None of the Above(15)

Right after we got home, Aunt Carla showed up. My dad had called her.

“Oh, Krissy,” she said, wrapping me in her stout hug. She looked like she had been crying, her mascara making large raccoon stains under her eyes. “This must be such a horrible nightmare. Poor, poor Krissy.”

On the one hand I knew she was probably right, and that my world might never be the same. On the other hand, nothing had really changed about me. I stood stiffly in her arms, self-conscious about her over-the-top pity. “It’s okay. It’s not a disease; it’s not life threatening.”

“But you’ll need surgery? And your poor father. I haven’t seen him this torn up inside since . . .”

Since my mother. I felt like I was in the middle of an earthquake, only it wasn’t the ground that was splitting. It was my heart.

Aunt Carla clutched at my arm. “But I know you’re strong, Krissy. And like your father said, no one needs to be the wiser. You know we’ll love you no matter what. Remember when you were little and your dad always said that he’d love you forever and ever, until the sun fades?”

I nodded again. In the part of me that wasn’t numb, I did know.

Though I wished she hadn’t felt the need to tell me.





CHAPTER 8


The next day, the world was the same. Nothing about me had changed, either. Yet everything was different.

On the ride to school, I listened to Faith and Vee carefully. When Vee made fun of Larissa Jermain’s blouse because it looked “mannish,” I squirmed in the backseat. I felt a jolt go through me when Faith cooed over how she wanted to get the new MacBook Pro, the “girly” one. And when they mentioned Sam, going on and on about how many receptions he’d made in the last football game, my heart constricted in my chest.

I knew I needed to tell Sam. I vowed to myself that I would, soon, when I knew how.

But what would I say, I wondered, as he sat down next to me at lunch with his usual haul of two cheeseburgers, three Powerades, a salad, and a large basket of fries. He slid his tray over so I could share his fries.

I gave him a weak smile hello and nibbled at my tuna-fish sandwich. Aunt Carla had made my lunch. She always put too much mayonnaise in it, though I didn’t have the heart to complain.

“So, Andy is gonna throw another party Friday night,” Sam said, dipping three fries into his ketchup at the same time before shoving them into his mouth. “We should go, since we missed it last time. Remember to bring your bikini. The hot one? I think it was purple.”

The purple one was a string bikini, and I’d worn it over the summer at the annual Spartan Car Wash. Had the thousands of drivers who passed me been able to see the faint bulge of my testes? I knew there was no way they could possibly know what was inside me, but my stomach did a somersault anyway.

Sam dug into his cheeseburger and downed it in three bites. “Man, do I need to let loose this weekend. Coach has been kicking our ass in practice.”

A couple seats away, Bruce glanced down. “Stop whining like a pansy, Wilmington, and remember to bring your balls next week.”

I blanched, and put my barely eaten sandwich back into my paper bag. I lurched to my feet.

Sam looked up at me. “You feeling okay?” He had just picked up his second cheeseburger.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just feel like I might be getting a stomach bug, that’s all.”

“Want one of my Powerades?” he asked, holding up the still-wrapped bottle.

“That’s okay. I’m going to run to the nurse’s office and see if I can get Tums or something.”

“’Kay. Later.”

I never made it to the nurse’s office. Instead, I went to the second-floor girls’ room and sat in a stall until my stomach settled, listening to the rhythm of doors opening and shutting, of water running and the hand dryer blowing. I read the graffiti on the wall from top to bottom. I wasn’t too surprised to see a big BRUCE TORINO = ASSHOLE in red Sharpie, but I was a little peeved to see that someone had written AND VR IS A BITCH underneath it in ballpoint pen. I tried to scratch it out, but the lines were too deep.

Now that we had a diagnosis, my dad had begun to troll the internet. When I got home from school Wednesday he was sitting in front of the computer with a half-finished cup of coffee. Next to him was that day’s pile of printouts that he had specially highlighted for me.

“Krissy, did you email the support group yet?” my dad asked, tearing himself away from the screen with some difficulty.

“Not yet.” I unzipped my book bag and hauled out my homework. One of the first things my dad had printed out for me was the AIS-DSD Support Group website. Supposedly they had an email list, and meetings. I couldn’t imagine what they talked about. Hoo-hoo Dilation and the Care and Maintenance of Your Testicles?

“You should do it, honey. It’ll be good for you. I already heard back from the parent support group.”

“Dad!” It was so typical. He always forgot that he was not the one with the disease. Or syndrome. Or whatever it was.

“It’s all right if you’re not ready to contact anyone yet, though. Linda said that you just need to know that they’ll be there when you need them.”

“Who’s Linda?”

“The doctor who’s the leader of the parent support group. Her daughter, Maggie, is in her twenties. She just got married and is going to adopt a baby girl.”