The Tear Collector (15 page)

CHAPTER 14
THURSDAY, APRIL 9

Scott, I’ll see you at school, okay?”

Scott’s just asked if he could drive me to school, but I gently refused him. Unlike Cody, who couldn’t handle the smallest rejection, Scott takes it in stride.

“It’s complicated,” I explain slowly. “But you can’t meet my family; not yet.”

“I guess I understand,” he says.

“Good, because I sure don’t!” I crack back and he laughs. “That’s just the way it is.”

“Are you the black sheep or something?” he asks.

“That’s not me,” I reply, jokingly, but my thoughts turn serious. There is a black sheep in our family, and with the reunion tomorrow, I’ve thought for days about calling Siobhan again. She’s of my generation, but she won’t be at the reunion this year, or ever again. To me she’s a curiosity, but to the family she’s an outcast.

“You there?” Scott asks. He’s not used to my awkward pauses and mind ramblings. Our edges are still rough, no matter how much we rub our mostly clothed bodies together.

“Sorry, I got lost,” I confess.

“Then it’s a good thing I found you,” he says and I feel my body sway.

“Well, I’ve just been waiting for you,” I snap back.

“That’s life, you know?” he asks, then sighs. “It is all one big waiting room.”

“Really?”

“You sit and wait for something to happen,” he continues. “Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad. And then, like you, sometimes it’s great.”

“So you don’t need to spend your time in a waiting room anymore!”

“Right, but because of you,” he says, then laughs, “I spend more time in confession.”

“Sorry,” I reply, although I’m not.

“Well, I don’t drink, smoke, do drugs, or swear,” he says. “Nobody’s perfect... well, nobody except you, Cass.”

I pretend to purr before I hang up and start walking to school.

It is a beautiful morning, thick with fog. It’s a long, lonely walk to school, but it feels so good to soak up all the damp, dewy air. The dry winter air damages my skin. I didn’t think
there was enough moisturizer in the world, and even a humidifier in every room of our house hasn’t helped much. School is even worse, with old-time heaters drying out my skin like an oven.

On this morning, none of that matters. Just as I spoke in Bio about the space between faith and fact, this morning I’m thinking about the space between family and friends, between loyalty and love. These are tightropes I thought I knew how to walk. I thought wrong. These are not questions I can ask Mom, Grandma Maggie, and especially not Veronica. There’s only one person who could understand. Just outside of school, I sit on a curb and make the call.

“Siobhan?” I ask the female voice who answers.

“Hello?” She sounds confused. Or maybe just asleep. It’s still predawn in California.

“It’s Cassandra,” I say.

“Cassy, I told you not to call me again,” she says. “I’m out of the family.”

“I need to talk to you,” I whisper.

“I can’t talk,” she says. “It’s for your own good.”

“I don’t care.” The outside fog soothes me; my inner fear drives me. “We used to be close, you can’t turn me down. That wouldn’t be the human thing to do, would it?”

She coughs and considers, then says, “Okay, one last time. What’s wrong?”

“You know what weekend it is, don’t you?” I ask. For
most people in Lapeer, this weekend is an excuse to send Easter cards, eat chocolate, and paint eggs. For my family, it’s a chance to come together to remember and reenact our family’s history and heritage.

“Yes. I know you and Alexei are of age,” she says. She’s always been my favorite cousin; no wonder Veronica frets over me. She’s afraid I’ll be like Siobhan and abandon my ancestors.

“I can’t live like this anymore,” I say.

“I
felt
exactly the same way,” she says, and the word shocks me. In my family, speaking of feelings is forbidden. Instead, we talk about loyalty, honor, and duty. It is more like the Mafia than a family. And Siobhan learned what happens when you go against the family.

“I’ve met this boy, Scott,” I say. “He’s like nobody else.”

“So is Alden,” she says. Alden is her boyfriend; Alden is the cause of her exile.

I pause and look around me. I see buses, cars, and SUVs turn into the school parking lot. I see people walking or biking. Everybody, it seems, is with someone. They’re connected. Like Siobhan, I’m in exile. But my exile is from emotion, normality, and most of all, from humanity. Until Scott. Now there’s a tingling, like a body part that’s fallen asleep but is coming awake.

“Cassy, are you okay?” she asks.

I pause again, take in the world I know, compare it with the world I want, and say, “No.”

We talk for another ten minutes as I pour out these growing
human feelings of love, and even sadness. We keep talking but Siobhan never reveals—despite my best efforts—how she left the family. As I’m about to hang up, I ask one last question. “Siobhan, are you happy?”

“Cassy, I’m very happy,” she says without pause or hesitation.

“What does that feel like to be happy, to be in love?” I ask.

“I can’t describe it,” she says. “You have to experience it for yourself.”

“How will I know I’m really in love?” I ask.

“Love exists between natural and supernatural,” she says, speaking words Mom should have spoken to me. “It is a mystery you take on faith.”

“But Siobhan, I need to know how you become fully human once you feel
love
. How—”

“In the family, we don’t use the word, but all the sacrifices you make for the family is what love looks like,” she says. “When you’re willing to lose everything for someone else, that’s what love looks like.” Her soft words scream in my ears, almost drowning out the school bell. As I say good-bye, I wonder when my faith will be rewarded and the mysteries solved.

“Mr. Abraham, can I say something?”

“Cassandra, what would you like to add?” Mr. A asks as Honors Biology winds up. It’s the first class in the last day
before my personal spring break starts. Although I know he tries to avoid it, his tone makes me sound like the teacher’s pet.

“Maybe both evolution and creation are right. Why does it have to be one or the other?” I ask the class, earning a frown from Mr. A and serious sighs from other students. For most of the class, I’ve been my silent self, but Siobhan’s words stir inside me like a boiling cauldron.

“What do you mean?” some girl behind me asks.

“Maybe Adam and Eve are just names for the first fully evolved humans,” I say.

“Not Koko and Lucy, those talking apes,” somebody says.

“No, the talking apes are all in gym class,” Scott cracks. He gets mostly laughs, but he’s playing to a friendly house. I’m the only athlete in the room; nobody else in this class has the anatomy, coordination, or ambition.

I laugh, even if the joke is at my expense, although I’m not sure Scott realizes that. For all the rules of science I’ve studied, there’s one sure rule for maintaining chemistry in a relationship: laugh at your boyfriend’s jokes. With Tyler and Cody, that took better acting skills than the finest actors in our school, but with Scott, it’s easy. When he’s not feeling down about his grandmother, he’s full of life, and I overflow with appreciative and genuine laughter.

Mr. A lets the class go off into discussion, sometimes playing devil’s advocate. I drop out of the conversation again to think about Siobhan’s words and gaze upon Scott’s face.

“Well, if God invented everything, why did he invent diseases like AIDS and cancer?” Michael asks, and I stir in my seat. Though I spent so much time with Becca right after Robyn’s death, it’s been weeks since I’ve visited. It’s not just Scott, but it’s my family—in particular, Veronica—driving us all crazy with details about the reunion. For me, spring break starts a day early, since our school doesn’t let us out for Good Friday, the holiest of holy days in our family.

I tune back in to the discussion every now and then, but my mind is far away until I hear somebody make a crack about monsters. It’s a comment meant to bait Samantha and it works.

“Don’t call something you don’t understand a monster,” Samantha says.

“Freak,” Clark Rogers mutters.

“Shut up!” I say, defending Samantha to Clark, but also offering her a smart suggestion.

I sink into my seat as Samantha ignores my advice. “You use the word ‘monster’ for any creature, any nonhuman being, that you don’t understand or accept. I accept them all,” she says.

Lots of hands go up, which is no surprise. It’s one thing to fill your MySpace page with vampire lore; it’s another thing to talk about it in class in front of skeptical science students.

Samantha stands her unholy ground as others attack. She’s all alone, until Scott raises his hand. “Samantha, you said you didn’t believe in God.”

“I don’t.” She’s looking at him with a pierced and arched eyebrow.

“But isn’t God supernatural as well?” Scott says. “So you can accept God. Anyone who accepts Christ, Mohammad, or Buddha accepts there are things beyond science. It’s logical.”

Samantha stares at Scott; it looks like she’s not angry but appreciative. She mouths the word “thanks,” and he smiles back in her direction. A normal person might be jealous. I’m not.

“So what about AIDS?” Michael asks. “I don’t understand why science or God would create such a disease.”

A few people in the room start to talk. Mr. Abraham guides the discussion, but doesn’t offer fact or opinion. There are plenty of questions, but no answer. It’s my turn.

“AIDS, like any disease, is probably a necessary mutation,” I say with confidence.

“What?” Michael looks at me as if my name wasn’t Cassandra but Judas.

“Wait, let me explain,” I say softly. “Whether by grand design of God or by the process of evolution, everything in the world serves some sort of purpose, or it wouldn’t survive.”

“Please continue, Cassandra,” Mr. Abraham prompts me.

I launch into a long and boring scholarly explanation of the interconnectedness and importance of everything, ending with, “It’s simple.”

“Actually, it’s not simple, it is symbiotic,” Mr. Abraham says. “You’re talking about ‘symbiotic’ relationships. The term means the living together of unlike organisms.”

“Even faggots—I mean, maggots,” Clark Rogers says from the back of the room. Clark’s living proof of what I’m saying. Our student body needs an asshole, and Clark fulfills that role. I turn to see that Michael looks hurt by Clark’s no doubt very deliberate slip of the tongue.

“Yes, even maggots,” I say. “Maggots eat away dead tissue. They become flies. Flies are an important part of the food chain.”

“To get back on point, and not to spoil your lunches, let me continue,” Mr. Abraham says. “There is also the concept of coevolution. Many plants pollinated by birds or bees have very specialized flowers adapted to promote pollination by a specific pollinator that is also likewise modified. Adaptation is perhaps one of the important concepts in evolution.”

“Finally, we’re talking about the birds and the bees in school!” somebody cracks.

I think Scott blushes, since he’s learning more about that after school than in any class. The conversation continues, but once again, I drop out. I made my point, defended my friends, and got more brownie points from Mr. Abraham. A successful, if energy draining, first hour.

As the bell rings, Mr. A reminds everyone there’ll be a substitute tomorrow, and we’ll be watching a DVD. What he’s
really saying, of course, is he’s not going to be here tomorrow, and he’ll be fine with it if nobody else shows. No wonder Mr. Abraham is such a popular teacher.

“Can I see you tonight?” Scott asks as he comes over to my desk. Scott’s seeing more of me than he’s ever seen of a girl before. He’s got a serious kid-in-the-candy-store situation.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sitting for Becca tonight, and I need to get ready for the reunion.”

“I understand,” he says, but his tone is off. Maybe he has enough thoughts of death in his head without another image. There’s something so inhumane about a child with cancer.

“When can I see you?” His bright green eyes almost sparkle with anxious anticipation.

“As soon as I can, Scott,” I say, then kiss him on the cheek. We get a disapproving throat clearing from Mr. A, so Scott and I make our way, hand in hand, down the hallway. Every guy is so different; yet every guy—even special ones like Scott—is so exactly alike.

“Could you come over for dinner on Easter?” he asks, almost pleading.

“I want to, but I can’t. The reunion,” I remind him.

“That’s a lot of days for a reunion,” he cracks, then smiles.

“Well, I’ve got a lot of family,” I say, faking a smile and hoping he won’t ask for any details. My family used to be larger, but a long time ago, the elders decided to limit the number of children. Now each line of the family produces one child per
generation. Maybe it’s like how some animals eat their young if there’re too many mouths to feed; it’s unnatural selection.

“Just as well,” he says, sounding disappointed but not angry or upset at me. “This might be my grandmother’s last Easter. I’ll want to be with her, even if she doesn’t know I’m there.”

“She’s in good hands with my grandmother at Avalon,” I remind him. After much debate and another fit about how I make all the sacrifices in the family, Maggie agreed to move Scott’s grandmother into her nursing home. But I know Maggie; she’s not doing it out of the kindness of her heart—because there is none—but because she wants something from me.

“Thanks again,” he says. We’re by my locker; people pass by like background noise.

“You should see her tomorrow; everybody’s skipping,” I remind him. He nods.

Ever since Scott’s grandmother moved into Avalon, there’s been no change; she’s in suspended animation. Looking at her is like watching a DVD on pause, except there’s no way to hit Play, Skip, Rewind, or Fast-forward. The laws of the state, and the belief of Scott’s faith, won’t allow for the Eject button to be pushed and the cord pulled. She won’t die, yet she can’t live.

The rest of the day passes, sadly, without any drama. I’ve switched my lunch table to Scott and his friends’, mainly other new kids, so I can avoid Cody and Bethany. I changed shifts at
the hospital so I don’t overlap with Kelsey. Brittney leaves me alone, probably because she’s embarrassed that she never followed through with a ceremony for Robyn. Craig’s mostly MIA.