The Boy Book (9 page)

“Why are these courses so expensive?” my mother asked, yet again, when I showed her the catalog. “November Week should be included in tuition.”

“Mom.”

“I’m only saying, Roo.”

“I’m making fifty dollars a week with the zoo job,” I said. “What if I pay for it myself?”

“Roo, it’ll take nine weeks for you to pay off one of these.”

“I’m not bird-watching again.”

“What about this one?” said my mom, pointing to a description in the catalog. “Plant a garden for Public School Eighty-one, a greening project.”

“That’s like what I do for Dad all the time. And I do it at the zoo. I don’t want to plant.”

“It’s seventy-five dollars. Daddy and I will pay for that.”

My father came in from the greenhouse. “Maybe we should consider it, Elaine,” he said, washing his hands at the kitchen sink. “We send her to Tate to get an education. This nature experience is part of it. Plus, it’s important for girls her age to bond with their peer group.”

“It’s too expensive.” My mother shook her head. “Now that you’ve spent our entire savings on that greenhouse.”

“Don’t start. I’ve already laid out how it’s going to pay for itself.”

“Call it a cash-flow issue if you must, but these courses are way overpriced considering what we have in the account, plus she’ll have to have rafting outfits and a backpack and whatnot.”

“It’s important for her to be with her friends.”

“She doesn’t even seem to
like
her friends anymore,” said my mother. “Cricket and Nora haven’t been over since school started.”

Ag. I had sort of convinced myself my parents hadn’t noticed my leprosy. “I’m sitting next to you, Mom, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“That’s exactly why she’s got to go on one of these trips,” argued my dad. “She’s spending too much time alone. It’ll be good for her self-esteem.”

“Did you have a falling-out with them, honey?” my mother asked. “With Cricket, or Kim?”

“No,” I lied. Since when were they actually observant?

“When I was sixteen,” she said, leaning back in her chair, “I had this girlfriend, Lisa. We were always falling out and making up again. It was practically like a relationship.”

“Mom,” I sighed. “I don’t need to hear about your quasi-lesbianism right now.”

“Ooh,” squealed my mother. “Do you think it was kind of lesbian? It’s normal for girls to have crushes on each other at that age.”

“I wish I’d known you when you were sixteen.” Dad came over and kissed her neck.

“You guys are going to make me chunder.” I stood up from the kitchen table.

“Please, Roo.” My mom pulled her hair into a ponytail, using a rubber band she yanked off her wrist. “It’s normal to experiment with sexuality at your age. Ooh, Kevin!” She turned to my dad. “Maybe Roo’s been questioning her orientation! Maybe that’s why she’s been having the panic things and doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

“Hello! I’m still here.”

“Elaine, we shouldn’t be prying into Roo’s personal life. She’s a teenager.”

“Exactly. Thanks, Dad.”

“If she wants to experiment,” he went on, “we should support her without quizzing her about it.”

More Ag.

“We’ll still love you if you’re a lesbian, Ruby,” my dad continued.

“I wonder if Lisa turned out to be a lesbian,” mused my mother. “Do you think it would turn up on Google?”

“This is not all about you, Elaine,” scolded Dad. “Let’s put the focus back on Roo.”

“I don’t
want
the focus,” I said. “You can have it all, Mom, really.”

“I am fine with it if you’re a lesbian, Roo,” announced my mom. “I have lots of gay friends.”
³

“Do you think the falling-out with Kim and those guys was because of that?” my dad wondered aloud. “Ruby, do you want to share with us any problems you’re having with your friends?”

Ag! Ag! Ag!

I threw myself on the couch and pulled a pillow down on top of my head. “I just want to do something good for November Week!” I shouted. “I said I’d pay for it myself!”

Silence, for a moment.

My dad pulled out a chair and sat down. “You don’t have to make such a fuss,” he said finally. “All you have to do is ask.”

Choosing a November Week activity, though, proved harder than I thought.

Meghan was doing Canyonlands, which didn’t thrill me. It had only sounded good when I thought of going with Jackson. And besides, my parents would seriously object to buying me a hardcore backpack and the other paraphernalia I’d need.

No way was I doing whatever Katarina, Ariel and Heidi were doing. That would be a social nightmare. But I also had no way of finding out what their plans were so I could avoid them.

Part of me wanted to do whatever Jackson did, to see what would happen between us. But he was sure to be traveling in a posse with Kyle and Matt, and I could end up spending the whole time being ignored while he was manly-manly with the guys.

Anything involving a tent was out of the question. Unless I did Canyonlands with Meghan, I’d have no one to share with. And it didn’t seem like Noel and I were at the point where we’d make our November Week plans together.

My best bet was Nora. But if Nora was with Cricket, as she probably would be, then she’d barely speak to me. Unless Cricket could be convinced to come around and be friends with me again.

Then again, I wasn’t sure I wanted Cricket to come around anymore. We hadn’t spoken in five months.

“What do
you
want to do?” asked Doctor Z at our session on Tuesday.

“That’s what I’m saying. I don’t
know
.”

She was silent.

“You mean, what would I want to do if none of this social stuff existed?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I thought. “The social stuff exists. I’m a leper. We lepers have to make carefully calculated decisions.”

“You fought hard to go on one of these trips, Ruby,” she said. “What are you hoping you’ll get out of it?”

Part of me just wanted to be like the other kids at Tate. To not have money be such an obstacle. To just
go,
and not have to save and work and argue with my parents. To just have a group of friends, and all plan to go together, like it was nothing that had to be negotiated.

I kept my mouth shut.

“Let me put it another way,” said Doctor Z. “What do you think of when you picture going on the Mount Saint Helens trip?”

“Being alone on the edge of a volcano, with no one to talk to.”

“What about river rafting?”

“No one to sit with at lunch.”

“Mount Rainier?”

“People talking crap about me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. Katarina. Whoever’s there.”

“Kayaking?”

“Sounds cold.”

“All right. So that one’s out. Be the Ball?”

“No way.”

Doctor Z sighed. “What do you like to do? That’s what I’m asking. What activity do you like to do?”

“I like to swim,” I said. “And read. And watch movies. But can you imagine a catalog description for that? ‘Exploring the Shallow Life: Students will enjoy a double feature of
Love Actually
and
Bridget Jones’s Diary,
wallowing in the hotness of Hugh Grant and Colin Firth, followed by thrift-store shopping, intensive reading of mystery novels, and a dip in the pool. Evenings will be spent consuming Popsicles and experimenting with cosmetics.’”

Doctor Z smiled. “Very funny. But you didn’t answer my question.”

I sighed. “If there was a nonbird wildlife one, I’d want to do that. But overall, I’m not really a nature lady.”

“Yet you’re telling me you want to go.”

“Yeah.”

She went silent again, and I changed the subject. We talked about how annoying my mother was for the rest of the session.

In Am Lit on Wednesday, Mr. Wallace stopped our discussion ten minutes before the end of class to talk about November Week. “I’m doing something new this year,” he announced. “Running my own show. As some of you know,” he said, nodding at Cricket and Nora and a few others, “I assisted on the rafting expeditions the past two years. But this year, Mrs. Glass and I are doing a course called Canoe Island, and I hope you will all come join us.”

I had seen Canoe Island listed in the catalog. All it said was “Expand your mind. Nourish your soul. $375.”

I hadn’t given it any thought.

Mr. Wallace went on to explain that the project involved going to a retreat on a tiny island in the San Juans, off the Seattle coast, where we’d read and discuss meaningful philosophical stuff in the mornings; then, in the afternoon, we’d swim in the pool, hike around the island and take turns making dinner. Evenings, we’d watch important movies from the history of cinema that would continue to spur our thought processes about the philosophical issues in the readings.

Movies. And swimming.

It was Exploring the Shallow Life, only deep.

So I told Wallace after class that I wanted to do it. Before I could chicken out.

He looked relieved and said I was the first person to sign up.

“Your catalog copy is too mysterious,” I told him. “You have a PR problem.”

Wallace laughed. “You can work on your flip turns while you’re there if you want. It looks like Imari from the boys’ team might come, so I’ll coach in the afternoons.”

That evening, I got my parents to write the check, and promised to pay them back three hundred dollars of it.

“I hope you have a real bonding experience with your peer group,” said my father, squeezing me around the shoulders.

“I’m just relieved we don’t have to buy her a backpack,” said my mother.