Changers Book Four. T Cooper
“You really need to stop watching Paris Is Burning on Netflix every day,” I say.
“And you really need to stop being a boring-ass drag, you big lez.”
“Who are you calling big?” I joke.
I watch Kris smiling on the tiny screen in his vintage perforated tank top and high-waisted jeans, and it hits me that in a few weeks, unless I decide to put him in the circle of trust, we won’t be friends anymore.
Because I won’t be Kim anymore.
“So when’s your next sex bout?” he asks.
“I’m having it now.”
Kris does a full-on fake puke. “Did you read that article in Nat Geo about how there are gay dolphins? Legit same-sex dolphin couples. Put that in your homosexuality-is-unnatural pipe and smoke it, phobic arseholes.” I hear a gravelly voice in the background asking Kris about cigarettes. “I’m happy for you, you stupid bitch,” he says, “but I gotta go.”
“Me too.”
“Now find me a freak to love.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. I know a lot of freaks.” I point at him, and Kris blows me a kiss as the screen freezes, then goes black.
I try Facetiming Audrey after that, but she doesn’t pick up. I push down the worry that immediately crowds my thoughts. Worry that she is scouring the dark web for a drug to vanish any trace in her head of our afternoon by the river. Worry that Jason somehow senses a ripple in his Abider-leaning matrix and has cornered Audrey in her bedroom, screaming at her with a megaphone about the dangers of hanging with anyone who doesn’t look like one of those kids from Cabaret who sing “Tomorrow Belongs to Me.” Who am I kidding? That’s every night at Audrey’s house.
I try Facetiming Destiny. She texts that she can’t pick up, says to call like it’s 1999 or some crap. So I old-school phone her.
“Hey, girl,” she says when she picks up. “How’s sweet, sad Andy?”
“Fine. Sweet. Sad. Still in love with you.”
“Awwww.”
“So. I had sex with Audrey.”
“Hello! Why didn’t you say so?”
“I just did.”
“Man. That’s major. Beyond. How do you feel? How was it?”
“Remember the rain scene in The Notebook?” I say.
“Yeah.”
“Like that, only sunny.”
“So, not the worst.” Destiny laughs.
“No. Not the worst.” I laugh back. Then proceed to tell her all the gories. And, of course, my irrational fears.
“Not so irrational, given the history there,” Destiny observes.
I knew she was right. Making Audrey my Static is like trying to thread a needle with my feet. An uphill battle, at best. Premature, according to every Changers and Static standard since the final decades of the twentieth century. But you can’t choose who you love. Right? Or when you love.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Destiny says, “but my priority is you. Your safety. Your heart. You’re a goddamned jewel, and from what I’ve seen, that family is Shining-level scary.”
I stay quiet.
Destiny continues: “I mean, her brother? He’s like a car alarm that never shuts off. And her parents? I don’t know, Kim.”
“You’re not wrong, but—”
“But.” I hear her sigh on the other end of phone. “You’re sure this is what you want?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m here for it.”
“Thanks, Destiny.”
“What are you going to do about the fall? Your last V?” she asks.
“I promised to tell her.”
Another long sigh.
“I’m tired of lying,” I add.
“I hear you. But . . .”
“But what?”
“You have no idea what’s going to happen next year. Can you trust her?”
“Yes,” I say defensively.
“Dang, DJ’s texting. Gotta go. Be careful.”
* * *
It’s three a.m. I can’t sleep. It’s like I have a big test tomorrow. I check the clock every hour. In a way, I do have a test. School is ending in less than two weeks. Audrey will go to her hidey-hole church camp. I will be stuck here. Odds are we won’t see each other until the first day of my final V. Which could be anything. I could be anyone. Anyone but Kim. Or Oryon. Or Drew. Or Ethan. In the end, Audrey loved all of them in a way. More than I loved them myself.
When people get married, they’re supposed to stick together through anything. For better or worse. Sickness and health. Hell or high water. That’s what love is supposed to do. But the divorce stats tell a different story. All people change, and the people who love them often hate the change, and then that’s that.
* * *
It’s four a.m. And I’m spiraling. I’ve always been a spiraler. I guess Ethan’s overthinking and struggles with anxiety are one of the lovely bonuses that stuck with me through every change. Couldn’t have been his coordination or his thick hair.
I try to do deep breathing. Simply be. Simply be. In the moment.
Why can’t I be happy? I started this day so high and confident. Dreams can come true. Blah blah blah. A few hours later, the nightmares are setting in every time I doze off. I would do almost anything to get a handle on my brain, to be able to shut it down. I know how lucky I am. I’m not breaking brick in a Scientology work camp. I have amazing friends and parents who love me, and yet, spin spin spin. The what-if thought train barreling down my track.
I guess sex does complicate things.
At least this time I’m not getting postcoitally abducted. Hijacked by my insecurities, maybe.
How early is too early to text Audrey before school?
Kim
Change 3–Day 267
Parking my scooter in the student lot and bending over to lock the wheel, I hear the familiar rumble: Jason’s car screaming into the roundabout in front of school. It screeches to a halt so that everybody notices—the wormhole of insecurity in this dude knows no bottom—and Audrey steps out. She doesn’t really acknowledge or say goodbye to him, just slams the door. I wait until he speeds off (more tire-squealing so every Central student within earshot has to check him out), and then I stay close to the side of the building (okay, lurk) while I consider how to approach Audrey.
After following a safe distance behind her for what any outside observer might consider a creepy amount of time, I get the courage to call out a soft and nonthreatening, “Hey,” which startles her nonetheless.
“Hey,” she echoes.
“What’s up? How are you feeling?” I ask, trying not to be too obvious I’m referencing the whole sex thing.
“I’m okay,” she says. “You?”
I can’t tell which way this is going. She’s staring at me with no expression, the student body floating by on the warm breeze, amped up to be headed into their last full week of the school year. It’s like she’s been shot with a tranquilizer dart.
“Soooo,”