
Ellis, I love you even though you are brainwashed.
Nope. Still doesn’t work.
Ellis, I’m sorry. I tried to love you, but right now I wish you weren’t my sister, either.

WEDNESDAY.
I avoid looking up at school anymore.

People say:
I think Astrid Jones is gonna commit suicide.

They say:
I hear Kristina Houck dumped her.

They say:
She should just kill herself now.

As I walk down the halls, I see them shackled to the waxed tile floor, ankle cuffs digging into their skin. I see how many of them need to be in the cave. I see the ones who will never leave and the ones who have to return because they can’t handle what’s outside. Which is: nothing. Nothing is outside. Rumors don’t matter. Unity Valley reputations don’t matter. Whether I’m gay or not doesn’t really matter.

This is an extremely freeing thought. I smile all the way to
my homeroom wing only to find some idiot has drawn this in red crayon on the block wall above my locker:

My God. Are people really that dumb? Why not Astrid and
Kristina
? Why not
Dyke
or
Fag
or some other acceptable U. Valley slur? But Astrid and
her own sister
?

Seriously. The realm of belief around here is breeding morons.

In humanities class, people are starting to freak out and second-guess their paradoxes. No one shares because we all think we have the most original idea, but usually there are no original ideas. Ms. Steck told us that weeks ago.

I stare at the blinking cursor on the computer screen, and I type in my paradox and hit Send.
Equality is obvious.
I wonder what Frank Socrates would say about that.

In study hall, I overhear people talking about Aimee Hall’s mom. Apparently she came in yesterday and freaked out because she heard that her daughter has to sit in classes with
known homosexuals
. I try not to break out into a sweat when I hear this. I look around and realize that everyone in this room is, right now, being forced to sit in a class with a
known homosexual
.

Then the story gets worse.

Last night, Mrs. Hall and one other parent showed up at the school board meeting and complained that the Unity Valley School District has a “homosexual agenda” and made calls for three teachers to resign.

One of the teachers is Ms. Steck.

They say:
She’s not married. You know what that means.

Another is Mr. Williams because he kicked some kid out of class for denying the Holocaust. How this fits into the “homosexual agenda” is beyond me.

“That makes no sense,” Clay from humanities says.

“Whatever,” the blond who’s telling the story says. “It’s about our freedom. To be who we are, whether we recognize gays or not.”

Clay just looks at her. Then he scratches his head. Then he
goes back to the novel he’s reading. I sit there and play a word game in my head. I replace the word
gays
from her sentence with these other words:
blacks
,
Hispanics
,
immigrants
,
women
,
people of mixed race
,
Jehovah’s Witnesses
,
Gypsies
,
Russians
,
Poles
,
Yugoslavians
,
Ukrainians
,
mentally and physically disabled
.

Frank says, “Bingo, Astrid Jones.”

“Bingo? You say bingo?”

“Isn’t it great what they teach you in school these days?” He pats my knee and adjusts his toga so it doesn’t reveal too much while he sits in the low auditorium seat.

I’m so glad I have Frank. I kinda miss Kristina this week, but I also kinda don’t. Either way, Frank is filling the void. I mean, as much as he can, considering he’s dead and in my head.

Ellis is waiting for me outside of my lit class. She’s sobbing.

“Couldn’t you cover it up with something?” she screams. “Couldn’t you deny it or report it or do
something normal
?”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“That SHIT above your locker!” Next to her is Jessie, her running and hockey friend. Dee’s camp friend. I give her a weak wave.

I realize I have no idea why I didn’t do anything about it. I guess I figured no one would care. “I’m really sorry, El.”

“It’s not just
your
name up there, you know!” she says. This is like one million on the flying-monkey scale for her.

“Yeah, totally. I know,” I say. “Look, I’ll go report it now. I
figured it would be gone first thing, like any other graffiti, I guess. I really am sorry.”

She just walks off with Jessie, who gives me an empathetic look.

When I see Ellis at lunch, she’s sitting up near the salad bar with Aimee Hall and her band of merry rumor-makers. I’d be lying if I said the mere thought of what could be said at that table right now doesn’t make me feel sick.

I sit by myself.

I hear things.

They say:
Astrid Jones was the one who took them out to that place, you know. Must be those city roots.

They say:
If I was the Houcks, I’d rip her a new one.

It really is amazing what some people will say. I can’t wait to tell Kristina this one when she gets back. We’ll laugh until we pee, I bet.