Just Ask (7 page)

Well, at least these letters got me thinking about something besides life and death. Okay, so I'm having a little identity crisis of my own right now. But I think I'll take Jamie's advice and do something I love doing. like playing my violin. Yeah, that ought to do it!

I had an attack of conscience today. I was having this great heart-to-heart talk with my mom. I mean, she was saying stuff like how she's so proud of me and how I'm such a wonderful daughter and all this crud. And suddenly I just couldn't take it anymore. I was going to scream or explode or something. I guess that's what guilt can do to a person.

“I have to tell you something, Mom,” I interrupted her in midsentence.

Naturally, she got worried. “What's wrong?” “I lied to you. Well, not exactly lied. But I kept the truth from you.”

“What do you mean?” She sat across from me at the breakfast bar. She put her elbows on the counter and leaned forward with concerned eyes. “You can tell me.”

“Well, it was about a month ago,” I began my confession. “I was driving your car home from work…” I slowly poured out my speeding ticket story, certain that she would be so disappointed in me, that she would never trust me again, and finally I finished. But then she just laughed.

“What?” I demanded. “What's so funny?”

“Oh, I'm sorry. But I already knew all about that.”

“Oh.”

“Your dad told me, honey. He said you two had worked out a deal with the newspaper column…” She smiled. “And it sounded like a good plan to me.”

“You knew about this the whole time?”

She nodded.

So now I feel like I'm the one who got tricked. Like they both pulled something over on me. I know I shouldn't be angry since I'm really the one who blew it, but I am seriously irked. “Yeah, whatever.” I stood up.

“Don't feel bad—”

“It's okay,” I said as I left the room.

But it's not really okay. The truth is, I feel betrayed and I'm not so sure I can trust my dad anymore. Or my mom, for that matter. What makes parents think they can get away with this stuff?

So I come up to my room and turn on my computer.
I know I should work on my column, even if my dad did pull a fast one on me. Doesn't it just figure that the first letter I open up has to do with trust issues?

Okay, I suppose I feel a little better about my parents now, and to be honest, I didn't really like the idea of my dad deceiving my mom anyway. I mean, they're supposed to be partners in this marriage and parenting thing. I don't like seeing them split on stuff. Besides, I shouldn't forget that I'm the one who benefited here. If I hadn't made that deal with Dad, I wouldn't be doing this column or subsequently driving my Jeep. So maybe all's well that ends well.

That letter from Locked Up reminded me of a time when I snuck out. Natalie and I thought we'd die if we couldn't go to this concert in the city. The name of the band was Death Wish, and for some reason we thought they were good. But we were only fourteen at the time, and both sets of parents had told us to “forget it.”

Naturally, we came up with the brilliant idea to tell them we were spending the night at each other's houses, when we were really getting a ride with Jessie Piccolli and her; older brother to see the concert. Then we planned to spend the night at Jessie's house after we got home around two in the morning. We figured her mom (who is single and usually pretty checked out) wouldn't even notice a couple of extra bodies sacked out in the living room.

As it turned out, the concert was a major disappointment. And then when we got to Jessie's house, her mom was having this huge ugly fight with her boyfriend, and no way did she want overnight
“guests,” so Natalie and I were forced to make a quick exit.

Of course, we didn't know what to do then. We were on foot and about a mile from home, and it was the middle of the night. We actually got kind of freaked. Finally, I decided to call my parents and confess and beg for mercy, since Nat assured me that her parents would totally lose it. Fortunately my dad acted pretty cool about the whole thing, at least while Natalie was there, but then I got grounded for about a month (which seemed like a year at the time), and it took even longer for them to trust me again. I think that's what hurt the most.

But they both agreed that they were glad I'd had the sense to call home. To be honest, I was really relieved to go home that night, since Jessie's house is kind of a dump and her mom is pretty scary, if you ask me. It made me thankful that my parents are who they are. But I do feel sorry for Jessie. As a result, I've always been really nice to her. But after that, I never snuck out again. And I don't plan on doing it now either. So my answer to that letter wasn't just blowing hot air. I actually knew what I was talking about.

It's too bad I can't say as much for that constantly growing stack of life and death and God letters. I mostly pretend like they're not there as I stuff the new ones into my JUST FORGET IT box, which is becoming alarmingly full.

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, and it's almost like I can feel those letters breathing and
growing down there beneath my bed. Like there's a boxful of demons, and they're screaming and yelling and trying to get loose so they can assault me and torture me for not answering them.

Yeah, I know that sounds overly dramatic, but it seems pretty real at three o'clock in the morning. I'd bum them, but that seems kind of wrong. Mostly I try not to think about it. I also try not to think about Tiffany Knight. But more and more, it's not working. I think I'm being haunted.

Usually, I am a pretty upbeat and happy person. Or maybe just a born people pleaser. Or so I used to think. Now I'm not so sure. More and more, I'm thinking that I've learned to act like this just to avoid drawing negative attention to myself. Like I can plaster on this perky, smiling face even if I feel like crying or screaming inside. But it's starting to bug me.

I think this fitting-in thing is partly the result of being different. Okay, I realize that we're all different, and something about being an “adolescent” probably makes us all feel as if we are REALLY different or weird or freaky or whatever. But when I was a little girl and the only Asian in my class, I got this idea that I needed to make everyone like and accept me. And it's like a habit now, and I just kept doing it year after year.

Well, for the most part, that is. I'll admit I went through a moody phase in middle school. And I began speaking out more, expressing my own opinions. But even so, there's this old thing in me that really wants to fit in and be liked.

Okay, it's even more than that. To be perfectly honest, I also want to be the best in everything. It's like I think I'm supergirl or something. Like I have to excel no matter what. I have to get the best grades, always have first chair in violin, win the academic contests, and still come across as a “nice” girl. And it just gags me to see this preposterous confession in actual writing. What is wrong with me?

But what's even worse right now is this stupid column. It's like I've really gotten into it, and even though it's anonymous (or maybe because it is), I have this compulsion to do this thing perfectly. Like I want every answer to be just right. And I know that's impossible. I mean, who do I think I am? God? And why am I even thinking about God anyway? It's not as if I actually believe in Him. Or do I? I'm not sure.

And speaking of God, I'm starting to actually wonder if I've been wrong to write Him off so completely I mean, there are lots of people who can't seem to live without Him. like Chloe Miller. And I have to admit that I respect her, and some of the things she's been telling me almost make sense.

And yet it goes totally against everything I've been telling myself. I feel like a dog chasing its tail, going
round and round in frantic circles but getting nowhere. I just keep getting more and more confused about everything. And this kind of uncertainty is so unlike me. I am the girl who always has all the answers. But lately all I have are questions. More and more unanswerable questions. In fact, my life seems a lot like that box under my bed right now. Just a bunch of frustratingly unanswerable questions.

Today Chloe told me that there's a verse in the Bible that says we all have to work out our own salvation for ourselves. And she thinks that's what I'm doing now. She says that I'm on a spiritual search, and if I stay honest about it, I will eventually find the truth.

Of course, she believes that truth is God. And when she's talking to me, explaining how God worked in her life, the way she came to Him, well, it does seem believable, and it even sounds good. But then I go off on my way, and suddenly this whole God-thing feels all murky and confusing again. And that's pretty upsetting to a girl who doesn't like feeling confused. I'm losing it. like everything is going totally out of control. And I'm just not sure how much longer I can take this.

Like today when my dad handed me a “Just Ask” letter. “It's from Charlie Snow,” he said. “Actually it's from his daughter.” He gave me the still-sealed envelope. “She asked that it be hand-delivered to Jamie unopened.” Then he smiled. “Kind of mysterious, huh?”

I just shrugged and opened the envelope. Of course, I am fully aware that Charlie Snow is the owner of the
newspaper, and consequently my dad's boss.

“What's it say?” He attempted to look over my shoulder.

“Hey.” I extracted the one-page letter. “If it's supposed to be private, you shouldn't be poking your nose in here.”

He laughed. “Good point.”

Then I began reading and quickly realize it was another one of those unanswerable letters that will be promptly filed in the box beneath my bed. I refolded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope.

“Make sure you answer that one,” he told me as he headed for the kitchen.

“Why?”

“Because Charlie's daughter told him it was really important, and she wants to see an answer in the paper.”

I frowned. “Are you trying to tell me that this will affect your job or something?”

He laughed. “No, it's not as if I'll get fired or anything. But it never hurts to keep the boss happy. So far, he's been supportive of the column. But we wouldn't want to disappoint his daughter, Kim.”

I studied my dad for a moment. I wanted to ask how he imagined that I was capable of answering questions like this when I didn't even have the answers for myself, but I suspected that would only lead to a lecture and possibly an invitation to go talk to Pastor Garret. Neither of which I feel would be particularly helpful.

“I'll see what I can do, Dad.”

“Thanks, sweetie. By the way, everyone at the paper liked your answer to the girl who snuck out.” He winked at me. “I suspect that came from some real-life experience on your part.”

I just rolled my eyes at him and headed upstairs. Parents! Sometimes they can be such nerds. I sat down to carefully read Charlie's daughter's letter. It was kind of weird to actually know who was writing this time. Although I admit that I sometimes try to guess whether or not the writer might be someone I know. And sometimes I think I might be close, but I'm never positive.

Now, I've only met Casey Snow a few times, like at the annual newspaper picnics, but she seems fairly shy and quiet to me. She goes to McFadden and is a year younger than I am, but she's really pretty, and she's got the most amazing head of long curly red hair. Anyway, I'm curious about her letter.

Wow, how do I answer that letter? I mean, its almost as if I could've written it myself. Her questions are exactly the same as mine, and to be honest, they're similar to a lot of the other letters buried in the box beneath my bed. And now I am feeling guiltier than ever. like who do I think I am to write a column like this? These kids, like me, have some pretty serious questions. Where do I go for the answers? Finally I take a stab at it. I suppose it's as much for my dad as anyone. I can do this. I CAN do this.