Jessie & Elizabeth (abandoned)

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.