"Right. Thanks." Leave, I prayed. Please leave.

“You know, you could always try to transfer next year.”

"That’s a good idea?” I closed my eyes. Cece was doing things to me with the bar of soap that was making it impossible to carry on a conversation.

Mrs. Lucas said, "Would you like me to pick you up for the governor’s dinner on Saturday?”

Was that Saturday? I’d decided to skip it, feign terminal illness if Mom asked. “No,” I said, my breathlessness betraying me. “I’ll just meet you there" My knees began to buckle.

“So, what other colleges did you apply to?”

God. l grabbed Cece’s wrist. “I don’t remember.” The water suddenly spurt icicle cold. I wrenched off the faucets, still heaving, and steadied myself against Cece. Whispered in her ear, "Stay here." I pulled down my towel and wrapped it around me. Stepped out.

As I passed behind her, Mrs. Lucas eyed me through the mirror. Blotting her lipstick, she said, “You’ll let me know as soon as you decide where you're going, won’t you?”

“Definitely.” I forced a smile and padded to the lockers.

Mrs. Lucas trailed after me. Her purse sat open on the bench and she dropped her lipstick tube inside. “I stopped by your house yesterday,” she said. "Hannah’s getting so big."

“I know." I smiled again.

We didn’t speak while Mrs. Lucas folded and packed her sweats into her carry-aIl. That was a mistake; I should’ve kept up the babble. Cece emerged from the showers, tucking in a towel sarong. She skidded to a stop on the tiles when she spotted Mrs. Lucas. Cece’s panicked eyes darted back and forth, trying to figure out what to do. What could she do? She scurried over and plucked her bra and jeans and T-shirt off the top of our combined stack of clothes, muttering, “Excuse me.” Her eyes avoided mine as she circled the bank of lockers to the other side.

Even without my glasses, I caught the full impact of Mrs. Lucas’s reaction. She didn’t say a word, just clasped her purse and left. Cece’s tiny voice echoed over the lockers, “Oops."

All day long I worried about it. Was Mrs. Lucas up in her office calling Mom? What would she tell her? What would Mom say?

I should’ve told Mom. She shouldn't have to hear it from Bonnie Lucas; shouldn’t have to hear it from anyone but me.

After school I bumped into Kirsten coming out of the restroom as I was going in. "Hey, Kirs," I said.

She scanned the immediate area. Her eyes stopped on me. "Oh. You talking to me?" She palmed her chest. "I thought I heard my name. But that wouldn't be you remembering it."

I huffed a little. “Iʼm sorry I havenʼt called.”

"I guess you've been busy. Having a g*y old time, I hear.”

My heart stopped. Even it I could’ve found my voice, I’m not sure what I would’ve said. My eyes left her face and grazed the floor. No! It was an admission of guilt, and I wasn't guilty of any thing. I raised my head to speak, but Kirsten beat me to it. “I don't believe you," she said. “I guess we know now why you were so hyped about that club.”

I felt like crawling into a hole. Why? I hadn’t done anything wrong. “Drop it, Kirsten," I managed to rasp. “It’s none of your business.”

She exaggerated a smile. “Well, I just might have to make it my business." She turned and strutted off.

What did that mean? Was that a threat? What could she do? She scared me.

I stalled around at Children's Cottage as long as possible, neatening bookshelves and stacking chairs. What was waiting for me at home? I wondered. I imagined Mom’s we-need-to-have-a-serious-talk voice greeting me.

What greeted me was an empty house. There was a note on the fridge:

We're over at Neal's folks'. They wanted to get all the grandkids together for a family portrait.

Grandkids. Which, of course, didn't include me. She'd drawn a heart, and next to it: Mom. Underneath:

P.S. I left you fried chicken in the over.

That didn’t sound ominous.

When she get home an hour later, she stopped in to ask how my day was. "Good," I told her. She kissed the top of my head and left.

Maybe Mrs. Lucas hadn't interpreted what she’d witnessed the way I’d feared. Maybe Kirsten was just venting. I worried about it for a couple of days, and when nothing happened, I figured I’d gotten a reprieve.

Then suddenly, at school, everyone knew. Nobody actually confronted me, or said anything. But when I walked down the halls, it felt as if people could see it on me — a brand, or a mark, or a flashing red "L” on my chest. Their eyes lingered a little too long, and I could sense them judging me. Casting me out. The worst part was, I couldn’t even defend myself. I wanted to scream, “Stop it! Stop looking at me. I’m still the same person. You know in, you voted for me. It’s me, Holland. I haven’t changed."

This had the smell of Kirsten. She’d made good on her threat. Damn her. Why would she do this to me?

If only I could come out and be out. I loved Cece. I wasn’t ashamed of it. I wanted everyone at school to know. I wanted the world to know. I wanted one person in particular to know. Mom.

It killed me to have to keep the truth from Mom. Every time she asked about Seth, this sense of betrayal gnawed at my conscience. I wanted her to know the truth. She was my mother. I owed her that.

But the thought of telling Mom terrified me more than any thing. Why? We’d always been able to talk. Compared to most people, we had a great relationship. I just didn’t know how to broach the subject, particularly after she'd ordered me to dump Cece as a friend. Mom and I had never discussed homosexuality, per se. I mean, it just never came up.

My promise to Cece protected me, for now. When the time was right, I'd tell Mom. I’d tell the world. I loved Cece. Mom would understand. Like she said, she knew about love. After she got to know Cece, sheʼd love her, too.

***

The sleepless nights were taking their toll. It seemed as if my life flowed in one long, continuous stream — and I didn't ever want to row ashore. A person can live only so long on adrenaline, though. I could barely keep track of the days. One Tuesday or Wednesday, as I slogged home after work, dying to crash but knowing I had hours of reading yet to do before meeting Cece, I found Mom in the kitchen frosting a chocolate layer cake.

Had I spaced a birthday? It wasn’t mine, was it? No, I wasn't that trashed. Mom’s or Hannah’s. No. Faith's? Neal’s? “What’s the occasion?" I stuck a finger into the frosting bowl.

Mom threw the knife into the bowI and whirled on me. Shoving me backward, almost making me fall, she said, “Is it true? Are you seeing that girl?”

My gaze flickered over to Faith, who'd stopped dead in the threshold between the kitchen and dining room.

I could lie to Mom.

No, I couldn’t. "Yes,” I said.

Moms eyes blazed. “Are you sleeping with her?”

Oh, God. Did we have to do this here? Now? "Well, actually," I smirked, “we don’t get a lot of sleep?”

A burning sensation exploded in my head before I realised Mom had slapped me. Tears sprang to my eyes — more from shock than pain. "Mom, you don’t understand?” I moved toward her. “I love Cece."

She hit me again, harder, and I stumbled out into the dining room, my hip ramming the credenza. Neal was feeding Hannah at the table, where Faith slithered back into her seat. Mom charged me, pounding on my back.

“Mom” I tried to fend her off, but couldn’t. She was crazed.

Neal jumped into action. He corralled Mom from behind and said, “Thatʼs enough. We donʼt need to get violent here.”

Mom yelled at me, “I didn't raise you to be a lesbian!" She made it sound like the filthiest word in the English language. “It's sick. Perverted. You're perverted." Neal held her in a death grip.

“It’s not like that." I reached for Mom, trying to calm her, explain. “It’s beautiful. We love each other?”

She broke free of Neal and charged me. Hit me again; just started slapping and punching my face and arms and anyplace her hands connected. Neal wedged between us, palming off her blows. Trying to. “You disgust me!" she screamed.

I heard Hannah start crying. My eyes met Faith's across the table, where she’d turned to petrified wood. Almost. Did she smile? Mom said to Neal, “I want her out of here?”

Neal said to me, “You better go.”

"Go? Go where?” I asked.

“Go to hell,” Morn answered.

"Mom —"

“Go,” she shrieked. “Get out, get out. Get. Out!”

“Okay. God. Can I at least pack some things?"

Her face was so purple I thought she’d explode. “Two minutes.” To Neal she said, “I want her out of this house in two minutes.”

He widened his eyes at me. Hannah howled and hiccuped. "Oh, Hannie." I paused to comfort her. Mom ripped me away and screeched, "Don’t you touch my baby! Donʼt you ever touch her again.”

My stomach churned as I charged down the stairs. God, oh God. What was I going to do?

Pack. Pack what? Two minutes? I unzipped my duffel and started shoveling things in. Everything on my dresser carrie off in one swipe. What else? Clothes. The drawers were crammed; I’d never be able to pack it all. My closet, too. Shoes. There was no room for shoes.

“You have one minute,” Mom shrilled down the stairs.

The roses? No, they’d have to stay. They were dead anyway. Let her enjoy them now. Faith, too. She could eat my dead roses.

I grabbed as much as I could carry; heard items dropping on the floor as I charged up the stairs. I felt humiliated and helpless and shaken. Faith was just coming downstairs and we collided. l shoved her aside, seething, “I hope you’re happy. You have it all to yourself now.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but I elbowed past her. I couldn't believe she'd done this to me. Did she hate me that much?

Mom wrinkled open the door. Then slammed it shut behind me.

I staggered to the Jeep. Drove. Just drove. I was trembling and cold and my hands kept slipping off the steering wheel. My chest hurt. My check burned. My hip throbbed where the corner of the credenza had gouged me. The phone in the bottom of my bag rang, I think. Everything was ringing. My ears, still, from her screaming. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. Everything went blurry. Everything went black.

Chapter 20

“Yeah, hello?” he said, the words clipped.

I swallowed hard. “I'm sorry to wake you up. Can I talk to Cece?” My voice sounded hollow, detached.

“Who is this?" he demanded.

“It’s Holland. I'm sorry, Mr. Goddard. I need to talk to Cece.”

He exhaled obvious irritation. “Just a minuted.”

My forehead rested against the steering wheel.

“H’lo," Cece slurred. She cleared her throat. “Who is this?” The extension downstairs clicked off.

“Itʼs me."

"Holl?” Cece's voice rose. “I’ve been calling you for hours. Where are you?”

My throat felt dry. Raw. I sat back and said, "I’m sitting in front of your house. I need you.”

A curtain in the upstairs window lettered. "I’ll be right there,” she said. “Donʼt go away.”

I laughed bitterly.

A few seconds later Cece tripped out the front door, her baseball jersey clinging to her legs, one hightop on her foot and the other in her hand. She sprinted down the sidewalk and across the street. Her palm spread on my closed window and she peered in before charging around to the passenger side.

“Holland? Honey?” She shut the door and turned to me. I continued to stare ahead. Unseeing, numb. "What happened?” she asked.

I blinked over to her. “My mother kicked me out of the house.”

"No." Cece lunged across the seat and threw her arms around in. “Holland, no.” She held me, burrowed her head into my neck. “Oh, baby, no.ʼ

"Oh, baby, yes."

Cece drew back. “You told her? About us?”

“No.” My voice sounded harsh, the way my insides felt, “I didn’t have to.”

Cece frowned. “Somebody outed you? Who?”

"One guess.”

“l donʼt know."

“Your friend and mine."

Cece looked confused.

"Faith," I said.

Cece shook her head. “I don’t believe that. Are you sure?”

I nodded. I was sure.

“Youʼre shivering. Itʼs freezing in here. Whereʼs your coat?”

I might’ve laughed again. “Guess I forgot it in the two minutes I had to pack.” Tears burned my eyes. "What am I going to do, Ceese?”

She held me again. “Stay here, of course, with me.”

"I can’t."

"Yes, you can. Come on.” She scooted out her side and ran around to open my door. Dragged me across the street and into the house.

Cece’s parents were both up now. Mr. Goddard stood by the staircase as Kate wandered in from the kitchen, tightening her belt on her robe. "Holland’s mom kicked her out,” Cece in formed them.

"Oh, sweetie.” Kate rushed over and hugged me. I didn’t think there could be any tears left, but a flood of them burst through the dam.

“She can stay here, right?" Cece said. There was challenge in her voice.

When neither of her parents consented right away, I said, “That’s okay. I’ll just go to a motel.”