I looked at the girls. I was worried that bowling would sound dorky and they wouldn’t want to go. But they both nodded.
“Okay,” Kelsi said.
I looked at Logan. He seemed annoyed, but he shrugged. “Yeah, whatever,” he muttered.
I turned back to Sam and smiled. “That sounds like a good idea. So next Tuesday, then? A week from today?”
Everyone nodded.
“If anyone needs a ride, maybe we can just meet in the parking lot after school,” Sam said. “I drive a Cherokee. I can fit a bunch of people.”
“Okay, next Tuesday it is,” I said. “And guys?”
Everyone looked at me, expectant. I paused.
“Thanks,” I said finally. “Really. Thanks.”
No one said anything for a minute. Then Mindy said softly, “Well, thanks for setting this up. It’s nice to be someplace where you don’t feel like a weirdo. Where you can feel like you did …”
Her voice trailed off. I knew exactly what she meant. But it was Kelsi who put it into words.
“Before,” she filled in, her voice soft. “Where you can feel like you did before everything changed.”
I beamed. This felt like the most important thing I had ever done. I was helping people.
“Thanks for coming,” I said quietly.
And then, with a bunch of mumbled goodbyes, everyone went their separate ways. Sam glanced back and smiled at me as he walked out the door, but he didn’t wait or ask if I needed a ride. A wall had gone up between us, and I’d been the one to put it there, all because I’d assumed that he was just like everyone else.
? ? ?
That night, Mom tried to get us to talk about the meeting, and I told her a little bit about it. Logan was strangely quiet, muttering only yes or no to Mom’s questions. Tanner, as usual, pushed his food around on his plate and was silent. I felt a knot starting to form in my stomach as I looked around the table at my silent little brother, my sad-eyed mother, and grumpy Logan. For the millionth time, I missed Dad so much I could feel the pain in my chest.
After dinner, everyone shut themselves away in their rooms, even Mom. It made it feel like we were living in four separate little universes.
I did my trig homework at the dining room table, puzzling over one particularly complicated cosine problem. Then, closing my books, I walked upstairs and knocked on Logan’s door.
“What?” he barked.
“It’s me,” I said. “Can I come in?”
There was a moment of silence. “Whatever.”
I hadn’t been in Logan’s room in a while, and I was struck by how unfamiliar it felt. He had the same blue and green bedspread, of course, and the same white blinds that were a little bent on the lower right side. But he had taken down the surfing posters he used to have on his walls. In their place, he had a big collage made out of pictures of him and Sydney, with little hearts drawn all over it. Sydney had made it, of course, but I couldn’t believe he had actually put it up.
He was sitting at his desk, shoulders slumped, staring at the bright screen of his computer. He had his history textbook spread in front of him and a few IM windows open.
“I, um, just wanted to say thanks for coming today,” I said. I stood awkwardly in the doorway for a minute, then I crossed the room and sat on his bed. Logan sighed, typed a few things into the IM windows, and then turned around to look at me.
“Thanks,” I continued after a pause. “For staying. After Sydney left, I mean.”
“Yeah, well, now she’s pissed at me,” Logan said.
“Oh,” I said. I didn’t want to say that I was sorry, because I wasn’t. “Well, maybe she shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”
Evidently, this was the wrong thing to say.
“Who are you to tell my girlfriend where she can and can’t go?” Logan exploded.
“I’m not trying to do that,” I said defensively.
“Whatever,” Logan said bitterly. “You made her feel so uncomfortable. And now she’s mad at me.”
“Logan, I didn’t do anything to make her feel uncomfortable,” I said. “She got all defensive. Remember?”
“Yeah, well,” Logan said. But he didn’t continue.
We sat in silence. Then all of a sudden, Logan blurted out, “What’s the point, anyways?”
I was startled. “The point of what?”
“Of your stupid club?” Logan asked. “What, like it’s supposed to make us feel better?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just thought it might help. I thought today went well.”
“Yeah, for you, maybe,” he said.
I stared at him.
“You know, you say you hate that we feel different from everyone else,” he said. “But then you start some group that makes us feel even more different.”
“It’s not supposed to make us feel like that,” I protested. “It’s supposed to give us a place to just feel normal.”
“It’s all about you, isn’t it?” he said, an edge of bitterness creeping into his voice.