Jumping Off Swings (14 page)

“Get some sleep,” she says. “We can talk more in the morning. Or — whenever you want. I’m here.”

She pauses before she leaves, standing in the bright doorway. Her face looks so tired and worn-out. “You’ll get through this, Josh.”

“I know,” I lie.

She steps back into the hall and closes my door. I listen to the floor creak under her feet as she makes her way down the hall. I wait to hear their bedroom door close before I roll over and cry like a baby.

I
’M IN THE GIRLS’ BATHROOM
hiding out from Kayla and Jessie again. We’re officially at war. After they did the
SLUT
thing to Ellie, I tried to
BITCH
them back. Unfortunately I only got up to the
T
on Kayla’s locker before they caught me. They’ve been harassing me ever since. I could report them, but then I’d have to ’fess up about my part in this whole thing, and I really don’t think being forced into mediation with those two would change anything.

Of course, sitting here crouched with my feet on the toilet seat isn’t exactly my idea of fun, either. The truth is, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking during these hideout sessions. Mostly about Ellie. Like why she refuses to report the locker thing. Sometimes I think she believes she deserves to be labeled a slut. Sometimes, I think Ellie believes that getting pregnant is her punishment. And that just drives me crazy.

The other night when I was sitting next to her at Liz’s, she jumped a little and put her hand on her belly. The baby must have been kicking or whatever they do. It must be weird to feel something living inside you.

Whenever Ava or I have a birthday, my mom and dad get out our photo album and show us pictures of my mom when she was pregnant. My dad took a picture of her every month so we could see how we grew inside her. The two of them always get misty-eyed and embarrassingly affectionate when they gush over the photos. I wish Ellie could enjoy pregnancy like that. It must be awful to have this little person living in you that you’ll never know. That you spend all day trying to pretend isn’t even there. That you try to hide.

When the late bell rings, I listen hard for footsteps before I step down from the toilet seat. As soon as I’m sure it’s all clear, I sprint out of the bathroom and down the hall to homeroom. As I rush past Ellie’s locker, I punch the word with my fist.

“Hey! What did that locker ever do to you?” I almost trip at the sound of Caleb’s voice behind me.

I rub my hand. “It’s my new thing. It makes me feel better.”

“Really?” He walks over to Ellie’s locker and gives it a good punch, then shakes his fist like he broke his hand.

“Um. I don’t feel better.” When he looks at me, my stomach melts.

I guess I didn’t realize how long it’s been since I actually laughed, because my mouth feels strange when I do, as if it forgot how. It’s been forever since I’ve really talked to Caleb, and it feels good to be with him again, just us.

“We’re gonna be so late,” I say.

He grins mischievously. “Wanna ditch?”

“You mean leave? Now?”

“Yeah. Let’s do it.” His eyes sparkle.

“OK,” I say.

“Where to?”

I scan the hallway and don’t see anyone. “Let’s just get out of here and then decide.”

We hurry down the hall and outside into the parking lot. A few late students are rushing into the building, but no teachers.

Caleb unlocks the car door on my side to let me in. It’s the first time anyone has done that for me.

“So, where do you wanna go?” he asks when he climbs in.

An image of the two of us fooling around in my room comes to mind.

Hmmmm.

No.

Erase image.

Ever since that day Ellie came out of the clinic, the whole idea of getting close to someone and then having sex scares the hell out of me. I guess Ellie finally did it. She cured me of my sex drive.

Maybe.

“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s kind of nice out. Somewhere outside?”

“I know the perfect place,” he says.

I lean back in my seat and enjoy what seems like my very first date. We drive away from the school and down the main road that leads out of town. Within a few minutes, I know exactly where we’re going.

When we get to the park, we head straight for the seesaw.

We spend the whole morning hanging out on the playground. It’s pretty cold, but not so bad for March. After we try out every piece of playground equipment at least three times, we decide to take a rest. We go over to the merry-go-round and lie down with our legs bent over the side so we can make ourselves turn with our feet. The metal is warm from the sun. I close my eyes as we glide in circles.

“Do you ever wish you were a little kid again?” Caleb asks.

I turn my head and squint to see him. His eyes are closed, and the sun on his face gives it a warm glow. Liz really nailed it when she painted him as a cherub.

“Sometimes,” I say, thinking about what things were like before everything changed with Ellie. “Maybe more lately.”

“Me, too. Only I imagine having a different childhood.”

“
You?
But Liz is amazing! It must have been cool to grow up with her. I bet she let you break all the rules.”

“Seriously?” He opens his eyes to look at me. “Don’t you ever get tired of her ‘I’m such a hip mom’ act?”

“I don’t think it’s an act. I think she’s great. I mean, look how much she’s helped Ellie. Your mom is smart. And
fun.
I think you’re lucky!”

He closes his eyes again and doesn’t say anything for a while, but the silence isn’t the awkward kind.

“You know that painting in the living room?” he asks. “The one of the man?”

“With the eyes?”

“Yeah. He’s . . . um . . . my dad. He left when I was, like, one.”

“Wow.”

“He and my mom were best friends, and my mom wanted a baby so she asked him and . . .” He sighs. “My mom kind of figured he’d stick around, you know? But he met someone and they moved to the West Coast and had their own kids. I guess I didn’t really count.”

“Wow,” I say again. “You mean, he doesn’t keep in touch?”

“Not really. He visited a few times when I was little, but after a while he stopped. It’s not a big deal, I guess. It’s not like he wanted to have a family with my mom. She promised him all she wanted from him was, you know, his sperm.”

“But you think she wanted more?”

We turn in silence for a while as he thinks. “Yeah. I think she expected more.”

“Do you wish he stayed?”

“I used to. I used to go to the park and see other little kids with their mom and dad and wish I had a dad like they did. Liz never taught me how to play baseball or any ‘guy’ stuff. She said it was all gender bias. When I turned five, she gave me a dollhouse for my birthday when I’d asked for a Transformer. I used to get so mad at her. It’s funny, looking back on it now.”

“You really liked that dollhouse, I bet.”

“I’m not the only one.”

“Ooh, tell me Josh and Dave liked it, too!”

He laughs and lifts his face to the sun. “I’ll never tell.”

“I knew it!” I say, laughing too.

He reaches for my hand. “Thanks,” he says. When we touch, my stomach drops as if I’m on the swings.

“For what?”

“Making me laugh. It’s been a while.” His fingers lace through mine and squeeze. His hand isn’t warm or cold; it’s the same temperature as mine. I squeeze back and keep holding on. I feel scared and safe.

He moves closer to me. His hand is still clasped with mine. I keep holding on and so does he. I shut my eyes and wait. He moves even closer, then kisses me on the cheek. His warm lips barely brush against my skin.

When he moves his head back to where it was, I feel where his lips touched my cheek and know I want more.

I move my face closer to his.

“Again,” I say quietly. Under normal circumstances I would probably die of embarrassment for letting those words escape. But Caleb leans toward me again and aims for my cheek. Without thinking, I turn my head and close my eyes and pray my lips meet his lips and not his nose or eyebrow.

Our lips touch, then press against each other, then open, just slightly. His soft, wet tongue gently finds its way to mine and we’re actually kissing and my whole body is on fire. I don’t dare open my eyes. I just let his hand reach up around me and hold my chin while we kiss and spin, so slowly, like in a dream. He smells and tastes like cold, fresh air.

I take him all in and repeat to myself that this isn’t a dream; this is a perfect moment. This is the perfect first kiss I’ve been waiting for all my life.

I
’M SUPPOSED TO BE DOING MY HOMEWORK,
but the baby won’t stop moving. I get up from my desk and lie down on my bed. I know I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t try to feel. But I can’t help it.

I slip my shirt up over my belly. I put both hands on it and press. It feels like the baby is pressing back, trying to get out. Or maybe just exploring its tiny home. It doesn’t know that all it will ever know of me is the inside.

I stretch my fingers across my belly and glide my hand back and forth, waving softly. Sometimes I think I feel a hand reaching out for mine. Or it could be a foot, kicking my hand away. I wish I could tell the difference.

Whenever I feel movement, I reach down to feel whatever is poking out. I’ve seen Liz watch me. Our eyes meet and she winks, but she never says anything. I think she knows it would hurt too much if we started talking about it. If we started to love it. So I just lie here and feel these shapes and try to guess what they are.

My bedroom door opens, and my mother steps in and jumps at the sight of me.

“Oh.” She’s holding a laundry basket full of my brother’s dirty clothes. She looks away quickly.

“Sorry. I didn’t know you were in here.” She says it like I’m a stranger, not her daughter.

I pull down my shirt fast. But I know she saw by the way she jerked her head away. She saw my round belly and my belly button sticking out. She saw my baby.

She rushes over to my hamper and adds my dirty clothes to the rest. I sit up, holding my shirt over my belly.

“Mom?”

“I’m sorry,” she says again. Her voice is shaky. “I didn’t know you were in here.” She says it to the window looking out over our front yard, though. Not to me.

I want to tell her I’m the one who is sorry. I want to tell her not to be so sad.

Her shoulders start to tremble, but she doesn’t turn around. She just holds on to that basket of dirty laundry, facing the window, her fingers curled tightly around the handles.

She takes a deep breath. Maybe she will finally talk to me. Maybe she will finally let me tell her how things happened, if I dare.

But she turns to leave.

“Mom?” I say the word calmly. I don’t want her to go. Suddenly, I want so badly to talk. I want her to be more than that orange-juice-commercial mom. I want her to stop doing the laundry and making breakfast. I want her to see inside me. I want her to hug me and hold me and tell me she would take the pain for me if she could. Just like she did when I was little and I hurt myself. I want her to fill me up with her words. I want her to say something. Anything. I want her to tell me it’s all right. That everything is going to be OK. Even if we both know it’s a lie.

“Mom, please don’t go.”

She finally turns toward me. Her cheeks have tear lines, and her nose is running.

I move to the edge of the bed. Closer to her. “I’m sorry, Mom.” My own tears slide down my jaw and drip onto my shirt.

She sniffs and wipes her wet cheek on her shoulder. “I know, baby.”

I put my feet on the floor and start to hoist myself up. But as I rise, she walks to the door.

“I’m sorry, too.”

I step forward, but she’s gone. I listen to her go down the stairs and start the wash.

I touch my belly again. It makes me feel so empty and full at the same time. I have to wonder, after the baby is born, how I’ll ever fill the space.