“How could you let this happen?” she said to Phil.
“That’s not fair, Caroline,” he said. “I couldn’t predict there’d be an accident on the highway.”
She must have realized this was true, because she turned to glare at Ashley and me instead. “And you two. How could you?”
“We never meant for it to happen,” said Ashley.
“You will both pay for the damage.” Caroline’s voice was shaking. “Every last penny.”
“Now, just a second here,” said my dad. “From what I understand, Stewart isn’t to blame. He tried to do the right thing.”
“So you’re pinning all of this”—Caroline swept her hand around the room—“on Ashley?”
“Stewart didn’t send out any texts. Stewart didn’t get loaded. Stewart tried to get in touch with Phil, and eventually called the police. Stewart isn’t the one who showed a complete lack of judgment—”
“I’m not sure it’s fair to blame everything on our daughter,” Phil said.
“I’m not,” said my dad. “I blame you, too. You were supposed to be supervising!”
Ashley started to cry again. While the adults continued arguing, I slipped out of the room and began yet another methodical room-to-room search for Schrödinger. He was all I could think about. If he wasn’t in the house, it meant he was outside. He was an indoor cat. He didn’t understand what cars were; he didn’t understand what coyotes were. He’d be like a Happy Meal to any wildlife.
When I still couldn’t find him, I told the others I was going out to search for him again. Dad and Phil offered to come. So did Ashley. I told her I didn’t want her help.
Dad, Phil, and I walked around the neighborhood, expanding my earlier search with Phoebe and Violet. We called Schrödinger’s name over and over. Then we decided to search the alleys. We headed down the lane that ran behind our house, whistling and shouting. “Schrödinger! Schrödinger!”
Suddenly, Phil sucked in his breath. “Oh.”
My heart leapt. “Do you see him?”
Phil didn’t answer. He just stared. I followed his gaze, and a truly awful day became even worse.
A single word was spray-painted in big black letters on the side of his laneway house, for the world to see.
FAGGOT.
FOR THE SECOND TIME in less than twenty-four hours, the police had to come to our house. They took photos of the graffiti, and they asked my dad a lot of questions. A bunch of our neighbors came outside to see what was going on, which I admit made me super-squirmy, because now it felt like the whole wide world knew my dad was gay. It wasn’t just the graffiti; Michael showed up and held my dad in front of everyone. Most of the neighbors were really sympathetic, but the Burgesses from two houses down didn’t hide their looks of disapproval, and we’re pretty sure they’re the ones who slipped a piece of paper under my dad’s door a few days later with the word Repent written on it.
When the police were done questioning my dad, they talked to me and Stewart. We all sat in the dining room, including Mom, Dad, and Leonard. “We understand you had a party that got out of control last night,” one of the policemen said. “Any idea who might have spray-painted your dad’s house?”
I’m not proud of what I did next, okay? But in my defense, I already knew that school was going to be a total nightmare when we went back. Ratting Jared out would only make things worse.
So I shook my head. “No. I can’t think of anyone.”
Stewart looked at me across the table with total one hundred percent absolute disgust. Then he turned to the cops. “I can,” he said. “I know exactly who did it. His name is Jared Mitchell.” He told the cops about what Jared had done at his old school. Then he told them everything that had happened the night before. And I mean everything.
Mom started to cry when he told the police about the photos Jared had taken. “That little shit,” she said, which was harsh for her because she never swears. Dad and Leonard looked shaken, too. I just sat silently, my face crimson red.
I couldn’t make eye contact with my dad. I felt completely one hundred percent totally ashamed, on so many different levels. Why hadn’t I stopped seeing Jared weeks ago when he’d first acted creepy? Why did I have to let Stewart be the one to say Jared’s name, even though I was the one who should be standing up for my dad? I still couldn’t quite believe that Jared had betrayed me in so many different and horrible ways.
The police took a lot of notes. They asked if any of the photos were in circulation, because if so, they might be able to press charges. Stewart told them about the bus. They commended him on his quick thinking, but they also said that without any evidence, there wasn’t much they could do. “That was so brave of you, Stewart,” my mom said, and she gave him a huge hug.
No one hugged me.
We found out later that the police did question Jared about the graffiti. I know because Jared’s dad called our house the next night. Leonard spoke to him. Jared’s dad shouted that there was no proof his son had done anything wrong. We could all hear him even though Leonard had the phone to his ear. Leonard very calmly told him that he should have his son assessed for behavioral issues, at which point Jared’s dad hung up. The next day a letter was couriered to our front door. It was from the Mitchells’ lawyer, telling us to “cease and desist with slanderous accusations” or they would press charges.
Leonard looked like he was going to explode. He tapped out an angry response on his laptop that included the line: If your son comes anywhere near my stepdaughter, you will have me to contend with.
What on earth would you do? I thought. Put on your fencing gear, shout “en garde,” and challenge him to a duel? But it felt really good to have Leonard on my side. I didn’t even mind that he’d called me his stepdaughter. I helped him Google the Mitchells’ postal code; then we walked together to the mailbox with the letter. Mom tried to talk us out of it, but we mailed it anyway.
I dreaded going back to school. I tried to call Lauren to see what she’d heard, but my calls just went to her voice mail, which was weird.
I spent the last few days of the Christmas holidays holed up in my bedroom and feeling like crap. Mom and Leonard were arguing a lot about small things. A couple of months ago, this might have made me happy, but now it just made me feel worse than I already did. On the weekend I helped Dad and Michael paint over the horrible word, and I swear I could feel Michael’s disappointment in me. Even though he never said it, I was sure he wondered why I hadn’t done more to stand up for my dad. In fact, I was sure that all the adults in my life felt like I’d personally let them down.
Even Stewart was in a terrible mood. I felt awful that Shock Plug was missing. I’d grown to love that ugly beast. But when he wasn’t out searching for him, Stewart spent all his time in his room under that stupid afghan. It wasn’t healthy. When I tried to suggest he get out from under it and stop moping, he flipped out and said some very hurtful things, which I guess I deserved.
Then it was Monday, and we had to go back to school. Within the first five minutes, things went from bad to worse. ’Cause the first person I saw when I stepped through the main doors was Jared.
And he had his arm around Lauren.
WHEN I WASN’T LOOKING for Schrödinger I spent the rest of the holidays in my room, curled up under my mom’s afghan, breathing in her molecules. It felt so cozy and warm under there that I would often fall asleep and dream about her. She would come to me and hold me to her and whisper into my ear. I could never remember what she’d said, but I always woke up feeling happy—until I remembered where I was.
I think my dad was worried because he made an emergency appointment for me with Dr. Elizabeth Moscovich.
As per usual, Dr. Elizabeth Moscovich did an excellent job of helping me put my feelings into words. I told her that losing Schrödinger made me feel almost as bereft as I had when my mom died, which seemed completely cuckoo.
But Dr. Elizabeth Moscovich didn’t think it was cuckoo. “You suffered a
huge loss when your mom died. Schrödinger could never replace your mother, but he filled in a tiny bit of the hole that was left. Now that he’s disappeared, the hole’s expanded again. It reawakens the pain of losing your mother. You have every right to grieve, Stewart. You’re grieving for Schrödinger, but you’re also grieving for your mom.”
Dr. Elizabeth Moscovich is very good at what she does.
What I didn’t tell Dr. Elizabeth Moscovich is that on top of feeling depressed, I am also feeling a lot of anger. Especially toward Ashley.
Albert Einstein once said, “Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity, and I’m not sure about the universe.” Ashley’s stupidity is infinite. She came into my room on the weekend. I think she was trying to cheer me up. “If Shock Plug doesn’t come back, we can go to the SPCA and get you a new cat,” she said.
I wanted to throw something at her head. “His name is Schrödinger. And I don’t want a new cat.”
“But we could find you a really cute one this time—”
“Shut up, Ashley.”
Suddenly she was tugging at my afghan. “C’mon, Stewart. Get out from under that stupid blanket. All this moping is getting you nowhere, it’s a mute point—”
“Moot point. Not mute point! You call my afghan stupid? My afghan is a genius compared to you! None of this, none of this, would have happened if you hadn’t been such a complete and utter moron!”
Her eyes filled with tears, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t done. “Not only are you dumb as a post, you’re mean. You’re so worried about yourself and your image you don’t care what happens to other people. Even your own dad!”
“That’s not true,” she started, but I cut her off.
“And to think I was excited to move in with you. All you do is mock me. You call me a nerd, a freakazoid, just because I don’t worry constantly about what other people might think of me, just because I’m smart. If that’s what being a nerd means, then fine. I’d rather be a nerd than a coward.”
“I’m not a coward.”
“You are the Webster’s dictionary definition of a coward,” I said. “I can’t believe I ever wanted you for a sister. Now please—just leave.”
She left. And I crawled back under the afghan.
IF MY LIFE WAS a movie, I’d toss out all the footage from the past couple of months and do a major rewrite. Jared wouldn’t even have a part. Then we’d do a reshoot, and the movie would be much more uplifting.
But my life isn’t a movie. Jared was in the hallway with Lauren, and he was very real. I wanted to turn around and walk back out the front doors of the school, but I knew it would only make things worse. I couldn’t avoid them, or school, forever. So I kept on going. Heads turned in my direction, and not in a good way.
Lauren looked nervous when she spotted me. But she also looked like she had won the lottery. How could I tell her that she’d actually won the booby prize?
“Hey, Ashley,” Jared said as they passed by. “Great New Year’s party.”
“Is it true your dad’s—well—you know?” Lauren said.
“Gay? Yes, he is.” Then I screwed up my courage. “I believe the word Jared would use is faggot.”
He laughed. “You said it, not me.” Then he turned away to talk to one of his teammates.
I took the opportunity to grab Lauren’s arm. “Be careful, okay? He’s a real creep.”
She glared at me. “You expect me to believe a word that comes out of your mouth? You’ve been a total bitch to me since seventh grade. I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.” Her words were like a slap across my face.
Jared returned and draped his arm around her shoulder. Then he looked at my chest and said, “I see you’re wearing your gel bra.”
I wanted to kill him. I wanted to strangle him and punch him and tear out his heart all at once.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t even think of a comeback. Worst of all, I felt my face go super-hot, and I knew I was twenty shades of red.
I walked away. I could hear them laughing behind me.
The same thought kept running through my head: Stewart is right. I am a coward.
—
THE DAY DIDN’T GET any better. Everyone stared at me wherever I went. Word of the party had spread, and also the news that my dad is gay. But, of course, the biggest, juiciest gossip was the fact that Jared and I were no longer an item, and that Jared and my ex—best friend were.
Every time someone whispered or giggled or stared as I walked past, I couldn’t help but wonder, Are you the one who puked in our living room? Are you the guy who punched the hole in the wall? Are you the one who stole my mom’s iPad? It wasn’t a nice feeling.
Worse still, a lot of my so-called friends avoided me. Yoko, Lindsay, and Amira had clearly chosen Team Lauren and wouldn’t even say hi. I had been knocked down quite a few steps on the Social Ladder. I admit: It hurt. Big-time.
The moment the bell rang at three o’clock, I headed home.
So it wasn’t till later that night that I found out what Stewart had done. And that it had got him suspended.
MY FIRST DAY BACK at school after the holidays wasn’t much fun, although from what I could see, it wasn’t as bad as Ashley’s. Phoebe and Violet were super-kind to me and hung out with me at lunch, which I appreciated. And my fellow Mathletes made a point of being nice to me, too.
I was about to head home right after school when Mr. Stellar spotted me. “Where do you think you’re going? We have a game!”
I’d completely forgotten. I dragged myself to the change room and got into the mascot costume. In the gym, I stood as far away from Jared as I could.
At halftime I started to run out onto the court when someone tripped me from behind. I went flying face-first onto the floor. Lucky for me there’s a lot of padding in the head of the costume, and I wasn’t hurt. Behind me, I could hear Mr. Stellar yelling at Jared, who kept saying, “But, Coach, it was an accident!”
When I had finished my routine, I ran back to the sidelines. A voice beside me said, “You owe me four hundred bucks for the phone.” I had no peripheral vision, but I knew who it was.
“Screw you.”
“You know,” he said, lowering his voice, “I came this close to getting a nice close-up shot of your sister’s—”
The buzzer went off to indicate the start of the third quarter, drowning Jared out. He trotted onto the court and started to play.
I was so angry I was seeing red.
I was so angry that all rational thoughts left my head.
I was so angry that none of my Model UN training was going to help me now.
There would be no negotiating. There would be no bargaining. There would be no compromising.
This was war.
I was working on pure fury when I ran onto the court and plowed my dog-head into Jared’s stomach. I was working on pure fury when, before he had a chance to stand up straight, I ran behind him and pulled his gym shorts, along with his underwear, down to his ankles.
Even without peripheral vision, I got a good view of the look on his face, and it was priceless.
For once in his life, he looked vulnerable.
I know I should have been ashamed of myself, stooping to his level, but I wasn’t. Kind of like when my mom had thrown stones at Cedric, I was happy to give him a small taste of his own medicine.
The crowd erupted into a mixture of gasps and laughter. I pumped my dog-fists into the air. Jared started to pull up his shorts. I knew I had mere seconds before he started to chase me.
So I ran off the court.
“You’re a dead man, Stewie!” I heard.
“It’s Stewart!” I yelled. Then I took off through the gym doors and ran all the way home.
WHEN I GOT THE full story later that night, I just about fell over. I knew what Stewart had done was wrong. But I also knew he’d been defending my honor, and it made me almost proud to have him in our family.
Mom and Leonard met with the principal t
he next day and told her everything that had happened leading up to the gym incident. Everything. I spoke to her, too. She was sympathetic, and she mentioned that they knew a lot about Jared’s bad behavior. She even promised that she’d personally keep an eye on him. But without any concrete proof, she couldn’t do much. And she wouldn’t lift Stewart’s weeklong suspension. She said what he’d done was still way out of line, and she had to set an example.
If I am one hundred percent totally honest, I was almost jealous of him. I would have loved an excuse to not go to school for a week, because it was no fun at all.
Tuesday was even worse than Monday. Wednesday stank, too.
But then, on Thursday, a weird thing happened. For every kid who ignored me, another kid made a point of talking to me. They weren’t, like, top-rung types, but I was grateful anyway.
At lunchtime on Thursday, I was sitting by myself in the cafeteria for the fourth day in a row when Claudia sat across from me. She was joined by Phoebe and Violet (ever since they helped us clean up on New Year’s Day, I’ve decided I should call them by their real names).
“We heard about what happened to your dad’s house,” Phoebe said.
“We’re really sorry. That’s awful,” Violet added.
I couldn’t believe it. They were being nice to me even though I had not been very nice to them.
Then Claudia said, “I think it’s so cool that your dad is gay. It’s so…twenty-first-century. Very cutting-edge.”
I smiled. I hadn’t thought of it that way before.
A few more kids joined us, including some people Lauren and I had labeled as Tragics. There was Larry, who we’d nicknamed Lardy. One girl, I think her name was Melanie, told me, “I have two moms.”
A boy in tenth grade, Jeff, also joined us. I recognized him from home ec; he’s amazing with a sewing machine. He was joined by the kid who runs the LGBT club, Sam.