Out by Laura Preble

too young to understand what
happens in the world. Some things just have to be done. Sacrifices have to be
made. We all do things that aren't exactly what we want to do, but later, when
we look back on it, those decisions lead to wonderful results.”
    I stare into my
father’s eyes, unblinking. I've never looked into them before; I've always been
too afraid.   Our eyes are the same, jade
green, flecked with dark spots at the center.   It makes me feel incredibly sad.
    “Chris, are you
listening to me?” David stands over me now, lips pursed tightly. “I'm telling
you something very important, Chris. Are you listening?”
    “Yes, Dad. I’m
listening.”
    I guess my
subservient tone takes the wind out of his sails; he huffs back to his place at
the mantle and frowns. “Good. Jim McFarland will be here this evening, and I
want you to be nice to him. Just get to know him. I think you’ll find that he’s
a very likeable person.”
    Warren clears
his throat. “Of course, all personal decisions are up to you, Chris,” he says,
trading pointed looks with David.   “We
would never force you into a relationship.”
    “No.” David
says through gritted teeth. “We wouldn’t do that. But I want you to keep an
open mind, Chris. He’s a well-connected man, and—”
    “I’ll be happy
to spend some time with him,” I mumble at the floor.
    Warren leans
toward me. “Are you sure?” He grabs my chin so I’m looking into his eyes. “Chris,
you don’t have to.”
    At first it’s
just a tickle in my nose, but then tears well up in my eyes, drip down my
cheeks, and my mouth trembles trying to keep it all in.   Sobbing, full on sobbing like a baby, there I
sit on the Louis Quatorze couch, staining the velvet
with perverted tears. I will not be that thing. I will not be that thing.
    Warren puts a
beefy arm around my shoulder. “No, don’t cry. We can cancel tonight.”
    “We most
certainly cannot cancel,” David says, although his tone is a little softer
since he realizes I’m totally losing my mind. “Chris, why are you crying?”
    “I don’t know,”
I mumble between sobs. I do know, though. I know and I can’t tell, and if I
admit it, if I admit what I am, what Carmen did to me and how I feel about her,
then there will be no way to pretend anymore. I have to keep it locked away. I
have to make it be quiet. And it’s not fair. It feels so wrong. Why? Why did
this all have to happen to me? “Excuse me,” I mutter, running for the stairs
and the relative safety of my room.
    Jana’s door is
open, but I don’t want her to see me crying, so I dash past. That doesn’t stop
her, of course; seconds later, she barges into my room. “Hey, where’ve you
been?” Flopping onto my bed, she stretches out. All I want is to be left alone.
“They’ve been looking for you all afternoon. Big doings tonight.”
    “Yeah.”   I ease into my desk chair, turn my back to
her. Maybe the silence will give her a clue.
    I feel her
watching me, and seconds tick by. “Are you okay?”
    Any answer I
give her will result in teasing or worse, so I just keep quiet. I stare at the
geode on my desk, counting the purple crystalline ridges inside the rough stone
egg.   I hear her get up from the bed, and
then she’s kneeling next to me, staring up into my face like a dog waiting for
a treat. “Seriously. What’s up?”
    “I don’t want
to talk about it.” I swivel away from her, still hiding my swollen face.  
    She’s quick,
though. She dodges around to the other side of the chair, grabs the arm, and
swings me toward her. “Have you been crying?”
    The word
‘crying’ stabs at me, and more tears come. “Go away.” I put my head down on the
desk, willing her to disappear.
    I hear her go
to the door, close it softly, then turn the lock. Her breathing is close; her
hand is on my shoulder. It can’t be compassion; she must be looking for an
advantage, information she can use.   I
can’t give her anything.
    “Chris.”