Call It What You Want(72)

I don’t know where this is going, but it’s not about me sobbing in his chair, so I’m okay with it. “A camp?”

“A religious camp. A gay-reversal camp.” His eyebrows go up, asking if I’m tracking.

I am. “Did you go?”

“Yes.” His jaw tightens. “They told me I couldn’t live with them anymore if I refused to go. So I went. And I hated it. It was … awful.” He grimaces and holds out his hands. “It obviously didn’t work.”

“So, what happened?”

“When I got home, I faked it. I hated it, but I faked it.”

“You faked being straight?”

“Yes.” He pauses. “It put this wall between me and my parents. I used to lie in bed and think of all the ways I hated them. My father especially. He watched me, checked my computer, searched my room—” He breaks off and shakes his head. “We were close when I was young. It was such a relief to get out.”

Nothing sounds like a relief about this story.

His eyes return to mine. “My sister eventually convinced them to come around. She was the only person who let me be me—and convinced them to let me be me. But it took me a long time to forgive them. To reconcile that the good memories didn’t vanish just because there were bad ones in there, too. All those memories are a part of who I am. The good ones and the bad ones.”

His eyes are full of emotion I’m sure is matched in mine.

“It’s okay to miss him,” he says. “It’s okay to miss him even if what he did was wrong.”

The words are so simple, but they seem to find a crack in my armor. The grip on my heart eases. I let out a long breath.

All of a sudden, I want to tell him everything. About the cash box. About the earrings.

Everything.

A hand knocks on the door frame, and it breaks the spell. Another teacher stands there. I don’t know her at all.

“Mr. London?” she says with an apologetic glance at me. “The computers won’t log on and we need to reboot the server.”

“I’ll be right there,” he says.

“Go,” I say. I grab my backpack, then duck my head to wipe my face on my shoulder. “I’m missing calculus.”

I’m through the door when his voice calls me back. “Rob.”

I barely pause. I can’t look at him now. I almost told him everything.

Turn yourself in.

I’m too much of a coward to do that.

“What?” I croak out.

“Come back tomorrow morning,” he says. “We can finish our conversation then.”

I say nothing. I can’t decide if I should bolt or if I should beg to hide in his office for the rest of the day.

“Will you do that?” he prompts. “Come back?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll be here.”



I’m twenty minutes late for calculus, especially since I took a few minutes to wash my face in the men’s room. I ease through the door so I don’t interrupt Mrs. Quick’s lecture. Maegan is sitting there in the front row. Her pencil slides along her notebook, and she doesn’t even look at me.

I’m encouraged by my conversation with Mr. London. Maybe I can fix this. Maybe I can undo it.

I need to apologize. I dragged her down a road she didn’t deserve.

I steel my nerve and slide into the seat beside her. “Hey,” I whisper. “I want—”

She closes her notebook and grabs her backpack.

Without a word, she slides out of her seat and moves to the back.

Leaving me alone.





CHAPTER THIRTY

Maegan

Rachel finds me in the cafeteria line. She sidles up beside me with a tray full of food.

“Hey,” she says, and her voice is low. “Can we talk?”

I’m so burdened with secrets about my sister and Rob that I don’t have the strength to fend off Rachel, especially if she’s going to start criticizing my friendship choices. I reach for an apple and add it to my tray.

“Please,” she says. “I really miss you. I don’t want to fight over boys, of all things.”

That gets my attention. I turn my head and look at her. “You think we’re fighting over boys?”

“Well, we’re fighting because of a boy.”

“No, Rachel. We’re fighting because you and Drew were being nasty to—” I break off and shuffle forward in the line. “Forget it.”

“No.” Her voice takes on an edge. “Finish what you were going to say.”

I want to dodge. I want to hide. I don’t like confrontation, and I don’t like worrying I’m in the wrong.

If anything, the situations with Rob and my sister have taught me that trying to do what everyone else wants just leads to misery. I face Rachel head on. “I was going to say that you and Drew were being nasty to someone I considered my friend. I didn’t think you were being very fair.”

She looks gobsmacked.

I look away from her and shove my tray forward with more force than necessary.

She hovers behind me, but I refuse to look at her.

“Wait,” she says after a moment. “Considered? Past tense? You don’t consider him your friend anymore?”