Forget Green Gables

Truth

"Jamie, please just listen to me," I say the next day into my cordless phone. Apparently deciding how to tell Jamie is a moot point, as Carl called her as soon as he arrived home. His spin is that Jessie kissed him, and that Danny was so worried that I was going to start a fight with Jessie that Danny had started the fight with Carl. Jamie hangs up before I can get a word out.

"Carl, you sonofabitch," I mutter, returning the phone to its cradle. Lacing up my sneakers, I decide to go for a long, brain-clearing run. Generally speaking, running is not my favorite form of exercise, but the batting cages are booked solid and my bike has a flat, so running it is. Grabbing Wokie's harness, the dog and I take off in the opposite direction of Jamie's house. With the tension from my mother's anger at us for walking out the night before and at our father for taking us to the play, anything is better than being at home.

I try at church on Sunday to corner Jamie, who manages to get out to the car before I can get to her. At Youth Group, Jamie squeezes herself in between Blaine and Brian, a pair of sophomores on the baseball team. Monday in class Jamie requests a pass to the library during World History. I silently curse myself for the research I did over the weekend in my attempt to get out of the house. I now have no reason to go to the library, and Mr. Ball knows I am already ready to write my paper.
Tuesday Jamie sticks her headphones on and ignores the pleading looks I give her. I finally turn back around, stick my headphones on as well, and work on my research paper over the implications of Anne Boleyn's execution on the queens who followed her. On Wednesday, Jamie looks like she wants to come talk to me, but turns around and goes back to her desk. On Thursday, I walk past Jamie to hand in my research paper, and Jamie makes eye contact for a few moments. I know at that moment that something is brewing.
"Can we talk after practice?" Jamie asks me during batting/baserunning practice. I adjust my batting helmet while Jamie stands close to the second base bag, and I prepare to jump for third if the batter gets a hit.

"Fine," I respond just before the batter drives a straight line drive up the third base line. When the ball falls in deep left field, I bolt straight through the bag and to home plate.

Unfortunately, our softball season to date has not been as impressive as our cheer season, and Coach McCoy is still peeved from our earlier loss. She reserves the last thirty minutes of practice to sprint us to death. By the time we hit the locker room, I can hardly feel my legs, and my patient mood is gone. Whatever Jamie has to say had better be more pleasant than what she had to say following the Winterfest Dance, because I do not promise to hold my tongue in the slightest. I might be only half-Mexican, but I am all Latina temper.

"Rebecca told the truth," Jamie says, throwing her soaking wet sports bra into her gym bag and shimming into the push-up bra she wore to school that morning.

"How do you figure?" I ask, pulling my equally soaking wet socks off and putting them in my gym bag. I don't want to say it, but the words 'No shit, Sherlock,' hang precariously at the tip of my tongue. This is the longest fight I have ever had with Jamie, and while I want it over with, I am not ready to just roll over.
Jamie rubs her eyes with her palms. "I overhead a couple of the guys discussing Carl getting her drunk at the Winterfest Dance with the intention of 'tapping her sweet ass.'" Jamie uses air quotations. "He denied it when I confronted him after school today. I think some part of me always knew he didn't..." she trails off. "I'm sorry I said all those things to you. You tried to warn me. Everyone tried to warn me. I was just blinded by...first love, I guess."

I put my hand on Jamie's, who begins to cry.
"I believed him over my best friends," she cries into her hands on the bench in the locker room. "I believed him, and because of that I had sex with him."

I let go of Jamie's hand and pull her into a hug. "We all do stupid stuff." My thoughts spin around me, faster and faster. Virginity is an unspoken bond between us, like our ignorance of alcohol or drugs, the time of the month we suffer through our periods together, or our mutual hatred of tomato soup. Until this moment, the idea that either of us no longer has our virginity is ridiculous, so far from believable that it is more something from an episode of The X-Files than our day to day conversations.

"This somehow goes beyond stupid."

"It'll all be okay."

Jamie does not answer for a while, finally taking her head out of her hands. "I know it's a school night, but can I sleep over at your house?" Jamie stands up and begins running a comb through her curly brown hair, throwing it up into a hasty ponytail. She does not seem capable of sitting still.

I nod. "Yeah. You've still got PJs in my bottom drawer." Mom will not notice, having retreated back into her bedroom sanctuary. Since we get a ride to school with the same person anyway, what difference will it make to our parents? Jamie needs me.

When the smell of homemade fried chicken meets us at the door, I become instantly confused. Felix's eyebrows are almost to his hairline. Our mother barely gets out of bed to shower since opening night of the show; how could she possibly be cooking? We drop our book bags and practice bags in the doorway and dart into the kitchen. Dad is not very far behind us, and for that matter, neither is Jamie.

"Beautiful twins!" our abuela chirps in her Spanish-accented Spanglish from where she stands at the stove, pulling crispy, perfect fried chicken from the pan. She puts down the tongs she uses and pulls both of us to her. "I'm here on a surprise visit for a week, Mijos. Your mother is in the shower. Hello, Paul."

"Hello, Teresa Elena." Dad wraps his arms around Abuela and kisses her cheek. "Maker's Mark or Jack Daniel's?"

Abuela rattles the glass of whiskey on the counter by the plate of fried chicken. "I helped myself. Ah, Jamie! Welcome!" My abuela hugs Jamie as if she is another one of the grandchildren. Jamie, who has met Abuela twice before, hugs her right back.
"Are you joining us for dinner, young lady?"

"Yes ma'am," Jamie answers. "How can I help?"

"You can help Cheyanne set the table. Felix, you can clear up."

"SÍ, Abuela," we answer.

"Abuela?" I ask as I count out silverware.

"Sí, Mija?"

"Jamie's going to stay the night, if that's okay?"

Abuela smiles. "It's not my house, but I don't care. What would y'all like for breakfast tomorrow? I can do anything with that wonderful dairy-free milk I found at the store."

"Biscuits and gravy!" Felix calls from the living room, where he is checking the scores. "Por favor," he adds as an afterthought.

"Felix, do not shout," my mother says, coming into the living room from her bedroom. Wokie scampers from his bed to Mom's feet. "Mother, the kids usually eat something quick on their way out the door. Hello, Jamie, what brings you here?"

In the same moment, Jamie, Felix, and Abuela all attempt to answer, so no one hears a thing anyone else said. I finish putting the silverware around the table of six place settings, wondering what has motivated Abuela's visit. I will eat my mitt before I believe that Abuela just happened to come for a surprise visit. Life in my house has been strained to a breaking point since the opening night of the show, and anything has to be better than the status quo.