Misdirected (2 page)

 

 

Chapter 2

Magic is Not for Losers

It's Saturday morning in the new house. Every room is filled with boxes.

Even though he's not here, hasn't been here in months, and won't be back for many more months, my mom unpacks Pete's room first. She turns it into a replica of his room back home. In fact, when it came to picking rooms, she chose the one that looked the most like his old room. It's also the biggest.

Back in Mass, I helped her pack up Pete's room and had a really awkward moment when she found some magazines under his mattress.

“Think I should put these in a care package?” she asked.

“Um. I think he's probably set,” I said, trying not to stare at the girl on the cover.

When she unpacks his stuff in the new room, she even puts those “nighttime magazines”—that's what she called them—back under his mattress. Seriously.

I guess that's okay. We all miss Pete. But my mom misses him on a whole other level. It's a good thing his tour ends soon. He'll meet us in the new house in December. Mom wants his room to be comfortable for him.

Meanwhile, I can't find a damn thing in this new house. Even though I look everywhere, I can't find my magic stuff. School starts on Monday and I have no friends. I'd like to fix that before I show up and have zero people to sit with at lunch. Mark, this transfer student kid back home, told me that sitting alone when you're new turns you into a big social black hole. Making even one friend before school starts will make me way less loser-y. Doing magic is the only icebreaker I know.

I take Margaret's DVDs out of my bag and put them next to the bed. Without knowing which box my supplies are in, I grab a coin and some paper for the disappearing coin trick. It's not flashy but it's a crowd pleaser. I put on my
I'm cool enough to talk to even though I'm doing magic tricks
clothes and head outside.

Sure, I should be helping my parents unpack an entire house full of stuff, but making friends seems way more important right now.

At my old school, I was smart enough to get better grades than most kids, but not athletic enough to be popular. At my age, people want you to be good at everything. Math, science, art, English, football, baseball. From the age of five right through eighteen, we need to be renaissance kids. As soon as we show that we're bad at something, you can almost hear the grown-ups thinking,
Well, I guess he'll never be an Olympic athlete or a neurosurgeon
or whatever else we suck at.

Notice I didn't put magic on that list of talents people care about. It's because they don't.

The new house is on a street with a bunch of other similar houses. Kind of 1970s. The neighborhood is clean, near the two-street-light town, and there are basketball hoops in front of a few houses. There are lots of SUVs and trucks in driveways. And that means that families live here.

There are no kids outside yet. It's only 10 a.m. so I set up. I even have a back-up card trick in case anything goes wrong with the coin.

I hang out for a while and practice my fanning. A few cars drive by. They wave but they don't stop.

A girl in the house across the street, about my age, looks out the window. I smile and hold up the coin dramatically and mouth the word, “magic?”

She smiles back and disappears. She's gone for so long that I think she only smiled to be polite or she had no idea what I said.

A few minutes later the door opens and she walks out with an older girl and two younger boys.

The girl from the window walks right up to me, holds out her hand, and says, “I'm Tess. This is my sister Angela. And these are my little brothers, Dan and Paul.”

Tess is cute, but her sister Angela is downright hot.

“I'm Ben,” I say. “We just moved in yesterday.”

“Welcome,” says Tess. “Are you going to Christian Heritage Academy?”

“I am, yeah. I'll be a sophomore.”

“Me too!” she says. “Angela's going to be a senior. And these two are in third and fourth
grade.”

Angela nods but she looks kind of bored. I must entertain. So I say to one of the kids, “Do you like magic?”

He nods his head as fast as he can.

“Do any of you have a coin?” I ask. “A nickel or a quarter would be perfect.”

Tess takes a quarter out of her jean shorts pocket. She might not be as good- looking as her sister, but she's as nice as nice gets. She's smiling encouragingly at me, kind of like someone's mom would. Like someone who genuinely wants to like you. It's a little weird, but way better than Angela who alternates between picking at her nails and looking back toward her house.

The kids are into it though, so I take Tess's coin and start the trick by folding the coin into the paper. While folding, I press it against my hand, fast enough so that it just looks like part of the fold. When the coin disappears, the outline of the coin on the paper will make it look like it's still there. This is the first illusion I learned back when my brother took me to my first magic show. I hung around at the end for so long that the magician, back in his street clothes, showed me how to do it. Pete helped me practice for a week until no one could see the coin drop into my pocket.

And now I do it again, like I've done hundreds of times. The coin is gone.

The kids all clap. So does Tess. Angela gives a few half smacks against her jeans with one hand. In her other hand is her phone. She was texting. So she's good- looking and totally rude.

Dan says, “You should do that at our church talent show. What church is your family going to?”

“Oh. We don't actually go to church.”

“Why not?” he asks.

“We're not really religious.”

Dan is silent. Angela looks up from her phone. Paul is still focused on the paper in my hand so I pass it to him. Tess smiles at me, but she looks kind of worried.

“Are you Jewish?” Angela asks.

“No. We're not really anything.”

“So you're an atheist,” she says accusingly.

“I guess, I don't know.”

“Why are you going to a Christian school?”

“My parents want me to go to a private school and it's the only one in town. I went to a Catholic school back home.”

Dan looks up. He's holding the ripped up pieces of paper.

“What's an atheist?”

Angela says, “It's nothing, Danny. Come on. Let's get back home. Mom has snacks out.”

The two younger kids follow Angela back home. They smile and wave as they cross the street. I wave back. Tess stands in front of me.

“What did I say wrong?” I asked.

“Our older brother is an atheist. Our mom and dad don't talk to him anymore. They don't let us talk to him either.”

“Did he do something?”

She laughs. “Yeah, he became an atheist.”

“What's wrong with that?”

“Where are you from?” she asks.

“Just outside of Boston. We have Christians there. And Jews and Muslims and Buddhists and lots of other people who just aren't into religion.”

“We don't really have atheists here. And if we did, people wouldn't talk to them unless they were trying to convert them.”

“So did I just freak your sister out?”

“Pretty much. In fact, she's probably telling her friends about you right now.”

“Okay, so maybe I'll try to avoid the topic of religion if it comes up?”

“Oh Ben,” she says, shaking her head a little and laughing. “You can't avoid that topic here.”

I look at her, confused.

“Tell you what. Sit with me at lunch on Monday. I'll help you through it.”

“You're kind of freaking me out.”

“You have no idea,” she says as she starts to walk away. She turns back and says, “Thanks for the trick. The coin went in your pocket, right?”

“You saw?”

“No, you did it really well. It's just that that's the only time you could have switched it. Anyway, see you at school.”

 

 

Chapter 3

Sisters Kiss Girls Too

Going to a religious school isn't going to be totally out of the ordinary. I'm used to ignoring the morning prayers and the annoying buzz of the teacher's voice in theology class (which should really just be called Jesus class since that's the only theology we ever talked about). My mom and dad actually thought about switching me to public school in Forest Ridge, but the private school had a much better reputation, even if they said it was a bit more devout.

Not all the kids were Christian at my old school. I mean, Seth is Jewish. Margaret is kind of a half-assed Buddhist. And even the kids who were really into Jesus didn't always go to church on Sundays.

That night at dinner, we're sitting at the table eating pizza. Usually my dad cooks, but they are still unpacking all the kitchen stuff.

“Are we atheists?” I ask suddenly.

Mom and Dad look up, their mouths hanging open a bit.

Dad recovers first and says, “Well, we're not a religious family.”

“But are we atheists? I mean, I've never really thought about it.”

“We aren't any one thing as a family,” Mom says. “Each of us is free to believe whatever we want.”

“So, what are you guys?”

“Well,” Dad says, “I do not believe in god.”

“I believe there might be something,” says Mom, “I don't believe anyone knows what it is. There are just lots of different interpretations out there.”

“I met some kids across the street,” I say. ”They didn't seem too happy when I said we weren't religious and that I don't really believe in god.”

“Why did that come up?” asks Dad.

“They asked me what church we were going to and I said,
none
. Then they asked if we were atheists.”

They look at each other briefly and then Mom says, “You might find Forest Ridge to be a little more religious than you're used to back home.”

“How much more religious?”

“Just remember that it's important to respect other people's beliefs,” she says. “Do that and you'll be just fine.”

“Yeah, of course. It's just, well, maybe we should have looked into public school.”

“You never minded your private school back in Massachusetts. Besides, you're used to a religious school. It provides good structure,” she says.

“But we're not religious. And back at my last school, nobody cared.”

“Doesn't matter. Whether we're religious or not, the moral foundations are the same.”

“I'm not sure they're exactly the same. I mean,
Don't kill people
and
Don't rob people
might be the same. Other stuff is different.”

“Well, you've got independent thought. Use it,” she says with a smile.

Dad slops two more pieces of pizza onto his plate and changes the subject.

“Ben, have you heard from Emily at all?”

“She texted me this morning wishing me luck with the new school.”

“Well, she won't answer her phone. Can you try calling her tonight? Just to make sure she's okay.”

“She started college, like, a week ago. She's busy.”

“Just call her and say hello.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

After dinner, with a few pieces of pizza crust in my pocket, I take Holly for a walk around the block. I look over at Tess's house. The light is on, and they are doing the same thing we just did. Eating dinner as a family. With Pete and Emily gone, I'm now the only kid to talk to during dinner. Em used to fill up a lot of that space.

She would talk about college and how she couldn't wait to get to school and study and live in New York City. Not that she didn't love Boston, but New York City, besides being home to the suckalicious Yankees, has a lot more going on.

She likes books and can't wait to go to readings and museums and do all that boring stuff. She better not make me do that crap when I go visit her.

I don't even really know what kids do when they get to college. I guess drinking is a big thing. I haven't had anything other than a sip of my dad's beer yet. Maybe when I go visit my sister she'll let me try stuff.

I take out my phone and call her.

“Hey, Sis.”

“Hey.”

“Why aren't you answering Mom and Dad's phone calls?”

“I'm fine, thanks. How are you?”

“No, really. They're worried.”

“They shouldn't be. I'm fine.”

“Then tell them that.”

“I did already. I emailed them.”

“Email isn't good enough. Just call them.”

“I'm not ready to.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because.”

“Because what?”

“I'm just dealing with choosing classes and stuff,” she says, somewhat cryptically.

“Maybe they could help.”

“Just tell them that I'm fine.”

“How much does your school cost a semester? Seriously, you call them and tell them you're fine.”

“Just give me some time. I'll call when I'm ready.”

“Time for what?”

She sighs on the other end of the line and there is a bit of a pause.

“You can't tell them,” she says, finally.

“Tell them what?”

“Look, I'm about to tell you something major. Are you near Mom or Dad?”

“No. I'm outside with Holly. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. It's not like that. It's just something that's going to be surprising.”

“Just tell me.”

There is a long pause. Like, thirty seconds. I feel like I'm playing chicken. Who will speak first?

Finally, Em says, “I think I'm gay.”

It takes me a solid ten seconds to register what she just said. “Gay? As in, you're into girls?” I say, finally.

“No, gay as in happy. Yes, you idiot. Into girls.”

“You think? Or you know?”

“I know.”

Before my mind has time to wrap around the new information I spit out the first thing I think of.

“You went out with Tony Macalister, like six months ago.”

“For a week. He was gross.”

“Are you sure you don't like all guys? Maybe it's just gross guys like Tony.”

“Are you seriously going to ask me ignorant ass questions like that?”

“Sorry. I just . . . it's kind of weird. Are you dating someone?”

“Yeah. My roommate.”

“You can't date your roommate!”

“Why not?”

“Because it's not dating. You're living together. It's going from zero to five thousand in like two-point-five seconds.”

“You can't tell Mom and Dad.”

“Damn right I can't. You have to.”

“I can't. Not yet. I've been gone a week and then I'm going to call them up and say I'm gay?”

“Well, maybe you don't have to tell them right away. You can at least call them to say that you're okay and that college is good.”

“What do I say? I don't want to lie.”

“You don't have to lie. When they ask,
How are you getting along with your roommate?
You can just say,
So much better than I expected!
”

“Oh shut up.”

“Anyway, Mom and Dad aren't going to care if you're gay.”

“They'll think it's a phase.”

“So what? In ten years when you're still gay, you'll have proven them wrong.”

“Thanks,” she says. “And thanks for not freaking out.”

“You mean, freak out that my sister is kissing girls before I am? That's an issue for my ego.”

“Maybe girls would kiss you if you weren't such a sarcastic turd.”

“Thanks, Em. So how long have you known?”

“For a while now. But there were no other gay kids in our school, so it didn't seem like a good time to be unique. This place is like queer-girl heaven.”

“Maybe there were other gay kids, but everyone was like you, too scared to say anything. Anyway, it's Massachusetts. We have gay marriage.”

“Think I really wanted to hear dyke jokes from the entire male population at school? They couldn't even handle me being vegan.”

“Yeah. Maybe I'm giving too much credit to the kids at our old school.”

“So are you excited for your new school?” she asks, changing the subject.

“How many ways can I say no?”

“Why not? Brand new place. You can be as awesome as you want to be.”

“It seems kind of Christian.”

“Well, you're used to that.”

“Yeah. We'll see.”

“Okay. Well, text me and let me know how it goes.”

“Only if you call Mom and Dad and tell them you're good and having fun and learning stuff.”

“Classes haven't even started yet.”

“Call anyway.”

“Fine, I will.”

“Hey, sis.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you an atheist?”

“Where is that question coming from? What, gay people can't believe in god?”

“No. I'm just asking if you do or if you don't.”

“I don't believe.”

“Me neither,” I say. “Do you think it matters?”

“Matters to who?”

“Other people.”

“It shouldn't matter, right? I mean, who cares what you believe or who you love as long as you're a good person.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I'm going to call Mom and Dad.”

“Later, Sis.”

“Later, Bro.”