Body of Stars Laura Walter (chrome ebook reader .txt) 📖

it, too, was folded away. I watched until the banner was dangling, about to drop. I watched until my neck hurt, until my friends urged me on and I turned around.

Behind me, I could hear the banner fall.

Mapping the Future: An Interpretive Guide to Women and Girls

Addendum IX, Gender and Sexuality

Following numerous inquiries surrounding the shifting perception of gender and sexuality, the authors hereby enter into this edition of Mapping the Future the following addendum:

For the purposes of sanctioned interpretation, any romantic relationships referenced within these pages assume lawful sexuality, i.e., one man paired with one woman, as is consistent with cultural and social decency. Those who act on attraction to the same sex should not expect to benefit from government support. Additionally, the descriptors “man” and “woman” refer exclusively to sex assigned at birth. Any interference with natural marking patterns—by tattooing, scarring, or other methods of self-inflicted deformity—in an attempt to alter the natural sex state is considered a misdemeanor under the law.

As the government agency responsible for all matters related to markings and interpretation, the Office of the Future maintains control solely over this nation’s official editions of Mapping the Future and bears no responsibility for addenda published in other countries. Citizens are forewarned that foreign editions may be incomplete or inaccurate, either by error or by intent.

6

Cassandra showed up at school the next day with a stack of pink invitations. Thick pearl card stock, embossed lettering. Your presence is requested this Saturday at the coming-out party for Miss Cassandra Hahn. My invitation was addressed not only to me but also to my father, mother, and brother, our full names rising from the paper in relief.

Cassandra stood by my locker sorting her remaining invitations. She was excited, jittery, energy coming off of her like steam rising from the street after a summer rain. She wanted things to be perfect. She wanted her party to be about her, not about my father’s banner or Deirdre’s abduction or any other distractions. I supposed that was her right. This was her time.

I didn’t want a coming-out party of my own, which was for the best considering my family could never host an elaborate event like Cassandra’s. It had always been that way for us. Thanks to our shared birthdate, Miles and I had joint birthday parties as children. Our mother bought blank invitations at the drugstore and wrote out the details by hand. Every year, it was a battle to decide the theme of the invitations: Miles wanted robots, I wanted dragonflies. Usually we compromised and got the balloon design. It never occurred to us to ask for two sets of invitations, or, for that matter, separate parties. My father’s job didn’t pay as much as he seemed to think it should; plus there were debts and other adult matters Miles and I didn’t understand at the time. We just knew our family lived on the line between having enough and not.

That day in school I marveled at the sheer number of invitations Cassandra handed out. Olivia, the fourth-year who played the female lead in every school musical, slowed her pace as she passed us in the hall. Cassandra dug through her stack of invitations and thrust one toward her.

“It’s on Saturday,” Cassandra said brightly. “Come celebrate with me.”

Olivia smiled. She was our school’s rising star, the kind of girl beloved by all and invited to everything, but she’d be sure to grace the party with her presence. I knew this just as I predicted the boys would trail Cassandra all day at school as though she were their queen.

My friend’s invitations were coveted, a symbol of social success. To be invited to her party was to be welcomed into her world of beauty, and wealth, and the promise of a bright future. Throughout the day I caught glimpses of that card stock everywhere—carried in plain sight through the halls, conspicuously exposed during class. I tucked mine inside my history book, but sometimes I cracked the spine and reached in to touch it. The paper felt shimmery, solid. Even hidden away in the dark, it had worth.

*   *   *

I returned home to an empty house. My mother had a doctor’s appointment, and my father was still at work. Miles was at Julia’s for a private lesson. I wondered where the money came from for this education, what he had to do to earn it.

A few years ago, when he’d been invited to take a photography course and needed to pay for film, paper, and chemicals, Miles got creative. He made flyers advertising a dog-walking service and hung them around the neighborhood. He tried babysitting, but not many people wanted to hire a boy. One weekend he and I went door-to-door offering to mow lawns or weed flower beds, but that ended after I got a sunburn so severe my skin peeled for weeks.

Miles refused to give up. He was devoted to that photography class, and he was going to find a way to fund it. He enlisted my help again, this time to participate in the neighborhood yard sale. Together we spent hours sorting through our old toys and dragging unwanted household items outside to sell. Miles’s biggest offering was the croquet set he found in the garage. It was a nice set, real wood, heavy, the balls with a heft like weapons. He placed the croquet set prominently in our front yard and sat for hours in a folding chair while no one bought it. Eventually I took a break and walked up and down the street, examining our competition. By then the day had become about more than Miles and raising money. It became about my curiosity, my nascent wonderings about the human mind.

That neighborhood yard sale was where I found my first psychology book: Principles of the Mind. The author, Dr. Lauren Kisterboch, was pictured on the inside back cover wearing a black skirt suit, her arms crossed with authority. I bought the book