Suicide Notes

party dress, and there were these great big streaks of purple eye shadow
down her cheeks and her lipstick was all smeared and she looked like a
freaked-out Grow ’N Style Barbie head my sister had when she was about
eight. You know, that life-size plastic head of Barbie where you can put
makeup on it and fix its hair with curlers. Amanda and I used to play with it
a lot until the day our next-door neighbor, an older kid named Troy, found
us doing it and called me a fag. Later on I buried it in the backyard.
So my mother’s looking down at me saying, “Why, why, why,” over and
over again, like some little kid keeps pulling the string that makes her talk.
My father isn’t saying anything at all; he’s just looking at me like maybe
he’s the one who’s dreaming. That’s when I realized that I wasn’t dead, that

---

I was still on the floor in my room. And all I could do was look at my
mother’s mouth opening and closing and wonder if I could make her say
something else, like one of those See ’n Say toys where you point the arrow
to the picture of the chick and it says, “The chick goes ‘cluck, cluck,
cluck.’” And I started to laugh, thinking about it, about her clucking
nonstop, and she cried these big purple tears that splashed against my face
like rain.
The next time I opened my eyes I was in this room. The same one I’m in
now, staring at the same ceiling I’m staring at right now. Looking at the
Devil’s face. It was snowing outside my window and Nurse Goody was
sitting in the chair next to my bed, looking at me like I was an exhibit at the
Museum of Natural History and she was searching for the little brass plaque
that would tell her what I was and when I became extinct.
So that’s it. That’s the big secret. I tried to kill myself on New Year’s
Eve. Just like Sadie did last night. Only she really did it. I don’t know all
the details, just the basics. She took a bunch of pills. I don’t know what they
were or where she got them. I’d like to think they were Wonder Drug. Then
at least she could have gone thinking she was flying.

---

Day 36
My mother started right off with the hugging, like now that she’s started
doing it, she can’t stop.
“We were so sorry to hear that your friend is gone,” she said, patting me
on the back.
At first I thought she meant Rankin, who got sent home because of what
happened. I guess Cat Poop decided I was the one telling the truth, because
I’m still here. Or maybe they flipped a coin and I won. Or lost. Anyway,
he’s gone. I don’t miss him.
When I thought my mother was talking about him, I felt my heart stop
for a second. I really didn’t want to talk about him. Us. Whatever. Anyway,
then I realized that she meant Sadie, and my heart started beating again. But
then I went from being scared to being angry. I wanted to say, “She’s not
just gone, she’s DEAD!” But I knew she was trying to make me feel better,
so I just didn’t say anything.
I wasn’t exactly looking forward to the weekly Family Frolic, what with
everything that’s been going on. Thankfully, my parents brought Amanda
with them. I was really glad to see her. She was kind of a guarantee that I
wouldn’t just lose it. But even she was a little less Amandaish than usual. I
think she thought she should be because of Sadie and everything.
Cat Poop started out by reminding us all that I only have nine more days
here. As if I didn’t know that. Five weeks ago nine days in this place might
as well have been a thousand years to me. Now it seems like nothing.
“The house has really changed since you’ve been in the . . . since you’ve
been gone,” my father said. “I can’t wait for you to see it.” He had his
hands in his lap, and he kept twirling his thumbs, which is what he does
when he doesn’t want to be doing whatever it is he’s doing. I’m sure he
wanted out of there as much as I did, and I kind of felt sorry for him. I
guess it must be hard knowing your kid tried to kill himself.
“Right,” said my mother. She was being super chirpy, the way she is
when she wants to pretend everything’s fine. “We put new carpeting in your
bedroom. It’s a beautiful color. What color would you say it is, Amanda?”

---

Amanda looked at her. “Beige,” she said. “It’s beige.”
“Oh, I think it’s more sand,” my mother said. “Isn’t that what the
salesman said it was called: desert sand? Anyway, it looks wonderful with
the paint. Amanda, what would you call that shade of blue?”
“Blue,” said Amanda, looking at me and rolling her eyes. “I’d call it
blue.”
I knew this was my mother’s way of letting me know I won’t have to
look at any bloodstains when I go back. It doesn’t really matter if the stains
are there or not, though. I’m still going to remember. But it’s nice of her to
think of it.
Then Cat Poop said he’d discussed with my parents the idea of me
going to a different school, so that I could have a fresh start. He wanted to
know how I felt about that.
I said it was a lot to think about, and that I’d get back to them on it. I
kind of like the idea of going somewhere new. It would give me a chance to
start over, to be anybody I want to be. But that’s the thing: I don’t want to
be anybody. I want to be me. I don’t know if that would be any easier at a
new school or not.
I mean, yeah, I’m a little scared about the stories I’m sure are going
around. Probably by now someone has a website up about me.
www.jefftriedtokillhimself.com. With pictures. And a blog. And part of me
would be totally relieved not to have to walk into my old school and see
everyone looking at my wrists. Seriously, how long can you get away with
never wearing T-shirts?
But would it really be any better in a new place? Maybe at first. But
sooner or later someone would find out what happened to me. That’s just
how it is. Some kid will know someone who knows someone from my old
school, and pretty soon the stories will start flying around. Then I’ll walk
into school one day and hear all of this whispering as I walk through the
halls.
That’s what happened when Ginny Mangerman went away for a few
months. Her sister told everyone Ginny was doing a semester as an
exchange student in Australia, but it turned out she was pregnant and went
somewhere to have the baby and give it up for adoption. By the time she
came back, everyone knew what had happened. Someone thought it would
be funny to cut out pictures of babies from magazines and paste them all

---

over her locker. Ginny ended up dropping out, and now she works at a
supermarket as a checkout girl. I try to be really nice to her when I get in
her line, but she pretends she doesn’t recognize anyone from school.
It’s probably better to just go back to my old school and deal with it.
Amanda still goes there, and I don’t want her to be the one who gets teased
because I can’t face anyone. I know she could handle it, but she shouldn’t
have to. Maybe we can both go somewhere new. Or maybe I can convince
my parents to move to France. No one in France cares if you tried to kill
yourself. In fact, I think they like you better because you’re all tragic.
This is all the stuff I was thinking while my mother was talking about
how great it will be to have me back. Then I guess even Cat Poop got tired
of hearing her talk, because all of a sudden he asked Amanda, “How do you
feel about your brother coming home?”
I was actually curious to hear what she had to say, and not just because
it meant my mother would have to shut up for a minute.
“I can’t wait,” Amanda said. “I’m tired of having to do the dishes by
myself.”
I laughed inside. I knew she said that to be a smart-ass. She can be
worse than I am when she tries. But she was totally giving everyone this
serious face, so they didn’t know whether to believe her or not.
“Do you have anything you’d like to ask Jeff?” Cat Poop asked her,
trying again. Since he’s dealt with me for so long now, he probably knows
Amanda operates the same way I do. I waited for him to start doing the
staring thing with her.
But Amanda didn’t look at him; she looked at me. I could tell she was
trying not to laugh, so I did my best to look really serious, too. She waited a
minute, just kind of biting her lip, like she was thinking about something
deep. Then she said, “If you do it again, can I have your room?”
“Amanda!” my mother said, shocked. My father stopped twirling his
thumbs and looked like he wanted to die. Cat Poop got his pencil ready.
“What?” Amanda said, acting all innocent.
“I don’t think Jeff appreciated that,” said my father.
But I did. See, this was kind of an in-joke with us. When we first moved
into our house, Amanda and I both wanted the bigger bedroom. She said
she should have it because she’s a girl and it has its own bathroom. I said I
should have it because I’m older. I ended up locking myself in the room,

---

and stayed there practically a whole day until my parents said I could have
it. I was all ready to rub it in, but then I found out that Amanda had set me
up. She knew I would fight her for the room, and she only pretended to be
upset about not getting it because what she really wanted was a new bike
and horseback riding lessons, both of which my parents gave her when she
boo-hooed about her whole life being totally unfair. She’s good.
I played along. “It’s okay,” I said in this calm voice. They all looked at
me. I think they expected me to give some big speech about how I have no
intention of ever trying it again. Instead I said, like it was really hard for me
to get the words out, “You can totally have my room if I ever kill myself
again.”
“Jeff!” my mother and father said at the same time. Then my mother
looked at Cat Poop. “You see what we live with?” she said. “The two of
them . . .”
“I think Amanda and Jeff understand each other quite well,” said the
doc before she could finish. When I looked at him, he pushed his glasses
up. I thought he might be smiling a little, but he wiped his mouth with his
hand, and when he brought it away, he looked like his old shrinky self.
“Well, I wish we understood them,” my mother said.
Amanda looked at me again, and that’s when I realized that what she
thought of me was more important than what anybody else thought. Isn’t
that weird? And I can’t tell you why it is. Maybe because I don’t want her
to be afraid of me. I think I could handle it if the kids at school were afraid
of me. Even my parents. But Amanda’s different. I want her to know she
can trust me. One day she might really need me for something, and I don’t
want her to be afraid to ask.
The rest of the session was boring. Cat Poop talked a lot about
“transitioning from the therapeutic environment to the home environment”
and crap like that. Mostly I made faces at Amanda when no one was
looking and tried to get her to crack up. She did, once, but then she started
coughing to cover it up.
When it was all over, there was more hugging. When it came time for
me and Amanda to hug, I held her really tight and whispered in her ear,
“Next time I’m going to do it on your carpet.”
She had to pretend to cough again so my parents wouldn’t hear us
laughing. But I think she knew I was really telling her that she didn’t have

---

to worry. As they all left, I heard my mother say to her, “I think we should
take you to Dr. Leach tomorrow. It sounds like you’re coming down with
something.” Amanda turned and glared at me, and I just waved at her.
“Would you mind staying a little longer today?” Cat Poop asked as I
was getting ready to go back to my room. “I thought we might talk some
more.”
I knew that he knew that there was more to my story than what I’d
already told him. And suddenly I was really, really tired. Not of talking to
him, but of not talking to him. I was tired of all the games I’d been playing,
and of holding back. Maybe realizing how much I wanted Amanda to
believe that I was okay is what did it. Maybe it was Sadie being dead, or
Rankin being gone. I don’t really know. But I knew I was ready to talk.
I sat down. “Okay,” I said. “Where should I start?”
“Where every good story starts,” said Cat Poop. “At the beginning.”

---

Day 37
No one ever tells you that when your heart breaks, you can feel it. But you
can. It feels like something has crumbled inside you and the pieces are
falling into your stomach. It hurts more than any punch ever could. You
stop breathing, and for a while you can’t remember how. When you finally
do, it feels like your throat has closed up, like you’re trying to suck air
through a straw.
I tried to kill myself because of what happened with Burke. Not Allie
and Burke. Me and Burke. During Christmas break.
It really started a couple of months before that. I guess you could say I
had a crush on Burke. Actually, it’s not even a guess—I did have a crush on
Burke. Big-time.
When Burke first asked Allie out, I was happy for her. I knew she liked
him, and she was so excited when he finally talked to her. Besides, it was
just a movie. She even asked me to go along. She said it was so she
wouldn’t be tempted to do too much with Burke. She’d read in some
magazine that guys will be more interested if you play it cool, and that the
best way to do that is to go on group dates where you can’t exactly climb all
over each other without someone giving you a hard time about it. I was her
group.
The funny thing is, Burke didn’t mind. The three of us went to a movie.
I don’t even remember what it was. Burke sat in the middle. There I was,
right next to him, with Allie on his other side. He even shared his popcorn
with me. It was like the three of us were on a date, although I didn’t think
about that then. I just thought it was cool of him.
I remember reaching into the popcorn about halfway through the movie.
Burke reached in at the same time, and for a few seconds our fingers
touched. I don’t remember who pulled away first, but I remember feeling
this strange sensation. I don’t even know what to call it. A tickle maybe, in
my stomach. I put my fingers in my mouth and sucked the fake butter off,
like I was trying to find out what Burke tasted like. I didn’t touch that
popcorn for the rest of the movie.

---

After that, Allie started spending more time with Burke. At first they
almost always asked me along. Then one night Allie went out alone with
him. She didn’t even tell me she was going, but she called me when she got
home. “He kissed me,” she said. She sounded all excited, like she’d just
won a million dollars.
“He did?” I asked her. “Why?”
“What do you mean why?” said Allie. She laughed, like it was the
dumbest question anyone could ask. “Because he wanted to.”
She told me all about it. They went for a walk. Burke bought them ice
cream cones. He joked around, getting ice cream on her nose. Then he
licked it off. And then he kissed her. I remember exactly what she said. “His
lips were soft, like a kitten.” I thought that was a really weird way to
describe someone’s lips. At the same time, I knew exactly what she meant.
I tried to be excited for her. But the whole time I was telling her how
happy I was for her, I was really thinking that I wanted it to be my nose
Burke was licking ice cream off and me kissing his kitten lips. And the
more I thought about that, the more scared I got. I think that was the first
time I realized that I didn’t just like Burke, I had a thing for him.
After that, I didn’t want to be around Burke and Allie. At least not when
they were together. It was too much. Every time I saw Burke I couldn’t stop
thinking about how much I liked him. He’s got these amazing brown eyes
and a killer smile. When he looks at you, you feel like he’s really looking at
you, if you know what I mean. I wanted him to look at me like that all the
time.
But of course he was always looking at Allie. And she was always
talking about him. To me. And there was absolutely no way I could tell her
why I didn’t want to hear it. So for a few months I was all crushed out on
him and totally miserable. I got jealous every time Allie talked about him or
when I saw them holding hands or kissing.
Then, right before Christmas, the three of us were at this party at
Rebecca Miller’s house. Her parents were out of town, which means we
were drinking a little. Or in my case, a lot. I think I had a couple of beers,
which really does a number on your head when you’re not used to drinking.
The weird thing is that I felt happy and sad all at the same time. The
more beer I drank and the more I watched Allie with Burke, the more
confused I got. I wanted my best friend back. But I also couldn’t stop

---

wondering what it would be like for Burke to be as into me as he was into
Allie. I’d never thought about another guy like that—or about anybody like
that. The truth is, I didn’t think about sex all that much, because when I did,
it scared me. It wasn’t until that night at the party that I knew why it scared
me.
When I realized what I was feeling, I thought I might be sick, so I went
upstairs to the bathroom where no one would hear me. I knelt in front of the
toilet and waited for everything to come up. I remember my head was
spinning a little. I closed my eyes, but that just made it worse, so I hung
over the bowl, staring at the water and feeling my insides churn.
I didn’t throw up, though, and after a while I felt a little bit better. I
stood up and looked at myself in the mirror. I hated what I saw. I wanted to
punch the guy in the mirror in the face for being such a freak. It was like I
wasn’t even looking at myself, I was looking at someone I’d never seen
before, someone I didn’t want to see ever again.
That’s when the door opened. I’d forgotten to lock it. And before I could
say something, in walked Burke. He looked at me and smiled this big,
almost-drunk smile. “Hey, man,” he said. “You done?”
I couldn’t say anything, so I just nodded.
“Cool,” he said. “I need to take a major leak.”
He didn’t wait for me to leave. He walked over to the toilet, unzipped,
and pulled himself out. I tried not to look, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t
even care if he saw me looking, but he didn’t notice anything. When he was
done, he turned around and looked at me while he zipped up.
“You look wasted, buddy,” he said, grinning again.
He was standing right in front of me. Even drunk, he was beautiful.
“This party is killer, isn’t it?” he said. His breath smelled like beer, but I
didn’t care.
“Yeah,” I said. “Killer.” I wanted to get out of that bathroom, but I
couldn’t leave. My feet wouldn’t move.
“Hey,” said Burke. “There’s something I want to ask you.”
My heart did this weird flip-flop thing when he said that. For a second
—just a split second—I had this idea that he was going to ask me out. I
don’t know why, but I imagined him asking me to go to a movie or
something. And the thing is, at that moment I really wanted him to. I

---

remembered the popcorn, and his fingers, and that tingling feeling hit me
again.
“What?” I said, barely able to get the word out.
Burke looked all serious for a second. “It’s about Allie,” he said. He
sounded nervous, which wasn’t like him at all. Burke doesn’t get nervous.
He’s always cool. Then I got even more nervous, because I was imagining
all kinds of things he could say next.
Burke looked right into my eyes. Everything stopped while I waited for
him to ask me his question. Then he said, “What should I get her for
Christmas?”
It took me a few seconds to understand what he’d said. When it finally
registered, I was surprised at how sad I was. But I couldn’t let him know
that. I had to think of something to say. “Uh, she likes clothes,” I said.
Burke shook his head. “I’m no good at picking out that shit,” he told
me.
“I can go with you,” I said before I knew it. “We can pick something out
together.” As soon as I said it, I felt like a moron. What kind of guy tells
another guy he’ll go shopping with him? But all I could think about right
then was how much I wanted to do something with Burke. Anything. Even
shop for his girlfriend’s Christmas present. That’s how I was thinking of
Allie, as his girlfriend. Not my best friend.
Burke laughed. “Cool,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the
world. “Cool.” Then he patted my arm. “You’re a cool guy,” he said.
My heart was racing so fast I thought I might be having a heart attack.
And then I did it. I couldn’t stop myself. Burke was touching my arm,
we’d just made a kind of date, and I was suddenly happier than I’d ever
been in my whole life. Before I even knew what I was doing, I leaned
forward and kissed him right on the mouth. I remember thinking, for the
few seconds our lips were touching, that Allie had been right. His lips were
as soft as a kitten.
He pushed me away, but not hard. “Hey there,” he said, kind of
laughing. “Don’t get all gay on me. It’s not like I asked you out or
something.” He laughed again.
I didn’t say anything. I’ve never been so scared in my life. Not because
of what I thought he might do, but because of what I’d done. I tried to think

---

of something to say to him to make it all go away, something to explain
why I’d kissed him, but I knew there was nothing that would erase that kiss.
I guess Burke saw that I wasn’t laughing with him. He stopped laughing
and his eyebrows wrinkled up, like he just realized he’d been tricked.
“What’s up?” he asked. He stared into my eyes for a few seconds. “Wait,”
he said then, pulling back and looking at me as if he’d never seen me
before. “Are you a fag?”
Now, I’d been called a fag before. But not in the way Burke meant it.
Sometimes guys just say that, like “You’re such a fag,” meaning you’re
doing something lame. Burke meant something else, though. Suddenly, that
word was the most dangerous word in the English language.
I tried to answer him. “I . . . I really like you,” I said.
Burke stepped back. “Holy shit,” he said. He had this look on his face
that terrified me. “Holy shit,” he said again.
“Burke,” I said, reaching out to him. “Burke, don’t . . .”
He put his hands up, blocking me from getting any nearer. He shook his
head. “You are a fag,” he said.
He pushed past me and left the bathroom. A few seconds later,
everything in my stomach came up. I puked all over the floor and all over
myself. It felt like I was throwing up my heart. I was crying and couldn’t
breathe, and I wanted to be dead.
I cleaned up the mess on the floor with some towels, but my clothes
were still all dirty. I just wanted to get out of there. That’s when I
remembered that to get out I would have to go down the stairs and through
the party. Allie would be there, and I knew that by now Burke would have
told her what happened. What I was. I couldn’t face her.
I thought about going out the window, but I was still feeling like crap,
and I was afraid I’d fall and make things even worse. Finally I went into the
hall. I stood at the top of the stairs, listening to the people laughing below
me. I imagined they were laughing at me, that Burke had told them all
about how I’d kissed him, about how I was a fag, and that they thought it
was the funniest thing they’d ever heard. I just knew they were all waiting
for the big fag to appear so that they could make fun of me.
There was nothing else to do. I went down those stairs as quickly as I
could and went straight for the door. I didn’t look at anyone, and prayed no
one would stop me. And they didn’t. That’s the only good thing that

---

happened that night. No one stopped me. I made it to the door and out of
that house, and then I ran home and up to my room.
I haven’t seen Allie since then. I’ve talked to her, though. When I didn’t
hear from her for three days, I knew that Burke had told her. On Christmas
Eve, when I couldn’t take it any more, I called her. When she answered I
said, “I just want to say Merry Christmas.”
She didn’t say anything for a while. I could hear her breathing. Then she
said, “Why didn’t you tell me you’re gay?”
“I’m not,” I said. “Allie, you have to believe me.”
“I thought we were friends,” she said, and hung up. That’s the last thing
she ever said to me.
So now you know the whole story about why I got all dramatic on New
Year’s Eve, and why I’m here. I’m gay. I know it sounds stupid. Tons of
people are gay, and you’d think it would be no big deal. But I was really
hoping I wasn’t, that it was all just a big mix-up and I’d get over it. After
the stuff with Rankin, and what happened—or didn’t happen—with Sadie,
though, I know that I won’t get over it. It’s what I am.
I read once that a third of all gay kids try to kill themselves. They say
it’s because being gay is so hard in this world. They say that we won’t stop
trying to kill ourselves until more people understand us, and until we live in
a world where it’s okay for a guy to love another guy. That’s probably true.
But there will never be a world where it’s okay to fall in love with your best
friend’s boyfriend.

---

Day 38
So now we’ve established that not only did I try to kill myself, but that I’m
gay, too. That’s like having two cherries on your dog crap sundae. Or extra
nuts.
And now, of course, it’s all Cat Poop wants to talk about. Today he
asked me to tell him more about what Rankin and I did together. It was
completely embarrassing talking about that. Then he asked me how I felt
about having sex. I told him it felt great, but that the best thing for me was
thinking that Rankin wanted to do those things with me. It wasn’t the sex,
really. I mean, you can kind of do that on your own, right? But having this
other person want to do it with you, that’s pretty special. It means he likes
you. At least, it should.
I keep wondering what Rankin was thinking when he did those things
with me. Had someone done those things to him? Is he really gay? Did he
like me at all? I guess I won’t ever be able to answer those questions. I
asked the doc, and he said that when people hurt us, the best thing to do
isn’t to ask why they did it but to remind ourselves that it wasn’t our fault.
In other words, either he doesn’t know what Rankin’s deal is or won’t
tell me.
Either way, I’m not sure I believe him. Maybe it was partly my fault. It’s
not like I made Rankin stop. It’s not like I didn’t like what we did. It’s not
like I didn’t want to do it. At least some part of me wanted to.
To change the subject, I asked if Martha was going to be okay. Martha
hasn’t said anything since that night—not even “frex”—and I worry that
she’s totally regressing, which is a term I learned from Cat Poop. Basically,
it means that whatever good has happened to her might have been erased by
what happened with Sadie. I love how shrinks have a special word for
everything that can be wrong with you.
Cat Poop said he didn’t know. But there was something in his voice that
made me think he didn’t believe she would be all right. I wanted to ask him
more about it, because I figured it had something to do with why she’s here

---

in the first place. But I knew he wouldn’t tell me anything, so I just said I
hoped she would be okay.
I found out later, though. I asked Frank. Like I said, Frank can be kind
of a jerk. But he likes to think he knows a lot, so when I saw him later on, I
started talking about how awful what happened to Sadie was. “Martha was
really upset about it,” I said, knowing he would want to tell me everything
he knew about it.
“Yeah, well, who can blame her?” said Frank. “She probably thought it
was happening again.”
“Thought what was happening?” I said.
He laughed again. “Oh, right. They don’t let you listen to the news in
here. Kid’s dad shot her mother.”
“Martha’s dad?” I said.
“Blew her open with a shotgun,” said Frank. “Then killed himself. The
kid saw the whole thing. When they found her, she was sitting between
them on the kitchen floor, holding that damn stuffed rabbit. She’d been
there two or three days. Aunt or something went over after she kept calling
and getting no answer.”
“You’re kidding,” I said.
“It was all over the papers,” said Frank. “I forgot, they only let you look
at the funny papers.” He laughed. “Funny papers—get it?”
I ignored him and walked away. All I could think about was Martha
sitting in that kitchen. No wonder she flipped when she saw Sadie. Poor
kid. And I thought I had problems. If we’re keeping score, I think Martha
just pulled way ahead of the rest of us.

---

Day 39
I was sitting in Cat Poop’s office today and all of a sudden I asked him,
“How do I know if I’m really gay or not?” It just popped out of my mouth,
but once it was out there I really wanted to know.
Cat Poop leaned back in his chair and looked at me. “What’s your
favorite color?”
I told him it was blue. Then he asked me why.
“Why what?” I asked back.
“Why is blue your favorite color?” he said.
It seems like a dumb question, right? I mean, why do you like anything?
I told him I like blue because when I look at blue things, they usually make
me feel good.
“Okay,” he said. “Now what’s your favorite song?”
I told him it was Lolly Dreambox’s “Snow Cold Sunday.” At least right
now. I’m sure next week it will be something else. That’s how it is when
you’re fifteen.
He asked me again why it was my favorite. I said because whenever I
hear it I want to sing along. I picture myself on a stage, singing, and it
makes me feel good.
“Okay,” he said. “What do your favorite color and your favorite song
have in common?”
The answer is that they both make me feel good, although in different
ways. That wasn’t too hard to figure out. But then he said, “How do you
feel when you think about girls?”
That seemed like a trick question to me. There are a lot of different
ways to answer it. So I asked him to be more specific, and he asked how I
felt about girls when I thought about going out with them, like as a
boyfriend.
I said I didn’t really feel any particular way about it. It didn’t make me
feel good or bad. “Sort of like vanilla ice cream,” I said.
Then he asked me the same thing about guys. I got kind of embarrassed,
because I’ve never talked with anyone about how guys make me feel. But

---

finally I said that when I think about going out with a guy, it makes me feel
all kinds of things. I feel excited and scared at the same time.
“Sometimes we don’t know why we like certain things,” Cat Poop said.
“Or at least we can’t put into words why we like them. We just know that
we do. Being gay or straight—or something in between—is often like that.
We just like one thing or another because of how it makes us feel.”
That still didn’t answer my question, and I said so. I asked him how I
would know for sure that I’m gay. “Maybe it’s just something I feel right
now,” I said.
He said that maybe it was, which didn’t make me feel any better. “The
only thing you can do is listen to your feelings,” he said. “If you’re honest
about what you feel, you’ll know what’s true about yourself.”
I swear, sometimes he’s like one of those weird old guys in martial arts
movies who show up and say all kinds of crazy crap that the hero has to
figure out so he can find the sword or save the girl or kick the bad guy’s ass.
You know, like, “Find the whistling pine tree and ask it for the key,” or
something.
I guess I know what he means, though. It was like the night I was with
Sadie, when I knew I couldn’t have sex with her. It just didn’t feel right.
Yeah, maybe it would feel different with another girl, but I don’t think so.
With Rankin I knew. Even though he wasn’t the right guy, being with a guy
felt right to me. Everything about what we did was scary and weird, but I
knew it was what I wanted. Not with Rankin, and definitely not here, but
someday with someone else. Someone I like.
Then Cat Poop brought up the idea of telling my parents. I said I wasn’t
sure if I could do that or not.
“So you’ve never talked about it with them?” he asked.
“We don’t talk in my family,” I said. “We assume.”
“What do you mean by that?” he said.
“I mean my parents assume,” I explained. “They assume that Amanda
and I will ask them if we have questions about anything. Otherwise, they
assume it’s all good with us.”
“And do you ever talk to them?”
I gave him a look. “You’ve met them,” I said. “What do you think?”
Now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t think my parents have any gay
friends, at least none that I know of. So I don’t really know how they feel

---

about the whole gay thing. Besides, I think it’s different when it’s your kid
you’re talking about and not some stranger. I know my mother is all into the
idea of having grandkids someday, and my dad teases us about how he’s
going to screen everyone Amanda and I bring home when we start dating. I
can’t exactly see him sitting my date down and asking him what his favorite
football team is.
I asked Cat Poop if he would tell my parents if he was me, and of course
he said he couldn’t make that decision for me. I figured he would say that,
but it was worth a shot. So then I asked him if he had any advice on how to
decide whether or not to do it.
“You could practice telling them,” he suggested.
“You mean walk through it in my head?” I said.
“No, I mean with me,” said Cat Poop.
“You don’t look much like my mom,” I informed him. “Even without
the goatee.”
He smiled. “I could play your dad, then,” he said.
“I don’t know,” I told him. “That’s kind of weird.”
“Well, think about it,” he said.
So now I’m thinking about it. I’m imagining sitting down with my
parents and actually saying, “I’m gay.” And you know what? It makes me a
little mad. I mean, straight guys don’t have to sit their parents down and tell
them they like girls. Everyone just assumes that they do. But if you’re gay,
everybody makes this ginormous deal out of it. You practically have to hold
a news conference and take out an ad in the newspaper. Why? Just because
it’s not what most people do? That doesn’t seem fair.
Why should my parents know? So they can get used to the idea of not
having a daughter-in-law? So they can practice imagining me walking down
the aisle with a guy? I don’t get it. Why is it that you have to warn people
about who you are? Why can’t it just be something that happens?
I know why. I’m just blowing off steam. It’s a lot of pressure, telling
someone something like that. It’s like you’re committing to it. “Mom, dad,
I’ve thought about it a lot, and I’ve decided I’m gay.” Like you’ve read all
the brochures and comparison shopped. Or finally decided what college to
go to. Only if you’re wrong, you can’t exactly get a refund or switch
schools. Well, I guess you could, but then you’ve gotten everyone all
excited for nothing.

---

Day 40
Funny, Rankin has been gone for almost a week, and nobody has asked
where he is or what happened to him. I asked Cat Poop about him today, but
all he would say was that Rankin had been transferred somewhere else.
Like he got a new job or something.
He also read me Sadie’s suicide note. I didn’t even know she’d left a
note. Cat Poop said he’d waited for some time to go by before telling me so
that I wouldn’t be as upset about it. I told him that was big of him.
So he read it to me. It was his voice talking, but what I heard was Sadie.
“Hey, everyone,” she said. “I guess by now you know I won’t be around
anymore. Maybe some of you will miss me, and maybe some of you won’t.
I’ll miss you guys. It’s been fun. But it’s time to go. No one can save me
this time. Not even Sam. I’ll see you all on the other side, I guess. Love,
Sadie.”
That was it. Nothing about why. Nothing about what was going on in
her head. Nothing about . . . me.
“What the hell kind of note is that?” I said. “She didn’t say anything. It’s
just stupid.”
Then I got mad. Really mad. “Who does she think she is?” I asked Cat
Poop. “She goes and kills herself and all she has to say about it is ‘see you
on the other side’? That’s completely fucked up.”
“Maybe it’s all she could say,” said Cat Poop. “Maybe she didn’t really
know why she was doing it.”
“How can you not know?” I said.
“Why do you think she did it?” he said, pulling the old answering-a-
question-with-a-question bullshit.
The thing is, I didn’t know. But I was afraid I did. I was afraid it was
because I couldn’t sleep with her. I was afraid it was because she felt
rejected, the way I did with Burke. And with Allie. If that was true, then I
knew why she wanted to kill herself. I knew exactly why.
“What are you thinking?” Cat Poop asked me.

---

I couldn’t say it. I just couldn’t. If I said it, I knew it would be true. But
as long as I kept it inside, as long as it was a secret, it couldn’t be.
“You’re afraid it was because of you?”
Goddamn it, I don’t know how he does that, but the doc always
manages to ask you the one question you really don’t want him to.
I nodded, but I still didn’t say it. I didn’t let it out. Finally, when I
couldn’t stand it anymore, I said, “Do you?”
When he shook his head, I almost threw up. “No,” he said. “I don’t.”
“Then why the fuck did you ask me?” I practically yelled. I only say
“fuck” when I’m really pissed off. Otherwise, I think it kind of ruins the
effect. But right then I was really pissed off. Fucking pissed off.
“Because I had a feeling you might be thinking that,” he said.
I glared at him. “You’re a real asshole,” I said. “You know that?”
He ignored me. “There’s something else,” he said. “She wrote a poem.”
“A poem?” I said. That was totally not a Sadie thing to do.
Cat Poop handed me the letter. Down at the bottom, after the note, Sadie
had written: