This Is My America(72)

“Do we have to have an answer about us?” I look at Dean. “There’s so much going on right now. I don’t want you to be weird around me now. I need you. As…the friend you’ve always been.”

“I’m not in a rush.” Dean swallows hard. “A lot is going on.”

“Then let’s forget this for now and get back to normal? Because I need normal right now.” I’m not sure that’s true. But one thing that I do know I need: my friend Dean. I don’t want to lose him.

“Sure, I want to forget it all…because our kiss was terrible.”

“What?” I slap his arm. “Terrible? Who was terrible?”



“It wasn’t for you? I practically had nightmares.”

“Dean.” I dig my elbow into his ribs.

Dean wraps his arms tight around me. “How could anything with us be terrible? You’re too easy to mess with, you know that?”

“Well, thank you for clearing that up.” I dig my elbow into him again. I know there’s a lot more we should say.

“I don’t take it back, though. I love you,” Dean says. “I always have.”

There’s a silence that sits between us. I want Dean’s words to swallow up the pain that’s been suffocating me. His eyes look heavy because I don’t make him feel better. It breaks me seeing him like this.

My throat burns from holding in the words Dean loves me. I knew it. But I’d been in such denial that Dean would always have a bigger piece of his heart for our friendship. That it was so big, there would be no more room for anything else. All of this runs around in my head while Dean waits for me to say something.

“I…I love you, too. It’s so hard with everything going on. If we didn’t have the attack at the house, would you feel the same? What about your mom?”

“If you’d be with me, I’d choose you, Tracy. I’d always choose you over her, over anyone.”

“I’m not asking you to choose.” I pause to breathe in again. “I want to know you won’t change your mind.”

Another silence takes us over. I wish we didn’t start talking about it at all, just moved on. Because this is so much harder.



“If we were together, would you tell your mom?”

Dean pauses before saying, “Probably.”

“Two important questions: (a) Will she ground you forever? And (b) Will she kick Steve out of the loft?”

“I don’t know what she’d do.” Dean breathes out. “But I don’t know if I could hold it in. I shouldn’t have to lie. It’s not how I’m built.”

I don’t respond. The world will always try to push us apart. It already feels like it’s happening. Because I don’t feel that pull to Dean the way I feel like I should. It’s a bond through friendship, maybe nothing more.

Dean’s mom calls for him. I follow him inside, and he motions for me to wait in his dad’s study. Mr. Evans’ll be closing up the shop tonight.

I notice there are open boxes all over the desk.

My curiosity building—Mr. Evans is always tidy—I peek inside.

A gasp catches in my throat.

I tear through the box in disbelief. Stuck, shaking my head and mouthing, No, no, no, as I try to convince myself the image isn’t real.

I think I might be sick.





SECRETS DON’T STAY





HIDDEN FOREVER


With trembling fingers, I pick up a black-and-white photograph. A man hanging by a noose. His feet splayed, and a bloated face much darker than the rest of his body. A burning cross next to him. Like the one that was staked in front of my house. Men in white sheets stand beneath the dead man. They are surrounded by women and children. All white. Those without hoods are beaming like it’s the Fourth of July.

Dean enters the den with a wide smile. I don’t return it. His smile shrivels.

“What’s wrong?” Dean rushes to me.

“I don’t know why I looked. I…I…Did you know about this?” My hand shakes as I hold out the photo.

Dean takes it from me and gasps. I feel sick inside all over again as I watch the horror cross Dean’s face. He drops it as though he’s been burned, then sifts through the box.



Dean picks the photo up again and looks closer, then points to a girl near what must be the Grand Wizard’s feet. Another slightly older girl locking arms with her. He flips the photo over.

In my shock, I didn’t even notice a list of names with a date, November 17, 1979.

“I think…I think this is my mom.”

I shut my eyes. Sickened.

“And if that’s my mom as a little girl, that means this is my grandfather.” His voice cracks when he points the Klan leader out.

“I can’t…Tracy. This can’t be real. Why was she there?” Dean looks through more of the boxes, and I can see he’s putting the pieces together.

“You don’t even know if it’s—”

“It’s her.” Dean bends over and grabs another box. This time he pulls out a white cloak. “And this is my grandfather’s?”

Dean’s mom comes downstairs, calling for him. I cover the cry escaping my lips. Dean runs out of the study to cut her off. I can tell he knows that now is not the time for me to see his mother.