ey all run for the hills. And we are weird,” she insisted. “That’s why I’m afraid to start a romance with any other boy in our school. I’ll never have a real boyfriend until we’re separated, and neither will you.”
“That’s silly,” I said.
“No, it’s not. And after we find our boyfriends, our lovers, our husbands, it will be better if we don’t live too close to each other,” she declared. She sounded as if she had been thinking hard about this for some time.
Maybe she was right, I thought.
As if she had decided that she should prepare herself for us separating, she spent more and more time alone in her room, often on her computer. We were still doing homework and studying for tests together from time to time as the last school quarter approached its end. We also played the piano almost daily, which pleased Mother. Just as we had done for Darren Paul, we performed for any other men she invited to our house. That usually led to comments similar to the ones she had made to Darren, and those comments either shocked or disturbed her dates enough to keep them from coming back.
Although it was very subtle at first, we both sensed that Mother was becoming more distracted with her own effort to find satisfaction in her new situation and identity as a divorcée, but one who wouldn’t look depressed or defeated. When Haylee began wearing different clothes from me, doing her hair differently, and even spending time with other girls without me, Mother didn’t pounce the way she would have in the past. Neither of us was unhappy about it.
However, I began to sense more of a distance between Haylee and myself. It was never easy for us to keep secrets from each other. Whether there was any scientific proof for it or not, I believed we possessed mental telepathy between us. Perhaps it had come from how we had tried to have the same feelings about things so Mother would be pleased. Whatever, I sensed something different was happening. It was as if she had constructed a little wall around a part of herself, her thoughts and feelings. I would often sense her drifting away from whatever conversation we were having with others in school and even with Mother at home. She looked like she was anticipating something, waiting for something.
If I asked her if she was all right, she would quickly reply, “Yes, sure. Why not?”
I didn’t want to say that she seemed upset, because that wasn’t exactly it. I knew when Haylee was upset, and she showed no signs of that. I wouldn’t even say she was troubled or worried. She was simply distant, like someone who had left her body and was wandering about somewhere else.
Finally, one night after dinner, after we had watched some television with Mother and listened to her go on about something she had heard about Daddy and his “new bed pillow,” how they were already having trouble, we started up to our rooms. Haylee was more eager to get to hers. She said good night, but I stood in my doorway and watched her go into her room. Then I followed. She turned, surprised.
“What?” she asked.
“You tell me,” I said.
“What?”
“Have you been seeing Jimmy secretly?”
“Are you kidding? Never. I don’t even waste a thought on him.”
“Then what is it, Haylee? And don’t say ‘nothing.’ You know when something is on my mind, and you know I can tell the same thing about you. Well?”
She was silent a moment, considering. “I think I’m in love with someone,” she said.
“What?” I smiled. “How can that be? You haven’t gone on a date or hung out with anyone for weeks and weeks.”
“There are other ways.”
“What other ways?”
She shifted to her right so I could see the computer.
I could feel my eyes widen. “You met someone on the Internet?”
“Yes. We’ve been talking and telling each other things for quite a while. I sent him pictures. Only of myself,” she emphasized.
“Does he go to our school or one nearby?”
“No, he’s older.”
“How much older?”
“Older.”
“Haylee, I asked how much,” I said, insisting on an answer.
“He’s in his mid-twenties. Maybe a little older.”
“You mean he’s out of college?”