The Way I Used to Be

SATURDAY MORNING, PROMPTLY AT TEN, the doorbell rings. I call from my bedroom, “I’ll get it,” but Mom beats me. I get to the living room just as she’s swinging the door open.

“Good morning, you must be Stephen! Come on in, please, out of the rain.”

“Thanks, Mrs. McCrorey,” Stephen says, walking through our front door cautiously, dripping puddles of water all over the floor, which I know is making Mom secretly hyperventilate.

I stand there and watch as Stephen Reinheiser hands my mom his raincoat and umbrella. Watch as this person who knows me in one very distinct way crosses this unspoken boundary and begins to know me in this way that’s entirely different.

“You can just leave your sneakers on the mat there,” Mom tells him, wanting to ensure he does indeed take his wet shoes off before daring to step onto the carpet. This is a no-shoes house he’s entering. Watching him stand in my living room in his socks, looking uncomfortable, I realize that he has boundaries too.

“Hey, Stephen,” I finally say, making sure I smile. He smiles back, looking relieved to see me. “So, um, come in. I thought we could work at the table.”

“Sure,” he mumbles, following behind me as I lead him to the dining room.

We sit down and Stephen pulls a notebook out of his backpack. I readjust the stack of Columbus books I’ve checked out from the library.

“So what are we working on, Minnie?” Dad says too loudly, suddenly appearing in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, holding a steaming cup of coffee. Stephen jumps before turning around in his seat to look up at my dad.

“Dad, this is Stephen. Stephen, my dad. We’re doing a history project on Columbus.”

I try to silently plead with him to just keep this brief. Both my dad and my mom were making such a huge deal of me having a boy over. I told them before he got here that it’s not like that. I don’t even think of Stephen in that way. I don’t think I’ll ever think of anyone in that way.

Stephen adds, “Hero or Villain.”

“Ah. Hmm. Okay,” Dad says, grinning at me before walking back into the living room.

“Who’s Minnie?” Stephen whispers.

“Don’t ask,” I tell him, rolling my eyes.

“So, you stopped coming to lunch this week?” he says, like a question. “Sorry.”

“What for?”

“What happened Monday. In the cafeteria. I wish I would have said something. I should’ve said something. I hate those guys—they’re morons.”

I shrug. “Did Mara ask you about the book club thing?”

He nods.

“Will you do it? We need people to come. At least six people. Miss Sullivan’s really nice. She’s been letting me stay in the library all week.” I try to make this seem cooler than it probably is. “I think she gets it, you know?”

“She gets what?”

“You know, just, the way things are. How there are all these stupid cliques, and rules you’re supposed to follow that don’t make any sense. Just all of it, you know?” I stop myself, because sometimes I forget we aren’t really supposed to talk about this. We’re supposed to accept it. Supposed to feel like it’s all of us who have the problem. And we’re supposed to deal with it like it’s our problem even though it’s not.

Still, he just stares at me in this strange way.

“I mean, you get it, right?” I ask him. How could he not get it, I think to myself. I mean, look at him. Total geek. Overweight. No friends.

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “Yeah, I get it. No one’s ever really said it like that, I guess.” He looks at me in this way he’s never looked at me before, like I’ve told him some big secret he never knew about himself.

“Well, consider it, anyway—the book club.” I pause and take a breath. “So, Columbus?”

“Right,” he says absently.

“So, what do you think?” I try to steer our conversation to our project and away from all this dangerous honesty. “Hero or villain?”

“I don’t know,” Stephen says, still preoccupied. “I was reading online that there were all kinds of people that got here before Columbus. I mean, Native Americans, obviously, were already always here. But also the Vikings. And then there were people from Africa and even China who got here first.”

“Yeah, I read that too.”

“It’s more like Columbus was the last to discover America, not the first,” Stephen says with a laugh.

“Yeah,” I agree. “And I’ve been reading all these books from the library.” I open up one and slide it across the table to him. “Did you know he kidnapped all these people and he would cut off their ears or nose or something and send them back to their village as an example?” I point to one of the illustrations. “They basically just took anything they wanted.”

Stephen reads along in the book. “Exactly: food, gold . . . slavery . . . rape. . . .” I flinch at the word, but Stephen keeps reading. “Crap, it says that they would make them bring back a certain amount of gold—which would have been impossible for anyone—so when they failed, they would cut their hands off so they would bleed to death! And when they ran away, they sent dogs to hunt them down and then they would burn them alive! Sick,” Stephen says, finally looking up at me.

“So, I think we have our position—villain, right?”

“Yeah, villain,” he agrees. “Why did we ever start celebrating Columbus Day?” He grins. “We should discontinue the holiday.”

“It’s true. Just because someone has always been seen as this incredible person—this hero—it doesn’t mean that’s the truth. Or that’s who they really are,” I say.

Stephen nods his head. “Yeah, totally.”

“Maybe they’re actually a horrible person. And it’s just that no one wants to see him for who he truly is. Everyone would rather just believe the lies and not see all the damage he’s done. And it’s not fair that people can just get away with doing these awful things and never have to pay the consequences. They just go along with everyone believing—” I stop because I can barely catch my breath. As I look over at the confused expression on Stephen’s face, I realize I’m probably not just talking about Columbus.

“Yeah,” Stephen repeats, “I—I know, I totally agree.”

“Okay. Okay, good.”

“Hey, you know what we should do?” Stephen asks, his eyes brightening. “We should do, like, Most Wanted posters for Columbus and all those guys. And, like, list their crimes and stuff on the posters.” He smiles. “What do you think?”

I smile back. “I like that.”