Read Online South of Sunshine by Dana Elmendorf - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dana Elmendorf
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Van pecking away on the computer. “Are you going to the football game tonight?”
I shake my head.
“You didn’t go last week either.”
“Neither did you,” I growl, though he actually has a social life. I was avoiding certain people.
“Huh.” He works quietly while I wallow in my misery. “What do you think about our float idea? Picking several iconic treasures of Tennessee to feature on our float instead of one will be pretty epic. I just hope we can pull it off.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you hear that the freshmen are building a giant-sized ball of cotton? It’s supposed to be something grand like what you’d see in the Rose Bowl Parade. Sounds cool.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Sophomores have some big secret. The juniors are doing a giant songbook with sheets of music for the song ‘I Wish I Was in Dixie.’” He sings the last part. “Bo-ring.”
I grunt.
More pecking. “You’re going to work on the float next weekend, right? Bren said she’d be there.”
The sound of my sigh is a cross between a dying moose and a deflating balloon.
“What’s wrong with you? You sound pathetic.”
A week of watching Chelsea mauling Bren will do that to a girl. At first Bren seemed to encourage her advances, but by Wednesday, Bren seemed … annoyed? Or maybe that was wishful thinking on my part. In sixth period today, Bren tried to talk to me, but Dewey Decimal won out.
“Do you think Chelsea Hannigan is a lesbian?” I vomit the question.
“Wow. Okay. We’re going there today. Um, I’d guess she’s bisexual, and please, God, don’t tell me you’re in love with her.”
I peek out from under my arm. “Chesty? Please, Van, give me more credit than that. Not her.”
“Phew,” he blows out a breath. “Oh …”
“‘Oh,’ what?” I scowl at him.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Yes you did. You said ‘oh.’” I sit up and narrow my eyes at him. “What does ‘oh’ mean?”
“You know what it means.”
And I do. I can’t pretend I don’t because he’s right. This isn’t about Chelsea. It’s about Bren. The thing with Van and me is, we have an unwritten don’t ask, don’t talk about it policy. He’s comfortable with his it . His parents know about it , but no one talks about it … or me being it , for that matter.
Van’s parents have always been a touch on the squirrelly side, especially Mrs. Betty, so it’s like everyone expects him to be different. Also, he’s never hidden his flair for fashion or downplayed his love for theater or art. He’s never had to hide who he was because everyone just knows. It’s like as long as he doesn’t dip into Sunshine’s pool, no one cares where he swims.
Me, on the other hand, an ordinary girl with good conservative upbringing—why, if I came out, it might threaten their logic that gays aren’t well-bred people. Pair me up with another well-bred person, and we might get the crazy idea to marry like regular folk now that the Supreme Court has made it so easy. Oh no, we wouldn’t want to disrupt their conformed lives.
Another customer comes in and halts our conversation. I lay back on the couch. For me, the first time I realized it was the day Charlotte Wozniak kissed me. Now, the thought of that happening brings bile to my throat. At the time, we were nine going on ten. I blame an inattentive Ms. Veda and an overdose of Days of Our Lives.
Ms. Veda took care of Charlotte and me over the summer. After Dora the Explorer went off, the five hours of soap operas began. Cat fights, scandals, and make-out scenes got the better of us. Now, I’m not blaming TV for being it . I’m just saying it was the first time I suspected … it .
Under a tented sheet draped over the couch, Charlotte laid one on me. Sparks flew. It was only our lips smashed together, and our heads twisting side to side, but it was still a kiss. When we came up for air, the first words out of my mouth were, “Let’s do it again.” We didn’t get more than three or four
I shake my head.
“You didn’t go last week either.”
“Neither did you,” I growl, though he actually has a social life. I was avoiding certain people.
“Huh.” He works quietly while I wallow in my misery. “What do you think about our float idea? Picking several iconic treasures of Tennessee to feature on our float instead of one will be pretty epic. I just hope we can pull it off.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you hear that the freshmen are building a giant-sized ball of cotton? It’s supposed to be something grand like what you’d see in the Rose Bowl Parade. Sounds cool.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Sophomores have some big secret. The juniors are doing a giant songbook with sheets of music for the song ‘I Wish I Was in Dixie.’” He sings the last part. “Bo-ring.”
I grunt.
More pecking. “You’re going to work on the float next weekend, right? Bren said she’d be there.”
The sound of my sigh is a cross between a dying moose and a deflating balloon.
“What’s wrong with you? You sound pathetic.”
A week of watching Chelsea mauling Bren will do that to a girl. At first Bren seemed to encourage her advances, but by Wednesday, Bren seemed … annoyed? Or maybe that was wishful thinking on my part. In sixth period today, Bren tried to talk to me, but Dewey Decimal won out.
“Do you think Chelsea Hannigan is a lesbian?” I vomit the question.
“Wow. Okay. We’re going there today. Um, I’d guess she’s bisexual, and please, God, don’t tell me you’re in love with her.”
I peek out from under my arm. “Chesty? Please, Van, give me more credit than that. Not her.”
“Phew,” he blows out a breath. “Oh …”
“‘Oh,’ what?” I scowl at him.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Yes you did. You said ‘oh.’” I sit up and narrow my eyes at him. “What does ‘oh’ mean?”
“You know what it means.”
And I do. I can’t pretend I don’t because he’s right. This isn’t about Chelsea. It’s about Bren. The thing with Van and me is, we have an unwritten don’t ask, don’t talk about it policy. He’s comfortable with his it . His parents know about it , but no one talks about it … or me being it , for that matter.
Van’s parents have always been a touch on the squirrelly side, especially Mrs. Betty, so it’s like everyone expects him to be different. Also, he’s never hidden his flair for fashion or downplayed his love for theater or art. He’s never had to hide who he was because everyone just knows. It’s like as long as he doesn’t dip into Sunshine’s pool, no one cares where he swims.
Me, on the other hand, an ordinary girl with good conservative upbringing—why, if I came out, it might threaten their logic that gays aren’t well-bred people. Pair me up with another well-bred person, and we might get the crazy idea to marry like regular folk now that the Supreme Court has made it so easy. Oh no, we wouldn’t want to disrupt their conformed lives.
Another customer comes in and halts our conversation. I lay back on the couch. For me, the first time I realized it was the day Charlotte Wozniak kissed me. Now, the thought of that happening brings bile to my throat. At the time, we were nine going on ten. I blame an inattentive Ms. Veda and an overdose of Days of Our Lives.
Ms. Veda took care of Charlotte and me over the summer. After Dora the Explorer went off, the five hours of soap operas began. Cat fights, scandals, and make-out scenes got the better of us. Now, I’m not blaming TV for being it . I’m just saying it was the first time I suspected … it .
Under a tented sheet draped over the couch, Charlotte laid one on me. Sparks flew. It was only our lips smashed together, and our heads twisting side to side, but it was still a kiss. When we came up for air, the first words out of my mouth were, “Let’s do it again.” We didn’t get more than three or four
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