All Our Hidden Gifts Caroline O’donoghue (books for 7th graders .txt) 📖

piece, I thought she was the one playing the game wrong. But no: it’s Roe “my sister is a fish” O’Callaghan who was playing it wrong. This isn’t a funny game. It’s public confession.

But strangely enough, Aaron barely has to work to get people to confess. They’re already spurred on by the person who came before them, seduced by the concept of his full, undivided attention, his pep talks, his hugs.

A girl confesses to kissing her female best friend. Aaron soothes her, says it’s not what she wanted, that she was manipulated, led astray.

A boy confesses to having suicidal thoughts. Aaron tells him it’s only natural, normal, to want to take solutions into your own hands when life is upsetting you. But the true answer to finding self-satisfaction is to work on the world around you, not to hurt yourself. To channel your life into positive work.

On and on it goes. People cry. And the longer we spend there, the more convinced I am that Lily would never be taken in by this. She would never let someone tell her that gay people weren’t real, or that they were “confused”. Aaron’s response to virtually everyone is that they are confused. Having sex is a result of confusion. Being gay is confusion. Having depression is confusion.

“Maeve?”

“Um … I’m sixteen. I have a dog. And I …”

I’ve been so focused on everyone else that I haven’t prepared my piece. I haven’t even thought of a satisfying lie for my “truth”.

“… I pushed my best friend away, and now I’m afraid I’ll never get her back.”

The words fall out like copper coins spitting out of a vending machine. Thoughtless and clunky and entirely unwanted. Why did I say that? Why would I bring that here?

Aaron fixes his eyes on me for a moment. I wait for the onslaught of sympathy and motivational speaking. But it doesn’t come. He just keeps looking at me, his fingers in that triangle shape again. There’s a mild disgust in his eyes, a slight wrinkling of his nostrils as if picking up on a bad smell.

Finally, he speaks.

“Oh, Maeve,” Aaron says simply. “I’m sure you’ll find the answer somewhere.”

And that’s it. He claps his hands together and announces that it’s time for a ten-minute break.

I can’t believe it. I feel offended. Where’s my hug? Where’s my pep talk? Don’t I deserve Aaron’s attention? Shouldn’t I be cradled in his love, just like everyone else?

Aaron starts making the rounds, first with Enid, then Cormac, then the boy with depression.

Roe turns to me. “Look, I know I dragged us here, but I think it was a bad idea. I don’t think Lily would ever go in for this stuff. Do you?”

“Not really,” I reply. “Are you sure it’s OK if we just leave, though?”

“Yeah, that guy won’t care. He’s got a pretty dedicated flock as it is.”

“All right, let me get my coat.”

I find it hanging in a closet, and when I get back, Aaron is speaking very intently to Roe.

“You’re not leaving already, Rory, are you, buddy?”

Roe looks to me nervously. “Yeah. I said I’d get Maeve home before it got too late.”

“Look, the sharing stuff isn’t for everyone,” Aaron says conspiratorially. “But I think you’re really going to like the second half. It’s more action-orientated. We brainstorm on how we can be agents for change and we actually act on those ideas. You can have a lot of influence.”

“I’m ready to go now,” I say loudly, buttoning my coat.

Aaron looks at me like I’m a fly buzzing around him. He moves in closer on Roe.

“Look, Rory, I know you feel different, and a little lost, maybe like you’re … not like other guys, but…”

I remember the TV show again. About trying to spot the holes in people. About that being the trick to controlling those around you.

Aaron has seen the hole in Roe. And, for whatever reason, he wasn’t able to see it in me.

And for the first time in my life, I feel unbelievably, incandescently powerful.

“We have to go now,” I say, louder again. “Thank you for inviting us.”

I take Roe by the hand, clasping it firmly in my own, and pull him towards the door. He follows, and the last thing I see before the door slams are Aaron and the Children of Brigid’s curious faces.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

WE GET INTO THE LIFT AND PRETEND NOT TO NOTICE THAT I am still holding his hand.

We cross the lobby, then the courtyard, and are on the street.

And.

We.

Are.

Still.

Holding.

Hands.

“Oh my God,” he says, and he finally lets go. “It’s actually snowing.”

He turns his palms upwards, and he’s right. Tiny flakes of white are falling into his hands.

“Wow,” I say, doing the same. “I’m not sure what that’s a sign of, but it’s definitely a sign of … something.”

We walk to the bus stop, where the electronic sign says that the bus is only two minutes away. We give a grateful gasp of relief and sit on the bench.

“What was that in there, Maeve? It wasn’t even that religious. It was just really manipulative and creepy.”

“I guess they break people down and build them back up again, under the guise of some crap game. Maybe the religion stuff comes later. When you’re already dependent on Aaron and his hugs.”

“Do you think there are, like, dozens of identical meetings happening? Tonight? All over the country?”

“All with identical Aarons? Maybe.”

“Lily would never join that. Never, never. I’m certain.”

“How are you so certain, though?” I ask. “I mean, I haven’t spoken to Lil properly in a year. I have no idea what she might believe now. You don’t know, either.”

“No,” he says, with certainty. “Don’t ask me why. But it’s a no.”

“OK. I guess we can cross that off the list.”

“Yeah,” he says, flagging down the approaching bus. “And now there’s nothing left.”

We climb onto the bus, tear our tickets and sit down. I want to tell him that no, there’s not quite nothing left on the list. There is one big,