None of the Above (7 page)

I dreamed that I was eight, and an evil witch had transformed me into a beast that was part girl, part bear. When I left in the morning to catch the school bus, a mob of angry neighbors and PTA members threw batteries and cans of tomato sauce that exploded on the ground next to me, spattering me with crimson. But I was lucky: it was all just a nightmare within a dream, and when I woke up sweaty and trapped in my sheets my mother was already in my room, brought in by my screams. I hugged her and burrowed my head into her neck. I could smell the Pond's cold cream lingering on her skin as she stroked the back of my flannel pajamas and whispered into my ear.

“Nothing to be afraid of, my love. It was just a dream.”

“But the witch turned me into a bear!”

“Even if you were a bear, you would still be my baby. You'd still be my Kristin Louise Lattimer.”

Then my mom's voice rose, and sharpened to a needle point that sent shards of pain through my head. “Kristin Louise Lattimer!”

My eyes opened and I felt a hand shaking my shoulder. Aunt Carla's hand, to be exact.

Back to the real nightmare.

I opened my left eye. My right eye was mashed into one of the velour throw pillows on our living room couch. A pillow that happened to reek of chlorine and vomit.

I craned my neck to face Aunt Carla and got blindsided by a headache the size of Texas.

I turned and stifled another groan at the pain that caused. My dad sat on his La-Z-Boy, slapping the TV remote in his hands over and over again. “Krissy, I know it's been a tough time,” he said in a voice strung tight between anger and compassion. He paused, and I could tell he was trying hard to give me the benefit of the doubt. “I'm glad that you went out with your friends, but this . . . you know there's no place for this. Not in our house.” He waved at the puke stains. “You're grounded for the next week.”

“I'm so sorry, Daddy,” I moaned. “It won't happen again. I'll go clean up.” I reached down to grab my purse and jacket.

“That's not all. Cell phone,” my dad said flatly, holding his palm out. “You'll get it back on Monday morning.”

Seriously? “Dad, I know that what I did was wrong. You don't have to treat me like a baby.”

My dad shook his head. Looking at him, I was struck for the first time by how heavy his eyelids were, how sad, like a stray dachshund. “You know the deal, Krissy. Actions have consequences. Especially actions that involve alcohol.”

My guilt swallowed up my indignation. I handed over my cell phone. My dad handed me a Tylenol.

Dragging myself to my bathroom, I did the best I could to shower off the smell of hot tub and booze and sex. When I came out and tried to check my email, though, I couldn't connect to the wireless.

“Dad, the internet's down!”

“No, it isn't. I turned it off. You're grounded, remember?”

“Dad!”

“Consequences, Krissy. I'm taking your car keys, too.”

“What about running?”

My dad thought for a second. “You can take a half-hour run today and tomorrow.”

That would be just enough time to run to Vee's or Faith's house. But not to Sam's. It'd have to do. Not until later on in the day, though, when I'd stopped feeling queasy if I moved too quickly, or if I thought about what I'd told Vee.

Just like my mom would've wanted me to, I sat in my room and thought about what I'd done, and the thinking was ten times worse than losing my cell phone, a hundred times worse than not being able to check Facebook. Because when the Tylenol kicked in and the throbbing in my head faded, a
simmering fear replaced it. Not a boiling-over fear, not quite yet, because the back-and-forth in my hungover brain sounded something like this:

OMG, she's going to spill everything.

No, she isn't. Remember how she kept the secret about Faith's crush on Danny Evans for a year and a half?

She told Bruce that Jill Sorrento was cheating on his brother.

That's different. It was, like, the ethical thing to do.

What if she lets it slip?

No one would believe her anyway.

When Aunt Carla called me down to prep for dinner, I was grateful for her chatter. I fixed the green beans, taking care to snap the ends perfectly so the fibrous seam peeled off like a piece of green dental floss. Then I mixed the ingredients for a loaf of whole wheat bread, wiping the layer of dust that had accumulated on our bread maker. After starting the mixing cycle, I washed my hands and cleaned up the counter as best I could.

“You good now, Aunt Carla?” I asked. “I'd love to go for my run before dinner.”

She sniffed. “You and your runs. Would it kill you to skip one?”

I had an answer to that. It was Coach Auerbach's favorite (and only) Bible quote. “First Corinthians: ‘Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the
prize? So run that you may obtain it.'”

The late-afternoon sun cast my shadow far ahead of me, and I chased it to Vee's house, trying to ignore the fear that bubbled up to the surface again. The flood lamps were already on at the Richardsons' house when I got there, and when I walked up to the front porch I felt as if I were in the spotlight. Before I rang the doorbell I made sure to wipe the sweat off my face and redo my ponytail. Vee's father answered the door, his BlackBerry at his ear.

“Hello, Kristin,” he said, looking irritated.

“Hi, Mr. Richardson. Is Vee here?”

“Hold on for five seconds,” he said into the phone, putting it on mute. Mr. Richardson turned to me. “I'm sorry, but Vanessa went to the Carousel Mall with her mother in an effort to decimate my last paycheck. I'll tell her you stopped by.”

“Could you tell her that my cell phone isn't working? She can come to my house.”

“Of course,” he said, pressing the Unmute button. The door wasn't even closed before he resumed his conversation.

I sprinted home, trying to console myself with the fact that Vee's father hadn't reacted to me with more than his usual polite distance, so he couldn't have heard anything. I also figured that if Vee had wanted to spend the day spreading rumors about me, she wouldn't be driving to Syracuse to go shopping with her mom. She'd be holed up in her room going down her
speed-dial list, subtweeting and vaguebooking, like she did the Sunday after junior prom.

The next morning, I felt more like myself and went out for an early run so I could catch Faith before church. The fear from the night before had died down, replaced by an anxious curiosity. Of all the people I knew, Faith was the one who could keep a secret the best; her family had kept her brother's mental illness hidden for years.

The Wus lived in the opposite part of town from the Richardsons, in a development where the houses were a little closer together, but not so close that people had to build fences like they did in my neighborhood. The light frost on the Wus' immaculately landscaped lawn was just beginning to melt when I walked up the path to their front door. Angie, Faith's younger sister, answered and yelled up the stairs to announce me.

“I saw some pictures of you in your dress,” she said shyly. “You guys all looked so beautiful.”

“Well,” I said, feeling self-conscious in my faded green tracksuit, “your sister really works magic with that makeup.”

“Krissy, that you?” Faith called from the top of the stairs. “I'm getting ready. Come up to my room?”

I took off my shoes and walked up to Faith's room, bracing myself as always for the onslaught of pastels. Except for a set of gorgeous brush paintings she'd gotten on their last family
trip to China, Faith's room looked like it'd come out of a special edition Pottery Barn catalog.

Faith shut her door and started putting on some mascara.

“Krissy, I'm so glad you came. I tried to call you all day yesterday.”

“My dad took my cell phone. Grounded.”

“What a drag!”

“No kidding. I can only stay a few minutes because he's expecting me back soon.”

She turned to me, lipstick in hand. “Okay, then. Before you leave, you have to tell me what happened Friday night. Pretty much all I remember is lying on some bathroom floor.”

“You don't remember anything?” I hesitated. “Have you talked to Vee yet?”

“She was shopping all day yesterday.” She frowned, her forehead creasing. “Why, did I do something totally embarrassing?”

“No.” I sat down on her bed, and looked around her room. On the back of the door hung a wooden sign saying
I CHOOSE TO BE HEALTHY, HAPPY, AND FULL OF LOVE
, a sixteenth-birthday present from her mom. There was a section of her bookshelf dedicated to Chicken Soup for the Soul books. And taped to her vanity was a postcard that she'd picked up at the Mark Twain Museum when her family did a Mississippi River cruise the summer after eighth grade:
ALWAYS DO RIGHT. This
will gratify some people, and astonish the rest
.

I made my decision. If I could trust anyone in the world, I could trust Faith. I took a deep breath.

“I need to tell you something,” I said. “You know how I've never gotten my period?”

“Yeah.” Faith had always been the one telling me how lucky I was that I didn't have to deal with tampons. “It's because of all the training you do, right?”

“Remember when I went to Vee's OB? It . . . it turns out I don't have a uterus.”

“Oh, honey.” She put her brush down and reached for my hand. “Does that mean you can't have kids? How did this happen?”

I shook my head, tears forming in my eyes, and I was just about to spill the part about my chromosomes and testicles and my stupid syndrome, when her sister poked her head in. “We're leaving in five, Faith. Mom needs to pick up some fruit for the meet and greet. Can you do my hair now?” She waved a bag of hair ties and bobby pins, oblivious to the horror on her sister's face. And the shame on mine.

“I'd better go,” I said, blinking as Angie sprawled on Faith's bed.

“Krissy . . .” Faith reached out after me. “Give me a call if you need me, will you?”

I shook my head. “No cell phone.”

“Then . . . email?”

“Internet's cut off, too. But maybe my dad will let me use it just once. If I need it.”

Back at home, I asked Aunt Carla if Vee had stopped by, but of course she hadn't. She wasn't an early bird. Her dad had probably flaked out and forgotten to tell her I'd dropped in yesterday. If Vee hadn't even rehashed the night with Faith, it almost certainly meant that she wasn't going to talk about it with anyone.

Vee didn't tend to let things percolate—not like me. She either made a big deal out of something, or dismissed it to clear her bandwidth. I imagined Vee thinking of the randomness of my Y chromosome, asking herself, “WTF?” and forgetting about it.

That night, as I got ready for bed, I realized that, all in all, it had been pretty peaceful spending the weekend without my cell and internet. I did wonder whether Sam had called, or if Maggie had emailed again, but I'd know soon enough.

Just one more night, and I'd be back in the game.

My dad didn't give me my cell phone back on Monday until I literally walked out the door. As I reached for it, he gave it a warning shake. “Don't let it happen again,” he said, the crack in his voice almost too small to be noticeable. I paused to give him a hug, even though I could see Faith's car waiting at the curb.

I thumbed on my phone as I cut across our lawn, and saw my seven missed calls and ten text messages at the same time I registered there was only one person waiting in the car.

“Where's Vee?” I said, opening the shotgun door for the first time in months.

“She's hitching a ride with Bruce today,” Faith said. “She needed to get there early to put up some posters.” She wasn't smiling. Faith always smiled, even at 6:50 on a Monday morning. She put the car into gear and started driving, sneaking a
peek over at me after a few seconds. “So, uh, I guess you never got in touch with her?”

“No . . . but it looks like she called me,” I said. Twice, it seemed. “Why, did you two talk?”

“Yeah,” Faith said. I felt a little jolt in my chest, a shot of adrenaline like the feeling I got when the starter would tell runners to get on their marks. Just like at the beginning of a race, though, Faith made me wait for the gun to go off. As I held my breath, she kept her eyes on the road, pacing herself a perfect two car lengths behind the Chevy in front of us.

“So,” I said finally, “what'd you two talk about?”

“Well . . . after church I called her because I was so sad about your news. And she filled me in on some of the details you left out.”

I couldn't look at her, and stared straight ahead. The Chevy in front of us had a large, rusting dent in its rear fender.

“Krissy,” Faith said. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Your sister was there. I couldn't say it in front of her.”

“That you're . . . partly a man?”

I flinched like I'd been slapped. “Is that what Vee told you?”

“No. Yes. I mean, that was kind of the take-home message.”

“Oh my God.” Stumbling, I tried to explain to her about how it was all just a chemical misunderstanding. “Dr. Cheng said that I was basically still a girl.”

“Okay. I'm sure . . . I mean, I hope people believe you.”

My heart stopped.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, now that people know . . . you know how rumors spread, Krissy. We'll have to do some damage control.”

This time my heart didn't stop. It
exploded
. “People? Plural? What people know?”

As if in answer, my phone pinged. I looked down and saw an unfamiliar number, and out of habit I clicked it open. There was no message, just a picture. An old-style movie poster with my face Photoshopped onto the body of a pudgy figure with eighties clothes, and the words:

It's Kris—the Hermaphrodite!

It was as if someone had grabbed me by my throat and twisted.

No. No no no no.

My lungs didn't seem to work. I felt like I was underwater, could barely hear Faith ask me over and over again if I was all right. If I had been able to breathe, her question would've made me laugh, because I was pretty sure that things would never, ever, be all right again.

When I showed Faith the tiny photo on my phone, she shook her head. “Why are people so small?”

That wasn't the right question. “Who told everyone?” My
words came out in a gasp. I didn't have enough air to scream. “Does Sam know?” I whispered.

She looked away, biting the inside of her lip. Even she couldn't sugarcoat this. I crushed my book bag into my chest as if I could squeeze out all the pain.

Faith reached over to hug me, her face a mess of emotions. “Krissy, you will get through this. Sam's crazy about you. You just have to explain the situation, like you did to me.”

The last few minutes of the ride to school were a blur. After Faith got out of the car, I sat there for a few beats, reminding my lungs how they were supposed to work. Trying to tamp down the feeling that catastrophe was just around the corner.

“I don't know if I can do this,” I told her.

Faith looked anxious but determined. “Come on. We'll do it together.” She came around to open my door. I kept my gaze on the ground as I walked up to the front entrance, but out of the corner of my eye I could see flickers of movement as heads turned.

The kids on the stairs moved aside to let us through. Just inside, a guy bumped into me with his shoulder, almost knocking my bag off.

“Watch it, Kristopher!” he said, and laughed like he'd just said the funniest thing in the world.

When Faith stopped at her locker, she turned hesitantly toward me.

“Krissy,” she said as I walked past my own locker. “Krissy, just wait for me. We can go to homeroom together.” But I kept walking, past the library and to the other side of school. Toward Sam's locker. I had to get to him, tell him my side of the story.

He'd just opened his locker when I reached him. When I called his name and touched his arm he jerked away so hard he dropped his books. It was worse than a slap.

“Get away from me,” he said, without even looking up.

“Sam,” I whispered, even though it hurt so hard to say his name that I wanted to scream. “Can we please talk?”

“I've got nothing to say to you, you homo,” he said loudly, his eyes darting back and forth to people behind me. Bruce and a couple of football players came over and I sensed them closing in. Fear dried my throat.

“Yo, Kristopher,” one of the guys said. “You here to give Sam-I-am another rimjob? He's got the lube ready for you.”

Sam slammed his locker shut and I jumped.

“Can it, Luke,” Sam said. Then he turned to me, pointing his index finger at my mouth. “You stay away from me, you hear?”

“Oh no, are you breaking up with your boyfriend, Sammy? Maybe I can make it up to you tonight.” Bruce gave Sam the goose and Sam elbowed him in the neck. “Oooh, come on, baby. . . .”

His friends walked toward the gym, and as Sam turned to follow, I grabbed at his arm again. This time, when he pulled
away, a thread of his sweater caught in my fingernail. He rounded on me. I could feel the muscles in his arm spasm.

“Sam, please . . . ,” I begged. “Let me explain.”

“What the fuck is there to explain?” Sam said. His eyes were bright, like there were tears hovering in his eyes. He leaned in, and I allowed myself to hope that he was going to listen. But instead he just whispered, “I thought I loved you, you fucking man-whore. And you've been lying to me. I have nothing to say to you. Ever. Again.”

He turned and left before I could explain that I hadn't known for that long, that I hadn't been lying. But what would have been the point? Because how could I ever convince him that I was telling the truth?

I collapsed against the lockers, and slid down into a crumple. Above me, people turned to stare as they hurried to class. I couldn't see their faces through my tears, but I could feel the pounding and shuffling of their feet as they walked past.

The bell rang. The ground went silent. And I began to process how deeply I had been betrayed.