Now that some time had passed since my father’s death, my forbidden sister was fair game again. At least a half dozen of Evan’s friends came right out and asked me if Roxy had been invited back into our family. Some of the boys began to make remarks in the hallways.
“Is she working out of your house?”
“What’s her number? How much does she cost?”
Dirty notes were left in my desks or slipped into my hall locker. I thought if I ignored it all, it would go away, but it was as if my mere presence in the school was enough to keep it alive forever.
Despite what I had told her, Chastity returned to passing along the gossip she heard. What was too horrible to mention weeks ago in light of what had happened to my family was suddenly headline news again. I didn’t have to hear it to know what my fellow students were saying. I could see it in their licentious smiles and the whispering when they looked my way.
Not satisfied with their titillation and sick humor, some of Evan’s friends began hitting on me, crudely inviting me to do all sorts of sexual acts. I could sense that this was some sort of new game they had concocted, who could be more disgusting and attract my attention. They might even have taken bets on who would get me to go out with him. Most of the time, I simply ignored them. Some just laughed when I said, “No, thanks,” but one boy, Martin Horton, got nasty.
“Who do you think you are?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your sister is a prostitute, and you act like Princess Purity?”
“It’s not hard to act that way when someone like you acts like an ass,” I said, and walked away to the sound of loud laughter.
How I hate it here now, I thought, and sucked back my tears.
It was doubly difficult because I didn’t want to go home looking so down and unhappy every day. Mama was still going through her own depression and sadness. I knew she was anticipating my arrival after school in the hope that I would cheer her up. I had to put on the best act I could and invent good news. What was really upsetting me now was that Roxy had not responded in any way to my letter. Every time I heard the phone ring at home or when anyone came to the front door, I still anticipated her. I always expected that Mama would greet me after school with the news that Roxy had been there, but that never happened.
It got so that even if she was angered by my letter, I’d be happy. Anything was better than nothing, better than treating us as if we didn’t exist. Surely, that desk clerk had given it to her. How could she be so cold and unforgiving, especially since she knew I had come to her hotel and could come again?
A few times, I almost came out and told Mama what I had done, but I thought it would upset her even more. After all, she had tried, too. One night, I caught her sitting in her bedroom looking at one of the pictures of Roxy she had hidden from Papa. She was staring so hard at the photo that I expected she would break into sobs, but she just took a deep breath and put the picture back into a drawer.
Chastity tried to get me to talk about Roxy a number of times. She was as subtle about it as she could be, which wasn’t very. She would say something like “I wonder if your sister really doesn’t know what’s happened to your father.” Or she would pause when we were walking home and say, “That woman reminds me of your sister.”
I never responded, so she didn’t continue, but finally, one afternoon when we were studying for a test together at my house, she put down her notebook and glared at me in a way I had never seen her glare.
“What?”
“I know you’re going to get angry at me, and I know you might tell me to get out and never speak to me again.”
“What is it, Chastity?” I said, putting my notes aside, too. She sat there dumbly. “Just spit it out already.”
“I saw your sister two days ago.”
“What? Where?”
“Coming out of her hotel and getting into a limousine. She looked very dressed up. I’m only telling you,” she continued quickly, “because I thought maybe she really doesn’t know about your father. I mean, maybe she doesn’t read the newspaper or—”
“You went back there to spy on her?”
“Just for you,” she said. “I knew you wouldn’t go there, and I thought maybe—”
“Maybe what? What good would that do? You weren’t planning on talking to her, were you?”
She didn’t respond.
“You were?”
“Just for you, Emmie,” she repeated.
I shook my head. “You won’t let go of this, will you? You’re just as sick as the rest of them.”
“No, that’s not it. Really. I was thinking about you and your mother and how good it would be if somehow your sister came around and maybe apologized or something. She’s got to be sorry your father died, right?”