The Summer I Wasn't Me (5 page)

Mr. Martin reaches over and places a large hand on Daniel’s forearm. “Well, you’re here now. And you are going to prove to God that you can live by his laws and are worthy of his love.” He keeps his hand on Daniel’s arm and just…waits. Finally, Daniel looks up. Mr. Martin smiles. So does Daniel.

Mr. Martin in this moment inexplicably reminds me of a grandfather, even though he’s father aged. There’s something gentle, wise, trustworthy about him. Like if you tell him everything that’s hurting you, he’ll impart some remarkable wisdom, make you some soup, and everything will be fine.

Then Mr. Martin turns to Matthew, and his supportive face transforms into something just a bit more like disdain. “Why don’t you go next, Matthew?”

Matthew raises an eyebrow. “Why don’t
you
go next?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I don’t think it’s very fair that we’re supposed to sit here and tell you all this personal stuff about ourselves and listen to you tell us we’re sick or dirty or whatever, but not know anything about why
you’re
here.”

Mr. Martin looks at Matthew levelly. “Like I said earlier, I used to struggle with SSA too. But I have overcome, and I have received the calling to pay it forward.”

Matthew snorts, as if he doesn’t believe for a second that Mr. Martin has overcome much of anything. “Whatever.”

“Now, please, share your experience with the group,” Mr. Martin says.

“Fine. I’ve known I was gay since I played house with Tim MacFarlane at Happy Land preschool when I was four. I had my first kiss when I was thirteen, and I’ve had a serious boyfriend for the past two years. His name is Justin. Anything else?”

“What brought you to New Horizons?” Mr. Martin asks, not even a little bit fazed by Matthew’s bluntness.

“More like
who
brought me to New Horizons,” Matthew mumbles. “My father, who else? He walked in on me in a rather…inventive position with Justin and lost his shit.
No
son
of
mine…disgrace to this family…as long as you’re under my roof you will do what I say…
blah blah blah. It’s so ridiculous—he
knew
. I came out to him when I was fourteen. But then he sees me with Justin and suddenly he’s the captain of Team Homophobe. He actually said he’d thought it was a
phase
and that I should have
grown
out
of
it
by now. What the hell, right?”

All Mr. Martin says is, “No profanity, Matthew.”

“I want to get married,” Carolyn blurts out.

Matthew blinks. “To me?”

She laughs. “No. Just in general.”

“Please, say more about that, Carolyn,” Mr. Martin encourages.

“That’s why I’m here. It’s not for my parents—or for God.” She looks at Matthew and Daniel. “It’s for me. I’ve dreamed about my wedding day since I was a little girl. I want a husband and kids and a house. I always have.” There’s something practiced about her words, like it’s a line she’s recited in front of a mirror many times before.

“And you will have that!” Mr. Martin says, beaming.

She smiles. “I hope so.”

I can’t stop myself. “But wait,” I say, “that doesn’t make sense.”

Everyone turns to look at me.

“What doesn’t make sense?” Carolyn asks. It’s the first time she’s spoken directly to me.

“If you’ve dreamed about marrying a man your entire life, then wouldn’t that make you straight? I don’t understand.”

Her eyebrows pull together, and she looks like she’s choosing her words carefully. “When I was little, I would dress up Barbie and Ken and walk them down the aisle and imagine the day when I’d get to wear a big white dress like that. I knew that someday I was going to have a husband who looked at me the way my dad looked at my mom. I’d watch romantic comedies and read Jane Austen novels and put myself in the place of the heroine.”

A tiny smile forms on my lips as I remember my own Jane Austen-era fantasies, like the horse-drawn carriage one from earlier today—something else we have in common.

She’s met my eyes and, for just a moment, the careful, practiced tone is gone.

“But then as I got older, the pictures in my head started feeling…off. They were still beautiful, but I couldn’t see myself in them anymore. And eventually I realized why. I didn’t want to marry Mr. Darcy. I wanted to marry Elizabeth Bennet.”

For the length of one heartbeat, Carolyn and I just look at each other, understanding each other.

But then her wall goes back up, and she’s back to the script. “My whole life, those dreams weren’t just something I thought about; they were who I
was
. And I want them back.” She pauses. “Does that make sense?”

I can’t help but feel as if there’s something she’s not saying, as if this isn’t actually her real story. Or at least not her
whole
story. But all I say is, “Yeah. It does.”

A smile brightens her face—and I was the one who put it there. I smile back.

“So that leaves you, Lexi,” Mr. Martin says.

“Okay, um, I guess…in a way, I always knew I liked girls more than boys,” I say, feeling my way through what I want to say as I go. “I felt more comfortable around them, but, you know, I didn’t know what it meant.”

It feels strange to say this out loud. I’ve never told anyone this stuff before—of the few people back home who know my secret, none of them ever asked for details. It’s funny to think that the fact that I like girls is the first thing everyone here at New Horizons knew about me, even before they knew my name. The thought is surprisingly liberating.

“When I was about seven or eight, I started getting really into fashion. I would watch movies and fixate on the actresses, studying their outfits and watching the way the fabric moved over their bodies. Eventually I realized that it wasn’t just the clothes I was captivated by; it was the women in them. And then…”

I clamp my hand tightly over my lightning bolt tattoo in hopes that it will stifle the memory that’s already on its way to the surface.

“And then…”

It doesn’t work—the memory comes blasting back. But at least I manage to stop myself from speaking it aloud.

And
then
Zoë Green happened.

***

It had been raining for four days straight—the effect of Hurricane Shauna, which didn’t hit our town directly but flirted with us just enough to be really annoying. Sophomore biology was first period, and Zoë came in after the bell, completely drenched. I’d met her for the first time on the first day of school a few days earlier. The only things I knew about her were that she was from Tennessee, she had a brother who was a senior, and she looked a little like Emma Stone.

“You’re late,” Mr. Buckley said.

“Sorry. Car trouble,” she said with a shrug.

“Would you like to go to the ladies’ room to get cleaned up?”

“Nah,” she said, and instead of going to her seat, she sloshed over to the windowsill and wrung her hair out over Mr. Buckley’s collection of plants. “Might as well turn my bad luck into something useful, right?” She grinned.

And that was all it took. I was in love.

It was what I imagined getting hit by lightning would feel like—unexpected, startling, a sharp, white-hot dagger piercing me in one acute point—my heart—and radiating outward until every cell in my being had been altered.

My gayness wasn’t just an abstract personality trait anymore—suddenly, I wanted to be
with
someone. I wanted Zoë to be my
girlfriend
. I wanted to kiss her and hold her hand in the halls and invite her over for dinner with my family and call her whenever something funny happened.

The force of it all was so strong that I actually had to gasp for air.

“You okay, Lexi?” the guy sitting next to me asked.

My face flamed and I stared down at my notebook, forcing myself to pull it together. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied.

I had been hit by lightning, and no one could know.

***

“And then?” Mr. Martin prompts me back to the present.

Everyone’s staring at me, waiting for me to finish my story. But I can’t tell them about Zoë. I just…can’t. Not after everything that happened. Besides, the sun has begun to set outside, and the room is getting dimmer, and if I start that story now, we won’t get out of here until the middle of the night.

I scramble for something else to say. “And then…my mom found out. She and the pastor of our church are the only ones who know.” Well, besides Zoë. But no need to mention that right now. “My friends all think I’m at a pre-college fashion program in New York this summer.” I let out a strained little laugh.

“Mine think I’m visiting my grandparents in Boca Raton,” Carolyn says.

I look at her. “So you haven’t told your friends either?”

“About New Horizons? No way.”

“I told
everyone
,” Matthew says, laughing. “And they all think this whole thing is as insane as I do.”

Mr. Martin ignores him. “Lexi,” he says, “what brought you to New Horizons?”

“I’m here for my mom,” I say.

Mr. Martin looks like he’s about to ask me to elaborate on that, but I’m saved by a sudden high-pitched dinging sound piercing the air. I whirl around to find Brianna standing near the cabin door ringing a bell.

“Dinner time, everyone! Please stack your chairs and make your way to the dining cabin.”

Wow. A dinner bell. I feel like I’m in
Little
House
on
the
Prairie
or something.

Mr. Martin and Brianna lead the sixteen of us out of the carpeted cabin and across the field to the dining hall cabin. The rest of the pinks and blues bring up the rear.

Already the groups seem to have gelled. We walk in packs of four, sticking with the people we know, the people who went from strangers to our closest confidantes in the span of an afternoon. A short girl with thin eyebrows and rosy cheeks—Rachael, I think—starts sobbing uncontrollably, and Mr. Martin drops back to tend to her. I can’t hear what they’re saying—though I imagine she’s probably homesick or scared or upset over whatever was discussed in their group—but Mr. Martin’s arm is around her, and he’s patting her back as she wails into his side. She seems grateful to have him there, someone strong and sturdy and comforting, holding her up and talking her down, like that grandfather thing again.

As we walk past them and trudge up the path like sheep being herded by T-shirt-wearing border collies, I turn to Carolyn. “So you like Jane Austen?”

She smiles. “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah. What’s your favorite?”

“
Pride
and
Prejudice
. It’s cliché, I know…”

“It’s cliché for a reason,” I tell her. “Because it’s freaking amazing.”

She laughs. “What’s your favorite?”

“
Persuasion
, I think. I don’t know, I guess I can relate to it. Everyone I know always seems to think they know what’s best for everyone else.”

Carolyn lets that sit for a moment and then leans toward me. “Hey, Lexi?” she whispers.

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad you’re in my group.”

Another little thrill goes through me, but this time I stop myself before I get too carried away. Carolyn and I are friends. That’s all.

I smile. “Me too.”

The dining cabin is a lot different from the cafeteria at school. It’s smaller, the lighting is warmer than the buzzing fluorescents I’m used to, and instead of a window where you line up to get your food, there’s a simple table set up with a yellow plastic tablecloth and one large woman named Mrs. Wykowski heaving food out of square-shaped pans onto people’s plates. We don’t get a choice—tonight it’s macaroni and cheese, fried chicken, and sweet tea. The four of us get our food and sit at the end of a long table.

When everyone is seated, Mr. Martin leads the saying of grace. I sit with my head down and listen.

“Dear Lord, we thank you for the bountiful gifts we are about to receive, and we thank you for sending these sixteen young people to spend their summer with us here at New Horizons. We ask that you shed your light on them and guide them as they work toward inheriting your kingdom and following your righteous path. Amen.”

“Amen,” we echo, though I notice a few campers, including Carolyn and Matthew, stay silent.

I wonder what Mom’s doing right now. I hope she got home okay. She’s probably sitting alone at our kitchen table, saying grace of her own, echoing Mr. Martin’s plea for God to guide me along his righteous path.

I pick up my fork but barely even have time to dig into my dinner before Matthew jumps right back into our conversation from the carpet cabin.

“Daniel, don’t you realize that you
are
normal?” he says. His words come out in a rush, and I can tell he’s been itching to say this since Daniel told his story. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Yes, there is,” Daniel says, staring at his plate. His voice cracks a little.

“No, there isn’t.”

“You’re wrong. I don’t want these feelings. I want God to take them away.”

“But
why
?”

“Because I’m a Christian,” he says. “That’s why.”

“But then shouldn’t you believe that God made you this way for a reason?”

“I think he’s testing me.”

Matthew rakes his hands through his hair in frustration as Daniel’s words linger in the air. The two boys look to me and Carolyn, wordlessly asking us to back them up. Carolyn pushes a piece of macaroni around on her plate with her fork, obviously not wanting to get involved.

I feel like I should say something, but I don’t know what. I don’t agree with Daniel that this is all some big test, but I can’t side with Matthew either. How can I, when I want to change just as much as Daniel does?

Before I can come up with something to say, Matthew redirects his attack. “And I don’t get you either, Carolyn.”

She looks up, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“You want to get married? You want a family?”

Carolyn nods.

“Great, so do it,” he says. Carolyn looks at Matthew like she’s not sure what he’s getting at. After a moment, he elaborates. “Get the white dress and the wedding cake and the photographer and everything, move to New York or Massachusetts or any of the other states where gay marriage is legal, and marry a girl. You can still have everything you want, and you’d be a lot happier.”

She purses her lips. Matthew’s argument is a good one, and it seems like she knows it. “But what about children?” she says finally.

“What about them? You’ve got a uterus. All you need is a sperm donor.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t get it,” she says quietly.

Matthew sighs. “I think I’m the only one here who
does
get it actually.” He wraps his arms around his head like we’re giving him a migraine or something.

“Guys,” I jump in, trying to sound lighthearted, “it’s only our first day here. Maybe we can just agree to disagree?”

“But—” Matthew clearly isn’t ready to give up, but I cut him off.

“Look around,” I say, gesturing to the dining cabin at large. In one way, it does look like a school cafeteria—divided up into cliques. Some of the campers are deep in conversation with their group members; others are awkwardly silent. The counselors are sitting at their own table, talking quietly, keeping their watchful eyes on us. “The four of us are going to be spending a lot of time together this summer. I’m thinking the next eight weeks will be a lot easier to get through if we stick together.”

“I agree,” Carolyn says.

Daniel nods. “Me too.”

Matthew isn’t convinced though. “Hellooo, that’s exactly what I was trying to do! I was
trying
to be a friend.” He looks me in the eye. “I know you know that, Lexi.”

I deflect his gaze, suddenly uncomfortable. What makes Matthew think I’m on his side? Does he think he sees something in me? I might not have been so sure about this whole de-gayifying thing at first, but I’m more convinced after meeting Kaylee and the other counselors and seeing Mr. Martin’s family photo and listening to his analogies about sickness and addiction. I’m beginning to think I can really do this. Not just for the summer, but for real.

And anyway, even if I did understand where Matthew’s coming from, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what
I
think about any of it. I just shake my head.

Matthew sits back in his chair. “Whatever. Let’s just talk about something else, okay?”

I shoot him a grateful smile. “What do you want to talk about?”

He shrugs. “Anyone seen any good movies lately?”

***

It’s weird being in the dorm with all the other girls. The room felt a lot bigger when it was empty. Now it’s a frenzy of chatter and curtains being dragged along their metal rods and girls hurrying to claim the two bathrooms before a line forms.

I watch them in awe. I’ve never known anyone who was openly gay before. Until today, I was all alone. And now I’m part of something.

New Horizons is all at once terrifying and thrilling.

With four beds between ours, Carolyn and I are nearly on opposite sides of the room.

Brianna is on dorm duty tonight. “Lights out is at ten p.m.!” she announces. “So you have thirty minutes to get changed and ready for bed.”

“But it’s barely even dark outside!” a girl with curly strawberry-blond hair whines.

“Designated sleep times will be observed by all campers, Melissa,” Brianna responds sharply.

Melissa mumbles something else, but I don’t catch it.

“You should close your curtains for privacy while you change, but you must keep them open at all other times,” Brianna says to everyone. “You’ll find your sleepwear in your top drawer.”

I pull a pink thing from the dresser and have to clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle the shriek that is trying to force its way out. It’s a nightgown. I haven’t worn an actual nightgown since I was about three. I usually sleep in ratty old T-shirts and boxer shorts. And this monstrosity is not only bubble-gum pink, but it also has frilly ruffles around the sleeves and neck and a cinched waist. And it’s
polyester
. I feel itchy just looking at it.

“Oh,
hell
no,” a girl’s voice carries over the top of my curtain. “You expect us to wear
these
?”

My thoughts exactly. I’d rather sleep in a straitjacket. I peek around the curtain. It’s Jasmine, the girl whose bed is next to mine. She’s got very short, dark hair and tiny earrings up the entire length of her ears. She’s standing with her arms crossed, the nightgown dangling by her side.

Brianna steps closer to Jasmine but makes no effort to lower her voice. “Yes, I do.”

“I don’t understand why we can’t just wear our own pajamas.”

“It’s not your job to understand, Jasmine. It’s your job to follow the camp rules.” Her gaze travels down to Jasmine’s neck and she sucks in a breath. “Where is your cross?”

“I took it off. I can’t sleep with anything constricting my neck like that.”

“Put it on. Put it on
right
now
.” Brianna’s face is as pink as the room’s décor, and there’s a vein protruding from her forehead that looks like it’s seconds away from bursting. All the other girls have stopped what they were doing and are watching now.

Jasmine just stares at Brianna like she’s suddenly sprouted gills. But after a minute, her face goes slack, like she’s decided it’s not worth the fight, and she yanks the curtain closed. She reemerges a few moments later, dressed in the nightgown, the bottom hem grazing her shins. The cross shimmers under the nightgown’s ruffly collar.

“Ah! See how lovely you look?” Brianna says, instantly calmer, her face breaking into a pleased grin. Jasmine looks like she’s ready to punch somebody out.

I retreat behind my curtain and pull on the nightgown as quickly as possible. I keep my own necklace on—it’s clear now the cross was less of a gift and more of a requirement. Then I crawl into my small bed and slide under the covers before anyone sees me in this getup.

“Everyone, please open your Bibles,” Brianna says once we’re all in bed. “The last thing we do here at New Horizons each night is read a verse from the Bible together. It gives us something to think about as we drift off to sleep and something to unite us as we look forward to tomorrow. Let’s start at this end of the room.” She points to me. “Alexis, will you please read Matthew nine, verse twenty-two aloud?”

I flip through the pages until I find the right passage. “But when Jesus turned and saw her he said, ‘Have courage, daughter! Your faith has made you well.’ And the woman was healed from that hour.”

“Very good. Thank you, Alexis. Good night, ladies.” Brianna turns the lights out, and soon after, the sun’s final remnants fade away.

I stare into the darkness, feeling…well, weird.

I’m in a new bed, in a new state, surrounded by new people, wearing something I never would have agreed to wear just yesterday. I’m already changing. After just one day.

I have about a million feelings about that, and they’re too new and confusing and formless to be able to break down into any sort of coherent order right now. So I just focus on the one thing that I know for sure: Mom is going to be so happy. I did the right thing in coming here.

I turn over and face the wall. The room is quiet. No one dares speak for fear of being yelled at by Brianna, who is lying in her own bed, in her own nightgown—though hers is white—just feet away from us. The only sounds are the songs of the frogs outside the dorm window, soothing us, serenading us to sleep as if they know how trying today was.

I slowly drift away into a restless sleep, where I dream that Carolyn and Zoë are getting married. They stand in big white dresses and recite their vows before Pastor Joe as I sit in the front row of the church, dressed in the pink nightgown, holding hands with a boy.