Almost Perfect (12 page)

“Who told you?” I shrieked.

Tim suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Jack did. It’s not exactly a secret at school.”

I was about to cry. Everyone knew Sage was a boy. She must have told. Or they’d figured it out.

“Logan,” said Jack in a tone like someone trying to communicate with a drunk. “She’s not worth it! I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Brenda wasn’t even all that pretty.”

They aren’t talking about Sage. They think this is still about Brenda
.

I managed to smile, my first real smile in over a week. “Yeah. I know. Listen, thanks for being worried. But I’m not on drugs, and I promise I’ll try to calm down. And, um, you know. Thanks.”

After Jack and Tim made their escape, I propped my feet up on the table. Sage was gone, and my problems were more in my head than anywhere else. The solution was never to think of her again. In a few months, I’d leave Boyer forever, and she’d be less than a memory.

Mom was working the lunch shift. She arrived home at about six looking like she’d spent the past ten hours slopping pigs. In a way, she had; I’d eaten at Ron’s before.

It took Mom a minute to compute that the dishes on the table weren’t just a mess I’d left for her. For my first attempt at cooking dinner, it didn’t turn out too badly: slightly burned burgers, undercooked vegetables, and rolls that didn’t look nearly as fluffy as the picture on the can.

“What’s all this?” asked my mother warily. She was torn between her joy that I’d cooked and her fear that I must have done something
really
bad.

I finished tossing the salad, hoping she wouldn’t notice that I’d accidentally made it with cabbage rather than lettuce. “Dinner,” I replied, and she left it at that.

We didn’t talk much as we ate, though several times I caught Mom looking at me with a mixture of relief and curiosity. I hoped this made her realize that her drug fears were unfounded. Things were finally returning to normal.

J
ANUARY WAS
a good month. I stopped hanging out in the shed and got back to work. I earned so much money shoveling snow and doing odd jobs that I was able to pay for the repairs when the trailer’s furnace died. Mom hated to take the money, but … well, you know. I think the fact that I was working and showing responsibility again was what convinced her I didn’t have a drug problem.

As for Sage, the only time I ever saw her was in the halls. I’d look away every time. She never made an effort to talk to me, either. I’d see Tammi, too. She’d usually sneer at me, but she never said anything.

I wanted to banish Sage to the corner of my mind reserved for those I hated, along with Hitler, Bin Laden, and whoever stole my weed eater last year. But I found myself remembering her at odd times, wondering what she was doing and what she was thinking about me. Whenever I caught myself, I’d mentally replay that scene in her living
room. I had to remind myself of how she had betrayed and deceived me.

Still, I couldn’t help but wonder why Sage wasn’t honest about her … situation right from the start. She could have told me the truth when I asked her out the first time. Or after the movies, when I tried to kiss her. Or at the basketball courts. Or a thousand other times. Then we could have just been friends. I never would have made a move, had I known.

Then again, how do you tell a friend something like that?
Could you pass the salt, Logan? Oh, and by the way, I’m really a boy
. Shit, I would have run for the hills! I wouldn’t have been able to think of anything else. I would have asked Mr. Elmer to move me to a different table in biology.

It was bad enough to know that when things had gotten rough and I’d found out Sage wasn’t what I thought she was, I was so hateful to her. Jesus Christ, I’d almost punched her! I’d never imagined I was capable of that. It scared me.

I guess no one could blame me for my initial reaction—all things considered, I’d kept my cool. But later, at the cemetery, I’d called Sage some names … said some things that I shouldn’t have. Looking back, it would have been better if I’d just kept my mouth shut and let her talk. Then, when she was done, I could have said,
Sage, under the circumstances, I don’t think we should see each other anymore
. We wouldn’t have parted as friends, but there wouldn’t be all that hate. And I regretted throwing away the blanket she’d
made me. That was a dick move, no matter how you looked at it.

Recently, I had begun contemplating whether I should talk to Sage again. I could take her to some isolated place and explain why I’d been so disgusted.

The only problem with that was I had no idea how to put any of my feelings into words. All I knew was that Sage brought out something in me I didn’t like. A violent, paranoid man. Whatever she was trying to do with her life was none of my concern. We’d avoid each other from now on. It was better that way.

On the day after Valentine’s Day, the skies opened and it poured. Missouri rain can be harsh, second only to (
your state’s name
). Mom insisted I take her old station wagon to school; she had a friend drive her to work.

Using our English books as hats, Jack and I hurried to my car. The windshield instantly fogged up. Rather than wait five minutes for it to clear, I sailed my way off school grounds, peering blindly though a tiny patch just above the heater vents.

Through the flapping, erratic movement of the wipers, I spotted a pedestrian. A girl. Someone in a glaring yellow rain slicker. She carried a folded umbrella by her side and stared up at the clouds like a drowning turkey. There was something familiar about her; in fact, she kind of looked like …

“There’s Sage,” said Jack, wiping his window with his sleeve.

I made no comment and just kept driving.

“Aren’t you going to give her a ride?” Jack realized Sage and I were no longer close, but he didn’t think I was going to let her stand out there in the rain.

“No.” I wasn’t going to offer, and I doubted she would accept.

“It’s pouring,” he said as if I hadn’t noticed.

“She won’t drown.”

“Lemme put it this way,” said Jack. “Give her a ride.”

There’s a fine line between being hurt and being an asshole. Maybe by giving Sage a lift I could show that I’d calmed down. Even though she’d hurt me worse than Brenda had, I’d gain nothing by making her live in fear of me. Just one final, friendly gesture to the girl who’d baked me cookies. Sage would realize that so long as she kept her mouth shut about what she really was, I could let bygones be bygones.

I waited until we were about ten yards away, then braked so hard we almost spun out. Sage jogged to reach my car.

She looked uncertain as she opened the back door, though she did smile warmly at Jack. We drove in silence. Bitter, uncomfortable silence. All I could think about was her tear-streaked face on New Year’s Day, her telling me the secret I wished I had never found out. And I’m sure Sage had her own nasty memories of me as well.

Jack began to squirm. I think he realized Sage and I were happier not seeing each other. He nervously crossed and uncrossed his legs.

“So, Sage … what’s new?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Nothing.” She paused. “What’s new with you?”

I think at that point, Jack was ready to throw himself from the moving car, but he still forced conversation.

“Well, my church is doing some major renovations. Painting the whole building.”

“Since when do you go to church?” I asked. He ignored me.

“We didn’t think we were going to have enough money, so we bought some cheap paint and watered it down. Didn’t look the greatest, but it got the job done.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jack never got up before three p.m. on Sundays.

“Well, we spent all last Saturday painting the outside. Unfortunately, right when we were finished, this rain started. Washed everything away.”

“Oh no,” said Sage, sounding genuinely concerned.

“The funny thing is, right when we were all running inside, I could swear I heard a voice from the clouds.”

I sighed. “Saying what, Jack?”

“Repaint! Repaint and thin no more!”
Jack waited for Sage to laugh. Then, without warning, he opened his door and leapt out onto the street. We were stopped at Boyer’s only traffic light at the time, but knowing Jack, that might have been a coincidence.

Sage’s home was still a mile away. I began to speed. If we were alone in the car too much longer, one of us would have to say something.

“Pull over, Logan,” said Sage after a minute. “I can walk from here.”

“It’s pouring, Sage. I’ll take you home.”

“Don’t do me any favors.” She spoke like she was dying of thirst and I’d offered to let her lick the outside of my water glass when I was done.

In the rearview mirror, Sage was looking at me with contempt. I pointed the mirror to the ceiling. A little too roughly, actually. Luckily, there’s a special kind of glue for that sort of thing. Five minutes later, we turned onto Sage’s street.

The Christmas ornaments were gone from her house. All that was left was a fir tree painted silver and some rain-sodden tinsel.

She opened her door and grabbed her umbrella.

“Sage, wait.” I don’t know what made me stop her. Maybe I realized it would probably be the one time we’d ever be alone together. If either of us had anything to say, it was now or never.

She paused, one foot out in the rain.

“What?”

What? What do I have to say to her?

“Sage …”

“What?”

What?

I turned in my seat. She glared at me. Whatever she had once felt for me was gone. Maybe I didn’t like that. With all the hatred I’d felt for her in the past month, it never occurred to me the feeling might be mutual.

“Sage. I’m sorry.” My words fell flat, like when the teacher forces you to apologize to the kid you hit.

She shrugged. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” she responded bluntly, swinging her legs out the door.

“Maybe …,” I began.

“Maybe what?”

I took a deep breath. “Maybe if you explained things, I’d understand.”

She stood in the rain and slammed the door. Great. I try to make peace, try to make some damn sense out of whatever the hell Sage was doing, and she runs off.

But a second later, she was sitting next to me in the front seat. She had to push it back to fit her long legs.

“Do you really want to know, Logan?”

For the first time in a month, I looked Sage in the face. I desperately searched for something masculine. But there was no beard stubble, no unibrow, nothing but Sage. Just as pretty as she’d been when we met.

A drop of rain dangled off the end of her nose. Her wet locks lay plastered all over her face. Two months ago, I would have reached up and smoothed her hair. Touched her cheek. Tried to see cleavage through her wet shirt.

“I really want to know.” That was a lie. I certainly didn’t want details about how she shaved her shoulders and padded her bra. But then again, maybe that was why Sage hadn’t told me in the first place.

Sage brushed the hair from her forehead. “What?”

I had questions. Questions I wasn’t sure I wanted answered.

“Is your name really Sage?”

“Yes.”

Okay. At least it’s not Steve
.

“Why … why are you pretending to be a girl?”

Sage snorted. “I fooled you, didn’t I?”

I revved the engine. “Goodbye.”

“Wait.” She touched my arm, then immediately pulled away. “I guess this is all new to you.”

It was my turn to snort.

“Logan, I’ve never thought of myself as a boy. Not since I knew the difference. I
am
a girl. It’s some sick damn joke of nature that I wasn’t born with a female body. And you’re not going to see anything there, so stop staring.”

I realized I’d been looking at her crotch.

“Sorry.”

“I don’t expect you to understand. You don’t owe me anything.” She was bitter.

“You weren’t ever going to tell me, were you? Just drag me along, laugh at how you fooled some guy?” Picking up Sage had been a mistake. We were both getting angry and defensive.

Sage turned to me, and I was suddenly very aware that I was not the most powerful person in the car.

“Logan, you think that’s all it was to me? You think I didn’t feel guilty?”

I leaned against the driver’s door. “No …” I cleared my throat. “No. You lied to me.”

“Well, I felt like shit for doing that. I wanted to tell you. Remember when I dragged you out to the cemetery? I was going to tell you then, but I couldn’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

Sage seemed to shrink. “I thought you might beat me up. And I wasn’t being paranoid, was I?”

I recalled, how for the only time in my life, I almost hit a girl. Or almost a girl. I couldn’t excuse that. I should have just stormed out. The second I balled up my fist, I became the bad guy.

“You didn’t hit me, Logan. And, in my defense, I could have let you kiss me a lot earlier. I wanted to.”

“Why did you have to kiss me at all?” I felt like I was grasping for reasons to be pissed. I had to remind myself of Sage’s huge lie.

“You’re not the easiest guy for a girl
not
to kiss.” Sage abruptly turned away, and we sat for a moment. My earlier feelings for Sage were apparently not one-sided.

Sage spoke again. “Logan, I would have liked to be friends. I guess that can’t happen. But thanks for keeping your cool, and thanks for not telling anyone. I wish I could take back that kiss, but honestly, I’m not sorry.” She turned back and stuck out her jaw defiantly.

“Sage …” This was the end. Our friendship was over, but I was glad it was ending here, now, calmly.

“Logan …” Sage looked like she had more to say, but she didn’t say it.

We looked at each other for a long moment. This was the last time we’d ever talk.

Sage opened the door. The rain had let up. I pulled out as soon as she entered her house.

Brenda’s home was exactly the way I remembered it. Two stories, three-car garage, no abandoned appliances in the yard. Aside from Brenda’s Saturn, I counted three other vehicles in the driveway, but I didn’t think they were
having company. A neat row of rosebushes, covered with protective plastic for the winter, lined the side of the house. Their inground pool, the only one in Boyer, was empty.