[Fic: BSC] Expectations (or, All I Can Say)
Title: Expectations (or, All I Can Say)
Pairing: Shannon/Anna
Rating/Word Count: PG-13/8284
Timeline/Spoilers: high school; spoilers for "Special Edition: Shannon's Story," #95, "Kristy+Bart=?" and #104, "Abby's Twin"
Disclaimer: see journal sidebar
A/N: Written for midnightwriting in short_takes, who requested high school, college, or after and the following prompt: "I looked down the table at my normally quiet sister [sitting with Shannon]. Suddenly she seemed to have plenty to say." -#89, "Welcome to the BSC, Abby." Song is "Passenger Seat" by Stephen Speaks.
Summary: Shannon shoulders the weight of everyone's expectations as well as her own secret truths...
They say that life-changing days often happen when you least expect it. That’s very true. Last Friday was one of those days. On Fridays, our AP English teacher puts a one word prompt on the board and has us write a freeform journal entry for the entire class period. It can be anything we want it to be: an actual journal entry, a short story, a poem. Anything at all. She reads them each week, but only to make sure we did the assignment. If we write something that we’re not comfortable sharing, we even have the option of writing private across the top, and as long as we wrote a decent-sized entry, she’ll count it as a completed assignment without reading it. Ms. Moran is a really young, fun, innovative second year teacher, and I think she’s only around twenty-five. She demands hard work, but also believes in encouraging our natural creative abilities, and I think she realizes that the traditional school system doesn’t always get that balance right. Hell, look at Claudia Kishi. She’s a prime example of that.
I have AP English as my first class in the morning, so I get to school early, even on mornings when I don’t have honor society meetings, go to my locker, then go to our classroom and stay there for about thirty minutes before everyone else starts coming in. I usually work on research or read through my scripts, and sometimes we have casual conversations. When I got there last Friday, she was just writing the prompt on the board for the day. She looked up as I walked in and we talked for a few minutes before I read the prompt. Expectations, written in neat capital lettering. I could do anything with that, and since my life had so many of them, there were endless possibilities. She said I could go on and start if I wanted. Now that I think about, she probably sensed something in my behavior or saw something in my eyes. Normally, I take a few minutes to sit and think about what I want to write, and to organize it into a thought outline, then write it all out, then revise it. But this time was different. I opened my notebook and started to write, and the words flowed onto the page, completely bypassing my mind and breaking free from the self-imposed chains on my soul.
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PRIVATE (I’m taking a big risk here, so PLEASE don’t share with anyone else)
Expectations. They seem to rule our lives. Or at least, they rule mine. They come from all different fronts, in many different forms, but they’re always there. My family expects the best of their oldest daughter at the time, my friends expect me to be there for them, my teachers expect me to excel and graduate with honors. My sisters expect me to teach them how to grow up gracefully, and society expects me to graduate college and have a high-powered career, then settle down with 2.5 kids and a golden retriever behind our own white picket fence in the suburbs (or iron privacy gate, if you live in my neighborhood). Oh, and don’t forget about being the perfect arm candy for your high-powered husband when he (aka you) hosts the company Christmas parties. But it all pales in comparison to my own expectations.
As for me, I expect perfection.
But let’s backtrack for just a moment. My name is Shannon Kilbourne, Shannon Louisa if you’re my mother. I’m a senior at Stoneybrook Day School, a private prep school here in Stoneybrook, Connecticut, a small town about thirty minutes away from Stamford. My friends all tease me because I love school. I love learning and being involved, and that’ll probably never change. I’ve been accepted to Harvard, Yale, and several other Ivy League schools. It’s everything I’ve worked so hard for, but here lately I’m just not so sure. Actually, I’ve felt it for a while, but I can’t run from it or ignore it anymore.
It all started in eighth grade, when the Stevenson girls moved to town. They grew up on Long Island, and their mother decided to start over in a small town. They arrived not long after Kristy Thomas’s mother remarried and her family moved in with her stepfather and his kids. Kristy had started the Baby-Sitter’s Club before that, at age twelve, after watching her mother call for hours looking for a sitter for her younger brother David Michael. She knew it would be more convenient if her mother could call one number and reach a large group of experienced sitters, and thus the BSC was formed. Once her mother married Watson Brewer, our neighbor across the street, she moved to our neighborhood and, after a rather rocky start, invited me to join as an associate member, like a reserve, since I couldn’t commit to being in club full-time. Later on, Dawn Schafer, our friend and former alternate officer, had decided to move back to California to live with her father, and Kristy invited Abby to take over Dawn’s job. I did it for a while, but I had too much going on to keep it up.
The BSC dissolved the summer after our freshman year of high school because everyone was branching out into their own directions and couldn’t invest as much time as before. I think the others were ready to move on, even if it was bittersweet, but Kristy had a hard time letting go. You wouldn’t think that at first glance, though. Kristy at first glance is a hardcore, full-throttle, take charge loudmouth who runs around so fast that she barely has time to throw her brown hair in a ponytail before running out the door. But once you get past those first impressions, she’s an amazing friend. I think her biggest issue is that she doesn’t like change, which is understandable because it’s something that she can’t control, and most of the changes in her life have been bad ones. Once you understand that half of her insecurities and fight-picking come from that, it unlocks a lot, so naturally letting go of the BSC was difficult for her. Eventually, though, she had to admit that the strain of trying to run the BSC, coach the Krushers, play shortstop for the JV softball team, and balance school and family obligations was starting to take its toll. All the girls still baby-sit, and I know that about seventy-five percent of the former BSC’s clients have all the girls’ cell numbers in a grouping together and send global texts for sitter requests.
Abby actually quit before the club dissolved, back in middle school. Toward the end of eighth grade she decided that she wanted to focus more on soccer and have more free time. She’s like Kristy in several ways: a competitive loudmouth and natural leader who makes her own way through life and dares anyone to stop her. Hence, Kristy and Abby fight a lot. After Anna and I told them that they want to kill each other all the time because they are so much alike, they began to fight a little less.
But Abby’s also really fun to hang out with, since she’s the self-proclaimed queen of bad puns. She doesn’t let anything hold her back, not asthma or allergies or anything else. Plus, she’s really smart and loves starting discussions about anything and everything. She’s co-captain of the debate team at SHS, alongside Kristy (sometimes I swear everything is a competition with those two), and star forward and lead scorer for the varsity soccer team. Kristy is shortstop for the varsity softball team. Their games are always fun to watch because they keep things interesting, and me and Anna always have a good time hanging out together on the sidelines.
Out of the four of us, Anna is my best friend. She’s Abby’s twin, so she looks just like her, but in a different way. Anna’s dark curly hair has grown out since middle school, about to her shoulders, but she still wears it shorter than Abby, and while it is very curly, it always hangs in beautiful, perfect ringlets around her face. Abby’s is just crazy. Same could be said for their personalities. Anna is more of an introvert, a lot calmer than Abby, and she mulls over things and takes her time. She’s not as loud as Abby and Kristy, and doesn’t really like small talk or mindless chatter, either, but the two of us can talk about nothing and anything and laugh for hours. Everyone always calls her the quiet twin, but that’s not entirely true. Then again, when your frame of reference is Kristy and Abby, anyone would fit that description. She’s a musician, and a damn good one at that. Her speciality is classical violin (she’s first chair in the SHS orchestra), but she also plays her father’s old harmonica when she’s trying to cheer Abby up or make me laugh, and Abby told me she’s learning to play guitar.
We hang out at the Stevenson’s house all the time, though I know sometimes Abby will slip off to the Brewer-Thomas house to hang out and play ping-pong with Kristy. Abby and Anna are the only children, and their single mother is never home. Rachel is an executive publishing editor who’s always looking for the next Twilight or Gossip Girl series. I think it wouldn’t be so hard for her to find out what teenage girls want to read if she spent time with her own, but she hasn’t done that in years. The girls lost their father, Jonathan, in a car accident when they were nine, and lost their mother as well, or at least, the mother they knew. Anna is more like her than anyone will dare to admit. She’ll lock herself into her room and practice for hours on end when life gets hard. Usually it only lasts for a few days, long enough for her to figure things out. Abby says I’m the only one, besides her, that can talk to Anna when she gets like that. Maybe because I understand the tendency to immerse yourself in anything else far too well.
Anna’s scoliosis diagnosis brought even more changes. Abby freaked out because it’s what she does, and because it’s scary to watch your twin go through something terrifying that you can’t share with them. Rachel promised to spend more time at home, and she actually did for a while. But after about three months, Rachel relapsed into workaholism again, and that summer was when we started hanging out together as a group of four. Kristy wasn’t around as much, because she still had the BSC, but Abby and I had already quit by that point. The four of us would hang out in the neighborhood doing random things, like going to the Greenbrook or having swim parties when we could get Maria out of the pool. Sleepovers became a common occurrence, and it was during one of those that the first seismic shift occurred.
We walked into the house, doubled over in laughter. We just came from Kristy’s house, where Andrew, Karen, David Michael, and Emily were having a water fight, then a mud fight. Kristy had the whole thing organized until Sam opened the door and let out their puppy Shannon. By dusk, everyone was covered in mud and completely drenched. Watson and Elizabeth were gone for an extended weekend, and Charlie and Sam had plans, so Kristy was in charge of baths and bedtime. We left the house laughing at her trying to get them clean and discussing what we could do for Kristy’s upcoming birthday, especially since she’d be the last of us to turn fourteen.
Abby was at a soccer camp and Rachel was staying in the city overnight, so I stayed with Anna. We were both filthy and fought over who got first shower. Anna went first and told me to just use Abby’s bathroom, so I went to the laundry room to dump my muddy t-shirt and shorts, then ran upstairs to get my pajamas. I heard water running, then a timid, “Shannon?”
“Yeah?” I called back, slightly concerned. I walked to the door and opened it slightly, just enough to call out, “Anna? Everything okay?”
“Umm...could you come in here for a minute? I need some help.”
“Alright...” I pushed the door open the rest of the way and walked into the bathroom. The shower was running and Anna was standing in front of the sink in her bra and underwear, with her brace on. She had on her glasses and her hands were shaking.
“Anna? What’s wrong?” I was concerned because she was avoiding my eyes.
In a near-whisper, she answered, “Dr. Sherman fitted me with a different brace yesterday, and it fastens different, and I can’t quite get...”
“Okay,” I stopped her and tilted her chin up to meet my eyes. “It’s okay. You need me to help you out of it?” Anna nodded. “That’s all? Anna, it’s not a big deal, I promise.”
And it wasn’t. But I knew it was to her. Rachel was never around, and Abby either freaked and ran or helped to the point of hindering, so Anna liked to do things on her own. I stepped up behind her and looked at the brace for a second, long enough to figure it out, then reached out to unfasten it. My hands started shaking for some unknown reason, but it came off in just another couple of movements. Once the brace fell away, I looked up into the mirror in front of us, trying to catch her eyes.
What I caught instead was a view of Anna’s body, sans brace, in her mint green underwear and bra. I’d seen her, Abby, and Kristy like this dozens of times, from swimming to changing and everything in between. But something was different this time, something that I couldn’t place. My hands were still shaking, but now I was breathless, like I’d played soccer in the backyard with Abby and Kristy. I had never noticed how beautiful she was before. Finally I came to my senses as I felt Anna’s hand on my arm.
“Hey Shannon, you okay?” I nodded and met her eyes, dark brown, like melting chocolate, framed by black square glasses. “Thanks a lot for helping me out.”
“Yeah...n-no problem,” I stuttered. “I’m gonna get in the shower. Hopefully you’re not out of hot water by now.” Not waiting for her response, I ran down the hall to Abby’s bathroom. The whole time in the shower I thought over what just happened, and still couldn’t figure it out. I decided to push it away for the night and have fun. And I did. Even though I was the quiet one that night.
I didn’t sleep much that night. I analyzed it over and over, and still came up with nothing. I finally wrote it off as an isolated incident, because it had never happened before, and I desperately hoped it wouldn’t happen again. I also told myself that the awkward tension I felt around Anna for the whole next week was just a result of nervousness and not any other lingering thing between us.
A few weeks later school started back. I started upper school at SDS that year, while the others started SHS. My mom was going back to school to finish her degree and to get a life of her own that didn’t revolve around us, but there were still times when I felt her disapproval and overbearing presence. She didn’t like how close I was to Kristy and the Stevenson twins. Mom wanted me to go through high school with my SDS friends that I’d grown up with, but I was growing more distant from them as freshman year wore on. Their world was so small that it was suffocating. They expect everyone we know to graduate from SDS, go on to Ivy League and study abroad in Europe, have high-powered careers, and settle down into mansions on streets like McLelland Road in towns like Stoneybrook. They’ve never seen life outside of our end of town, and don’t really want to, either. Granted, I haven’t seen anymore out of life than them, but my friends had. I heard their stories, and I was jealous of their experiences. Kristy and her brothers practically raised each other because their single mom had worked so hard, and David Michael’s room was actually a converted closet before they moved. Abby and Anna grew up on Long Island, in a Jewish neighborhood with all their family nearby. Trips into NYC were common, and they had seen all kinds of different people and cultures. All three of them are interested in things other than boys, parties, shopping, and spending Daddy’s money.
I’m not so naive to think that it was easy for them. They all still have scars and pain of some of those experiences, but somehow I knew that the pain might be worth it if I got to see life outside of SDS and Stoneybrook. As much as I love school and throwing myself into everything I can, I want to make it on my own. Part of me still regrets giving up that trip to Paris in eighth grade, but I know that exploring it on my own will be way better than being with SDS. So on my fifteenth birthday, I promised myself that I’d see the world somehow. By the end of sophomore year, the four of us were a close-knit group of friends, much to my mother’s dismay. It became clear that she didn’t think the three of them deserved to live here in our neighborhood, because they weren’t from Stoneybrook’s old money society, and they go to public school instead of private like everyone else here and apparently they bring their bad influences in on her oldest daughter. It’s funny how they were good enough to babysit Tiffany and Maria when we were younger, though. Mom said that by graduation we would probably drift apart, with all our different activities and especially once we all started dating. I knew this was her way of telling me that she wanted to set me up with her friends’ sons, but I just didn’t have the time or energy.
But the funny thing was...we never drifted apart. Sure, we all went on dates, but nothing serious at first. Anna and I were too committed to our activities, and Abby just didn’t care. Kristy and Bart started dating again sophomore year, since they had both grown up a bit and realized that they were perfect for each other. Truly, I didn’t care much either. I went on tons of dates when I was in middle school and freshman year, doubling up with Greer or with Kristy and Bart, but no one worth remembering. We were always each other’s highest priority. I mentioned what Mom said to Kristy, who avoided discussing her and Bart’s date the previous night by discussing my problems. Kristy’s words have stayed with me ever since: “Look, Shanno, in some ways she’s probably right. I mean, look at the BSC.” Her eyes turned wistful before meeting mine again. “But you always make time for the people who are most important to you. One day you’ll find someone you want to make time for. You’re not someone who just has time to spare, Shanno, you have to make it. And when you find someone you care enough about to make time for, then you’ll know that it’s right. You know I’d kick the ass of anyone that hurt you, and yours, too, if you tell anyone I gave you dating advice.” I laughed at that, knowing that I was loved, and that somehow everything would turn out alright.
Just before the beginning of the year, we had a pool party/sleepover at my house. The whole day was a celebration. We convinced Rachel to let us take Anna to Dr. Sherman’s office in the city by ourselves. She was getting her brace off that day, permanently off. She’d still check in every few months, but she was finally free. It was one of the best days of our lives, and one I’ll always remember, but it was also when another seismic shift occurred, and when everything began to change.
I drove to the train station, with Anna riding shotgun. She was the center of attention today, so it was only fitting. Plus, if we stuck Kristy and Abby in the back, they couldn’t be as distracting. Hopefully. WSTO was playing a marathon of Elvis in honor of the anniversary of his death, and Abby was scream-singing at the top of her lungs. Kristy grudgingly sang along with her, but I caught the smile in her eyes through the rearview mirror. Anna was laughing at Abby’s fake howling, and I was watching her. Her whole face lit up when she laughed, and her perfect curls, now longer, bounced on her shoulders. She was wearing an SHS hoodie today with a khaki skirt and sandals, since we planned to have lunch and shop after the visit. My stomach flipped slightly when she locked eyes with me, then smiled slightly before turning to look out the window.
“Anna,” I reached out my right hand across the gearshift to find her left arm, “everything okay? Nervous?”
“Yeah,” she sighed, and finally turned to face me. “I just...what if I’m not ready after all?
“I think you are, Anna,” I sighed, not knowing exactly what to say. “Physically, you are, if she’s willing to let you stop wearing a brace completely. But it’s totally okay to not be ready for that. Even though you hated it, it was still part of you for so long.”
Her eyes both softened and brightened just a little bit, and she smiled, a soft, slow one meant only for me. “Shannon,” she whispers, and I was shocked that she sounded a little breathless. Suddenly the sounds of “Jailhouse Rock” and Kristy and Abby’s raucous laughter faded away completely as she put her hand over mine on the console. “Have I ever told you how amazing you are?”
“That’s because I have an amazing best friend,” I grinned. She smiled back, but only after something dimmed slightly in her eyes. She started to pull her hand away, but I tighten my grip. “Anna...It’s gonna be okay,” I said, not sure exactly why I’m trying to reassure her. This isn’t about the brace anymore, that’s for sure. All I know is that my heart literally hurts when she’s sad. “I hope so, Shannon.”
We stayed like that the rest of the way, sitting in silence while Abby and Kristy sang along in the backseat. It wasn’t until we pulled into the parking lot and I had to shift gears that I realized we had been holding hands for a good few minutes. Our eyes met then quickly darted away, almost as fast as our hands. My face was bright red as we walked in together, so close that the backs of our hands kept brushing. I felt nauseous. My stomach would not stop turning. I didn’t know why.
We arrived just in time to board the train to Grand Central Station, and all of us talked and laughed at Abby’s comedic routine, which today had included impersonations of Mrs. Porter (who eleven-year-old Karen still thinks is a witch) and Bart Taylor (Kristy decidedly did not laugh). We got off the train and followed Abby and Anna, who knew the entire layout of the station from memory, outside and into the uptown cab line. We took our cab to Dr. Sherman’s office at Mt. Sinai, and checked in.
We sat in the waiting room together for about twenty minutes. I read through my “Into the Woods” script for our senior musical. Never too early to get familiar with Cinderella, even if practice didn’t start for another two weeks. Anna was scribbling down music notes and words, then furiously erasing them and starting over again, with an adorably intense concentration. Kristy looked over her revised Little League coaching guide, and Abby was kicking around a hacky-sack until Kristy snatched it and threw it in the trash with a Look. Finally, a nurse opened the door and called out, “Anna Stevenson?”
We all looked up as Anna stood up and gathered her stuff. Only one person would be allowed back in the room with her, and I was fully prepared to hang out in the waiting room with Kristy for a while. I noticed Abby and Anna looking at each other with a rather intense stare, and I knew they were having their own conversation. Identical twins tend to develop their own language early in life, and they usually outgrow it once they get to school around other kids. Only Abby and Anna never outgrew it. Sure, neither of them remembers the actual words of their first language, but their eyes remember everything, along with their identical intuitions.
“Shannon?” Anna met my eyes hesitantly, then held out her hand, while I attempted to pick my jaw up off the floor. My eyes darted to Abby who, while looking upset, also seemed understanding and a little relieved. I took her hand, once again feeling the electric shock from before, and followed her behind the door. Anna looked over at me and simply said, “Abby doesn’t do well with doctors if she’s not the patient. It’s better this way, and besides, I’d rather have you here anyway.”
I waited silently as the nurse took her height and weight, then led us into an exam room. It took all my willpower not to skip down the hall, Anna’s words ringing in my ears. The nurse asked a few more questions, then left us to wait for doctor. We sat in chairs next to each other, our forearms nearly touching, as I asked her about the music she was working on in the waiting room. She blushed and said it was just something she had an idea about, and I was about to press her further when Dr. Sherman came in.
The fairly young, blonde doctor introduced herself, nodding in recognition when Anna introduced me and mentioned that Abby was out in the waiting area with Kristy. Anna hopped up onto the bed, and the doctor went through the exam. She sent Anna to radiology and I waited alone in the exam room, reading through “Into the Woods.” Anna returned fifteen minutes later and took her seat next to me again. I noticed her looking down and fidgeting with the drawstrings on her hoodie. I grabbed her arm and pulled it away from the strings. “Anna, it’s okay. How long did they say the x-rays would take?” I asked as I threaded my fingers through hers, almost before I realized what I was doing. “Only another five minutes,” she replied. Suddenly I remembered that she never answered my earlier question. “Seriously, Anna, what were working on earlier?”
About that time Dr. Sherman came back in and announced that everything looked good and that they were removing the brace. When it came off, Anna reached into her backpack for a new shirt. I stared at the script still in my hands in a desperate attempt to preserve my dignity. Otherwise I would simply stare for hours on end at her body, now even more beautiful than three years ago. I glanced up and noticed that the hoodie was gone, and in its place was a lacy dark green tank top, revealing more skin than I had ever seen her show in public before. She grabbed my hand again and dragged me out to the waiting room to see Abby and Kristy, who I had all but forgotten about. Once all the last-minute details were arranged, we caught a cab down to Herald Square. We held hands anytime we walked anywhere in the city that day. We all spent the night at my house, and the whole next day in the pool and dancing to random CDs. It was the best two days of the whole summer.
They really were, but they also made me confront something that I wasn’t ready to deal with. I was attracted to Anna, in that way. And I knew that, had known it since the summer before freshman year. I just couldn’t place it at the time, or maybe I’d been afraid to. I don’t know anymore.
At first it was only Anna, but now I notice other girls, too. I started having strange dreams in which I kissed another girl in various places, like the pool or the front porch. She almost always had dark curly hair. Sometimes it makes me feel dirty, but with Anna it only feels right, and now that I’ve stopped running from the possibility of being different, I need to admit the whole truth. I’m falling for her, in the “she makes my life worth it” kinda way. I love Abby and Kristy to death, but Anna’s the reason I wake up in the morning and find the strength to get through the day. When I come home to Mom’s overbearing appearances, workaholic Dad’s even more rare guest spots, and Maria being an annoying stuck-up brat, Anna’s the one I call to come over, to hear her voice say that it’ll be okay. Abby will tell me jokes and cheer me up, Kristy will talk me through it or clear my head, but Anna will lean my head on her shoulder and sit with me in the silence, or (sometimes) let me cry. I do the same for her, and always will.
But I don’t know how to tell her, or even if I should. The consequences could be devastating, for us and Kristy and Abby also. I already know Kristy will be shocked at first, then get over it and be okay, at least with the ‘I like girls’ part. Abby...she just has a hard time dealing with anything serious. Every scenario I analyze ends with Anna not wanting to be my friend anymore, which is the worst possible outcome. I’d rather be her friend than nothing at all, but I don’t know how much longer I can be just her friend. Plus, it’s not like Stoneybrook is going to proudly wave the rainbow flag anytime soon.
Then there’s my family. This was not part of the plan for their oldest daughter, or any of their daughters, really. I honestly have no idea what they might say. Maria and her swim teammates will either ignore me completely or make snide comments, since at twelve they’re already rich socialites in training. It makes me sad to watch her grow up into something that I’ve spent years running from. Tiffany...she’ll support me, like always. We are each other’s lifeline in many ways. She doesn’t do well in school, academically or socially, but I honestly think it’s because she doesn’t fit the mold for what people expect. She’s only fifteen, but I admire how she just follows her heart because it’s all she knows. She needs my constant reassurance, which can be exhausting at times, but so rewarding at others. I’m enjoying watching her grow up, and seeing the person she’s becoming. That’s the main reason I want to go to Yale, so I can be here for her. I’d live in New Haven, of course, but just staying instate is better than Penn or Dartmouth. My parents wanted Harvard, but Yale is still Ivy League, so...
I’ve worked so hard to get into the Ivy League, and if all bets are right, I’ll even be salutatorian. But is it really what I wanted, or did I just tell myself that I wanted it because everyone else wanted it for me? I’ve never minded all the expectations before. I thrived with them, and worked so hard to achieve, but was it worth it? Now, I see them for what they are: suffocating. The ones I hold for myself especially. Part of me wants to do something crazy, like attend state school, just to be different, but I think after all these years, that I’ll need the academic challenge. I don’t know how to breeze through things easily. I always seem to take the long way around. I’ve rambled far too long now, and I’m sorry this isn’t a proper journal entry or anything. I don’t have time to fix it, so...this will have to be okay. It’ll be okay if I turn in something as is for once. Maybe.
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Friday arrived yet again, and I was on my way to class. It meant another journal day, which I normally look forward to, but dreaded today. Ms. Moran takes them from us after class on Fridays, reads through them, and gives them back before class starts the next Friday. I didn’t want to see what she wrote in mine. She always leaves a bit of feedback, but I felt far too tired to deal with negative comments about what I’m still kicking myself for writing. Teachers do not need to know that much about our personal lives.
I got to class early, as usual, and I was the first to arrive. She immediately took my journal off the top of the stack and walked to the door, shutting it behind her. Shock and dread crept in because Ms. Moran never shuts her door, ever. I took out my planner and pencil to see what the day held, and barely noticed as she sat across from me.
“Shannon, I’d like to talk to you about your journal entry last week,” she said. I really admire her for just getting to the point. I looked up and really noticed her for possibly the first time. She has auburn hair and really pretty green eyes, and the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen. So not fair, since I still have to wear black mascara so anyone can even see mine. I searched her eyes and expression for disapproval, but find none.
“Yes, Ms. Moran?”
“You said you got into Ivy League, right?” She asked, her tone laced with a measure of awe. “Where all did you get in?”
“Yale, Dartmouth, Harvard, Columbia, and Penn,” I rattled off, “But I also got into NYU and Wellesley.”
“Wow,” she muttered. “Yale is your first choice, right?”
“Yeah, it’s my top choice. We were considering Wellesley, but NYU’s music program is better for Anna, and she knew I dreamed of going to Yale.”
“I think Yale is the best choice for you, if it has all the programs that you want. Does it?”
“Well,” I hesitated, “it has my linguistics major, and theater minor, but I had kinda wanted a specific musical theater minor, which they don’t have. NYU does, but Yale has a few musical theater classes. But I’m can’t do everything there, so it’s okay.”
She kinda nodded and said, “I think Yale is the best choice for you, also, because they have a whole gay and lesbian studies department. They have majors and all kinds of programs and events.”
My heart dropped to my stomach. I had no idea they had all those things, or even that it was an option. Also, hearing her say the words left me breathless, because she so casually used the words I couldn’t even bring myself to say.
“How do you know all that?” I questioned, thinking that she maybe had seen it online, not even daring to hope there could be another reason.
“It was my alma mater,” Ms. Moran explained, and said after a moment’s pause, “I was involved in college, with my roommate.”
“Really?” My voice cracked slightly and I felt my eyebrows reach into my hairline. That could mean--
“It helped me in college to figure out that I was bisexual,” she explained. “They have seminars and GSA and all kinds of resources, which really helped me to find myself.”
I couldn’t hear my own thoughts over the pounding in my ears. “Y-you mean--”
“Yes, Shannon,” she smiled. “Well, then, what are you doing at SDS?” I asked, shocked that our school board of old rich white men even hired her. “I figured they wouldn’t hire anyone that...anyone like us.”
“Well, they can be sued for refusing to hire based on sexual orientation, or for firing someone for that reason. They wouldn’t want that kind of press. Really, it was only two of the twelve board members that even had an issue with it.”
Impressive. I never imagined that it was possible in this town, and also because--
“You’ve never told anyone before, have you Shannon?” I shook my head.
“Your secret is safe with me, okay?” My eyes burned, and I was mortified that I was crying at school, something I hadn’t done in years. “Thank you,” I barely whispered, as gratitude slowly overtook the fear.
“But can I give you some advice?” I nodded again, not trusting my voice.
“Tell Anna.” My heart stopped a little as she continued. “She needs to know something like that. She’s your best friend, and you owe it to her to explain what you’re feeling, even if it doesn’t work out. She probably knows something’s going on. I don’t want to pressure you into anything you’re not ready for, because coming out is so personal. And not to get your hopes up, but from what I read, it sounds like there’s a possibility that Anna could feel something stronger for you, too. Just tell her at some point, okay?"
I nodded again, and she reached out and placed her hand on my arm. “How old are you Shannon, seventeen?” She continued, “It’s going to be okay, I promise. It’s hard, trying to figure it all out, and it won’t always be easy, but it’ll work out in the end. Now, I know your secret, so can you keep mine?”
“Yes, Ms. Moran. Thank you. I just--” my voice finally broke and the tears started streaming down my face. I quickly got my breathing under control and looked at my watch. Class would start in ten minutes. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom and make sure I don’t have mascara down my face. I’ll leave the door open.” I ran to wash my face quickly, and managed to get back to class just before the bell rang. I sat down and looked at my journal, specifically last week’s entry. I smiled as I read Ms. Moran’s small printing at the top of the page. “Shannon, you are an articulate, intelligent, vibrant person, and it shows so well in this entry. Your honesty and courage are incredible, and I personally cannot wait to see the young woman you are going to become. Stay true to yourself, and keep moving forward.”
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I struggled to concentrate in school the rest of the day. My mind drifted back to Anna and Ms. Moran and everything I kept locked inside. I finally arrived home and changed from my school uniform into jeans, a t-shirt, an SDS hoodie, and my old black Converse. Mom and Dad were gone (surprise, surprise), Maria was at an out-of-town swim meet, and Tiffany was upstairs trying to clean her room. I called Anna and asked her to come over, since neither of us had Friday night plans. Once she arrived, we climbed the stairs to my room, stopping only to let Tiffany know where she could find us.
She turned on my stereo and put in my current favorite CD, the soundtrack to "Across the Universe," and sat on my bed, propped against the headboard, while I laid down beside her. We stayed silent for a minute or so, until Anna prodded me up slightly, then pulled my head back down into her lap and started to run her hands through my hair. I sighed audibly; she knew this soothed me when I got stressed or upset. She’s the only one, though. Mom occasionally did when we were kids, but nobody else ever comforted me this way until Anna discovered by accident. Now it happens regularly.
“So are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or am I going to have to pry it out of you?” she asked, her fingers tracing patterns on my scalp. I blinked a couple of times, and I could feel her breath next to my ear, “I’ve always wished I had your hair. Blonde, curly without needing to be tamed.”
Her touch and her breath against my ear caused me to feel things I’d never felt before. “I’m going to start calling you Abby if you won’t answer me,” she teased.
“This feels sooo good,” I sighed. “I had a crazy day at school,” I mumbled as I curled further into the bed and nuzzled my face into the crook of her knee. “Remember my AP English teacher and her prompt journals? Well, last week’s was on expectations, and I kinda ran with it, so she wanted to discuss it with me this morning before class.”
“And?” Anna asked expectantly; she knew I wasn’t sharing everything. She paused for a moment, and the dread and fear crept back in. I pushed myself up to sit beside her, and leaned my head on her shoulder, just for a moment. I needed the strength from the contact. If she took what I said next wrong, it might be the last. “Anna, have you ever started writing and just couldn’t stop?” I looked up at her and noticed an odd expression. “Yeah, with my music, all the time. It helps sometimes, to get out the things I can’t express with words. Is that what happened in English?”
I steeled myself for what I needed to say. “Yeah. Anna, there’s something I have to tell you. I haven’t been honest with you, and you need to know the truth.”
I sat up and turned slightly so that I was sitting directly in front of her. I didn’t plan this, didn’t plan out what I want to say, and why again was this a good idea? “I’m not into guys, Anna.”
“Yeah, I know. Neither am I,” she teased, and despite her tone, I saw honesty and fear behind her eyes. “But being with you is better than being with any guy. You know that, right Shannon?”
“Y-yeah, I guess,” I muttered, heart in my throat, and I wonder if I can be a bigger spaz. I’m not sure she fully grasped what I was trying to say, but part of me wondered if maybe she did. She smiled, a half-smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and slid off the bed. She shuffled across the room to turn off the stereo, and to get the guitar that she brought with her. I quirked my eyebrows and gestured toward the case she was holding. I was intrigued, because this was one instrument I’d never seen her play.
“Since we’re playing Truth all of a sudden, thought I’d share mine,” Anna whispered, more to herself than me, as she pulled out her acoustic guitar and carried it back to the bed. Once she resumed her position against the headboard with the guitar in her lap, she turned and met my eyes. So many different emotions lay hidden in the chocolate brown swirls that were impossible to decipher. “Did I mention I was learning to play?”
“No, but Abby did,” I answered, wondering what she’s thinking. I can usually read her better than this, but right now I have no idea. “Remember the day I got my brace off, what I was working on in the waiting room?”
My eyes go wide as I think back to the day I first realized I was falling for my best friend. I had questioned her about it, and she always refused to answer. Until now. “Yeah?”
“Well, I was writing a song,” she admitted sheepishly, looking down to tune the strings. “I’ve never written a song with lyrics before, but it just spoke to me. I’m not a great singer like you, but...” she trailed off and reached out to cradle my cheek in her hand for the briefest of moments. “It’s about you,” she whispered. “Just listen.”
Her long tanned fingers, calloused from years of making music, moved flawlessly over the strings, playing a beautiful sweeping melody with intense focus. I’m amazed at her talent, but it’s nothing compared to what comes next.
I look at her and have to smile
As we go driving for a while
Her hair blowing in the open window of my car
And as we go I see the lights
I watch them glimmer in her eyes
In the darkness of the evening
And I’ve got all that I need
Right here in the passenger seat
And I can’t keep my eyes on the road
Knowing that she’s inches from me
We stop to get something to drink
My mind clouds and I can’t think
Scared to death to say I love her
Then the moon peaks from the clouds
Hear my heart it beats so loud
Try to tell her simply
That I’ve got all that I need
Right here in the passenger seat
Oh, and I can’t keep my eyes on the road
Knowing that she’s inches from me
Oh, and I’ve got all that I need
Right here in the passenger seat
Oh, and I can’t keep my eyes on the road
Knowing that she’s inches from me
Oh, and I know, that this love grows
Oh, and I’ve got all that I need
Right here in the passenger seat
Oh, and I can’t keep my eyes on the road
Knowing that she’s inches from me
And I’ve got all that I need
Right here in the passenger seat
And I can’t keep my eyes on the road
Knowing that she’s inches from me
I look at her and have to smile
As we driving for a while
Oh, and I’ve got all that I need
Right here in the passenger seat
I felt tears streaming down my face as I looked up at Anna, who was placing the guitar next to her on my queen-sized bed. She brought her hands to my face, wiping away my tears with her soft, yet calloused fingers. My whole body shook from the touch, and my heart hammered in my ears. “Shannon,” she rasped breathlessly, just like that day in the car. I snaked my arms around her neck and pulled her in, then pulled her lips to mine.
The electricity was palpable, and after only a second’s hesitation I felt her begin to respond. It was everything I’d ever dreamed of, but so much more. It’s slow and gentle, since I’ve only been kissed three times before now, and her lips were so soft that I barely registered the nervousness as her hands threaded through my hair and her tongue nipped and traced my bottom lip. I slowly opened my mouth to her, and our tongues danced together, almost like they were fighting, but not really, because either way I’d let her win. Anna would always win. The tingling soon turned to burning at the lack of air, and I pulled back slightly, resting my forehead against hers. Her chocolate eyes still swirled with emotion, though wilder than before, and it thrilled me to see her just as speechless as me. “Anna,” I whispered, at a loss for what to say. “What does this mean?” I knew what I wanted it to mean, but still wasn’t sure that she wanted it, too.
Anna laughed then, a soft, beautiful sound that spilled out of her swollen lips. I felt my face flush when I realized that I’m the reason they’re swollen, and that mine probably were also. She pulled me into her lap and kissed me again, a soft, yet quick kiss, and said, “Don’t you see, Shannon? It’s always been you. You’re all I need.”
I grinned and leaned in even further, if possible, and our lips were so close that I could feel them against mine with each word I spoke. “Good, because you’re all I need, and all I’ve ever wanted.” I finally gave in and connected our lips again, more passionate than before as my confidence grew. Anna pulled away just as I tried to deepen the kiss, and I pouted at the loss before I could stop myself. She laughed and touched her nose to mine. “You are adorable, but I don’t think you want Tiffany to walk in on us like this.”
Crap, I forgot she was even here. I’m a horrible sister. “Yeah, not so much,” I sarcastically replied as I got up and walked down the hall. I told Tiffany to call and order enough pizza for the three of us, then returned to my room to find Anna in the same position, waiting for me. I felt lighter than I had in a long time as I climbed back into her lap and nuzzled my face into her shoulder. Her hand found its way into my hair as her voice filled the silence, because suddenly there was nothing and everything left to talk about, and both of us had plenty to say.
Pairing: Shannon/Anna
Rating/Word Count: PG-13/8284
Timeline/Spoilers: high school; spoilers for "Special Edition: Shannon's Story," #95, "Kristy+Bart=?" and #104, "Abby's Twin"
Disclaimer: see journal sidebar
A/N: Written for midnightwriting in short_takes, who requested high school, college, or after and the following prompt: "I looked down the table at my normally quiet sister [sitting with Shannon]. Suddenly she seemed to have plenty to say." -#89, "Welcome to the BSC, Abby." Song is "Passenger Seat" by Stephen Speaks.
Summary: Shannon shoulders the weight of everyone's expectations as well as her own secret truths...
They say that life-changing days often happen when you least expect it. That’s very true. Last Friday was one of those days. On Fridays, our AP English teacher puts a one word prompt on the board and has us write a freeform journal entry for the entire class period. It can be anything we want it to be: an actual journal entry, a short story, a poem. Anything at all. She reads them each week, but only to make sure we did the assignment. If we write something that we’re not comfortable sharing, we even have the option of writing private across the top, and as long as we wrote a decent-sized entry, she’ll count it as a completed assignment without reading it. Ms. Moran is a really young, fun, innovative second year teacher, and I think she’s only around twenty-five. She demands hard work, but also believes in encouraging our natural creative abilities, and I think she realizes that the traditional school system doesn’t always get that balance right. Hell, look at Claudia Kishi. She’s a prime example of that.
I have AP English as my first class in the morning, so I get to school early, even on mornings when I don’t have honor society meetings, go to my locker, then go to our classroom and stay there for about thirty minutes before everyone else starts coming in. I usually work on research or read through my scripts, and sometimes we have casual conversations. When I got there last Friday, she was just writing the prompt on the board for the day. She looked up as I walked in and we talked for a few minutes before I read the prompt. Expectations, written in neat capital lettering. I could do anything with that, and since my life had so many of them, there were endless possibilities. She said I could go on and start if I wanted. Now that I think about, she probably sensed something in my behavior or saw something in my eyes. Normally, I take a few minutes to sit and think about what I want to write, and to organize it into a thought outline, then write it all out, then revise it. But this time was different. I opened my notebook and started to write, and the words flowed onto the page, completely bypassing my mind and breaking free from the self-imposed chains on my soul.
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PRIVATE (I’m taking a big risk here, so PLEASE don’t share with anyone else)
Expectations. They seem to rule our lives. Or at least, they rule mine. They come from all different fronts, in many different forms, but they’re always there. My family expects the best of their oldest daughter at the time, my friends expect me to be there for them, my teachers expect me to excel and graduate with honors. My sisters expect me to teach them how to grow up gracefully, and society expects me to graduate college and have a high-powered career, then settle down with 2.5 kids and a golden retriever behind our own white picket fence in the suburbs (or iron privacy gate, if you live in my neighborhood). Oh, and don’t forget about being the perfect arm candy for your high-powered husband when he (aka you) hosts the company Christmas parties. But it all pales in comparison to my own expectations.
As for me, I expect perfection.
But let’s backtrack for just a moment. My name is Shannon Kilbourne, Shannon Louisa if you’re my mother. I’m a senior at Stoneybrook Day School, a private prep school here in Stoneybrook, Connecticut, a small town about thirty minutes away from Stamford. My friends all tease me because I love school. I love learning and being involved, and that’ll probably never change. I’ve been accepted to Harvard, Yale, and several other Ivy League schools. It’s everything I’ve worked so hard for, but here lately I’m just not so sure. Actually, I’ve felt it for a while, but I can’t run from it or ignore it anymore.
It all started in eighth grade, when the Stevenson girls moved to town. They grew up on Long Island, and their mother decided to start over in a small town. They arrived not long after Kristy Thomas’s mother remarried and her family moved in with her stepfather and his kids. Kristy had started the Baby-Sitter’s Club before that, at age twelve, after watching her mother call for hours looking for a sitter for her younger brother David Michael. She knew it would be more convenient if her mother could call one number and reach a large group of experienced sitters, and thus the BSC was formed. Once her mother married Watson Brewer, our neighbor across the street, she moved to our neighborhood and, after a rather rocky start, invited me to join as an associate member, like a reserve, since I couldn’t commit to being in club full-time. Later on, Dawn Schafer, our friend and former alternate officer, had decided to move back to California to live with her father, and Kristy invited Abby to take over Dawn’s job. I did it for a while, but I had too much going on to keep it up.
The BSC dissolved the summer after our freshman year of high school because everyone was branching out into their own directions and couldn’t invest as much time as before. I think the others were ready to move on, even if it was bittersweet, but Kristy had a hard time letting go. You wouldn’t think that at first glance, though. Kristy at first glance is a hardcore, full-throttle, take charge loudmouth who runs around so fast that she barely has time to throw her brown hair in a ponytail before running out the door. But once you get past those first impressions, she’s an amazing friend. I think her biggest issue is that she doesn’t like change, which is understandable because it’s something that she can’t control, and most of the changes in her life have been bad ones. Once you understand that half of her insecurities and fight-picking come from that, it unlocks a lot, so naturally letting go of the BSC was difficult for her. Eventually, though, she had to admit that the strain of trying to run the BSC, coach the Krushers, play shortstop for the JV softball team, and balance school and family obligations was starting to take its toll. All the girls still baby-sit, and I know that about seventy-five percent of the former BSC’s clients have all the girls’ cell numbers in a grouping together and send global texts for sitter requests.
Abby actually quit before the club dissolved, back in middle school. Toward the end of eighth grade she decided that she wanted to focus more on soccer and have more free time. She’s like Kristy in several ways: a competitive loudmouth and natural leader who makes her own way through life and dares anyone to stop her. Hence, Kristy and Abby fight a lot. After Anna and I told them that they want to kill each other all the time because they are so much alike, they began to fight a little less.
But Abby’s also really fun to hang out with, since she’s the self-proclaimed queen of bad puns. She doesn’t let anything hold her back, not asthma or allergies or anything else. Plus, she’s really smart and loves starting discussions about anything and everything. She’s co-captain of the debate team at SHS, alongside Kristy (sometimes I swear everything is a competition with those two), and star forward and lead scorer for the varsity soccer team. Kristy is shortstop for the varsity softball team. Their games are always fun to watch because they keep things interesting, and me and Anna always have a good time hanging out together on the sidelines.
Out of the four of us, Anna is my best friend. She’s Abby’s twin, so she looks just like her, but in a different way. Anna’s dark curly hair has grown out since middle school, about to her shoulders, but she still wears it shorter than Abby, and while it is very curly, it always hangs in beautiful, perfect ringlets around her face. Abby’s is just crazy. Same could be said for their personalities. Anna is more of an introvert, a lot calmer than Abby, and she mulls over things and takes her time. She’s not as loud as Abby and Kristy, and doesn’t really like small talk or mindless chatter, either, but the two of us can talk about nothing and anything and laugh for hours. Everyone always calls her the quiet twin, but that’s not entirely true. Then again, when your frame of reference is Kristy and Abby, anyone would fit that description. She’s a musician, and a damn good one at that. Her speciality is classical violin (she’s first chair in the SHS orchestra), but she also plays her father’s old harmonica when she’s trying to cheer Abby up or make me laugh, and Abby told me she’s learning to play guitar.
We hang out at the Stevenson’s house all the time, though I know sometimes Abby will slip off to the Brewer-Thomas house to hang out and play ping-pong with Kristy. Abby and Anna are the only children, and their single mother is never home. Rachel is an executive publishing editor who’s always looking for the next Twilight or Gossip Girl series. I think it wouldn’t be so hard for her to find out what teenage girls want to read if she spent time with her own, but she hasn’t done that in years. The girls lost their father, Jonathan, in a car accident when they were nine, and lost their mother as well, or at least, the mother they knew. Anna is more like her than anyone will dare to admit. She’ll lock herself into her room and practice for hours on end when life gets hard. Usually it only lasts for a few days, long enough for her to figure things out. Abby says I’m the only one, besides her, that can talk to Anna when she gets like that. Maybe because I understand the tendency to immerse yourself in anything else far too well.
Anna’s scoliosis diagnosis brought even more changes. Abby freaked out because it’s what she does, and because it’s scary to watch your twin go through something terrifying that you can’t share with them. Rachel promised to spend more time at home, and she actually did for a while. But after about three months, Rachel relapsed into workaholism again, and that summer was when we started hanging out together as a group of four. Kristy wasn’t around as much, because she still had the BSC, but Abby and I had already quit by that point. The four of us would hang out in the neighborhood doing random things, like going to the Greenbrook or having swim parties when we could get Maria out of the pool. Sleepovers became a common occurrence, and it was during one of those that the first seismic shift occurred.
We walked into the house, doubled over in laughter. We just came from Kristy’s house, where Andrew, Karen, David Michael, and Emily were having a water fight, then a mud fight. Kristy had the whole thing organized until Sam opened the door and let out their puppy Shannon. By dusk, everyone was covered in mud and completely drenched. Watson and Elizabeth were gone for an extended weekend, and Charlie and Sam had plans, so Kristy was in charge of baths and bedtime. We left the house laughing at her trying to get them clean and discussing what we could do for Kristy’s upcoming birthday, especially since she’d be the last of us to turn fourteen.
Abby was at a soccer camp and Rachel was staying in the city overnight, so I stayed with Anna. We were both filthy and fought over who got first shower. Anna went first and told me to just use Abby’s bathroom, so I went to the laundry room to dump my muddy t-shirt and shorts, then ran upstairs to get my pajamas. I heard water running, then a timid, “Shannon?”
“Yeah?” I called back, slightly concerned. I walked to the door and opened it slightly, just enough to call out, “Anna? Everything okay?”
“Umm...could you come in here for a minute? I need some help.”
“Alright...” I pushed the door open the rest of the way and walked into the bathroom. The shower was running and Anna was standing in front of the sink in her bra and underwear, with her brace on. She had on her glasses and her hands were shaking.
“Anna? What’s wrong?” I was concerned because she was avoiding my eyes.
In a near-whisper, she answered, “Dr. Sherman fitted me with a different brace yesterday, and it fastens different, and I can’t quite get...”
“Okay,” I stopped her and tilted her chin up to meet my eyes. “It’s okay. You need me to help you out of it?” Anna nodded. “That’s all? Anna, it’s not a big deal, I promise.”
And it wasn’t. But I knew it was to her. Rachel was never around, and Abby either freaked and ran or helped to the point of hindering, so Anna liked to do things on her own. I stepped up behind her and looked at the brace for a second, long enough to figure it out, then reached out to unfasten it. My hands started shaking for some unknown reason, but it came off in just another couple of movements. Once the brace fell away, I looked up into the mirror in front of us, trying to catch her eyes.
What I caught instead was a view of Anna’s body, sans brace, in her mint green underwear and bra. I’d seen her, Abby, and Kristy like this dozens of times, from swimming to changing and everything in between. But something was different this time, something that I couldn’t place. My hands were still shaking, but now I was breathless, like I’d played soccer in the backyard with Abby and Kristy. I had never noticed how beautiful she was before. Finally I came to my senses as I felt Anna’s hand on my arm.
“Hey Shannon, you okay?” I nodded and met her eyes, dark brown, like melting chocolate, framed by black square glasses. “Thanks a lot for helping me out.”
“Yeah...n-no problem,” I stuttered. “I’m gonna get in the shower. Hopefully you’re not out of hot water by now.” Not waiting for her response, I ran down the hall to Abby’s bathroom. The whole time in the shower I thought over what just happened, and still couldn’t figure it out. I decided to push it away for the night and have fun. And I did. Even though I was the quiet one that night.
I didn’t sleep much that night. I analyzed it over and over, and still came up with nothing. I finally wrote it off as an isolated incident, because it had never happened before, and I desperately hoped it wouldn’t happen again. I also told myself that the awkward tension I felt around Anna for the whole next week was just a result of nervousness and not any other lingering thing between us.
A few weeks later school started back. I started upper school at SDS that year, while the others started SHS. My mom was going back to school to finish her degree and to get a life of her own that didn’t revolve around us, but there were still times when I felt her disapproval and overbearing presence. She didn’t like how close I was to Kristy and the Stevenson twins. Mom wanted me to go through high school with my SDS friends that I’d grown up with, but I was growing more distant from them as freshman year wore on. Their world was so small that it was suffocating. They expect everyone we know to graduate from SDS, go on to Ivy League and study abroad in Europe, have high-powered careers, and settle down into mansions on streets like McLelland Road in towns like Stoneybrook. They’ve never seen life outside of our end of town, and don’t really want to, either. Granted, I haven’t seen anymore out of life than them, but my friends had. I heard their stories, and I was jealous of their experiences. Kristy and her brothers practically raised each other because their single mom had worked so hard, and David Michael’s room was actually a converted closet before they moved. Abby and Anna grew up on Long Island, in a Jewish neighborhood with all their family nearby. Trips into NYC were common, and they had seen all kinds of different people and cultures. All three of them are interested in things other than boys, parties, shopping, and spending Daddy’s money.
I’m not so naive to think that it was easy for them. They all still have scars and pain of some of those experiences, but somehow I knew that the pain might be worth it if I got to see life outside of SDS and Stoneybrook. As much as I love school and throwing myself into everything I can, I want to make it on my own. Part of me still regrets giving up that trip to Paris in eighth grade, but I know that exploring it on my own will be way better than being with SDS. So on my fifteenth birthday, I promised myself that I’d see the world somehow. By the end of sophomore year, the four of us were a close-knit group of friends, much to my mother’s dismay. It became clear that she didn’t think the three of them deserved to live here in our neighborhood, because they weren’t from Stoneybrook’s old money society, and they go to public school instead of private like everyone else here and apparently they bring their bad influences in on her oldest daughter. It’s funny how they were good enough to babysit Tiffany and Maria when we were younger, though. Mom said that by graduation we would probably drift apart, with all our different activities and especially once we all started dating. I knew this was her way of telling me that she wanted to set me up with her friends’ sons, but I just didn’t have the time or energy.
But the funny thing was...we never drifted apart. Sure, we all went on dates, but nothing serious at first. Anna and I were too committed to our activities, and Abby just didn’t care. Kristy and Bart started dating again sophomore year, since they had both grown up a bit and realized that they were perfect for each other. Truly, I didn’t care much either. I went on tons of dates when I was in middle school and freshman year, doubling up with Greer or with Kristy and Bart, but no one worth remembering. We were always each other’s highest priority. I mentioned what Mom said to Kristy, who avoided discussing her and Bart’s date the previous night by discussing my problems. Kristy’s words have stayed with me ever since: “Look, Shanno, in some ways she’s probably right. I mean, look at the BSC.” Her eyes turned wistful before meeting mine again. “But you always make time for the people who are most important to you. One day you’ll find someone you want to make time for. You’re not someone who just has time to spare, Shanno, you have to make it. And when you find someone you care enough about to make time for, then you’ll know that it’s right. You know I’d kick the ass of anyone that hurt you, and yours, too, if you tell anyone I gave you dating advice.” I laughed at that, knowing that I was loved, and that somehow everything would turn out alright.
Just before the beginning of the year, we had a pool party/sleepover at my house. The whole day was a celebration. We convinced Rachel to let us take Anna to Dr. Sherman’s office in the city by ourselves. She was getting her brace off that day, permanently off. She’d still check in every few months, but she was finally free. It was one of the best days of our lives, and one I’ll always remember, but it was also when another seismic shift occurred, and when everything began to change.
I drove to the train station, with Anna riding shotgun. She was the center of attention today, so it was only fitting. Plus, if we stuck Kristy and Abby in the back, they couldn’t be as distracting. Hopefully. WSTO was playing a marathon of Elvis in honor of the anniversary of his death, and Abby was scream-singing at the top of her lungs. Kristy grudgingly sang along with her, but I caught the smile in her eyes through the rearview mirror. Anna was laughing at Abby’s fake howling, and I was watching her. Her whole face lit up when she laughed, and her perfect curls, now longer, bounced on her shoulders. She was wearing an SHS hoodie today with a khaki skirt and sandals, since we planned to have lunch and shop after the visit. My stomach flipped slightly when she locked eyes with me, then smiled slightly before turning to look out the window.
“Anna,” I reached out my right hand across the gearshift to find her left arm, “everything okay? Nervous?”
“Yeah,” she sighed, and finally turned to face me. “I just...what if I’m not ready after all?
“I think you are, Anna,” I sighed, not knowing exactly what to say. “Physically, you are, if she’s willing to let you stop wearing a brace completely. But it’s totally okay to not be ready for that. Even though you hated it, it was still part of you for so long.”
Her eyes both softened and brightened just a little bit, and she smiled, a soft, slow one meant only for me. “Shannon,” she whispers, and I was shocked that she sounded a little breathless. Suddenly the sounds of “Jailhouse Rock” and Kristy and Abby’s raucous laughter faded away completely as she put her hand over mine on the console. “Have I ever told you how amazing you are?”
“That’s because I have an amazing best friend,” I grinned. She smiled back, but only after something dimmed slightly in her eyes. She started to pull her hand away, but I tighten my grip. “Anna...It’s gonna be okay,” I said, not sure exactly why I’m trying to reassure her. This isn’t about the brace anymore, that’s for sure. All I know is that my heart literally hurts when she’s sad. “I hope so, Shannon.”
We stayed like that the rest of the way, sitting in silence while Abby and Kristy sang along in the backseat. It wasn’t until we pulled into the parking lot and I had to shift gears that I realized we had been holding hands for a good few minutes. Our eyes met then quickly darted away, almost as fast as our hands. My face was bright red as we walked in together, so close that the backs of our hands kept brushing. I felt nauseous. My stomach would not stop turning. I didn’t know why.
We arrived just in time to board the train to Grand Central Station, and all of us talked and laughed at Abby’s comedic routine, which today had included impersonations of Mrs. Porter (who eleven-year-old Karen still thinks is a witch) and Bart Taylor (Kristy decidedly did not laugh). We got off the train and followed Abby and Anna, who knew the entire layout of the station from memory, outside and into the uptown cab line. We took our cab to Dr. Sherman’s office at Mt. Sinai, and checked in.
We sat in the waiting room together for about twenty minutes. I read through my “Into the Woods” script for our senior musical. Never too early to get familiar with Cinderella, even if practice didn’t start for another two weeks. Anna was scribbling down music notes and words, then furiously erasing them and starting over again, with an adorably intense concentration. Kristy looked over her revised Little League coaching guide, and Abby was kicking around a hacky-sack until Kristy snatched it and threw it in the trash with a Look. Finally, a nurse opened the door and called out, “Anna Stevenson?”
We all looked up as Anna stood up and gathered her stuff. Only one person would be allowed back in the room with her, and I was fully prepared to hang out in the waiting room with Kristy for a while. I noticed Abby and Anna looking at each other with a rather intense stare, and I knew they were having their own conversation. Identical twins tend to develop their own language early in life, and they usually outgrow it once they get to school around other kids. Only Abby and Anna never outgrew it. Sure, neither of them remembers the actual words of their first language, but their eyes remember everything, along with their identical intuitions.
“Shannon?” Anna met my eyes hesitantly, then held out her hand, while I attempted to pick my jaw up off the floor. My eyes darted to Abby who, while looking upset, also seemed understanding and a little relieved. I took her hand, once again feeling the electric shock from before, and followed her behind the door. Anna looked over at me and simply said, “Abby doesn’t do well with doctors if she’s not the patient. It’s better this way, and besides, I’d rather have you here anyway.”
I waited silently as the nurse took her height and weight, then led us into an exam room. It took all my willpower not to skip down the hall, Anna’s words ringing in my ears. The nurse asked a few more questions, then left us to wait for doctor. We sat in chairs next to each other, our forearms nearly touching, as I asked her about the music she was working on in the waiting room. She blushed and said it was just something she had an idea about, and I was about to press her further when Dr. Sherman came in.
The fairly young, blonde doctor introduced herself, nodding in recognition when Anna introduced me and mentioned that Abby was out in the waiting area with Kristy. Anna hopped up onto the bed, and the doctor went through the exam. She sent Anna to radiology and I waited alone in the exam room, reading through “Into the Woods.” Anna returned fifteen minutes later and took her seat next to me again. I noticed her looking down and fidgeting with the drawstrings on her hoodie. I grabbed her arm and pulled it away from the strings. “Anna, it’s okay. How long did they say the x-rays would take?” I asked as I threaded my fingers through hers, almost before I realized what I was doing. “Only another five minutes,” she replied. Suddenly I remembered that she never answered my earlier question. “Seriously, Anna, what were working on earlier?”
About that time Dr. Sherman came back in and announced that everything looked good and that they were removing the brace. When it came off, Anna reached into her backpack for a new shirt. I stared at the script still in my hands in a desperate attempt to preserve my dignity. Otherwise I would simply stare for hours on end at her body, now even more beautiful than three years ago. I glanced up and noticed that the hoodie was gone, and in its place was a lacy dark green tank top, revealing more skin than I had ever seen her show in public before. She grabbed my hand again and dragged me out to the waiting room to see Abby and Kristy, who I had all but forgotten about. Once all the last-minute details were arranged, we caught a cab down to Herald Square. We held hands anytime we walked anywhere in the city that day. We all spent the night at my house, and the whole next day in the pool and dancing to random CDs. It was the best two days of the whole summer.
They really were, but they also made me confront something that I wasn’t ready to deal with. I was attracted to Anna, in that way. And I knew that, had known it since the summer before freshman year. I just couldn’t place it at the time, or maybe I’d been afraid to. I don’t know anymore.
At first it was only Anna, but now I notice other girls, too. I started having strange dreams in which I kissed another girl in various places, like the pool or the front porch. She almost always had dark curly hair. Sometimes it makes me feel dirty, but with Anna it only feels right, and now that I’ve stopped running from the possibility of being different, I need to admit the whole truth. I’m falling for her, in the “she makes my life worth it” kinda way. I love Abby and Kristy to death, but Anna’s the reason I wake up in the morning and find the strength to get through the day. When I come home to Mom’s overbearing appearances, workaholic Dad’s even more rare guest spots, and Maria being an annoying stuck-up brat, Anna’s the one I call to come over, to hear her voice say that it’ll be okay. Abby will tell me jokes and cheer me up, Kristy will talk me through it or clear my head, but Anna will lean my head on her shoulder and sit with me in the silence, or (sometimes) let me cry. I do the same for her, and always will.
But I don’t know how to tell her, or even if I should. The consequences could be devastating, for us and Kristy and Abby also. I already know Kristy will be shocked at first, then get over it and be okay, at least with the ‘I like girls’ part. Abby...she just has a hard time dealing with anything serious. Every scenario I analyze ends with Anna not wanting to be my friend anymore, which is the worst possible outcome. I’d rather be her friend than nothing at all, but I don’t know how much longer I can be just her friend. Plus, it’s not like Stoneybrook is going to proudly wave the rainbow flag anytime soon.
Then there’s my family. This was not part of the plan for their oldest daughter, or any of their daughters, really. I honestly have no idea what they might say. Maria and her swim teammates will either ignore me completely or make snide comments, since at twelve they’re already rich socialites in training. It makes me sad to watch her grow up into something that I’ve spent years running from. Tiffany...she’ll support me, like always. We are each other’s lifeline in many ways. She doesn’t do well in school, academically or socially, but I honestly think it’s because she doesn’t fit the mold for what people expect. She’s only fifteen, but I admire how she just follows her heart because it’s all she knows. She needs my constant reassurance, which can be exhausting at times, but so rewarding at others. I’m enjoying watching her grow up, and seeing the person she’s becoming. That’s the main reason I want to go to Yale, so I can be here for her. I’d live in New Haven, of course, but just staying instate is better than Penn or Dartmouth. My parents wanted Harvard, but Yale is still Ivy League, so...
I’ve worked so hard to get into the Ivy League, and if all bets are right, I’ll even be salutatorian. But is it really what I wanted, or did I just tell myself that I wanted it because everyone else wanted it for me? I’ve never minded all the expectations before. I thrived with them, and worked so hard to achieve, but was it worth it? Now, I see them for what they are: suffocating. The ones I hold for myself especially. Part of me wants to do something crazy, like attend state school, just to be different, but I think after all these years, that I’ll need the academic challenge. I don’t know how to breeze through things easily. I always seem to take the long way around. I’ve rambled far too long now, and I’m sorry this isn’t a proper journal entry or anything. I don’t have time to fix it, so...this will have to be okay. It’ll be okay if I turn in something as is for once. Maybe.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Friday arrived yet again, and I was on my way to class. It meant another journal day, which I normally look forward to, but dreaded today. Ms. Moran takes them from us after class on Fridays, reads through them, and gives them back before class starts the next Friday. I didn’t want to see what she wrote in mine. She always leaves a bit of feedback, but I felt far too tired to deal with negative comments about what I’m still kicking myself for writing. Teachers do not need to know that much about our personal lives.
I got to class early, as usual, and I was the first to arrive. She immediately took my journal off the top of the stack and walked to the door, shutting it behind her. Shock and dread crept in because Ms. Moran never shuts her door, ever. I took out my planner and pencil to see what the day held, and barely noticed as she sat across from me.
“Shannon, I’d like to talk to you about your journal entry last week,” she said. I really admire her for just getting to the point. I looked up and really noticed her for possibly the first time. She has auburn hair and really pretty green eyes, and the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen. So not fair, since I still have to wear black mascara so anyone can even see mine. I searched her eyes and expression for disapproval, but find none.
“Yes, Ms. Moran?”
“You said you got into Ivy League, right?” She asked, her tone laced with a measure of awe. “Where all did you get in?”
“Yale, Dartmouth, Harvard, Columbia, and Penn,” I rattled off, “But I also got into NYU and Wellesley.”
“Wow,” she muttered. “Yale is your first choice, right?”
“Yeah, it’s my top choice. We were considering Wellesley, but NYU’s music program is better for Anna, and she knew I dreamed of going to Yale.”
“I think Yale is the best choice for you, if it has all the programs that you want. Does it?”
“Well,” I hesitated, “it has my linguistics major, and theater minor, but I had kinda wanted a specific musical theater minor, which they don’t have. NYU does, but Yale has a few musical theater classes. But I’m can’t do everything there, so it’s okay.”
She kinda nodded and said, “I think Yale is the best choice for you, also, because they have a whole gay and lesbian studies department. They have majors and all kinds of programs and events.”
My heart dropped to my stomach. I had no idea they had all those things, or even that it was an option. Also, hearing her say the words left me breathless, because she so casually used the words I couldn’t even bring myself to say.
“How do you know all that?” I questioned, thinking that she maybe had seen it online, not even daring to hope there could be another reason.
“It was my alma mater,” Ms. Moran explained, and said after a moment’s pause, “I was involved in college, with my roommate.”
“Really?” My voice cracked slightly and I felt my eyebrows reach into my hairline. That could mean--
“It helped me in college to figure out that I was bisexual,” she explained. “They have seminars and GSA and all kinds of resources, which really helped me to find myself.”
I couldn’t hear my own thoughts over the pounding in my ears. “Y-you mean--”
“Yes, Shannon,” she smiled. “Well, then, what are you doing at SDS?” I asked, shocked that our school board of old rich white men even hired her. “I figured they wouldn’t hire anyone that...anyone like us.”
“Well, they can be sued for refusing to hire based on sexual orientation, or for firing someone for that reason. They wouldn’t want that kind of press. Really, it was only two of the twelve board members that even had an issue with it.”
Impressive. I never imagined that it was possible in this town, and also because--
“You’ve never told anyone before, have you Shannon?” I shook my head.
“Your secret is safe with me, okay?” My eyes burned, and I was mortified that I was crying at school, something I hadn’t done in years. “Thank you,” I barely whispered, as gratitude slowly overtook the fear.
“But can I give you some advice?” I nodded again, not trusting my voice.
“Tell Anna.” My heart stopped a little as she continued. “She needs to know something like that. She’s your best friend, and you owe it to her to explain what you’re feeling, even if it doesn’t work out. She probably knows something’s going on. I don’t want to pressure you into anything you’re not ready for, because coming out is so personal. And not to get your hopes up, but from what I read, it sounds like there’s a possibility that Anna could feel something stronger for you, too. Just tell her at some point, okay?"
I nodded again, and she reached out and placed her hand on my arm. “How old are you Shannon, seventeen?” She continued, “It’s going to be okay, I promise. It’s hard, trying to figure it all out, and it won’t always be easy, but it’ll work out in the end. Now, I know your secret, so can you keep mine?”
“Yes, Ms. Moran. Thank you. I just--” my voice finally broke and the tears started streaming down my face. I quickly got my breathing under control and looked at my watch. Class would start in ten minutes. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom and make sure I don’t have mascara down my face. I’ll leave the door open.” I ran to wash my face quickly, and managed to get back to class just before the bell rang. I sat down and looked at my journal, specifically last week’s entry. I smiled as I read Ms. Moran’s small printing at the top of the page. “Shannon, you are an articulate, intelligent, vibrant person, and it shows so well in this entry. Your honesty and courage are incredible, and I personally cannot wait to see the young woman you are going to become. Stay true to yourself, and keep moving forward.”
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
I struggled to concentrate in school the rest of the day. My mind drifted back to Anna and Ms. Moran and everything I kept locked inside. I finally arrived home and changed from my school uniform into jeans, a t-shirt, an SDS hoodie, and my old black Converse. Mom and Dad were gone (surprise, surprise), Maria was at an out-of-town swim meet, and Tiffany was upstairs trying to clean her room. I called Anna and asked her to come over, since neither of us had Friday night plans. Once she arrived, we climbed the stairs to my room, stopping only to let Tiffany know where she could find us.
She turned on my stereo and put in my current favorite CD, the soundtrack to "Across the Universe," and sat on my bed, propped against the headboard, while I laid down beside her. We stayed silent for a minute or so, until Anna prodded me up slightly, then pulled my head back down into her lap and started to run her hands through my hair. I sighed audibly; she knew this soothed me when I got stressed or upset. She’s the only one, though. Mom occasionally did when we were kids, but nobody else ever comforted me this way until Anna discovered by accident. Now it happens regularly.
“So are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or am I going to have to pry it out of you?” she asked, her fingers tracing patterns on my scalp. I blinked a couple of times, and I could feel her breath next to my ear, “I’ve always wished I had your hair. Blonde, curly without needing to be tamed.”
Her touch and her breath against my ear caused me to feel things I’d never felt before. “I’m going to start calling you Abby if you won’t answer me,” she teased.
“This feels sooo good,” I sighed. “I had a crazy day at school,” I mumbled as I curled further into the bed and nuzzled my face into the crook of her knee. “Remember my AP English teacher and her prompt journals? Well, last week’s was on expectations, and I kinda ran with it, so she wanted to discuss it with me this morning before class.”
“And?” Anna asked expectantly; she knew I wasn’t sharing everything. She paused for a moment, and the dread and fear crept back in. I pushed myself up to sit beside her, and leaned my head on her shoulder, just for a moment. I needed the strength from the contact. If she took what I said next wrong, it might be the last. “Anna, have you ever started writing and just couldn’t stop?” I looked up at her and noticed an odd expression. “Yeah, with my music, all the time. It helps sometimes, to get out the things I can’t express with words. Is that what happened in English?”
I steeled myself for what I needed to say. “Yeah. Anna, there’s something I have to tell you. I haven’t been honest with you, and you need to know the truth.”
I sat up and turned slightly so that I was sitting directly in front of her. I didn’t plan this, didn’t plan out what I want to say, and why again was this a good idea? “I’m not into guys, Anna.”
“Yeah, I know. Neither am I,” she teased, and despite her tone, I saw honesty and fear behind her eyes. “But being with you is better than being with any guy. You know that, right Shannon?”
“Y-yeah, I guess,” I muttered, heart in my throat, and I wonder if I can be a bigger spaz. I’m not sure she fully grasped what I was trying to say, but part of me wondered if maybe she did. She smiled, a half-smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and slid off the bed. She shuffled across the room to turn off the stereo, and to get the guitar that she brought with her. I quirked my eyebrows and gestured toward the case she was holding. I was intrigued, because this was one instrument I’d never seen her play.
“Since we’re playing Truth all of a sudden, thought I’d share mine,” Anna whispered, more to herself than me, as she pulled out her acoustic guitar and carried it back to the bed. Once she resumed her position against the headboard with the guitar in her lap, she turned and met my eyes. So many different emotions lay hidden in the chocolate brown swirls that were impossible to decipher. “Did I mention I was learning to play?”
“No, but Abby did,” I answered, wondering what she’s thinking. I can usually read her better than this, but right now I have no idea. “Remember the day I got my brace off, what I was working on in the waiting room?”
My eyes go wide as I think back to the day I first realized I was falling for my best friend. I had questioned her about it, and she always refused to answer. Until now. “Yeah?”
“Well, I was writing a song,” she admitted sheepishly, looking down to tune the strings. “I’ve never written a song with lyrics before, but it just spoke to me. I’m not a great singer like you, but...” she trailed off and reached out to cradle my cheek in her hand for the briefest of moments. “It’s about you,” she whispered. “Just listen.”
Her long tanned fingers, calloused from years of making music, moved flawlessly over the strings, playing a beautiful sweeping melody with intense focus. I’m amazed at her talent, but it’s nothing compared to what comes next.
I look at her and have to smile
As we go driving for a while
Her hair blowing in the open window of my car
And as we go I see the lights
I watch them glimmer in her eyes
In the darkness of the evening
And I’ve got all that I need
Right here in the passenger seat
And I can’t keep my eyes on the road
Knowing that she’s inches from me
We stop to get something to drink
My mind clouds and I can’t think
Scared to death to say I love her
Then the moon peaks from the clouds
Hear my heart it beats so loud
Try to tell her simply
That I’ve got all that I need
Right here in the passenger seat
Oh, and I can’t keep my eyes on the road
Knowing that she’s inches from me
Oh, and I’ve got all that I need
Right here in the passenger seat
Oh, and I can’t keep my eyes on the road
Knowing that she’s inches from me
Oh, and I know, that this love grows
Oh, and I’ve got all that I need
Right here in the passenger seat
Oh, and I can’t keep my eyes on the road
Knowing that she’s inches from me
And I’ve got all that I need
Right here in the passenger seat
And I can’t keep my eyes on the road
Knowing that she’s inches from me
I look at her and have to smile
As we driving for a while
Oh, and I’ve got all that I need
Right here in the passenger seat
I felt tears streaming down my face as I looked up at Anna, who was placing the guitar next to her on my queen-sized bed. She brought her hands to my face, wiping away my tears with her soft, yet calloused fingers. My whole body shook from the touch, and my heart hammered in my ears. “Shannon,” she rasped breathlessly, just like that day in the car. I snaked my arms around her neck and pulled her in, then pulled her lips to mine.
The electricity was palpable, and after only a second’s hesitation I felt her begin to respond. It was everything I’d ever dreamed of, but so much more. It’s slow and gentle, since I’ve only been kissed three times before now, and her lips were so soft that I barely registered the nervousness as her hands threaded through my hair and her tongue nipped and traced my bottom lip. I slowly opened my mouth to her, and our tongues danced together, almost like they were fighting, but not really, because either way I’d let her win. Anna would always win. The tingling soon turned to burning at the lack of air, and I pulled back slightly, resting my forehead against hers. Her chocolate eyes still swirled with emotion, though wilder than before, and it thrilled me to see her just as speechless as me. “Anna,” I whispered, at a loss for what to say. “What does this mean?” I knew what I wanted it to mean, but still wasn’t sure that she wanted it, too.
Anna laughed then, a soft, beautiful sound that spilled out of her swollen lips. I felt my face flush when I realized that I’m the reason they’re swollen, and that mine probably were also. She pulled me into her lap and kissed me again, a soft, yet quick kiss, and said, “Don’t you see, Shannon? It’s always been you. You’re all I need.”
I grinned and leaned in even further, if possible, and our lips were so close that I could feel them against mine with each word I spoke. “Good, because you’re all I need, and all I’ve ever wanted.” I finally gave in and connected our lips again, more passionate than before as my confidence grew. Anna pulled away just as I tried to deepen the kiss, and I pouted at the loss before I could stop myself. She laughed and touched her nose to mine. “You are adorable, but I don’t think you want Tiffany to walk in on us like this.”
Crap, I forgot she was even here. I’m a horrible sister. “Yeah, not so much,” I sarcastically replied as I got up and walked down the hall. I told Tiffany to call and order enough pizza for the three of us, then returned to my room to find Anna in the same position, waiting for me. I felt lighter than I had in a long time as I climbed back into her lap and nuzzled my face into her shoulder. Her hand found its way into my hair as her voice filled the silence, because suddenly there was nothing and everything left to talk about, and both of us had plenty to say.