Educating Simon (24 page)

I stood at the top of the stairs, coming to all these conclusions, when another one hit me. Michael is a bramble.

It was a chilly, overcast day, but I dropped my school bag and went out onto the roof. At the wall, the one I had contemplated jumping over, I stood there, leaning on the granite, until I was shivering. Then I stood there some more.

All these problems I don't want anything to do with! I have enough of my own, thank you very much. And how far will I get with them if I take the advice I'd just given Persie? What problem do I want to solve first—the most important, or the easiest to fix?

The most important, of course, is getting home and into Oxford. And to do that, I have to do just what I've been doing: nose to the grindstone and keep batting away other people's problems as best I can. And no Michael.

I sighed, and for some reason my mind went next to Kay. At least there'd been no drama with her this week. She'd been all business Thursday, partly I think because she was a little ashamed of chickening out about telling her parents she wants the hormone treatments. Can't say I blame her; that is going to be one awful scene.

Finally I decided I'd had enough shivering; it was beginning to feel like I was prolonging discomfort so I could feel mistreated, when I was doing it to myself.

Inside, before I hit the books, I called Mass General and was told that Sofia Vitale was still there and in good condition. They wouldn't tell me whether she could speak.

 

By breakfast Saturday morning, I'd already spent two hours on homework; I hadn't touched my extended essay—the one that compares different cultures' attitudes towards homosexuality—in months, and Dr. Metcalf wanted me to e-mail him my work to date over the weekend. I'd collected some really good research material that I intended to start working into the paper right after breakfast.

But as I poured myself some tea, Mum asked, “All ready for the seniors' apple-picking event today, Simon?”

“What apple-picking event?”

She leaned back in her chair and tilted her head at me. “Nashoba Valley Winery. They have orchards, and a restaurant—quite the outing. You've forgotten? You did agree to go. It's a family event, and Brian and I want to meet some of your classmates.”

Not what I'd planned for my day, no. “What time?”

“We're to meet at the school at ten. They have buses picking us all up.”

“Until when?”

“They'll have us back by three. We'll have lunch at the vineyard, courtesy of the school. It will be fun!”

It will decidedly
not
be fun. “I don't think I'll be able to go. I have an assignment I have to finish today.”

“You've been working very hard, Simon. A little time off won't hurt you. And you can finish this evening, and tomorrow.”

“I have to turn it in tomorrow. It's important, Mother. My extended essay. It's part of my Oxford entrance requirement.”

“You've been working on that for a year.”

“I have worked on it on and off over the past several months. I haven't touched it in a long time, and Dr. Metcalf expects a certain level of completion by tomorrow.”

“Sunday?”

“Yes, Sunday. Tell you what. If you don't believe me,
you
can go apple picking, and if he's there, you can ask him.”

“Well, I hope he is there; I want a chance to speak with him anyway. But you need to go, Simon.”

“Why?” So much for not sulking.

She sighed, an exasperated exhale. “Oxford won't be looking only at your marks. They'll want to see what the staff at St. Boniface think of you as a person. If you spend all your time on academics, you will not appear well-rounded, which makes you a less desirable candidate.”

“They are never going to know—or care—whether I go apple picking.”

“St. Boniface will. And you know very well Oxford will want to know what they say about you. As a person.”

I wanted to scream. I've been trying so hard to do what I need to do to get through these fucking brambles. It's already taking everything I've got.

“Five hours, Mum? Really? Do you know how much work I could get done in five hours?”

Brian chimed in. “Em, here's an idea. What if we three drive out ourselves in time to have lunch and be sociable, grab a few apples, and leave? We know where they're going. And we could get Simon back here well before three.”

Wow. Brian, being nice to me? Ned must have told him what I did for Maxine. Good thing he doesn't yet know about Persie's upcoming water-torture routine.

Mum wasn't on board with this plan, though. “But that wouldn't give us much of a chance to talk with people.”

“How much time do we really need?”

“We won't know until we meet them. And we'd be the only ones not staying the whole time.”

“Maybe not. And I can't help thinking letting Simon finish his assignment is more important.” Before she could protest again, he turned to me. “What about it, Simon? If we leave here at, say, eleven, and get back by two, would that be better?”

What would be better would be not going at all, but that seemed like a losing battle. So I accepted the compromise graciously. “Yes. Thanks. That works much better.” I stood. “I'll just take a tray upstairs now and get back to work. I'll be downstairs a few minutes before eleven.” I gathered some food and left, noting the dark look Mum was giving Brian. Too bad; let her. Three hours wasted was better than five, and I'd take it.

The trip out to the Nashoba Valley wasn't bad, actually. Pretty countryside, lots of maple trees turning intense shades of yellow and orange. I was finally able to see what people meant when they rave about New England in the fall.

I managed to nab space with Olivia and her family for lunch, barely avoiding Maddy. I did notice Mum talking to Dr. Metcalf, and I hope she asked him about that assignment that's due tomorrow.

They released us into the orchard after lunch, and Mum wouldn't hear of leaving until I'd tried my hand at agriculture. Most of the trees near the parking lot were picked out already, of course, but Mum made me pose a couple of times, holding an apple I had in fact not just picked, so she could snap a pic. Then I headed into the trees, thinking I'd just grab a few apples and that would do it. Mum didn't follow me, but guess who did.

I had just about enough fruit to give Ned something to work with and was backing away from a tree to see if it had any more low-hanging fruit to offer when I bumped right into Maddy.

“Jesus!” I hissed, startled.

“No. Maddy!” She laughed, and it took me a second to realise she'd pronounced her name in a way that she intended to be a loose allusion to Mary, as in mother of Jesus.

I pointed towards her meagre cache of apples. “Looks like you haven't picked very much.”

“I was hoping someone taller could help me.” Her smile said it all; I was someone taller.

“I think they have ladders you can use.” Not very gracious, but I didn't want to waste time, and didn't want to spend any more of it alone with her.

As if I hadn't spoken, she pointed towards a nearby tree. “That one has lots of great-looking apples, just a little too high for me.”

I gritted my teeth, set my bag down, and held my hand out for her bag. As quickly as possible, I harvested several bright red specimens, which brought her bag to nearly full. Handing the bag back to her, when I tried to pull my hand away it didn't come; she had clamped hers onto it and was stepping nearer to me. With my other hand I pushed on hers until I could free both of mine. The time had come.

“Maddy, look. You're a great girl, but you're not my type. And I mean
really
not my type, if you know what I mean.” I thought this would be obvious. But it wasn't; not to her.

“What's your type, Simon? Give me a chance?”

Wow. Not wasting time on subtlety. I took a deep breath; I hadn't had to say this phrase to anyone at school yet, but . . . yes, the time had come. “I'm gay.”

She scowled a little as though trying to take this in. “Maybe I could change that.”

I laughed. I couldn't help it. And she looked hurt. “Maddy, the most seductive siren in the world couldn't change it. It's not a choice. It's a fact of life. My life. It would be cruel to both of us for me to pretend otherwise.” I almost added, “I'm sorry,” but I was afraid that would be misinterpreted.

She nodded, and in sad, quiet tones she said, “Don't worry. I won't tell anyone.”

At which point I nearly said, “It's not a secret. It's who I am.” But the truth was I also didn't want her blabbing it all over the place, either. I was still puzzling over what I might say to tread a middle ground between “I'm proud of who I am” and “It's no one's business who I am” when she held her right hand out.

“Friends?” she asked.

What else could I do? We shook hands. She smiled broadly at me, shades of sadness on the rest of her face, and walked away with her bag of apples. At least that problem was now off my plate. I threw a few more apples into my own bag and headed back to the main area.

We were back on the road by half one. And when the car pulled up to the house, who should be waiting there, sitting on the front steps and busy on his mobile, but young Mr. Vitale. And he had that flowered bag with him.

There was the obligatory small talk as we all bunched up near the steps, and Mum invited him in.

“Mum, I need a minute with Michael.” I watched Mum and Brian disappear and turned to Michael. He smiled, and it was a huge effort for me to think
Bramble
. “Why are you here?”

He blinked at me, a puzzled look on his face. “That's not very friendly.”

“Why can't you phone or text like a normal person?”

He thrust a hip out and planted a hand on it. “Why all the hostility?”

“Look, you're the one who keeps insisting there's nothing between us. We're ‘only friends,' right? Showing up here like this flies right in the face of that. I've told Brian and Mum the same thing you told your grandmother, but showing up like this will make them doubt that. And anyway, I don't have time for a social call. Making sure it's a good time to drop by is why you reach out in advance. And this is not a good time.”

“Okay, okay. You've made your point. I just thought you might like to read some more Italian. Nonna really loved it last week.”

“That doesn't explain why you just show up. Could've saved yourself a trip. Because as it happens, I have a major amount of homework I have to finish this afternoon.”

“Can't wait until tomorrow?”

“It's
due
tomorrow. And then there's more due for Monday. My school is a little more demanding than yours.” All right, that was cutting, even mean. But it's also probably true. Still, the look on his face made me add, “Sorry. It's just that I've got a lot to do, and I've already had to waste three hours on something stupid I didn't want to do.” He shrugged and looked down the street at nothing. So I asked, “How long were you waiting here?”

“Half an hour, maybe.”

Which made me wonder how long he would have waited. I did a quick calculation: Would I have time to read to his grandmother and still get everything done for school by tomorrow night?

I would not. “Look, Michael, I'm really sorry. With this chunk that just got cut out of my day, I simply don't have time. I'm really sorry.” I stopped before I repeated myself again.

He looked at me with an expression that said he wasn't quite ready to forgive me. “They're moving her to Spaulding Rehab Monday.”

“Is that very far away?”

He shook his head. “It's actually about the same distance from her house as Mass General, just in a slightly different direction.”

“So you'll still be able to visit her, then. That's good.” He looked down at his feet, shuffled them, and I said, “I really have to get inside now and work. Ring me? Let me know how your grandmother is doing?”

“Sure. Bye.” And he and that flowered bag turned and walked away. Something in me wanted to call out, to tell him that of course I could read to his
nonna,
that I wanted to try again for a rooftop repast. Something else in me said, “Don't be a fool.”

I got the draft of my project off to Dr. Metcalf by one a.m. this morning. With so little sleep, I was late getting downstairs for Sunday breakfast, though that shouldn't matter the way “late” mattered for dinner. However, when I got to the kitchen, Mum and Brian were sitting across from each other, and beside Brian was Persie. I stopped dead in my tracks, and Persie looked up at me, which must have cost her. I was sure she was about to yell “Late” at me, but she smiled. It was a deliberate, forced smile, but it was a smile. I suppose she was practising for when she began her water torture, scheduled for tomorrow's dinner. Also, she hasn't had time to establish rules about breakfast yet, so I hadn't broken any of them. I decided against saying anything to indicate surprise at her presence, though I did smile back.