“Hold on.” Mom holds me back at my shoulders as Juniper steps outside into the full glare of the media. There’s a small, amused smile on her lips. “They’ll think she’s you.”
I look outside to see Juniper being surrounded by the press. She can barely move forward they’re so much in her face. I bite my lip to hide a smile, then slip outside. Perhaps Mr. Murray was correct about being able to slip into the cracks.
FORTY-THREE
LOGAN’S HOUSE IS on the other side of town, in an equally leafy neighborhood in a nice part of the suburbs. I blare the music and lower the window to feel the wind in my face. I sing loudly, feeling free. As long as I have friends who will support me and be friends with me for who I am, I can do this, I can live this life. It’s not what I wanted, it’s not what I planned for in my carefully thought-out plans of yesteryear, but it’s the hand that I’ve been dealt, and I will make as much of it as I can. I sing along to the radio, feeling happy, feeling like maybe I don’t even need to worry about outing Crevan’s act in the chamber. I can live this life. I can be happy.
I’m nervous about arriving at a party with people I don’t know, but it’s more of an excitement. I’m ready to do something new. I’ll be there by 8:00 PM. Two hours of being young again ahead of me, because I don’t want to be home late. I want to be home well ahead of Mary May’s arrival, so there’s no doubt that I have not broken any rules. Two hours is perfect. New friends, new beginnings.
Despite my parents’ nerves about my going, they are both delighted that I’m doing something that a seventeen-year-old should be doing. That I’m not holed up in my bedroom crying as I have been the past few days. But mostly one of the reasons they were so open about my coming here was that they know Logan’s parents. Not personally, but they know of them. Everybody does. They are both pastors, a husband-and-wife team. Because of this, they get a fair amount of media attention, and they have been upstanding citizens. I feel this is probably why Logan reached out with the olive branch. He lives in a house that encourages understanding and forgiveness. He knows what it’s like to be perceived as being different, to be watched by others and analyzed and dissected until there’s nothing left of you but to feel raw and naked.
We follow the directions in Logan’s invitation to a modest white house with a pretty yard. They even have a picket fence. Mom and I embrace, and Mom holds on to me tight, too tight, afraid to let go, but she finally does, eyes teary.
“I’ll be here at ten. Call me if you need me to be here earlier. Or call about anything. Even if it’s small. If someone says something stupid or nasty or—”
“Mom!” I laugh. “I’ll be fine!”
“Okay, okay.” She grins, finally letting go.
She watches as I make my way to the front door, and it reminds me of when I first rode my bike without training wheels. I look at her in the car, terrified of letting me go, terrified I’m about to fall.
For a party, it is remarkably quiet, but perhaps that’s how the son of pastors has to party. There is a car in the driveway, and I recognize it as being Natasha’s car. This makes me nervous, and not in an excited way. I don’t get along with Natasha, not that we’ve ever spoken, but she has been vocal about my presence in the school, particularly in swim class on the first day I went back. She won’t be happy about my being here. I know Logan and she are close, so perhaps he can convince her to change her mind. It occurs to me that I may need to do more mind-changing tonight than I’d thought. Perhaps tonight won’t be fun. It will be an icebreaker, and the next night can be fun. Baby steps … I walk up the driveway, my legs wobbly in my sky-high heels. I ring the doorbell and wait. I turn around to Mom and wave at her to go. She gives in and takes off down the road, leaving me alone finally.
There is silence inside, and when I look through the side panel of glass, I see a single simple wall-mounted Jesus on the crucifix. His head is dipped, covered in a crown of thorns, his hands and feet nailed to the cross. It is a most vivid piece, stronger than I have ever seen before, and the hairs go up on my arms. My antennae suddenly up, I take a step back—right into a person standing behind me.
I yelp with fright. And then a bag comes down over my head and I can’t breathe.
FORTY-FOUR