Chapter 2: No Choice, and Our House of Secrets

Back at home, we crowded around for dinner. My father, Tim, had boiled a big pot of noodles and we stretched a jar of marinara sauce over the six plates. “Thanks, Dad.” Being hungry, we weren’t talking much during the meal. Until —

“Drew, what happened to your shirt?” asked Aunt Dee. Looking up, I saw how the seam around his shoulder was pulled loose. It was clear, somebody had tugged on his sleeve, as if trying to throw him to the floor.

“Nothin’,” he muttered.

She wasn’t satisfied. “You don’t have any extra shirts that still fit you. Tell me what happened.”

“They were going after Lara.” “‘They’? Who? What does that mean, ‘going after’?”

“There were four big girls, probably seniors, all yelling and slapping at Lara, telling her she was smelly and a nasty homeless bitch.”

“I got between them, and they turned on me and tore at my clothes instead. Then some other seniors came near, men, so those girls spat at me and left us.”

“Lara?” Reluctantly, “Yeah, it happened like he said.”

“E?” “I don’t know, my assigned lunch time is a different period. And I was away in the library.”

“You had an assignment?”

“No, I’m always going there during lunch period, away from the cafeteria, so I can stay safe away from the cliques and the mean girls.”

Dad: “You don’t eat lunch, E?”

“No, Dad, it’s fine. And we’re saving the cost of those discounted lunch tickets every month.”

Aunt Dee was still asking about the altercation. “Dan?” “Today I was probably eating my discounted lunch—but I have the same lunch period as E has; it’s not the same time as Lara and Drew. However, there are aggressive girls like them all over that high school. For some reason, they are much worse than the guys.” To himself, “Nature red in tooth and claw.”

Dee: “Son, you got in the middle, instead of going for help. Why?”

“Teachers were around, but they never intervene. Never. And Lara was being threatened and hurt. I didn’t have any choice.”

Tim, quietly: “Attaboy, Drew, thank you for helping my daughter. I won’t forget it.”

To everybody, “Dee and I will talk more about this. Please do tell us if there are more problems like these.”

I was surprised. I could remember when Drew thought girls were just “icky.” Now, I would happily and tightly hug him for defending Lara. Those nasty bitches roamed in packs. They probably outweighed him by 50 pounds apiece. But for my sister’s sake he had stood up to them, bravely.

But I was also frustrated, because I knew no further action would be coming. Dee and Tim were inhibited, they felt they were unable to deal with the school authorities. Because of our house, sort of. It really is a small house, I believe it’s a “Craftsman Bungalow,” less than 1,000 square feet. One bathroom, as I’ve said. And three little bedrooms. A girls’ room, a boy’s room, and a siblings room. Only one bed in that room.

Siblings Dee and Dad are collectively our parents. But they are not married, or partnered, parents, even though they share a bed. This is a scandal that could never be publicly revealed.

Lara and I do have a mother, technically, a person who we have no contact with. Certainly no support, never any money or visits. All we know is her name, and “Milwaukee.” We live in Southern California, far from glamorous Hollywood and cooling damp Pacific Ocean breezes. Our inland city was hot, dry, dusty, and best known for its huge and scandal-ridden state prison complex.

The boys, biologically speaking, must have a sperm-donor (or donors?). All other information is completely mysterious; this subject is never ever spoken about. Aunt Dee always reacted so badly that we four learned not to inquire further, and Dad was also not responsive. “Her story to tell,” he would say.

I’m told we six have crowded into this inherited little house since we were toddlers or infants. For 13 years or more (really, all the time I can remember), our parents Dee and Tim, my aunt and my father, have been sharing a bed in that same small bedroom. With just a closet, no bathroom.

So much secrecy, inside our house, and from the outer world. For me, with the compression, congestion, and lack of privacy, it was all crazy-making.

I needed to move out, but how? I would need an incomprehensible amount of money. It was so uncomfortable, but this little house was all I knew. Frustrated as I was, I would be missing everybody: Dad, Lara, and Aunt Dee. (And like I said, even Drew was growing on me lately.)

And (most of all) Dan. Dependable, darling, delicious Dan. My brother, but not my brother.