Ace of Spades Sneak Peek(79)

I put my bag down, throwing Terrell’s hoodie down with it, and go to her, letting myself finally cry, knowing my ma is not a fraud like everyone else.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” she asks, and I don’t know what to tell her.

The school you have to work three jobs to keep me at is incredibly fucked up and racist.

No one asked for my permission before leaking my life to the world.

Me and the boyfriend you don’t know about broke up … Oh yeah, and, Ma, I’m gay and I don’t want you to hate me for it, because I love you so much and I can’t live with you hating me, so please don’t.

That’s what’s wrong; all those things, and then some. But I can’t speak; if I speak, I’ll tell her everything, and then she’ll hate me.

So I just cry and cling to her. The bubbles in the boiling pot grow louder.

“Vonnie, tell me what’s up. You know you can tell me anything, right?”

I shake my head. That’s what she says now, but she doesn’t mean it. If I had girl problems, I could tell her everything, but not this.

“I don’t want to lose you, Ma.”

“Boy, I’m going nowhere. Jesus keeps me alive and well. Tell me what’s wrong.” She pulls away and forces me to look at her.

“I hate school.” What a fucking understatement. “And you work hard so I can go.” I can’t breathe, I can’t look at her. “I hate it so much. They look down on me, say things about me.” I’m crying so hard it shakes my bones, rattling my rib cage. My nose blocks and I feel trapped in my own body.

“Vonnie, you only have a few months left … You should have said something ages ago; I would have pulled you out if I knew you’d be happier somewhere else.”

“It’s only gotten really bad now. They keep talking about me.”

“Saying what?” she asks, eyes glassy and concerned.

I can’t do it. I feel so fucking sick. I’ve known I’m gay for years. I have known and I got comfortable with it—but at times like this, when I know life could be easier without my sexuality, I wish I hadn’t been born with the burden.

“Do you know a boy named Terrell?” I ask, because I don’t want to have to tell Ma that the rumors detailing my sex life with a rich white kid from school and the dealer she told me not to be friends with are true. I don’t want to weaken her heart, cause her pain.

Ma looks shocked. “You remember Terrell?” she asks.

Ma knows Terrell?

“I … know who he is, but I can’t remember him.”

She turns, putting the oven off, before moving toward our dining area and taking a seat on one of the lawn chairs. I stay where I am.

Ma looks at me. Straight at me. “I wanted you to come to me about your sexuality in your own time. After the Terrell incident, you couldn’t remember, and I didn’t want to bring it up.”

My sexuality?

I rush over to the trash can in the corner and throw up. My body is finally doing what it’s threatened to do this whole time. It’s all water; I haven’t eaten today. The lawn chair scrapes against the ground and then Ma’s there, rubbing my back, over and over.

I hate this feeling so much. What does she remember that I can’t?

“We don’t have to talk if you’re not ready, Von.”

I shake my head.

It’s out there now. No turning back.

The tears mix with my running nose as I bend over, hovering above the trash, trying to breathe.

“I’m gay,” I choke out, daggers diving into my gut, shaking my entire being. I’m not sure if it was loud enough for her to hear.

“Yeah, I know,” she says, and something washes through me. I’m not sure if it’s relief. More tears mix with the nastiness that is snot. I stretch my hands out to the table next to the trash can for tissues, but Ma hands me some.

I wipe my face harshly.

“Ma, what happened with Terrell? Why c-can’t I remember him?” I ask. My throat is achy and dry as I turn to face her. She avoids my eyes, walking over to the fridge to get a bottle of water and handing it to me.

“Most things I heard were from Jack.” Ma wipes her face with her dry wrinkled hands. “What I know for certain is that you went to school, and you came back soaking wet, with a huge bump on your forehead and blood all over.”

Goose bumps prickle my arms as the image of me engulfed by the water flashes: a little boy who looks a lot like Terrell dragging me back, screaming that cracks the walls of my brain.

“I asked Jack—about what happened, why you were wet, bloody, beaten. I don’t usually ask; I know you don’t like me to ask, but you’re my child and you were hurt.” Her voice breaks at the end, but she looks at me, hard-eyed, like she doesn’t want to show weakness. Even her back is rigid.

“Jack told me about you and a boy. Terrell Rosario. And how you kissed and got caught by the wrong guys,” she tells me. My chest squeezes.

An image appears again, all grainy in my mind, like an old home video … My old middle school playground; Terrell’s face, his hair shorter, no dreads, just curly kinks.

“Wait—” Terrell says.

I move back, scrunching my eyebrows up.

“What?” I say. I need to go home, help Ma with dinner.