The Lesbiana's Guide to Catholic School(17)

I wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt. Dammit, is my face sweating too? I can’t look upset right now. This is not personal. No one can know how not personal this is for me.

Bianca, say something . . .

It’s not personal. I just think it’s best if we go our separate ways.

“Yamilet, anything to add?” Mrs. Havens asks. That crusty-looking bitch. I’m the only one who hasn’t said anything yet. I was doing fine pretending to be fine until now.

“I think . . .” I swallow. I think I’m gonna be sick. “I think my group has made their point.” They’ve more than made their point.

The bell rings, and I’m the first one out the door. I’m not so good at breathing without looking like I’m trying to focus on breathing anymore. The best I can do is keep from hyperventilating until I get somewhere private. Everything is blurry, so I blink back tears before they fall. Instead of going to my next class, I power-walk to the bathroom before anyone has a chance to notice me.

I swing the first stall door open and slam it behind me. But stall doors don’t like to slam, no matter how close to a panic attack you are. I have to shut it twice before it stays closed long enough for me to lock it. A quick glance under the stalls tells me I’m alone.

I reach for some toilet paper to blow my nose. The roll is empty.

“Are you kidding me!” I don’t mean to shout, but the lack of toilet paper is enough to make my vision blur again. It’s infuriating.

Okay, slow breaths. In . . .

I close my eyes, and the tears start falling.

Don’t cry. Breathe out . . .

A whimper escapes with my breath. I hate that sound.

Breathe in . . .

It’s shaky, but it’s getting better.

Out . . .

The bell rings, and it drowns out the sound of my sobs.





5


Make Unto Thee Non-Racist Friends


I cry as hard as I can until the bell stops ringing. It’s not enough time. When the sound stops, I cover my mouth and cry into my hand to stay quiet. The only noise I let myself make is to sniffle. The lack of toilet paper is killing me. I don’t want to get snot on my shirt and I’m not ready to leave the stall, so for now I’ll live with the runny nose.

From the stall next to mine, the sniffle echoes.

I almost get whiplash from jerking my head to the left. Someone else is in here. I freeze and hold my breath, but I can’t hide now. How could I not notice another human person right next to me! They must have had their feet up so I couldn’t see them. I didn’t put mine up, which means they probably know who I am. Unless someone else has the same Jordans as me. Which they don’t, because I would have noticed and made friends with them.

Perfect. Now someone knows I’m crying in the bathroom. I’ll probably end up getting blackmailed or something. But I’m not the only one ditching class to have a bathroom breakdown. Which is good. I mean, it’s not good, but at least this way I’m less likely to be blackmailed. I mean, I still could, because this person most likely knows who I am, and they could be anyone. Maybe Bo? She did seem to have just as rough a time as I did last hour. . . .

A hand (Bo’s hand?) reaches under the stall, offering me a wad of toilet paper.

I just stare at it. Now it’s weird. I was fully prepared to leave and never acknowledge the awkwardness of this situation. But now there’s a hand full of toilet paper reaching under my stall. If I take it, I’m admitting I’m in here, crying in the bathroom because I couldn’t handle a little debate.

But if I don’t take the damned toilet paper, my nose will keep running.

I give in.

“Thanks.” I say, then blow my nose.

Instead of responding, the stall door next to me opens. Quick footsteps, and she’s gone.

I wipe my nose one more time, then flush down the toilet paper and head to class. As soon as I open the bathroom door, Bo crashes into me.

“Sorry, sorry!” Bo says, then her eyes soften when they meet mine. “Are you okay?”

So it wasn’t Bo who handed me the toilet paper. The thought makes me deflate a little for some reason. It was wishful thinking that she, of all people, would be my bathroom savior.

“I’m fine,” I say. Maybe I should hang out in the bathroom a little longer. At least until you can’t tell I was crying by looking at me. But I can’t follow Bo into the bathroom right after she saw me leave, so I walk across campus to the bathroom by the cafeteria. Then I wait it out until my eyes go back to their normal color.

My mom works late on Wednesdays, so instead of waiting for her to pick us up from school after sunset, Cesar and I take the light rail home. It’s a straight line almost all the way to our house, but it’s a long trip. I stare out the window at the clear sunny sky, ignoring the horns honking and cars whirring in my peripheral vision. If Cesar notices I’m quieter than usual, he doesn’t say anything. I don’t want him to, either. I don’t know what it is, but I can never hold it together when he asks what’s wrong. I just want to be home so I can forget about today and sleep until tomorrow. Crying is exhausting. I’m about to fall asleep when Cesar pokes my arm.

“Yaaaaami.”

I bat his finger away without opening my eyes.

“I’m bored.” He pokes me in the belly this time.