None of the Above(35)

I had been staring at my alarm clock for almost half an hour before it dawned on me that I had lied to Sam and Faith. And to myself. Dr. Cheng hadn’t said that I was a woman. She had said that most people with AIS “identified themselves” as women. Which wasn’t the same.

Which wouldn’t ever be the same.

After another half an hour of lying in bed awake, I turned my light on to go to the bathroom and tripped over my purse. The pain medicine Dr. Cheng had given to me fell out. I hadn’t planned on taking it—the pain wasn’t that bad—but then I caught sight of the little yellow warning label with a droopy eye. MAY CAUSE DROWSINESS.

A bonus side effect.

Before I could change my mind, two of the Percocet pills were in my mouth. They didn’t go down easy, sticking in my gullet like concrete. Even after I went to the bathroom to get some water, it still felt like there was a knot in my heart, but before I knew it I had drifted off to sleep.





CHAPTER 19


I woke up the next morning in a Percocet haze. The whole world was fuzzy, and I couldn’t move, as if I’d been cemented into my bed. My muscles had turned into stone, my blood into molten lead. Just turning my head to see my clock took all the energy I had. Reaching the snooze button was impossible.

It didn’t matter if I went to school, did it? In the grand scheme of things. No one would be hurt. No one would die. The only people who’d care would probably be Sam and his jerk-off friends, because they wouldn’t have their new punching bag. If I stayed at home it’d be one less piece of homework for my teachers to grade, and one less stop for Faith.

It was a win-win situation, really.

I lay there until I had to pee so badly I couldn’t hold it anymore, and I rolled out of bed. As I walked to the bathroom my dad was coming upstairs to put his uniform on.

“Why aren’t you dressed yet? Faith’s going to be here any minute.”

“I don’t think I can go to school today.”

My dad went instantly into alarm mode, which I should’ve predicted. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m just feeling sick from the pain meds.”

“I’ll get you some ginger ale on the way home. But we should make an appointment—”

“No,” I interrupted him. “No more doctors. Please?”

He looked at me, and turned away quickly. “Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. “But I’ll ask your aunt Carla to check in on you in an hour or two.”

“Fine.”

I went to the bathroom, texted Faith that I wouldn’t be going to school, and crawled back into bed.

I woke up to a blinding light.

“Wake up, sleepyhead! It’s a beautiful morning!” chirped Aunt Carla.

I tried to pull my pillow over my head, but she pulled it away and threw off my covers, which were damp with sweat. Aunt Carla gasped.

“Krissy, are you okay? Do you have a fever?”

“I don’t know. I just feel hot.” When I went back to bed that morning, I’d tossed and turned. One minute I’d be burning up, the next minute I’d be freezing.

“I’ll get the thermometer. What you really need is some nice fresh orange juice and some hot biscuits.” When I lifted my head I could smell something buttery and amazing. My stomach grumbled.

“Okay, okay,” I said.

After the juice and biscuits, my stomach felt full but the rest of me still felt empty. Out of place. Aunt Carla took my temperature, which turned out to be normal.

I brushed my teeth. Took a shower. And when I started thinking too much about school and Vee and hernias I went into the kitchen. Maybe I could surprise my dad with dinner. I flipped through our recipe box, and stopped at my mom’s baked ziti recipe. It had been my dad’s favorite, but we hadn’t cooked it in years.

I couldn’t understand how staring at a recipe card could make me feel physical pain. My mom always used to say that my dad was proof of the old saying that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and I wondered what aphorism she would’ve used to get me through today. Probably something like, “What doesn’t kill you will only make you stronger.” I couldn’t remember how many times she said that during her first few rounds of chemotherapy. By the end, though, her maxim became, “God doesn’t give us more than we can handle in life.”

My mother never saw me run, and that was one of the saddest things about leaving the church—giving up the idea that my mom was up there in some cloudy-fluffy angel land, looking down on me for my first kiss, or the day I won the state championship. I wished she could’ve seen me at Homecoming. Or even now. I knew she would’ve loved me even if she’d known that I had boy parts.

I decided to make a pie, which had been our favorite thing to make with each other. I loved cutting the butter into the flour, and the satisfaction of making a perfect lattice. Flour everywhere, soft and dusty like baby powder.

It would have killed my mother never to have grandchildren, I thought suddenly. She would’ve pretended it was okay, probably, but I knew she would’ve taken it hard. She probably would’ve noticed that I never got my period and taken me to an ob-gyn sooner. Maybe if she’d been alive, I wouldn’t have had to tell Vee.

And what would my life be like, if no one knew but me? Would I still be running, or would I feel guilty that I was somehow cheating?