Chapters (33)
- Cover
- Dedication
- · one ·
- · two ·
- · three ·
- · four ·
- · five ·
- · six ·
- · seven ·
- · eight ·
- · nine ·
- · ten ·
- · eleven ·
- · twelve ·
- · thirteen ·
- · fourteen ·
- · fifteen ·
- · sixteen ·
- · seventeen ·
- · eighteen ·
- · nineteen ·
- · twenty ·
- · twenty-one ·
- · twenty-two ·
- · twenty-three ·
- · twenty-four ·
- · twenty five ·
- · twenty-six ·
- · twenty-seven ·
- · twenty-eight ·
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
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I turned and looked at her. She smiled at me and winked a little bit. We never had one of those conversations like you see on TV where the gay kid comes out to his parents. There was never any Birdie, I’m gay on my part or any I’m so proud of you, Julian. Let’s go get some ice cream on her part. But when she put her hand on my shoulder and asked if I was okay that day, I want to think that was her way of saying, I know and it’s okay. After that day, Pastor Ernie and Figg were weekly fixtures at our dining room table.
“Do you ever miss him?” Elijah says, finally turning his head and looking at me. He squints in the sun.
I meet his eye. “Maybe a little bit.”
Elijah nods like he knows what I’m talking about. Crenshaw comes into view around the bend on Main Street, and I look at my watch. I don’t miss Reece as much as I miss that unspeakable thing that happens when you have someone. That opposite-of-lonely feeling.
I catch sight of Elijah out of the corner of my eye, and his face looks thoughtful but sad. “I understand missing someone,” he says.
· twelve ·
ELIJAH
I have a hard time getting Reece out of my head on my way to first period. And the image of the way Julian’s face softened when he mentioned his name. It makes me wonder if he ever thought of me like that. I was such an ass before we left that I doubt it.
I’m thinking about Julian’s father, too, as I make my way to English class. I never knew that the empty business on Main Street belonged to Ms. Birdie and Julian’s dad. It’s obvious he misses his dad even though he’s been gone for ten years now. My father has been gone for a little over six years, and I don’t exactly miss him. Not like Julian does, anyway.
Camille shows up about halfway through my English class in her bright pink Powder Puff jersey with PIROUETTE QUEEN on the back in sparkly silver letters. She hands a yellow slip from her guidance counselor to Ms. Parliament and plops down at the desk next to mine in the back row. “Schedule changed, and now I’ve got dance at the end of the day instead of the morning. I guess it was lucky for both of us,” she says, smiling.