10. A Hippo-Critter

I didn't do gossip.

When I was six, my best friend Temima told me the other kids at the swing set had been saying my father was Old Beard, the ancient, square-bodied, toothless plumber who lived on the edge of the lake. Old Beard was a creep, and I'd been so scared it was true: what if I was going to lose all my teeth one day?

When I was fourteen, all the girls in my year were somehow convinced I'd been spying on them in the showers, and I had to endure weeks of taunting and tasteless jokes until I stopped going to PE for a while and the remarks died out.

Then, last year, all of our friends were certain they'd seen Lennox and some other woman at a motel together, and nobody knew who to trust anymore, even though I'd said the whole thing was ridiculous because Lennox had been at the animal shelter that night. That was the beginning of the end of our queer squad.

All of those stories had been fabricated. Still, there had always been an inkling of truth to each of them.

My father had probably been mixed like Old Beard, judging by my thin eyes and frizzy black hair. I was in love with Jaylah Maldonado at fourteen, so I'd probably been staring at her all the time — though not in the locker room. And well, Lennox had met someone else at the animal shelter.

And ever since Camille's birthday, I found myself wondering what on earth was the real story behind Elizabeth's divorce. I hated myself for even thinking about it. That wasn't me. I never cared about stuff like that. Maybe it was the fact I was living with her or the frequent tension between her and Manon, but I couldn't get it out of my mind.

Nearing the end of summer break, Manon asked her mom if they could do a French movie night. Honestly, I figured all hell would break loose: by now, it was clear to me Connery had been obsessed with France, given the fact the kids all had French names, his mother had boasted about being of French descent, and, well, him living in France right now. To my surprise, Elizabeth accepted, telling Manon to make sure there was enough popcorn. Then Manon invited me as well, which was how I ended up sitting on the sofa with my feet tucked under myself, more confused than I'd been since my physics SAT.

I stole a glance at the other two. Manon was lying back on the cushions, some popcorn crumbs littering her pajama shirt, shoving handfuls of it in her mouth, giggling every time one of the young boys appeared onscreen. Elizabeth was in the fauteuil with her legs crossed, watching the movie with her usual frown, her hair in an uncharacteristically messy ponytail, her shoulders tense, picking up one popcorn at a time with two fingers to pop it in her mouth and chew on it thoughtfully.

I looked back at the TV. Guess I was the only one who had trouble keeping up with the subtitles. How did they do it? Surely, nobody could read that fast?

Manon was still engrossed in the boy on the screen, who was climbing up the stairs of a tall church tower, clutching the wall like he was scared he'd fall. What on earth was going on?

I shifted a bit, trying to hide my phone behind my popcorn bowl. Maybe, if I could just google a summary, I'd be able to figure it out.

"Jessie!" Manon called suddenly, and I almost knocked over my bowl. "I think this is perfect for our Three Musketeers play! We could do the same but with the talking alligators." She beamed at me, pieces of popcorn stuck between her crooked teeth.

"Err, yeah, sure."

Both Elizabeth and Manon turned their attention towards me, like I'd said something weird.

"What?"

They exchanged a look.

"Are you tired?" Manon asked.

"What? No. Why?"

She leaned over in my direction. "Why are you hiding your phone?"

"No reason." Oh, shit. Wrong answer. I felt my cheeks heat, betraying me like they'd done so many times before. "I mean, just checking a message. I wasn't hiding anything. Maybe it looked like that, but I wasn't."

Manon lifted her chin, sitting up straight. "You're lying. You always tell us we shouldn't lie in most situations, and now you're lying yourself. You're a hippo-critter."

A chuckle from her mom took me off-guard. She was trying to hide her smile, failing hard, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. It always managed to transform her from a grumpy ice-queen to a beautiful, warm woman. "I think you mean 'hypocrite', love," she said. "And Jessie just wants some privacy, so we should give her that."

But I knew Manon by now. She wasn't that easily satisfied. "Are you bored with us?" Her small face fell, like the thought offended her, and I broke, letting out a deep sigh.

"No! Not with you. I just..." I gestured at the screen, showing the boy now at the top of the bell tower, trembling like an earthquake. "I have no clue what's going on."

Manon paused the movie, her mouth open. "Like, no clue at all?"

I tried to ignore the fact that Elizabeth was sitting there, this poised, super-intelligent woman who had no trouble following along to a French movie, my cheeks no doubt as red as a rose by now. "No. I just... the subtitles... it's all too fast." If I could've disappeared into a hole, I would've, right then and there. What must they be thinking of me?

Manon laughed, and my stomach dropped to my feet. "You can't read the subtitles? I think you should go to fourth grade, and I should be the nanny."

A ton of pent up memories resurfaced: teachers asking me to read from the board, kids laughing, Ma saying I was just Slow Jessie — "she can't help it", being separated from Temima when I got held back a grade...

"That's enough, Manon. Apologize."

Rescue came unexpectedly. Elizabeth wasn't laughing; neither was she frowning.

"But mom," Manon said, her eyes wide, pointing at me, "she's a grown-up, and she can't read. Even Matilda is too hard for her."

There was a coldness to Elizabeth's gaze; maybe it was in the way she sat up straight, or maybe in the way she flexed her fingers. She didn't look at her daughter, instead focusing on a point on the wall. "Some people aren't born into rich families like you and your sisters were," she said, loud and stern. "And they don't get the best teachers like you did. What would your multiplication be like right now if we hadn't hired Miss Chow? And how would you have felt if I made fun of you then?"

For a moment, I forgot to be embarrassed. Elizabeth Canfield was lecturing her daughter about privileges. How the holy cow did that happen? Did I have her wrong all this time?

"But I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Jessie!" Manon called out, now jumping up from the couch. "I just don't get it. Why did you never learn how to read properly?"

I swallowed. Why? I'd asked myself the same question many, many times. Maybe it was because I missed so much of first grade. Or maybe I just didn't have it in me. I wasn't like Elizabeth, born for college and important offices. "I don't know," I said. "I guess I'm just bad at it."

"Did you ever get tested for dyslexia?" Elizabeth asked.

She was looking at me now, and I was small, insignificant, six-year-old Jessie again, standing in front of the blackboard, crying my eyes out. "No. No funds. They wanted to send me to special ed, you know, because I was also disabled, but it was too far away, so I ended up being held back a grade."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "But your disability is just physical, right?" It almost felt like she was accusing me of something, what with the sharpness of her tone, and I avoided her gaze.

"Yeah, mostly. But I guess I was too much trouble or something."

"That's not fair," Manon said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "You're smart enough; you know lots of things. About plants and people and stuff. You just can't read." Catching her mother's eye, she stepped closer and took a deep breath: "And I'm sorry for making fun of you. Really. I wasn't thinking."

I gave her a smile. "Thank you. That means a lot."

She smiled back. "Maybe we could watch another movie. In English, I mean."

"Nice try, love," Elizabeth said before I could answer. One corner of her mouth was curled up in a half-smirk, and she motioned for her daughter to get back on the couch. "We're not going to start a new movie now. It'd be way past your bedtime by the time we'd finish."

"But Jessie has no idea what's going on! That's no fun for her." She tried to keep her face straight, chin lifted, only her moving lips betrayed her.

"I don't mind," I said. "Just tell me what's been happening. And then just give me a running commentary. I'll be fine."

Manon took the job extremely seriously, although I didn't pay as much attention to her as I should have: her mother was watching her with eyes brighter than I'd seen on her, a smile lying just behind the surface of her face. It was love, of course, more clearly than ever — maybe it was the lateness of the hour, or maybe she was slowly growing more comfortable showing her emotions around me. It was probably the only reason she'd agreed to watch a French movie, and realizing that, a pang of sadness traveled through my chest. "So," I just caught Manon saying, when I remembered what she was doing for me, "they decided to make each other face their worst fears and secrets, and they call it 'the test of trust'. Because they want to be the best friends in the world."

"Sounds like a lot of trouble to go through to get a best friend," I said, the terrified face of the boy still frozen onscreen. "I just shared my Skittles, that used to work fine."

There was a laugh, brief but good-hearted with a hint of a snort, and it took me a second to realize it was Elizabeth's. I stared at her— big mistake, because she immediately rearranged her whole body to make it seem like it hadn't been her. Why did she keep doing that? It wasn't illegal to have fun. The bottle of wine the two of us had shared stood empty next to her on the hardwood floor. She didn't usually drink. Could be that was why she'd let herself go— if you could even call it that.

"It was bubblegum for me," she said, though she wasn't looking at me. "The pink one that made those huge bubbles."

Had she ever shared something personal with me before? I tried to picture a young Elizabeth blowing pink bubbles and failed. "No way! I have never been able to blow a single bubble with those. I was so jealous of my sister; she was a pro, I tell you."

Manon glanced from me to her mother, like even she had picked up something pretty miraculous was going on. "You two are so childish," she said, sitting up a little straighter, as if she was the adult in the room. "Candy doesn't make two people best friends. That's shallow. It's when you can tell each other everything, when you want to tell each other everything. All your secrets, and what you're scared of. Like me and Dev." Her cheeks tinged bubblegum pink all of a sudden.

"Oh yeah?" I said. "So, what are your secrets, Miss Miller?"

The pink deepened to a red, and I wondered what a nine-year-old girl would hide from others — for me, it'd been liking girls, but I had no idea what else could be so mortifying at that age. "I'm not going to tell you."

I gasped for air as dramatically as possible, my hand on my heart. "Oh, I feel so offended." Dropping the act, I smirked at her. "It doesn't matter anyway. I know what you're afraid of."

She frowned. "You don't!"

"Of course she does," Elizabeth said. "You have been ever since you were little. I remember this one time, you were only two years old and we were going for a walk in the woods," there was a smile on her face now again, though I had a feeling she hadn't noticed herself, with how bright it was, "and this beagle runs right at you, barking — you screamed for me to pull you up, and I had to carry you all the way back to the car."

"That's not true! That's not true!" Manon shrieked, hopping up and down, her eyes glittering. "It must've been a giant dog—"

"Manon, it was a beagle—"

"Well, I'm not scared of dogs anymore!"

That was a blatant lie: she hid behind me whenever number fifty's labrador came in sight, one of the friendliest dogs I knew. "You so are," I said.

"Okay, so what are you afraid of, mom?"

The muscles in Elizabeth's neck tensed, and for a second, I was sure she was about to snap. "Wasps," she said then.

"And you, Jessie?"

I took a deep breath. Of course, I could lie as well: it's not like I was obligated to tell my biggest fears to my boss and my nanny-kid. I decided not to. It might come in handy later. "Water."

"Water?"

"Yeah. Like lakes or oceans or pools too, really."

Manon cocked her head. "Is it because of your legs?"

I didn't know what happened, but suddenly, my phone was on the carpet, and I was the one who'd caused it. Something powerful squeezed my heart, and I couldn't breathe, my lungs refusing to draw oxygen from the air. "What do you mean?" I managed to get out. Was my voice as panicky as it sounded to me?

"Well, you can't walk very well. Swimming must be difficult too."

"Oh. Yeah." I picked up my phone, mainly to avoid having to look at anyone, the panic ebbing away. "Something like that. So, should we watch the rest of the movie?"

"Yes, let's," Elizabeth said, already pressing play on the remote. She seemed just as relieved to end this conversation as I was, focusing on the TV like reporters were informing us of some serious crime that had taken place in the neighborhood.

Luckily, Manon was easily distracted, taking her job as a commentator very seriously.

Only, I was just as distracted.

Because one thing was sure: whatever Elizabeth was really afraid of, it wasn't tiny black-and-yellow striped insects buzzing quietly around your food.