Bright Purple: Color Me Confused with Bonus Content by Melody Carlson Page B

Jamaica that summer. But then she did a little research and found out that he had become a pastor after all, and he was married and had four children under the ages of seven. She helped me to understand that he hadn’t really abandoned me, since he never knew I existed in the first place. And since I was a Christian by then, well, I decided I had to just forgive him and move on with my life.”
    “Wow.”
    I shrug. “It’s no big deal, really. I mean it’s just the way it is. you get used to it.”
    “What about your grandparents? Did you ever meet them?”
    “Yeah. Mom took me out to meet them when I was eight, just before we moved to Greenville. I think she was actually hoping they’d welcome her with open arms, and maybe she’d find a job in her old hometown and we’d settle down there.”
    “But they didn’t?”
    “Not even close. It was pretty pathetic, really.”
    “Too bad.”
    “Yeah, I think it’s too bad for them. They seem like they’re trapped in this phony-baloney Christian world. I mean I’m a Christian too, but I sure don’t want to be like them. you could tell they were embarrassed by us. Probably me mostly. Anyway, we couldn’t get out of there quick enough.” I take a final sip of my shake and glance at my watch. “Whoa, I better get back or I’m going to be late for French, and this time I don’t have an excuse.”
    “Let’s go,” he says, standing quickly. “I’ll drop you by the east wing. If you run, you can probably make it.”
    As I run in through a side door, Lauren spies me. She has French during fifth period too, although I was actually hoping to be late enough to avoid seeing her before class.
    “Did Mitch take you to lunch?” she asks as we both jog toward the classroom.
    “Yeah.”
    “Must be nice.”
    I glance at her. “Huh?”
    “To keep people from thinking anything about you and Jess.”
    But now we’re inside the class and it’s too late to respond. Still, I find it hard to concentrate on conjugating verbs as I replay her little comment. Like what did she mean by that? And was it as bitter as it sounded? Finally, class is over and I take Lauren aside.
    “What’s up with what you said just before class?” I ask.
    She glares at me now. “It’s like you’re just running away from everything, Ramie. And you’re leaving me all by myself, just holding the bag.”
    “Holding the bag? What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “It means that I’m the only one, besides you, who knows about Jess’s . . . you know, her lesbian thing. How am I supposed to feel?”
    “I don’t know.” I stare at her. “How
are
you supposed to feel?” What I want to say is,
What does this have to do with me? Why is this still my problem?
I mean she can’t possibly think that I’m personally responsible for Jess, can she?
    “I don’t know what to do, Ramie,” she says, her voice softening some.
    “You don’t have to
do
anything,” I point out.
    “You mean the way
you
haven’t done anything?” she says, her anger reigniting. “Like you didn’t quit the team, like you didn’t run out and get a boyfriend, like you’re not avoiding all your old friends now? Sheesh, why don’t you just change your name and assume a whole new identity?”
    “It’s not like that.”
    “Yeah, right.”
    I really do not deserve this kind of abuse. “Well, I’ve got to get going, or I’m going to be late to health class.”
    “You can’t get off this easy, Ramie,” she yells after me. And I wonder what that’s supposed to mean.
Easy?
Like who is she kidding? I feel like I’m walking a tightrope backward and blindfolded with both hands tied behind my back. How is that supposed to be easy?



ten
     
     
    B Y THE END OF THE DAY , I AM DRAINED . A LL I CAN THINK IS THAT I WANT TO go home. I don’t even care that I’m not on the basketball team, that I’m not going to practice. All I want is an escape. I don’t even mind that I’ll be riding the stupid school bus. Anything