NEW Novel by Marilyn Reynolds!
The eighth novel in the True to Life Series from Hamilton High. The series that captures teens where they live, and transforms them into eager readers.
Love Rules portrays the widespread effects of Kit's decision to come out of the closet and live openly and honestly while still in high school. As her longtime best friend, Lynn's challenge is to accept the "real" Kit. The pathos of Kit's loneliness ultimately emerges with the joy of her hard won self-acceptance. As Lynn struggles to understand what Kit is facing, and what her African-American boyfriend, Conan, has faced, she becomes increasingly aware of the tragic effects of injustice on people of varied backgrounds and persuasions.
Love Rules is a testament to the power of love - in family, in friendships, and in teen couples, whether gay or straight, of the same ethnicity or not. It is a testament to the power of gay/straight alliances in working toward the safety of all students.
Love Rules celebrates the richness of diversity, the strength of the human spirit, and is sure to touch the reader's soul.
Author
Marilyn Reynolds
Marilyn Reynolds Marilyn Reynolds is the author of seven young adult novels and a collection of short stories, all part of the "True-to-Life" from Hamilton High series. Her titles appear on a variety of American Library Association's "Best Books" lists, and are also found on the New York Public Library's lists of "Best Books for the Teen Age." Drawing on decades of experience working with at-risk students in California alternative schools, Reynolds' takes on tough issues that permeate the lives of many of today's teens: abuse, teen pregnancy, racism, acquaintance rape, gay/lesbian harassment and bullying, school failure, sexual abstinence, and a myriad of other sub-issues. What with the joys and demands of young children, and full-time teaching, Reynolds' writing was pretty much confined to grocery lists, to-do lists, and assignment sheets for student use. Then, on sabbatical earning a M.S. In Reading Education, she found time to take a Creative Writing class. A personal essay assignment turned into an op-ed piece that was published in the LOS ANGELES TIMES, proving to her that she could expand her writing genres beyond lists and assignments. In addition to the LOS ANGELES TIMES, Reynolds' personal opinion essays have appeared in other national newspapers, such as the DALLAS MORNING NEWS, SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE, and the CHICAGO TRIBUNE. Her work has also appeared in small literary magazines, professional journals, and anthologies. Through her own reading, Reynolds' experienced laughter, insight, intellectual and emotional growth, and other indescribable benefits. She wanted her students also to receive such benefits. Hers would be the last English class ever for many of them. If she could send them on their way with the gift of a reading habit, they would leave with the gift of a lifetime. But after they read Go Ask Alice, and The Outsiders, and selected Judy Blume novels, then what? In an attempt to broaden her students' reading possibilities, Reynolds wrote Telling, the story of a twelve-year-old girl who was being molested by a neighbor. Seeing the responses of her students to this book encouraged Reynolds to write Detour for Emmy, the story of a girl who gets pregnant at the age of fifteen. Thus the "True-to-Life from Hamilton High" series was launched. After a lifetime in southern California, Reynolds and her husband, Michael, now live in northern California, near Sacramento. She enjoys walks along the American River, movies, dinners out, and of course, reading. Her grandchildren and adult children keep her on her toes. She maintains a demanding exercise regimen in a desperate and futile attempt to counteract the ravages of time. She continues to work with at-risk students, and to solicit their help in keeping her stories realistic and believable. Love Rules - her best friend a lesbian? Can they still be friends? A NEW RELEASE! "..the best YA novel I have read with a central character who is gay-all the characters are interesting and the issues are compelling." --Kliatt Detour for Emmy - A teen mother's story AN ALA BEST BOOK FOR YOUNG ADULTS SOUTH CAROLINA YOUNG ADULT BOOK AWARD, 1995-1996 ". . . honest, heart-wrenching, inspirational, informative." --Kliatt Too Soon for Jeff - A teen father's story AN ALA BEST BOOK FOR YOUNG ADULTS "A thoughtful story for both young men and young women." --Booklist "Too Soon for Jeff" (An ABC Afterschool Special) EMMY AWARD NOMINATION, Writing in a Children's Special ADVOCATES FOR YOUTH, NANCY SUSAN REYNOLDS AWARD Beyond Dreams (A collection of six short stories) AN ALA SHORT TAKES SELECTION ". . . six stories about teens in crisis. . .Young adults will certainly identify with the characters and their problems. . ." --Booklist If You Loved Me - A teen's struggle with sexual abstinence A NEW YORK CITY PUBLIC LIBRARY, BEST BOOK FOR THE TEEN AGE ". . . informative and insightful, exploring difficult teen issues with honesty and a multi-faceted perspective." --Booklist Baby Help - The nightmare of teen partner abuse A NEW YORK CITY PUBLIC LIBRARY, BEST BOOK FOR THE TEEN AGE "This is an excellent YA novel, with characters we care about." --Kliatt Telling - 12-year-old Cassie is molested by a trusted adult AN ALA QUICK PICK FOR YOUNG ADULTS "Reynolds has done a superb job of weaving the complexities of difficult issues into the life of an innocent child." --School Library Journal But What About Me - Portrays the horrors of acquaintance rape A NEW YORK CITY PUBLIC LIBRARY, BEST BOOK FOR THE TEEN AGE "The characters are compelling...the writing superb." -School Library Journal READERS RESPOND: "I'm one of those people that never read a whole book, until I came across Baby Help. That book inspired me." "The struggles Emmy had to deal with made me sure I would not want to be in her position. I have decided to abstain from sex until marriage." "Now I like to read books more than to watch movies because you showed me how much better it is." "I just finished reading But What About Me and it was the most touching book I ever read. I'm a guy, but I can feel her." "That book (Too Soon for Jeff) made me realize where my life was going, which was somewhere I didn't want it to go." "Your book (Telling) helped me to understand some things I was going through. I learned how to not keep something inside of me an to tell my parents when something is wrong." "I could relate to every one of the stories in Beyond Dreams, like they were about me or my friends." "If You Loved Me" made me think about things in a new way." "Thank you for turning me on to reading."
AUTHOR VISITS: Marilyn Reynolds visits colleges, high schools and middle schools, as well as public libraries. Events are carefully structured to provide a meaningful experience for each particular audience. Her presentations may include slides, readings, group discussion, question-answer, and/or other activities. The focus may be: motivational--for reluctant readers encouraging--for at-risk students whose lives are in turmoil challenging--for advanced writers working on their craft All presentations include a focus on the strength of the human spirit, the importance of reading for pleasure, and the necessity of listening to the inner voice which urges each of us, "Grow. Grow." RESPONSES: "Now everyone in our school is trying to borrow your books. I will always keep the books you signed for me. They are very special." "She's for real. She knows what it's about." "She inspired me to take my own writing seriously." "Thank you for coming to our school. I have never finished a book before and now I've read four of yours." WORKSHOPS: In addition to decades of teaching experience, Reynolds holds a B.A. in English, an M.S. in Reading Education, and a K-12 Reading Specialist credential. With special emphasis on how to match students with activities that inspire reading and writing, Marilyn guides teachers through classroom-proven techniques that involve books, art, writing, individual studies, creative group activities, graphic organizers and more. RESPONSES: Using Young Adult Fiction with Pregnant and Parenting Teens - "The best workshop I've attended." "Wonderful! Inspiring!" Teaching Tolerance Through Young Adult Fiction - "Very accessible, a delightful presenter." "She is excellent and so are her books." Dealing with Reluctant Readers and Writers - "Specific techniques that are applicable to class-Bring her back!" "Very knowledgeable presenter." Focus on Writers Conference - "The evaluations were uniformly excellent." Author Talk on Censorship - "Enjoyable, humorous, and thought provoking." "Excellent! Great speaker." "I wasn't even close to falling asleep." Marilyn's fee for presentations and workshops is $500.00 per day plus expenses for local visits. For visits that require travel of 100 miles or more, the fee is $800 for the first day, and $500.00 for each consecutive day, plus expenses. To arrange bookings, contact her at: 916-635-5995 or mmreynolds@earthlink.net .
Book Excerpt
Chapter 1
I'm Lynn Wright, seventeen, a senior at Hamilton High. It's Wednesday afternoon, the first week of school. My best friend, Kit Dandridge, and I are on our way home. Her real name is Katherine but no one except her parents ever calls her that.
Kit spent the summer working at her aunt's bookstore in San Francisco, and I worked at a Girl Scout camp up near Big Bear Lake. Usually, whenever one of us goes away, we keep in touch by e-mail. But the one ancient computer at camp wasn't even connected to the Internet. Besides that major block to communications, there was no time of the day or night when kids weren't lined up to use the one pay phone. Even when I could get to the phone, it didn't make for relaxed conversation to have twenty homesick girls behind me, clamoring for me to hurry up. So Kit and I have a lot of catching up to do.
"You have something important to tell me?" I ask, remembering last night's phone conversation.
"I do," she says. "But I want to wait until you come over this evening. I'll tell you when we're under the tree."
"Why the mystery?"
Kit's the type that always blurts out what she's thinking, wherever and whenever.
"I want us to be under our tree when I tell you - like old times," she says. "That's all."
She looks serious, the way she looks when she's talking about some psychological theory, or doing a play-by-play analysis of a lost volleyball game. What could be so important that she's waiting for a special time and place to tell me? Any other girl being all secretive like that, I'd wonder if she was pregnant. But not Kit. She trips hard on the tragedy of teen pregnancy every time she sees a pregnant girl on campus. Not that she's rude, or disrespectful, but Kit has definite, well thought out opinions. So did Jessica Rand, though, and her baby's due any day now. I wonder . . .
"You're not pregnant are you?"
Her look tells me I've asked an eleven on the one to ten scale of stupid questions.
"Well, what am I supposed to think?" I ask.
"Think we're going to sit under our tree, and talk, like we've always done, and I'm going to tell you something I've been wanting to tell you for a long time."
I hope you won't mind the interruption here, but there are some things you should know before we go any further.
Kit and I have been best friends since we were eleven, when she and her parents moved into my neighborhood. By the time the Dandridges' moving van was unloaded, Kit and I were already friends. That day, we went back and forth between our two backyards so many times, my mom joked that we'd soon wear out the hinges on the gate.
Neither Kit nor I have any brothers or sisters - "The Only Child" is how magazine articles refer to people like us. On the very first day we met, we decided we were tired of being "The Only Child," and that we'd be sisters. Not that our birth certificates show we have the same parents or anything, and we definitely don't look alike. Our personalities are different, too. Once Kit gets focused on something, she stays focused.
Me, I have a wandering mind. I focus on something for a while, and then some unruly thought intrudes and my brain follows it down a crooked path of more unruly thoughts and pretty soon I'm so far off the subject . . . like now. I started giving you some basic background on me and Kit, and now I'm telling you about the inner workings of my wandering mind. Sorry. Back to necessary infor- mation.
There's a huge, ancient walnut tree in Kit's yard, tall and broad and graceful - a magical tree. The summer Kit moved in, we used to sneak copies of the World Weekly News from my mom's hidden stash. We'd spend afternoons under the tree, backs resting against its rough trunk, reading outrageous story after outrageous story. We were particularly interested in kidnappings by aliens, but the German shepherd who gave birth to a half-dog, half-child creature, and the one about the face of Jesus appearing on a tortilla also entertained and amazed us.
The World Weekly News was Mom's secret addiction. She was ashamed to read "trash" and she thought I didn't know of her collection. Talk about someone not having a clue! I was a very curious eleven and I often had the house to myself. There was not one thing in our house that I'd not examined. I even found an old, sugary love letter from some guy Mom knew before she married my dad. It was on U.S. Army stationery and . . . Oh, no. I'm not going to follow another
unruly thought.
At first the sister thing was sort of a joke. But the more Kit and I got to know one another, the more we felt like we truly were sisters. Kit believed that even though we were way different on the outside, our spirits rose from the same source. That made sense to me.
Kit is telling me about her summer in San Francisco.
"I really liked working in Aunt Bernie's bookstore. It's a cool place," she says.
"What'd you do there?"
"Worked in the back room, unloading books from boxes and arranging them onto rolling carts, so Bernie could move them out into the store. I packaged orders for UPS pick-ups, answered the phone - you know, the usual no-brainer stuff."
"Sounds better than summer camp."
"Sometimes Bernie had me arrange window displays. That was more of a challenge."
I laugh. "My biggest challenge this summer was staying sane while the little Scout squirts sang us to sleep with ŒA Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall.' Only they started with a thousand."
"You're in good shape for volleyball, though - all that swimming and aerobics classes with the kids. Except for walking the hilly streets of San Francisco, I got no exercise. The muscles in my arms are mush."
"Coach Terry'll get you back in shape in no time," I say, flexing my biceps.
Kit groans. Terry's a fiend for conditioning. We've already had two practice sessions that left me with aching muscles, and I'm the one in good shape. Kit spent both evenings after practice with her feet elevated on the couch and large packages of frozen peas on each knee. I don't think I'll ever eat peas at her house again, seeing the packages all squished up and dripping. I prefer not to eat anything that's already been used for medicinal purposes.
"How come you're not in PC this semester?" Kit asks. (PC is short for Peer Communications, my favorite class.)
"I am, just not the same period as you."
"Holly and Nicole are in my class," Kit says. They're our friends from middle school days, and they're also on the volleyball team.
"Eric Weiss is in my class," I say.
"Lucky you," Kit says, all sarcastic.
Eric was my boyfriend for a while last year.
"There's this new guy, Conan, who sits behind me. He's nice," I say.
"Football player?"
"Yeah. I guess."
"Robert told me about him," Kit says. "Coach Ruggles thinks Brian Marsters and the new guy are unbeatable . . ."
When Kit says "Brian Marsters," she wrinkles her nose, like she's just smelled something nasty. I'll wait and tell you more about that later, though.
" . . . and the state championship's a sure thing for us this year, with this new Conan the Barbarian guy."
"He hates being called the Barbarian. His dad actually named him after Conan the Barbarian. That's how he's raised him, too. His dad used to set up fights with the neighborhood kids to make Conan prove how strong and tough he was. That's sick, if you ask me."
"How do you know all that stuff?"
"You know. PC. The first day of class Ms. Woods asked us to tell about how we got our names. Didn't you do that in your class?"
"No. She had us tell which animal we'd most like to be, and why."
"What did you choose?"
"A tiger. Because they're strong, and fast, and nobody messes with them."
"So you're changing from a Kitty to Tiger?"
Kit laughs. "I hadn't thought of it that way, but yeah, maybe . ... Did you tell how you were named after that Redgrave actress?"
"No. How embarrassing! I didn't want to say I'm named after some old movie star!"
"So, what did you say?"
"I said I didn't know how I got my name. But Conan, who seems like kind of a shy guy, went on and on about how he hates the whole barbarian thing. Just 'cause he's big and black and plays football, people think he's mean. He's not . . . "
I stop, realizing I've been totally breaking PC confidentiality.
Kit knows exactly why I stopped talking.
"I won't say anything."
I know she won't. But in PC we all sign promises to keep whatever goes on in the room absolutely confidential. I'm not the kind of person who goes back on promises.
"I'm sorry I blabbed about Conan's name. That's all."
Kit gives me a long, searching look.
"So are you in love with this guy Conan or something?"
I feel my face warming into a blush, and look away. One of the spirit sister things I'm not so wild about is that sometimes Kit knows what I'm feeling even before I do.
"I barely know him."
Kit laughs.
"Well, something's going on. The back of your neck is red as can be, and if I could see your face . . . "
Kit jumps in front of me, pointing and laughing. I laugh, too, feeling my face get even hotter. I wish I didn't blush at all the worst times.
My mom always tells me I should be happy I have such a beautiful, light complexion, and that showing a blush can be quite attractive. I don't think so. I wish I were dark, like Kit. Her mom's part Cherokee, and Kit inherited her dark eyes and nutmeg skin. Kit has her mom's hair, too - thick and black and shiny. It comes down past her shoulders and no matter what she does with it, it looks good. Mostly she wears it loose, but for volleyball she braids it in one long, single braid. I'd trade my thin, wiry, drab brown hair for hair like Kit's in an instant.
When Kit finishes laughing at me, she gets right back to the subject. Like I told you earlier, Kit's the type that stays focused. She wants to be a psychologist. She'll probably be good at it. She's always practicing.
Me, I'm going to be a pediatric nurse. When I was nine, I had an emergency appendectomy and ended up staying a week in the hospital. That's when I realized how important nurses are. Also, I'm pretty sure it's a job that'll never get boring. I'm good at science, and I like little kids, so even though I decided on a career at the age of nine, it still seems like a good decision.
Kit gestures toward a non-existent couch, and in a fake accent says, "Lie down, relax, and tell Dr. Kit all about Mr. Conan."
"Well, doctor," I say, going along with a familiar game, "I notice when he walks into the room. I'm aware of him."
"Hmmmm. Very Interesting. Could it be because he weighs two hundred and thirty pounds?"
"It's more than that."
"More than two hundred and thirty pounds? Ach mein goodness!"
"No, I mean I'm aware of him for other reasons. Not just his size."
"Explain," she says, raising an eyebrow.
"Well . . . sometimes, in class, he'll lean forward and tap me on my shoulder, to ask a question or something. All day long the place where he touched me feels warm, like maybe it's glowing."
"Like your face right now," Kit says, dropping the doctor accent and laughing.
"I just think he's a nice person, and I'd like to get to know him better."
"Well . . . I think your glowing shoulder is a good sign. It means you're over that butthead Eric."
"Yeah," I agree. "Now I wonder how I could ever have liked him. He says some really stupid stuff in class."
"No surprise," Kit says. "He's got the emotional maturity of a two-year-old."
"Woodsy's already sent him and Brian out of class once."
"Brian's in there, too? I could puke just thinking about him," Kit says, looking like she really could puke . . .
So I guess now's the time to tell you about Kit's aversion to Eric's friend, Brian Marsters, and the New Year's Eve party. That was back when I was all excited about Eric. He was cute, in a blond jock kind of way. Lots of girls liked him. That always makes a guy seem even cuter. I could pursue a whole stream of unruly Eric thoughts here, but since I said I'd tell you about Kit and Brian, I'll force my wandering mind to focus.
Chapter 2
Here goes. The background on Kit and Brian.
Knowing Kit and I were best friends, Brian asked Eric to set him up with her. It was funny, because Brian always had a bunch of girls hanging around him, especially the cheerleader/drillteam types. It's that football player thing. But he'd told Eric that if Kit wouldn't go to the New Year's Eve party with him, he wasn't going. When I asked why, Eric said it had something to do with Brian wanting to experience the passion of a half-breed. What an idiot, I'd said. I'm not setting my best friend up with someone like that.
But then Eric said no, it was only a joke, and that Brian had liked Kit for a long time but he was too shy to do anything about it. Oh, right, Brian Marsters is shy, I'd said, all sarcastic. But Eric said Brian was shy with girls he really likes, he didn't mean the half-breed thing, blah, blah, blah, so I talked Kit into going to the party with Brian. The four of us went together in what our moms referred to as a double date.
Kit and I were more into sports than boys, so we weren't used to the party scene. This one was supposed to be fancy, because of New Year's Eve, and our moms took us shopping for "evening wear," as the store clerks called it. Kit's mom tried to talk her into buying high heels to go with her fancy dress.
"Sorry, Mom. I only wear shoes I can walk in," Kit said.
They compromised on something sort of dressy, but flat. Not me. Eric had said he liked the look of women in heels, so that's what I got.
I hobbled around at the party at first, feeling awkward and out of balance, but then I got sort of used to the unnatural act of standing on my toes with my body pitched forward.
Eric and I danced and talked and hung out with friends. Really, Eric and I had some good times together for a while. Then I sort of got tired of him. Like with his jokes. They were funny the first time, but then it was like constant replay. I think there's something dumb about a guy who laughs so hard at his own jokes he doesn't notice that no one else . . . oops. There went my wandering mind again.
Back to Kit and Brian and the New Year's Eve party. All the time Eric and I were enjoying ourselves, I kept noticing Brian and Kit, standing off to the side. Brian had his arm around Kit, but neither of them was smiling and it didn't look like they were talking, either.
At midnight the lights went out and, except for Kit and Brian, everyone kissed the New Year in. Kit told me later that Brian grabbed her and tried to kiss her, but she pushed him away. He tried again, more forcefully, managing to get his mouth pressed against hers. She twisted loose and ran to the restroom, where she rinsed her mouth out, over and over. I thought she was being extreme. It's not like Brian had some dread disease, or toilet breath, or anything like that. I mean, really, what's a New Year's kiss?
For months after the party, Brian kept calling Kit, asking her to meet him at the mall, or go to some party with him, or go for a ride, or whatever. Eric told me that Brian always got whatever girl he wanted and Kit was a challenge. Brian was a pest as far as Kit was concerned - someone with the brains of a beetle and the personality of a rock, she'd said. He finally gave up, but not before Kit pretended to get a whiff of something bad every time she heard his name.
So now you know.
Back to the present.
As we wait at the signal to cross Main, I tell Kit, "We were only juniors in the Brian and Eric phase. We didn't know anything! Our senior year is going to be soooo cool."
"Or, different at least."
"No, really. Everyone says your senior year is the best. That's how this year's going to be!"
"Maybe," Kit says, obviously not overcome with enthusiasm for my prediction.
We cross the street and stand counting our money in front of Barb 'n Edie's. My mom remembers the grand opening of this place, back in the seventies, when the red leather booths were new, and Barb and Edie were young. Hard to imagine. Mom says this place is the quintessential greasy spoon, whatever that means.
Kit and I have enough money for two sodas and a large order of fries. They've definitely got the best fries in town here, and their garbageburgers are practically world famous. We don't have enough money for one of those. Besides, a garbageburger's a feast, not a snack.
Barb 'n Edie's is jammed, but the wait is worth it. McDonalds' fries, or Barb 'n Edie's? It's like the difference between a pile of sawdust and a hot fudge sundae. We carry our fries and sodas to a table near the back. The faded red leather on one of the seats is held together with duct tape, as is the back of the opposite seat. The Formica tabletop is gouged and scratched with hundreds of initials of previous diners. Well, we're here for the food, not the decor.
I go to the counter for packets of catsup and see Rosie, the librarian's daughter, sitting on a stool near the kitchen, drawing on a paper placemat.
Here's another interruption, but you'll need to know a little something about Rosie and her mom. Last year, when I was a junior, I was an aide in the library. I got to know Rosie's mom, Mrs. Saunders, really well. Only it wasn't Mrs. Saunders then. It was Ms. Morrison. She got married last summer. I guess it's a second marriage or something, because she's got Rosie.
Every day, after school, Rosie came to the library and worked on her homework in her mom's office. When I was finished shelving books, sometimes I would practice math facts with Rosie. She's really smart, but she still had to count on her fingers to add numbers. And subtraction? Not a clue.
Sometimes I baby-sat for Rosie, when Emmy and Mr. Saunders went out. After a while, Emmy told me, "Ms. Morrison sounds too formal. I'd rather you just call me Emmy."
So that's how it's been. Anyway, back to Barb 'n Edie's.
"Hey, Rosie-Posey, how's third grade?"
"Look!" she says, showing me her picture. "It's Mom's library."
"Wow! Good job!" I tell her, amazed by how much better this picture is than the ones she drew last year, in second grade.
"See, here are the books, and the computers are over there . . ."
"I can tell," I say. "How's math?"
"Okay," she says, carefully outlining the computers in black. I think she doesn't want to talk about Math.
Barb, of Barb 'n Edie's, pauses on her way back to the kitchen. She smiles at Rosie. I notice that, because a smile on the face of Barb is a rarity.
"Doin' okay there, Kiddo?"
Rosie smiles back. "Can I have another Coke, Grams?"
"You bet, Sweetie. Comin' right up."
"See ya," I say, and go back to our table.
"Is that Mrs. Saunders' daughter you were talking to?" Kit asks, opening a catsup packet and dripping it out, dot by dot, over two fries.
I nod.
"What's she doing in here by herself?"
"She's not by herself. She's with her grandmother - Barb."
"Hold on. Barb is that little girl's grandmother?"
"Yeah."
"So does that mean that Barb is the librarian's mother?"
"Clever deduction, Dr. Dandridge."
"No way!"
"Yes, way. I'll bet Emmy doesn't know Gramma Barb is supplying Rosie with caffeine filled colas, though."
"Mrs. Emily Saunders's mom is Barb? Are you sure?"
"I'm sure! Barb was at their house one night when I baby-sat Rosie. Emmy called Barb Mom.' Okay?"
"How did Mrs. Saunders ever get to be so nice with a mom like Barb?"
"You tell me, Dr. Kit. You're the big psychologist."
"Well, you're the big library aide pet."
"Just because I call her Emmy doesn't mean I know her whole history. Besides. I'm not an aide Anymore."
"Why not? I thought you liked being an aide."
"I couldn't fit it into my schedule."
"Oh, look! There's your friend Conan!" Kit says, looking toward the door.
I turn quickly, but there is no two hundred and thirty pound hunk anywhere to be seen. Kit laughs.
"Made you look!"
"You can be as irritating as a singing Scout," I tell her.
"Made you blush!" she says, laughing harder.
I take a long, cool drink of my soda.
"Seriously," Kit says. "I'm glad you're in love."
"I'm telling you, I don't even know him!"
"But face it. Dr. Kit knows that when you blush at a name, you're entering the department of L-o-v-e."
"Yeah . . . whatever," I say.
My wandering mind goes to Conan. What if Kit's right, and I'm interested? What's wrong with that? He's got a great smile. And when he looks at me, when we're talking, it's not like he's half-looking, or half-listening. Most guys are constantly on the lookout for who else is around, or they're thinking about what they're going to say next, everything but listening. That's how Eric was during the three months we were doing the boyfriend/girlfriend thing. Conan's different. And his eyes . . .
When I've conquered unruly thoughts and come back to reality, I ask Kit, "What about you? Is there anyone you might blush over, if I could see you blush?"
"Not really," she says.
"How about Robert? You're always talking with him."
"He's a friend."
"I think he likes you."
"Yeah, well . . . he doesn't increase my pulse rate."
"Who does?" I ask.
We sit, slowly munching our fries in silence, watching other Hamilton High students come and Go.
"Is that what you want to tell me under the tree? You met a guy in San Francisco and you're in love? Is that it?"
I'm smiling in anticipation. That must be what she wants to tell me. Why didn't I guess that Before?
Kit shakes her head.
"Well, what then?" I ask, frustrated. "What's the big news?"
"It's not exactly news," Kit says.
"Well??? What is it then?"
Kit is quiet for what seems like a long time, dipping and re-dipping a now limp fry into a mound of catsup. Finally she says, "We tell each other everything, right?"
"Right."
"Straight out. Spirit sisters. For life. Right?"
"Right," I say.
"Well . . . It would be better to talk under the tree," she says.
I sigh. "Just tell me."
Kit looks around the cafe, which is quieter now, and less crowded. She takes a deep breath, like she's getting ready to dive from the high board and knows she'll need all the breath she can get before she surfaces.
"It can wait."
"Kit!"
Pause. Long pause. We may as well leave. Let her tell it her way, under the tree. I'm reaching for my backpack, ready to go, when Kit starts talking.
"Remember that time with Brian?"
"How could I forget?"
"It wasn't only Brian."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, Brian is a jerk all right. But I realized something that night that I'd not been wanting to think about, even though deep down inside I knew I had to think about it."
"Think about what?"
"Think about how it wasn't only Brian I didn't want kissing me. I didn't want any boy to kiss me. Ever."
I don't understand what she's saying.
"So?"
"So . . . I don't like boys that way," she says. "I don't want a boy touching me that way."
She fiddles with another limp, grease-laden fry, not looking up.
Finally she says, softly, still not looking at me, "I like girls."
"You like girls?"
"That's how I am," she says.
It's my turn, now, to play with a french fry, mulling over what I hope I didn't just hear.
"I like girls, too. Some of my best friends are girls," I say, trying to force a joke. But this is Kit. The one with focus.
"You don't like girls the way I do. I like girls the way you like boys."
Follow your breath. I heard that on some stress reduction tape my mom was listening to.
How stupid, I'd thought. But right now, I'll just sit here and breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
"That's it. That's what I had to tell you. I'm tired of secrets."
So okay. I live near the second largest city in the United States. I watch TV. I read the newspaper. I know there are people who like people of the same sex, "that way." But Kit? I don't know what to say. I don't even know what to think.
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