“He does not.”
“Well, your mother does, then. Always trying to get me to move into that room. I live here, in my house, the one I have lived in since I was born, and I’ll die here, surrounded by my trees and my leaves and that awful man who lives next door with the sickly cat.”
Joey starts raking leaves into crisp piles.
“You look different,” Nana says. “Something in your face. What’s changed?”
“Nothing. Just school and stuff. You know.” I kick some leaves out of the way. I don’t know how to tell her that everything has changed. Gage. Candy. Joey.
She studies me. “It’s a boy. Or a girl. Don’t look so shocked. I watch TV. I know how the world is now. It’s all okay with me, whatever you want. Live your life, don’t waste it, like I told Joseph. Oh, look, your face is red. I’m right. I’m always right.”
“Nana,” I say, embarrassed. “Stop.”
“Nana,” Joey calls. “You are exhausting, you know that, right?”
“Well, I have to say everything now. Who knows how much time I have left?”
“Nana,” I say. “Don’t say that! That’s sad!”
“Pfft,” she says, setting her coffee cup on the ground. “Death happens. We need to accept that and look around and appreciate what we have and change what we don’t like. Am I right?”
“You should really come live with us, Nana. The room is really pretty and we’d love to have you,” I say. “And you could harass Joey whenever you wanted.” It would be nice, having her there. Mom and Dad are gone so much, it would be comforting to have Nana there to talk to.
“Hey,” Joey says. “Not fair.”
“Work harder,” she tells him. “Look, the leaves are falling just as fast as you are raking. More raking, less talk. And make one bigger pile, not so many tiny ones.”
“Why?” He stops raking.
“How dare you question an old woman.”
She turns back to me. “So who is this boy or girl?”
“Nana.” The last thing I need is to try to describe what’s happening with Gage to Nana. I’m not sure how one would phrase that to a grandmother.
She shrugs. “You don’t want to tell me, don’t tell me, but I’ll tell you one thing: they should hold your hand when you go out together, no matter what. And they should never walk in front of you. They should walk next to you, because you walk through life together, do you understand?”
“Nana.” Her words hit me suddenly and I tear up, because I do want to walk next to Gage, in front of everyone. I don’t want to stand in front of a window forever, or hide in a pool house.
“Don’t cry. That’s silly. Don’t be a silly girl like that. It’s good advice. Joseph!”
“What?” He walks over to us, wipes a gleam of sweat from his forehead. It’s cool outside, but he raked a giant pile of leaves in his hoodie and now he’s panting.
“Go.” Nana points to the pile.
“Um, what?” Joey says.
“Run through them. Dive into them. That was your favorite thing as a little boy, do you remember? Your father would bring you over, he’d rake leaves, and you’d run pell-mell through them. I loved the sound of your laughter. Do it now. Remember what that felt like, when you had no worries. For me.”
Joey hesitates and then takes off running, a gray-hooded blur. He flares out and then lands, hard, in the mound of leaves.
And just lies there.
“Joey?” I say hesitantly, wondering if he’s hurt.
There’s no sound from the pile of leaves.
“Oops,” Nana says. “Perhaps I’ve hurt him.”
I run over to the pile, pushing leaves out of the way. “Joey, are you okay?”
But my brother isn’t hurt. He’s crying, his face encrusted with dried leaves.
“She was right,” he says. “It was glorious. And I’m going to do it again.”
* * *
—
After dinner I sit in my closet, the tips of my clothes tickling my nose, as I text Maddie.
I’ve been thinking about the dance, about Gage. And Nana saying someone should take your hand and walk next to you. The whole Liza telling me to grow a spine thing.
Hey
Hi! What’s up? How’s Joe?
He’s good
How’s dear old Heywood High?
It’s ok
You ok
I take a deep breath.
I might have a sex problem.
Immediately, she video calls. I debate not picking up, but finally, I do. I turn on the tiny lamp I have in the closet. I spot my old blue bear and cradle it in my arms, like it can protect me. I haven’t been in my closet in a long time. I missed it.
Fuzzy walks in and nestles at my feet.
Maddie says, “What. Is. Going. On. Are you in your closet?”
“Yes.”
In the background, I can see the walls of her dorm room: band posters, pictures of yoga poses. Filmy scarves hung up everywhere. Bunk beds.
“Are you actually having sex? Is that the problem?”
“I’m not sure. I mean, I don’t think it’s sex. Maybe. This is kind of embarrassing.” My face flushes.
“This is very confusing, sister.”
“We do things, but, like, there hasn’t been…penetration.” I whisper that word.
“If you can’t say that word in a normal voice, you shouldn’t be doing whatever it is you’re doing, that’s rule number one.”
I hold my breath. I really have no idea how to phrase, out loud, to my sister, that I’ve been making out in a pool house with the town baseball star and that sometimes we masturbate together in front of our windows.
There really isn’t a good way to say that.
“Emmy.”
“What.”
“You texted me. You have to talk, or I can’t help you.”
“We don’t take off our underwear. We make out, mostly. Things happen.”
“They call that dry-humping. You’re welcome. But you can still get pregnant that way, because sperm can travel through underwear. Unless we’re talking about a girl. Wait, let me correct myself. Does this person have a penis?”
“Yes.”
“Who is it?”
I hesitate. “No one you know.”
“How long have you been dating?”
“We aren’t technically dating.”
Her face changes. She gives me a stern look.
“So, you’re just hooking up?”
“I…guess. Yes. Yes, I think so.”
“Well, that’s sex, Emmy. Sex is sexual activity. Virginity is different. Virginity is an idea, a construct. A level of purity created to make girls not get too lusty, frankly. To make them prizes. Congratulations, you’re a sexual person. When I come home for Thanksgiving, I’m taking you to the clinic in Dover for the pill. Do you know about Plan B? Do you have cond—”
“I’m kind of sorry I asked now,” I interrupt. “This is kind of overwhelming.” My head is spinning. This is a lot to take in all at once.
“How long have you been hooking up with Mr. No-Name?”
Tears spring to my eyes. “Last spring.”
Maddie says, “Oh, dear.”