None of the Above(55)

“Have you ever heard the phrase ‘Perception is reality,’ Kristin?”

“So,” I said bitterly, “you’re saying that if people perceive me as the Homecoming Hermaphrodite, that’s what I am?”

“Not exactly. The idea that perception is reality is flawed on many levels, not the least because it doesn’t take into consideration causal effects and self-fulfilling prophecies. More often than not, the child who is labeled as stupid fails because he doesn’t think that he’s smart enough. But more importantly, perhaps, it doesn’t make clear that the opposite is also true: reality shapes perception as well. Sometimes the change is slow, a day-by-day evolution.” She paused and met my gaze.

“Or, as you know, sometimes perception can change in an instant.”





CHAPTER 31


“You should create a new Facebook profile,” Gretchen said. She’d been calling me a couple of times a week to check in. It kind of felt weird, like she was my AA sponsor or something. But it was also nice, like I had a big sister. “There’s an AIS private group. Don’t even bother telling anyone in your high school about the new account, and when you go to college you can use the new one instead.”

“I’ve got to delete my old profile. Or at least stop getting all those stupid notifications.” Maybe then I’d start emailing again.

“Make sure you save all the photos and messages you want first.”

“It’s not worth the hassle,” I said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t just delete your whole life.” She offered to use my username and password to download my photos to her computer, and when I remembered how I’d been tagged in some old pictures that my cousins in California had posted of my mom, I finally said yes.

“Hey,” she said after she’d logged in. “You have some really nice messages here.”

“What?”

“One from a girl named Rashonda. She says she misses you and hopes you come back soon.”

“Huh. It must be Rashonda Glenn.” Not that I knew any other Rashondas, but I remembered the look on her face when she saw me crying in Coach Auerbach’s office. Though, when I thought about it, shocked disgust looked pretty similar to shocked embarrassment.

“Was it a private message, or did she post it on my wall?” I asked.

“It was a PM.”

So she didn’t have the guts to say it in public, I thought.

“But you have a sweet wall post from Tamara Leffard: ‘Thinking of you this holiday season. I hope to see you next year.’”

Tamara was a student teacher, an adult. She didn’t count.

“Then there’s another message from a girl named Peggy Shah. She says, ‘Miss you, lab partner. Get well soon!’”

Peggy was a good egg. Not popular, but kind. I thought about her and Rashonda, and Ms. Diaz and Ms. Leffard. Darren and Jessica. Faith and Coach Auerbach. Were eight people enough to go back to school for? If not, what number was? Twenty? Sixty? A hundred?

I was three weeks into my six-week leave of absence, and despite Dr. LaForte’s best efforts I didn’t feel any closer to going back. My dad still thought that to get my scholarship, I had to officially graduate. He’d mentioned it the other day, when he told my tutor that we’d probably only need him for a few more weeks.

“But Ms. Diaz said that we might be able to file for an extension,” I’d told him.

“Honey, you can’t hide here at home forever.”

“No, just until college,” I’d said. My dad had sighed.

Gretchen got bored with scrolling through my wall. “Okay, I’m downloading your pics now.” I heard a bunch of mouse clicks on her end of the line. “You should join me and my friends some night. Here in Syracuse.”

“Really?” I’d almost forgotten what it was like to hang out, and have the biggest stress in your life be what kind of shoes you were going to wear.

“Sure. You need to get out.”

But I had gone out. I told Gretchen about Josh.

“So what happened after? Did you get his number?”

“Well, he asked for mine.”

“Did he call?”

“He texted. But I didn’t exactly encourage him.”

Gretchen didn’t seem to judge. “You know, a lot of girls have reactionary hookups after their diagnosis. It’s a way to prove their femininity. Not that I can relate. The one time I ever let a guy stick himself in me, it didn’t make me feel like a woman. It made me feel like I was an electrical socket.”

I laughed, and Gretchen went on. “No, seriously. You know when I feel the most feminine? When I’m with Julia.”

We were both silent for a minute. And I wondered for the first time whether “feeling feminine” just meant feeling good in your own skin.

“Seriously, come out with me sometime. Do you like The Concept?”

That was the band I’d listened to in Darren’s Dungeon. “Yeah, they’re great,” I said.

“My friends and I are going to see them later this month, a week or two before Christmas. Julia’s coming, and a bunch of other people. You can crash at my house if you’re worried about driving home.”

“Umm . . .”