The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 47: Jasper

"I've got a metal leg," I tell her.

Giselle stares at me. I stare back. For some reason, I don't feel scared, even though I know I should. I mean, I just told Giselle— Giselle, of all people! — my deepest, darkest secret, and yet, I don't feel scared about it at.

"Don't believe me?" My words sound strange, as if they're coming from someone else's mouth. Maybe they are. The Jasper from the beginning of the summer would've never thought about revealing his secret like this.

I pull up my left pajama pants so that everything up to my knee is exposed. The polished steel glints silver in the moonlight. "Look. It's right there. That's my secret. My metal leg."

Giselle reaches out a hand as if she can't believe her eyes. She places one finger, then two, on the metal surface. Her mouth opens into a perfect circle.

"Whoa," she whispers. I'm pleased to see that she's forgotten her sorrow, if only for a fleeting moment.

I watch her fingers tap lightly on my leg, and imagine what it would feel like if I could feel it at all. "I was in a car accident when I was five. It doesn't hurt anymore. It's... just the way things are for me."

"And nobody at camp knows?"

"Nobody except for you. And Ronan."

Giselle nods at this, like it's perfectly acceptable for Ronan to know everything. "Okay. That wasn't a very good secret, you know."

Even though I know that she's drunk, and not at her most comprehensive or empathetic, her comment still throws me for a loop. I frown at her, not sure whether I should be feeling offended or upset. Or both. "Excuse me?"

"I know secrets, Jasper. And I know that you didn't need to keep that a secret."

I fold my arms tightly across my chest. Definitely feeling offended, then. "Do you think I lied about having two normal legs for fun? My metal leg is weird. It sticks out. And it makes people think—" I shake my head. My head is starting to spin now, all of my common sense flooding back with nauseating speed. "It's not easy being the black kid with the missing leg. People look at me and think I'm a freak. Or something fragile and broken that needs to be pitied. I kept it a secret because I wanted people at camp to think I was like them— normal."

"You are normal."

"No, you're just drunk."

"I'm might be drunk but I'm not a liar." And do you know what? Fuck normal. I wasn't a fan of it, anyway." She passes me the bottle. "Drink. You look like you just saw Casper the Friendly Ghost."

I'm still freaking out, so I force myself to take a bigger gulp than before, in a lame attempt to calm my nerves. I can't believe I told Giselle about my leg. I can't—

"I won't tell anyone," she says. "Really. I won't."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

And slowly, my breathing starts to even out. I nod at her, but I still feel shaky inside. "I told you my secret. Now you have to tell me yours."

"Is that really how it works?"

"One hundred percent."

Giselle sighs. "Fine. But you have to promise not to tell, too."

"I promise. Will you tell me why you're crying now?"

"Can I—?" Giselle points to the bottle, and I hand it to her. She tilts her head back and drinks for a good five seconds. I've never seen anyone drink like that before.