Ship It(56)

“Let’s go, Forest,” Claire says.

“Nice to meet you, Tess,” I say as I follow Claire out the front doors, and Tess just looks mortified.

Outside, we cross the parking lot toward the idling bus, suitcase rumbling on the pavement.

“You okay?” I ask Claire.

“Yeah.”

“Did you know all that? About her, like, sexuality?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says flatly.

I stop walking. “Why are you doing this?” I ask, because I’m not sure what’s going on with her, but I think she’s about to sabotage something that seemed pretty good.

She stops, too, and turns to look at me with that fiery expression that I’ve come to expect from her when she doesn’t like what I’m saying.

“What, Forest, what is it?”

“I just think you should, you know, chill a bit. I kind of got used to you being mean to me, but I didn’t think you’d be like that to her.”

“You don’t know me,” she says, and boards the bus.

She’s right, I really don’t know her at all.


OBVIOUSLY, TESS IS allowed to be anything she wants to be.

Queer homoromantic pansexual? That’s fine.

She knows herself really well.

And that’s supercool.

It’s great that she knows who she wants to have sex with.

Who she wants to freaking marry.

I’m really happy for her.

I mean, obviously I knew she was gay, she said so, but I didn’t know she, like, had it all figured out so clearly. I didn’t realize she’d be so sure about everything. Goodie for her.

But then she had to go and tell Forest that we were messing around last night? Or, I guess she implied it. But I saw the look on his face; he knew exactly what she meant.

Look, we never said last night was a date, and we never said we were gonna tell other people about it. I never would have done any of that if I thought she was just going to go around telling everyone we kissed and making them think stuff about me that I’m not ready for them to think. I thought she understood I didn’t want to define anything, and then she just goes and blurts out all that stuff to Forest? Forest, of all people, who I was just starting to feel like was taking me seriously. Now he probably just thinks I’m some closeted lovestruck teenage girl who just wants to make fictional characters gay because she won’t come out herself.

No, I’m not doing this. I’m not here to confront major life questions about my sexuality, I’m here for one reason, to make SmokeHeart canon. And I can’t let Tess get in the way of that.

That feeling in my stomach I get when I’m with her? I fold it up small, put it in a box, and throw the box into the sea. Tess isn’t what I’m here for.

Where’s Jamie?

I sit up in my seat. We’re on the charter bus, speeding up I-5, headed for Seattle. Out the windows to our right, there are hills covered in evergreens stretching as far as I can see. To my left is the Columbia River, sparkling in the morning sun.

I glance around the bus. Most of the staff members are dozing in their seats. Toward the back, Rico and Forest are separated. I briefly wonder if everything’s okay between them. I don’t see Jamie at all.

I do see my mother making her way down the aisle.

“So,” she says, sliding into the seat next to mine.

“Mom, what are you doing? You’ll get sick if you’re not at the front.”

“I wanted to say hi. You know, talk to my daughter whom I never see.”

“You’re the one who’s never around,” I mumble.

She shrugs. “Conventions! Who knew they were so happenin’?”

“Please don’t say happenin’.”

“So, Tess…” she starts.

“Mom,” I say sharply. I so don’t want to talk about this. With her or with anyone.

“She’s a…?” She trails off with an expectant look.

“Friend. Stop being weird.”

“Okay, I just thought…”

“Well, stop thinking.”

“Okay, but you know you can…”

“If I want to talk, I know where you’ll be, okay? Please leave it alone.” The last thing I need right now is my mom asking me to categorize everything I’m feeling into digestible sound bites. Stop. Go away. Leave me alone. I am a small, unhappy rodent, and I will bite the hand that feeds me. Don’t open my cage.

The bus lurches around a corner, and she starts to look a little queasy.

“Okay, good talk,” she says.

“Good talk,” I say sarcastically, and she heads back to her seat.

Since Jamie is apparently MIA, I maneuver down the aisle and lean on the seatback next to Caty, who’s nose-deep in her phone.

“Hey, Caty, do you know where Jamie is?”

She looks up. “Oh yeah, he had Paula rent him a car so he could drive himself to Seattle. Said our bus smells like an old gym bag.” She shrugs. “I don’t smell anything, though. Must’ve been his crusty self.”

Of freaking course. I sigh. Jamie’s been avoiding me practically since we started this trip, why should I be surprised he’s ducking out now?

“Thanks,” I mutter, and turn to go.