CHAPTER SIX
I really didn't want to face them, but I figured it wouldn't make it an easier by putting the discussion off. I trudged down into the living room, where my parents sat stiff as boards on the couch. I slumped into a chair and studied the pattern of the carpet. When I'd come out to them the first time—before I'd died and been resurrected, so to speak—they had been supportive. I'd had the time to sit them down and break the news gently. This was altogether different.
My father sighed. "I'm sure you know what we need to talk to you about."
I sniffled and nodded. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I hadn't told anyone 'til today. I told Stone, and then Steve found out and he told the entire school, and now everybody hates me!"
Sobbing hard, I curled up and brought my feet up onto the chair. Mom knelt on the floor next to me. "Trace, honey. We still love you just as much as before. This doesn't change how we feel about you. You're my baby."
I came out of my crouch and blinked my tears away. "Really?"
"Of course," Dad replied. "I'm just sorry that everything happened this way. We don't want to see you hurt."
Mom handed me a tissue. "How would you like some cake? Or maybe a brownie sundae? I'll go make you one."
She flitted off into the kitchen and dad laughed. "You better watch out, or you'll weigh nine hundred pounds."
A few minutes later, Mom brought me a huge bowl of ice cream and warm brownies. "So, tell us what to do," she said.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, what do we need to do to be supportive? Is there any special food you want?"
My father rolled his eyes and said, "For God's sake, Sara. How about sushi and drinks with little umbrellas in them. What do you think?"
"There's no need to snap." She glared at him, then turned to me. "Do you know how to have sexual intercourse with a man?"
I inhaled a mouthful of brownie and hacked violently. Even my father was speechless—he stared at mom with his jaw nearly falling off. When I could speak again, I yelled, "Mom! Can we not talk about that? Ever? As in, at no time in the future do I ever want to discuss this subject with you. Stand back. I think I'm gonna hurl."
"Sorry," she mumbled. "But I just want—"
I shook my head. "Don't. Please. Just know that I am…responsible."
"Oh good," she said with a relieved smile. "Well, do you have a boyfriend?"
"No. No one. And no friends anymore, either. I'm gonna go upstairs."
She hugged me tight. "Night, sweetheart. Remember, this is the beginning of your life. Go on from here and meet people who will love you for who you truly are, not just because they're popular."
Dad hugged me, too, and I took the chance to look at the spot on his arm that would one day take his life. "Hey, Dad, have you seen this? It looks strange. Maybe you should see a doctor about it."
He drew his eyebrows together and shrugged. "Nah, it's nothing, just a mole."
Mom scratched at the spot with her finger. "You never know what might be dangerous. You need to have your cholesterol levels checked anyway. Why don't I make an appointment and you can let Dr. Ainsley take a look at it? You should have a prostate check, too." With a little shutter, she added, "Ooh, that must be so uncomfortable."
Her words settled onto the three of us like ash from Vesuvius. I cleared my throat. "Well, this just got awkward beyond imagining. I'm gonna disappear now."
I rested against the headboard of my bed and considered the future. It had been so much simpler for the old Trace. For Trace 2.0, things were proving far more complicated. Loneliness and anger slammed into me and I growled in frustration. Then I remembered I had a Spanish paper due the next day. I hadn't even started it.
"Shit!" I hissed.
My phone beeped with a text from a number I didn't recognize. I looked at the message and laughed, realizing it was from Philip, my angel mentor.
I searched for the file name and was thrilled to find a completed Spanish essay. I printed it out, and then did a little more homework before falling into a dead sleep.
The next morning, I convinced my mother to let me stay home and asked her to drop off the paper to me. A few hours after she handed it in to the school, I got an email from Señora Degas.
I fumbled for my cellphone and texted furiously:
It struck me that it was the plan all along.
My father sighed. "I'm sure you know what we need to talk to you about."
I sniffled and nodded. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I hadn't told anyone 'til today. I told Stone, and then Steve found out and he told the entire school, and now everybody hates me!"
Sobbing hard, I curled up and brought my feet up onto the chair. Mom knelt on the floor next to me. "Trace, honey. We still love you just as much as before. This doesn't change how we feel about you. You're my baby."
I came out of my crouch and blinked my tears away. "Really?"
"Of course," Dad replied. "I'm just sorry that everything happened this way. We don't want to see you hurt."
Mom handed me a tissue. "How would you like some cake? Or maybe a brownie sundae? I'll go make you one."
She flitted off into the kitchen and dad laughed. "You better watch out, or you'll weigh nine hundred pounds."
A few minutes later, Mom brought me a huge bowl of ice cream and warm brownies. "So, tell us what to do," she said.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, what do we need to do to be supportive? Is there any special food you want?"
My father rolled his eyes and said, "For God's sake, Sara. How about sushi and drinks with little umbrellas in them. What do you think?"
"There's no need to snap." She glared at him, then turned to me. "Do you know how to have sexual intercourse with a man?"
I inhaled a mouthful of brownie and hacked violently. Even my father was speechless—he stared at mom with his jaw nearly falling off. When I could speak again, I yelled, "Mom! Can we not talk about that? Ever? As in, at no time in the future do I ever want to discuss this subject with you. Stand back. I think I'm gonna hurl."
"Sorry," she mumbled. "But I just want—"
I shook my head. "Don't. Please. Just know that I am…responsible."
"Oh good," she said with a relieved smile. "Well, do you have a boyfriend?"
"No. No one. And no friends anymore, either. I'm gonna go upstairs."
She hugged me tight. "Night, sweetheart. Remember, this is the beginning of your life. Go on from here and meet people who will love you for who you truly are, not just because they're popular."
Dad hugged me, too, and I took the chance to look at the spot on his arm that would one day take his life. "Hey, Dad, have you seen this? It looks strange. Maybe you should see a doctor about it."
He drew his eyebrows together and shrugged. "Nah, it's nothing, just a mole."
Mom scratched at the spot with her finger. "You never know what might be dangerous. You need to have your cholesterol levels checked anyway. Why don't I make an appointment and you can let Dr. Ainsley take a look at it? You should have a prostate check, too." With a little shutter, she added, "Ooh, that must be so uncomfortable."
Her words settled onto the three of us like ash from Vesuvius. I cleared my throat. "Well, this just got awkward beyond imagining. I'm gonna disappear now."
I rested against the headboard of my bed and considered the future. It had been so much simpler for the old Trace. For Trace 2.0, things were proving far more complicated. Loneliness and anger slammed into me and I growled in frustration. Then I remembered I had a Spanish paper due the next day. I hadn't even started it.
"Shit!" I hissed.
My phone beeped with a text from a number I didn't recognize. I looked at the message and laughed, realizing it was from Philip, my angel mentor.
Philip: stp swearing pls! + find "Span Paper" on yr lptop.
Me: TY!
P: no probs
Me: whose cell do u have?
P: the king's
Me: God has a cell phone???
P: no. but Elvis does. TTFN
Me: TY!
P: no probs
Me: whose cell do u have?
P: the king's
Me: God has a cell phone???
P: no. but Elvis does. TTFN
I searched for the file name and was thrilled to find a completed Spanish essay. I printed it out, and then did a little more homework before falling into a dead sleep.
The next morning, I convinced my mother to let me stay home and asked her to drop off the paper to me. A few hours after she handed it in to the school, I got an email from Señora Degas.
Trace, I've heard what's going on, and I wanted to tell you that you can come to me if you need anything. However, after reading your essay, I was concerned. I'm not sure if it was the stress of the situation or some other factor, but it's definitely not up to your usual excellent standards. I've set up a tutoring session for you with Max Holbrook. Maybe he can help you edit the paper and turn it in again. He said you have his number. Take care, see you soon, Sña D.
I fumbled for my cellphone and texted furiously:
Me: Your span paper failed!
Philip: That was the idea.
Me: Wtf?
P: *taps foot* That better mean "where's that flower?"
Me: I'm serious! My teacher's making me get tutoring with Max Holbrook.
P: …:p
Philip: That was the idea.
Me: Wtf?
P: *taps foot* That better mean "where's that flower?"
Me: I'm serious! My teacher's making me get tutoring with Max Holbrook.
P: …:p
It struck me that it was the plan all along.
Me: Very cleaver.
P: Cleaver?
Me: Clever. Angry cant type.
P: I'm sirry I made you mud.
Me: For an angel, yr annoying.
P: Cleaver?
Me: Clever. Angry cant type.
P: I'm sirry I made you mud.
Me: For an angel, yr annoying.
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