Fortunately I have my earbuds with me, because the line is kind of long for our little community, despite the overnight storm. There are several things up for a vote today; it’s not all Etta and Carl and the one school board seat. But it still feels like that.

  It doesn’t take very long for them to figure out who wins the seat. Etta’s lead is so extreme that by six o’clock, before the polls are even closed, it’s official. If the voting had been last week, say on Thursday, there’s no way I would have believed this. But so much has happened since the town hall meeting, and having Mr. Hyde plow for us and for Etta tells me that the wall—something that’s been building up to separate friends from friends, and neighbors from neighbors—is crumbling. I’m no longer worried about what the reaction to Etta’s victory will be. Like water after it breaks through a dam, we’ve found level. We’ve reached some kind of balance.

  Mom sends me off to school on Wednesday, and I’m bummed when Max doesn’t sit beside me. He nods at me, but he keeps going down the aisle. I would have thought he’d gotten over some of his reluctance. I try to tell myself that it’s not reasonable for me to expect him to sit with me all the time, and even though this is true, sitting separately today—and the curt little nod he gave me—kind of hurts.

  Whatever.

  I have another mission today, anyway, so I use it to keep my mind off the fact that Max is distant all day at school. After Biology, I wait for most of the kids to leave so I can talk to Sylvia. She gives me a hug and asks about Kyle. I tell her just enough to get by; it’s not Kyle’s new kidney that I want to talk to Sylvia about.

  “I need to ask someone about this, and I’m not sure who to go to,” I open. She moves over to the corner away from the door and sits in a student chair. I sit in the next one over. “I’ve been trying to reach Jorja. She hasn’t been in school in days, and every time I call her house there’s no answer. I’ve left messages . . .” My voice kind of trails off as I see the look on Sylvia’s face change from wanting to hear what I need to an expression that shuts me out.

  “That’s not something I can talk about, Ethan. All I can say is that it’s my belief she’ll be all right, but her family is going through something rather difficult right now, and—”

  “Her family? What do you think mine is going through?”

  “But your family is pulling together over it, I think, yes?” She waits for my nod. “Tell you what. I’ll see what I can do about getting some information to you. I’m not sure what that will mean, but I know you’re worried.”

  That doesn’t seem like much to offer me. “You think she’ll be all right? What’s that supposed to mean? She’s not all right now?” The look on Sylvia’s face tells me she’s not saying anything else. “What do I need to do, show up at Mrs. Glasier’s Teen Meet to find out what’s going on?”

  Sylvia shakes her head. “I don’t think they’ll be able to tell you anything there, either. Just let me see what I can do, Ethan, okay?”

  What can I say? Should I tell Sylvia about my beast dream? I decide it wouldn’t help.

  Max still doesn’t sit with me on the bus. This time he barely looks at me. I could be anybody, or nobody. Something’s wrong; I’m sure of it. But how the hell am I supposed to find out what? Christ, I don’t need anything else to be wrong!

  When I get home, Mom’s in some kind of nesting frenzy. I can smell household cleaner, there’s no clutter in the kitchen, and the rug in the living room looks like it was just vacuumed.

  At first she doesn’t stop what she’s doing, doesn’t look up from her bent position as she pulls things out from the front closet floor. Then she stands and pushes hair off her forehead and looks at me. “Let’s sit for a minute.” And she heads for the kitchen table. I sit across from her and wait.

  “Okay, so I don’t want you to get your hopes too high, Ethan. Sometimes troubles push people apart, and sometimes it brings them together.” She pauses, and I’m thinking, Yeah, I already figured that much out, but I don’t say anything so she’ll keep talking. I think I like where this is going. “So, anyway, I’ve asked your father to move back in.”

  She sits back, sighs, and rubs her face a sec. “I’m not exactly perfect, either, so we’ve talked some things out. And at this point it seems stupid to keep going forward with this divorce just because we started down that road. So I hope you won’t be too upset that you aren’t likely to be seeing Mr. LeBlanc in the future.” She smiles.

  I smile back. I’m not sure what to do here. Should I get up and give her a hug? Should I laugh? Cry? Both? I just say, “I guess I can live with that.” And, of course, I could just possibly run into Guy again at This Time For Sure someday.

  “How are you, Ethan? How are you feeling, aside from the obvious?”

  “I’ll be okay.” I’m wondering if I should tell her about my experience at Etta’s last night when it occurs to me I need to talk about something else. “Um, Mom, do you remember what you said when I told you I was gay?”

  She nods, doesn’t give me anything else to go on.

  “I’m not going to change my mind about that. It’s real. It’s me. So, I guess I need to know if you can live with it.”

  She takes a deep breath. “What was it I said? When you told me? That I wouldn’t be happy about it, I think. And also that you’d still be you. I meant both those things, but I think part of the not being happy was only from not understanding it. The rest is because of how hard it could be for you. Maybe you think you’re in love right now, and maybe you are, at least for your age. But if you didn’t already know what some of the problems might be, you’d be telling everyone about your boyfriend. You’re not doing that. You haven’t even told your father, right?”

  I shake my head, worried about where she’s going with this. “Now, it seems to me that knowing there will be problems doesn’t mean you should try to be something you’re not. So, my sweet boy,” and she grins at me, “I can live with it. But I’m also worried about you because of it. Does that make sense?”

  It doesn’t feel much less anticlimactic than it did when I brought it up weeks ago, but it does feel more positive. Lots more positive, actually. “I guess so. I’m just trying to figure out if I should tell Dad.”

  We lock eyes for a few seconds. “I won’t kid you. I’m not sure there’s a good time to tell him that. But I think it’s safe to say now is a really bad time. Is there some reason you want to tell him now?”

  I shake my head. “No. I just don’t want to lie to him. And you’re right about Max.”

  “You’re still keeping your promise, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” At least for now.

  “Okay. Good. Now, why don’t you go get a head start on your homework while I finish up the closet and get dinner started.”

  But there’s more ground I want to cover. Different ground. “Mom? Do you, um, have you heard anything about Jorja?”

  Something about the look on her face tells me she has. “Why do you ask?”

  “She hasn’t been in school for days, no one answers the phone, and Sylvia was very mysterious when I asked her about it today. What’s going on?”

  I don’t like the long pause before she answers. “Can we talk about this maybe tomorrow?”

  “Mom, it’s freaking me out. Is she all right?”

  Mom stands and comes over to me, and I stand for her hug. “She will be, Ethan. She will be.” She pats my shoulder, and I want to believe her, but I’m not sure I do.

  I push away. “Why won’t anyone talk to me about her? Why won’t you tell me anything?” I don’t mean to shout, but it kind of comes out like that.

  Mom sighs. “All right, Ethan. I was just trying to keep the daily drama to a dull roar, but keeping you in the dark is just making it worse.” We both sit down again. “She’s in Bingham, as a matter of fact.”

  “Bingham?” My mind is a blank, other than recognizing the town Etta and I drove to on our first outing. “Why?”

  Mom pulls her lips into her mouth like she’s not sure what to say next, or maybe how to say it. “She’s staying with another family there. It might be for a while.” She watches my face, which is twisting in confusion. “Ethan, things were really bad for her at home. I don’t know how much she told you, and it’s her story to tell, not mine. But things were bad. I don’t know where her mother is, or why she’s not answering the phone, but her father is in jail.”

  “For what?” My voice squeaks like it hasn’t done in a year.

  “Let’s just say he was making life impossible, and Jorja’s mother wasn’t helping.”

  I’m on my feet now. “That’s not enough! What was he doing?”

  Mom stays in her chair, but her voice is hard. “Ethan, I’ve told you all I can.”

  “Well . . . I—Can you at least give me a telephone number where I can reach her?”

  Mom thinks for a second. “No, but I will see if it’s possible to ask her to call you. I’m not even sure about that, but I’ll try. That’s the best I can do. Now, homework.”

  Upstairs I’m tempted to call Max, but I’m afraid I might sound sulky. So I consider texting. And then I decide to wait until he contacts me. I pick up Edgar and hug him. Almost immediately my phone rings. It’s Max!

  “Hey. D’you wanna go to Marra’s for a little while?”

  “Marra’s?” I’m trying to figure out how to let him know I’m mad at him without actually being mad at him. And I’m trying not to sound too excited that he’s called.

  “You know. The victory party. I figure it’ll be good to put in an appearance. Especially you, since you and your mom helped her so much. I hear Marra’s asked Etta to make an appearance herself. What d’you say?”

  I want to resist him. I really do. But it’s just so I can sulk, and I know that. So instead I say, “I guess. Why not?”

  “Great. I’ll meet you there. I’ll probably get there eight-ish.”

  I hear my voice say, “K.” I’ll meet you there? Something heavy lands inside my chest. Why would I assume he’d pick me up? And why isn’t he picking me up? He knows we’re kind of stretched over here just now, and it would be nice not to burden my mom with taxiing me around. Christ! Will I ever have my own license? I sit at my desk a minute, breathing deeply and telling myself this is nothing, before I go talk to Mom, who’s in her room.

  “Marra Whitfield is having a victory party for Etta. Is it okay if I go over for a little while around eight?”

  Mom’s still on her cleaning binge, closets again. Maybe she’s making room for Dad’s things to come back? She sits on the bed and wipes hair off her forehead. “On a school night?”

  “The election was yesterday. By the weekend it’ll be old news.”

  “I suppose you’ll need a ride.”

  “I could just take the car.”

  “No, you can’t. You can drive over, if you want, but not without me.”

  Max isn’t there yet when I arrive at around ten after. The party is about like you’d expect. Loud music, and every once in a while someone throws confetti from someplace. What stands out is how many kids are here. And lots of them had been either undecided, in terms of the two warring camps at school, or even on the ID side, at least initially.

  Marra has a big banner with one of Etta’s slogans hung across a big open doorway. It says, GOT SCIENCE? PROVE IT. She seems really pleased to see me. “Hey, Ethan! I knew you’d come. Is Max with you?”

  Ha! I’m not the only one who thinks he should have given me a ride. Interesting, though, that she’d ask me this. “He’s supposed to be on his way.”

  “Great! Then the debate team will all be here.”

  Gregory waves from the kitchen, and I go in to see how he’s feeling. Sylvia’s in the kitchen, too, and Mr. Coffin. They’re chatting in a corner, and for the first time I wonder whether there’s anything between them. Behind my ear, the wall phone rings.

  “Ethan!” Marra shouts. “Can you get that?”

  I have to plug my other ear against the party noise and ask whoever it is to repeat their name.

  “Ethan? Is that you? It’s Etta. Marra asked if I’d stop by. Could you tell her I’ll be there in about twenty minutes?”

  Marra’s thrilled the woman of the hour will be here soon, and she makes me help her gather some kids together to throw confetti as Etta makes her entrance.

  Max is still missing when Etta arrives. But it’s not the green Forester that pulls up to the house. It’s a cop car. I’m watching out the window as one cop walks her to the door. It seems they’re still worried about her safety. She comes in alone and is immediately covered in colored paper bits. The shouting is tremendous, and kids crowd around Etta. I have to say, this really surprises me. I mean, I know we’ve all been through a kind of war, and she represents our cause, but . . . Maybe everyone’s just beyond ready for a party. For something to celebrate. Because, really, if the ID side hadn’t caused so much trouble, the Marra Whitfields of the world wouldn’t have made such a fuss about Etta. The election would probably have gone relatively unnoticed, and the voting would have been no more heavy than usual.

  Etta finds me and wraps an arm around my shoulders, telling her adoring throng that she couldn’t have done this without my help. But she doesn’t stay very long, and by the time she leaves I’m feeling furious with Max, who’s still not here as far as I can tell. I’m standing in a corner of the living room, scoping out the crowd and thinking I’ll go check the kitchen in case he got here and I didn’t notice, when Jamal Mason appears in front of me.

  “So,” he says, and takes a gulp from his cup. I’m thinking he’ll go on from there, but he doesn’t.

  I pick up the conversational baton. “Quite a scene, huh?” “Sure is. Um, listen . . . You and Max. Is that, you know, exclusive?”

  Thank God he’s keeping his voice low. How the fuck am I supposed to respond to that? All I can think of to say is, “What do you mean?”

  “Well—because if it’s not, I thought, you know, maybe . . .” And he stops, like I’m supposed to know what he’s getting at. I’m just starting to get a little pissed, like he’s going to say something nasty about a personal fact of mine he’s not even supposed to know, when he says, “Maybe we could go out sometime. See a movie, whatever.” He takes another drink, his dark eyes boring into mine, not pleading, not challenging, but somewhere in between.

  “I—I didn’t know you . . .” Didn’t know what? Didn’t know he was gay? Didn’t know it’s that obvious that I am? My voice is almost a whisper. “How did you know?”

  He shrugs. “Love the tat. Plus, I’ve noticed you. And I’ve noticed you and Max. So what I want to know is whether there’s room for me, too.” This kid has such a sexy smile. It makes me smile, too.

  “Wow. I, uh, you know. I didn’t think anyone knew. About me.” So the tat is a little more obvious than I’d thought. Or maybe just to other gay people?

  “You might be surprised.”

  I blink at him, wanting but not daring to ask what that means. “Do they know about you?”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t think so. Mostly they ignore me.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I’m black.”

  This gives me pause, but just for a second. “Well, I’m not ignoring you now. I just don’t know how to answer you. I mean, Max and I . . .” Christ, how to say anything about this that wouldn’t make Max furious if he ever hears it? And how mad am I at him, anyway? “We’re pretty focused at the moment, if you know what I mean.” This much is true enough, at least for me.

  “So right now’s not good, but it’s not out of the question.”

  I don’t know how to describe this feeling. Someone noticed me. Someone wants me. Someone whose darkness only adds to his sex appeal. “It’s not out of the question. It’s just not the best timing.”

  He nods. “K. Maybe I’ll check back another time.” And while I’m still in shock, he disappears again.

  Someone pushes me from the side, and I hear Max’s voice in my ear. “What was that about?”

  I will not react. I will not look at him right away. “Discovery mission,” I say, hoping that’s vague enough to make him wonder.

  “Oh?”

  But I’m not giving him any more. I still won’t look at him. “Been here long?”

  “Just before Etta left.” Not a word about being late.

  We stand there, side by side, sipping from our drinks, surveying the crowd like a couple of tourists mildly entertained at the monkey house at some zoo. Eventually Max says, “Ready to hit the road?”

  Now I look at him. “What?”

  He shrugs. “Do you want a lift home or not?”

  A lift? I’m so close to telling him to go fuck himself. Mom is expecting me to call her when I’m ready to go home, so I’m hardly stuck here without Max’s stingy offer.

  I shrug, too. “Either way.” I look back at the monkeys.

  “What’s with you?”

  “What’s with me?” I can’t keep a note of astonishment out of my voice.

  He’s scowling, but not angry—maybe worried. “Look, Ethan, I . . . Let me give you a ride home, okay? So we can talk?”

  My breathing goes all weird. That’s the line someone uses when they want to tell the other person It’s not working. “Fine.”

  We find Marra, say our good-byes, and as we walk along the road to where Max parked the Sequoia I call Mom to tell her I don’t need a ride, that a “friend” is giving me a “lift.” I want Max to hear that. Though of course he probably thinks I’m just being discreet.

  He doesn’t start the car up right away. Staring out the windshield, his voice a little tense, he says, “Was it what it looked like? With Jamal?”

  I seem to spend so much of my life torn between those two poles Heidi told me about. I’d really like Max to know he’s not my only option; a little jealousy can be a good thing. But I’m afraid of how he’d react if he knew what Jamal had said when I told him I didn’t know anyone knew about me, that I’d be surprised. Because if they know about me, they almost certainly know about Max. Jamal did. And it seems like Marra has put us together in her view of things. And if anything will push him farther away from me, it’s his fear of discovery. Ha! Discovery mission, indeed.