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  “David talked to you yesterday.”

  Oh. That. “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  Warren sighs, pulls up a kitchen chair and sits down heavily. “Chris. C'mon. What did he say?”

  “Don't you know?” I grab another muffin from the platter and bite into it, releasing banana-nut steam, just to keep my hands busy.

  “If I knew I wouldn't ask.”

  There are just too many layers of emotional trauma piling up. I’ve just got to make it out of this kitchen without totally breaking down and spilling everything. I say, very reasonably, “He talked to me about going to college.”

  “Hmmm.” Warren purses his lips and stares at the black-and-white checkered floor. “Anything else?”

  “He talked to me about Jim McFarland.”

  Warren's eyes betray that he does not, in fact, know about that. “What?”

  Maybe Warren will help me. I don’t have to tell him everything. “Yeah. He said that Jim McFarland is interested in me. Personally.” Please, Jesus, let him help me get rid of that guy, at least.

  Warren's face turns red, flushing from the neck to the temple in seconds. “Did he?”

  “Yeah. Honestly, I don't like that guy. I think he's kind of strange.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Me?” Warren asks brightly as he hoists himself up from the chair. “I don't know. I guess if David thinks it's a good idea—”

  Play it careful. “Yeah. I told him I wasn't crazy about it. But he’s going to be the next bishop, Dad says. And then he’d run the Senate, and whatever else. And then our family would have it made. I guess I’ve gotta be the good, dutiful son.”

  Warren frowns, his green eyes staring intently at me. It makes me squirm. Unlike David, I don’t like using people. But we’re talking survival. He says, “The good, dutiful son. And you probably meant it, too.”

  “Sure.” I can’t look him in the eye. I have to change the subject. “Hey, were you and Dad a match?”

  He busies himself cleaning the counter. “A match? You mean arranged?”

  “Yeah.” His back is to me, but I can see him stiffen just a bit.

  He turns and slowly lowers himself into a chair, frowning. “We were.”

  “You were matched? How old were you?”

  He grins sheepishly. “I was your age. Seventeen.”

  “But…You never told us that.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s not something I thought you needed to know, Chris. And now, it doesn’t matter. We grew to love each other.” He’s still frowning, though. “It just…isn’t the way I pictured you getting married, that’s all.”

  “Did you want to get married?”

  He grins. “No. I was planning journalism school, big career in broadcasting. Marriage was not at all what I wanted, but it turned out to be great. I went to school while David was in seminary, worked in New York for a while when he was an interim minister and working his way up the ladder…My parents knew it would be good for me.”

  “But you had to give up what you wanted to do. You didn’t have much of a career.”

  He snorts. “I’ll have you know that I have several broadcasting awards collecting dust in the attic. What do you think I did before you and your sister were born? I didn’t hang out knitting booties. I broke some major stories in my time.”

  “Don’t you miss the excitement? I mean, what could you have done if you hadn’t been married?”

  “You can’t think about what you would’ve done. I did a lot, I did what I was supposed to do, and now I’m blessed with a great life.” He slaps the table and springs up from the chair. “This’ll be great for you, you’ll see. David has an uncanny sense about things like this.”

  Great. There is one last hope… “Once I turn eighteen, you can’t match me, can you?”

  “No,” he admits, shrugging his shoulders. “And Jim McFarland…I don’t know. Maybe I’m just not ready to let you grow up yet. But David really does want the best for you, and for Jana.”

  I want to believe what he says but…it’s hard when it feels so wrong. David is working against the clock. If he wants me strategically placed, he has to do it soon. What does that mean?

  I stand up, give him a big hug, and try not to start crying. “Hey, gotta go. Andrea's waiting for me. Thanks for the muffins.”

  “Chris,” he calls as I pull on my jacket. “We can talk to him. If he knows how you feel…”

  I can’t answer him. Forget McFarland. If Dad knew how I feel, how I can’t stop obsessing about a woman, he’d have me sent to prison.

  I see Andi’s crazy red hair streaming behind her as she pumps her legs ferociously on the swings. When she sees me, she abruptly digs her heels into the gravel and stops, then runs toward me.

  “Hey,” I call, trotting to meet her halfway.

  “Shh.” She grabs my arm and wordlessly drags me toward the picnic shelter.

  “Whatever your emergency is, mine is way bigger.” I stumble after her, tripping over my own feet. We land on a concrete bench stained with old gum.

  “You didn’t tell your dad about...the thing in church?”

  I almost choke. “Are you serious? Of course not.”

  She doesn’t hear me. “That girl, the one you touched...Sheila knows who she is.” Sheila, one of Andrea's mothers, is well connected with the gossipy element of the church community. She knows who the girl is. I don’t think I want to know. But Andi goes on.

  “She's visiting from the west coast. Her name is Carmen.”

  “And?”

  Andi sighs heavily. “Here's the emergency part: her body mother's on the national Perp League board.”

  “The Perp League? Great. This all just gets better and better.” The Perp League. The group tasked with finding ways to get rid of people like—people who are deviants. Not me. I can’t think me. “Andi, I’m not…you know.”

  She gazes back at me. “No, of course not. Anybody could have feelings in the moment, right? That doesn't make you Perpendicular. It doesn't mean you like girls now, does it?”

  “Right. Anybody could have feelings in the moment. You’ve done that, right? With a guy, I mean?”

  She just stares at me. “No.”

  “Oh.” I swallow hard, stare at the scarred picnic bench. “So, everybody doesn’t feel that way, I guess. I mean, it’s not normal.” I look up at her. Her face mirrors my own feelings of disgust mixed with confusion and fear. “Andi, I just can’t be…that.”

  “No, of course not.” She rubs my arm, and then a look of horror crosses her face. “Oh, my God, Chris, you're not attracted to me, are you?”

  “No,” I answer with a shudder. “Yuck.”

  She smiles, relieved, then frowns and says, “Why not?”

  “Well, you're like my sister, Andi! Even if I wasn’t...normal, it wouldn’t mean I’d like every girl I see!” God, if this weren’t so awful, it would almost be comical.

  “Well, the Perp League thing is a big deal. You can’t see her. Don’t even try looking for her. If this girl's body mother is on a mission to save you godforsaken Perps—”

  “I don't even know if I am a Perp, Andi!”

  “Oh, my God, Chris, of course you are!”

  Silence. A barrier slams between us, suddenly; a truth that we both unconsciously acknowledge but consciously ignore has roared into our reality like a hurricane.

  “I don't know for sure that I am,” I whisper. “Maybe that girl had manly arms or something.”

  A small, embarrassed giggle escapes Andi's lips, then becomes a full-on laugh. And I join in, relieved to be doing something besides questioning my questionable mental health. “Manly arms?” Andrea gasps. “Seriously?”

  “Okay, okay. Maybe you're right. Maybe I am...maybe I am Perpendicular.” I swallow hard; it’s the first time I’ve said the word, seriously, in connection with myself, and it feels like the ringing of a large, annoying buzzer signaling the end of an admittedly
boring, but normal, life. “Oh, Jesus, Andi. I can’t be. I just can’t.” Sobs well up from my gut, fueled by years of pushing down what I knew to be true, days and weeks and moments of killing desires and ignoring hunches, slapping down the small stirrings of any kind of physical feelings. Flashes of memory flood my mind, tiny things that, when added up, give me the answer as sure as any mathematical equation.

  Andrea puts an arm around me and leans her head against mine and my body shakes. “I've thought you might be that way from when we were little. You just never quite...fit in.” She sighs, takes my face in her hands, and smiles compassionately at me, wiping away the damp from my cheek. “Nobody has to know, Chris. It can be our secret. I won't tell.”

  “But...if it is true, then what am I supposed to do about it?”

  “Nothing.” Andi sits on the table, staring at me. “You do nothing.”

  “What about this Jim McFarland stuff?” I wipe my face on my coat sleeve.

  “Huh?”

  “I was trying to tell you.” I slump against the weight of what my father wants me to do, which seems even more awful now. “Dad took me out in the Spyder yesterday to talk about this guy, Jim McFarland, who wants to marry me and get me into college.”

  Andrea stares at me in disbelief. “He’s arranging a match for you?”

  “Some political thing. This guy McFarland is the next California bishop, which means he’ll be head of the Senate eventually, maybe even the first Anglicant president. David thinks if I marry him, I’ll be set for life. Warren isn't crazy about the idea, though, so maybe I can get him to help me persuade Dad that it's a bad idea.” Sure, and then I can convince Dad that even though I'm queer as a three-dollar bill, I'm still his beloved son and deserve his respect. I feel sick. “They were matched. Warren and David.”

  “Wow.” Andi shakes her head. “I knew they did it in the big political families, but you guys…why?”

  “David wants me taken care of, and I guess it would set him up too. And once I turn eighteen, he can’t legally make me do it, so time is running out. But now…I mean, how can I marry somebody, knowing what I am? Andi, I can't be a Perp. It means I’m mentally unstable, diseased, dangerous. This is going to ruin my life.”

  She nods slowly, then says, “Well, maybe not.”

  “How can it not ruin my life? My choices are that I can lie about what I am and marry somebody I don’t love, or I can be hospitalized for mental illness and deviant sexual behavior. How is any of that not about my life being ruined?” I slam my hand down on the table, and it throbs with pain. It feels good. It makes me forget, for a nanosecond.

  “Let me think for a minute.” She sits on the bench, stares at the dirty cement floor of the picnic shelter. “We need a plan of action.”

  “How about we run away and join the circus? I can be the sideshow freak and you can sweep up elephant poop or something.”

  “Not helping.” She sighs and frowns at me with sad brown eyes. “On one hand, I think you should avoid her at all costs. But then I think…I think you’re going to have to see her again. If you do, maybe you'll find out that it's nothing after all. Or...” We both knew where that “or” was going, and it was not a happy place.

  “How do we do that? How do we see her?” Part of me feels electric at the thought of seeing her again. I know that part is trouble. But…almost as if I know it in my bones, I know I will have to see her.

  We huddle on the bench, Andi trying to shelter me with her shorter arm. “She’s visiting. Mom said she was staying with the Goldmans.”

  “Lainie Goldman is the head of the local Perp League.” Great. “Well, I guess I could go to a meeting. Wonder if they'd be able to tell? Do they have Perp-sniffing dogs or anything?”

  Andi laughs, then shrugs into me with her shoulder. “Don't worry about that. I'll go instead. They meet for brunch at noon on Mondays—”

  “That’s today!”

  “Yes, genius. So, I'll introduce myself, or get Sheila to do it, and then get the girl to meet me for coffee. You can then conveniently show up.”

  “I'd sort of like to go to the Perp meeting.” After saying the word several times, it is starting to feel more comfortable, like a pair of shoes that pinched at first but are starting to wear in. “I'd like to know what they do. Do you know?”

  Andi starts to speak, but frowns and stops herself. “I don't really know what they do, actually. I've never been to a meeting, and all I've ever heard Sheila talk about is how they're just a bunch of bitter bitches who don't get enough sex.”

  “She said that?”

  “Well, she didn't know I was listening,” Andi says, grinning.

  A thought pops into my head, a radical thought. “Have you ever questioned the whole anti-Perpendicular thing? I mean, I know why we’re supposed to reform them, what the Church teaches and all that. But…have you ever thought it was…I don’t know…stupid?”

  Andi shrugs. “I never really thought about it. But I guess…it’s just not normal, and it’s against God’s word and all that.” She glances at me. “I never knew one, so it wasn't something that I really ever worried about.” We stare silently at the brown grass.

  “It’s in the Constitution. It says right there that Perpendiculars are a threat to the order of the State, to national security. Why?”

  Andi glances at me. “I never really paid that much attention in Civics class either.”

  “Neither did I. But…why are Perpendiculars such a huge threat? What could they do to the country? How can loving someone be so terrible?”

  Andi sighs. “I don’t know. It’s just always been that way. I guess because…if you go against the system, and Perps were allowed, we’d have unwanted pregnancies, sexual violence—everyone knows that Perps are promiscuous and spread disease. They get pregnant accidentally, then have a bunch of kids the state has to raise. I mean, it just doesn’t make any sense. The family would be destroyed. And if the family is destroyed, the country is destroyed.”

  “You seem to have thought about it a lot, actually.” Andi looks as surprised as I do. I guess when you’re raised with it, it sort of soaks into your DNA whether you like it or not. But this is different. This is…me.

  Finally, I say, “Are you sure she'll be there? The girl? Carmen?” Saying her name gives me a little jolt of electricity.

  Andi smiles. “Leave it to me. I'll make sure she's there, even if I have to pretend I'm crazy to propose to her or something. Sheila will be really excited.”

  “And then you'll set up the meeting at the coffee shop?”

  Andi nods. “As soon as possible.”

  “What if I see her and just go crazy or something?” I stare at the floor, imagining all kinds of nightmarish scenes in which I lunge at the girl over a frothy latté or knock her down in front of the biscotti display, ravaging her in a pile of crumbly cookies and self-loathing.

  “You’re not going to do anything. You’ll see…it was just an accident. You’ll go back to how it was. Back to how you want it to be.”

  Thing is, I don’t think that’s what I really, really want. And that scares the hell out of me.

  As Andi and I walk up the immaculate brick path to the Cavendish Hotel, my stomach starts to churn. I’d met most of the members of the Perp League through church. Stick-thin, perfectly manicured women made up the majority of the group.

  Low-level chatter and the clinking of spoons against china cups stops when we enter the room (or maybe I imagine it stops.) Only three other guys are present, so I automatically feel awkward, and since we’re the last to arrive, everybody stares at us. Andi gestures silently to two empty chairs in the corner, behind a pillar that partially obscures the laser-beam nastiness of Chairwoman Lainie Goldman's stare.

  “Let's begin,” Lainie Goldman says, endowing the crowd with a toothy smile bleached unnaturally white. “Minutes from the last meeting are available online. Treasurer’s report?”The woman rambles on and on, and I tune her out after a few seconds. I start scouring
the room for Carmen. “Do you see her?” I whisper to Andi. She shakes her head as she, too, tries to scope out the room, trying to make it look like she has a bad kink in her neck.

  The door, which had been discreetly closed when Lainie Goldman started to speak, creaks open rudely, interrupting some fascinating updates about the faulty plumbing in the office.

  I nearly choke. It’s her.

  All doubt disappears, zapped out of existence the moment she walks into the room. An intense rush of blood to the face, tingling in my hands and feet,. A white-hot knife with a serrated diamond edge slices me from inside, arcing outward in a cascade of ruby sparks. Oh hell.

  Lainie Goldman doesn’t get angry at the interruption. She sees who it is, and her smile widens. “And here is our special guest, all the way from California! I'd like to introduce you to Carmen Wilde, daughter of national president Alexandra Wilde.” Enthusiastic applause rings through the hall, and Carmen blushes prettily.

  I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.

  Andi jabs her elbow into my side, causing an embarrassing exhalation of air that makes more than one Perp League member glance at us disapprovingly. Carmen waves to the applauding crowd; she seems shy, like she doesn’t want the attention. Maybe she'd felt attracted to me, and felt guilty! Wouldn't that be wonderful? No, it wouldn't be. It would be disaster. It would be the Titanic swirling in a cosmic cocktail glass full of icebergs then sprayed with a geyser of molten lava spewed out from hell. If she was attracted to me too, what was going to stop us?

  Ms. Goldman continues to gush about Carmen, but sound seems to rush out of the room like an outgoing tide, and all I hear is my breath, my heartbeat. Carmen tries to fade into the woodwork, or at least into an empty seat. Without thinking, I get up, offer her my chair. No! some scared, panicky voice that usually wins all arguments about risky behaviors stutters, but it’s too late. Carmen has seen me, and she looks relieved to find a place to sit away from the stares of the Perp League elite.

  “Thanks,” she whispers in my ear. I nearly faint. The scent of her tan skin—some unidentifiable combination of jasmine, musk, green grass, and lemon—fills me with dread, and desire. I lean against the pillar, ignoring Andi’s stern glare, and try to focus on anything but Carmen’s black-silk hair and exquisite profile.