I wasn’t safe anywhere, as anyone.
“But maybe more troubling to me,” Sister Bernadette went on, “is how you see yourself.”
“I’m hideous.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No, I’m not.” Bernadette shook her head. “Don’t you notice that everyone watches you?”
“If I’m beautiful why couldn’t I get a single person to ask me to dance when I was Alexis?” The words felt ridiculous as soon as they left my mouth—such a flimsy way of expressing the weight I carried inside me.
“Because you look like you hate people.”
“You’re saying I owe people a smile?”
“No, but if you don’t look like you want to be bothered, do you think people would bug you?”
“Beautiful girls are bugged all the time.”
“Look, trust me, walk down the street in certain neighborhoods I know, and if you’re a female between the ages of eleven and seventy, you’ll get catcalled even if you look like the Phantom of the Opera.”
Under other circumstances I would’ve chuckled.
“But if you’re talking about being liked, being seen as approachable . . . You don’t make eye contact when you’re Alexis. Did you know that?”
“That’s not—I—” But as I spoke, I found I looked at her lips, her cheek, her nose.
“You also are really fast to pick fights.”
“You mean because I’m defending my opinion?” I winced as soon as the words escaped my lips. I was proving her point any time I opened my mouth.
“Because you assume.”
I tried to make eye contact but couldn’t. I didn’t deserve to look at someone so incredible, so divine. I didn’t want to see in her eyes that she was lying. Or for her to see into my soul and hate everything she found. “You really think I’m pretty?” I asked quietly.
“Yes. I do. I only wish you could see it too.”
I brushed my thumb against her cheek, hardly aware of what I was doing until I felt a handful of fabric in my hand. Her veil.
“Alexis, stop,” she said, moving my hands away. “This isn’t right.”
“I’m sorry.” I looked at my lap, ashamed that I’d made a move without getting her consent first.
“A nun’s about the worst possible person for you to get a crush on,” she said.
“So I’ve been told.”
“I’m in a committed relationship with God.”
“How can you say you’re in a committed relationship with God when the priests you work with are covering up sexual abuse?”
“Because my God knows that’s unacceptable. Because my practice of Catholicism is not like theirs. The connection I feel with my God when I’m in the church at prayer, by myself on walks, everywhere—I’m happy. I feel blessed.”
“And now we’re going after the people the Church is protecting.”
She nodded. “I’ve been silent too long and I’m not going to sit back and allow some people to tarnish what I hold most dear. Not anymore.” She paused, struggling a moment before continuing. “I like you, Alexis. I really do. I also like you as Aleks. But you have to understand, I took a vow. If I break away from that, I need to know it’s the right thing to do. I need to know it’s not just because of this mess so I don’t hurt you. And so I don’t get hurt either.”
I stared at Sister Bernadette. My admiration for her, separate from my crush, shot through the roof. She was everything I wanted to be. Fearless, tough, strong in her convictions. Things I’d thought that Aleks was. Things I’d thought Alexis wasn’t.
I hugged my sides, nodding. “I’ll go undercover.”
She blinked, surprised at the shift. “Are you sure?”
I nodded. “I could use a recording app on my phone. With audio, it’d be enough evidence to go to the police.”
“You’re really willing to do this?”
“If it’s our best chance of catching this bastard, then yes.”
She eyed me thoughtfully. “On one condition.”
“You’re giving me a condition when it was your idea?”
“Absolutely,” Sister Bernadette said. “I want you to promise that when this is over, you’ll work on learning to love yourself as Alexis. Not just Aleks.”
I frowned. “How do I do that?”
“That’s up to you. But if I were you, I’d start from the beginning.” I couldn’t see what Sister Bernadette saw in me. Any time I looked in the mirror as girl-me, I saw someone who was ugly. Scared.
I pulled up my phone app and put it in selfie mode.
“Hello, Alexis,” I said to my reflection. “You are beautiful.”
And while I’d never felt more stupid, the voice in my head shocked me by saying, Yes, you are.
“You’re crying,” Sister Bernadette said.
Was I?
Deacon Jameson walked back in. “Well?”
“I’ll do it,” I said, shoving my phone in my pocket.
I forced myself to make eye contact with the deacon, although I didn’t want to. He didn’t seem angry with me. He seemed hurt and unsure. “And I think I owe you an apology,” I added quietly. “I really misjudged you, Deacon Jameson. And I’m so, so sorry.”
He grimaced, like my words were daggers in his heart. Softly, he said, “I forgive you.”
Forgive and forget. The way everyone was expected to behave. Be the better person, let bygones be bygones. Forgive my friends at the anime convention.
Forgive Lee.
But I could tell Deacon Jameson didn’t fully forgive me. The words stuck in his mouth. Sooner or later his anger and resentment would boil over. And when they did, I wouldn’t fight it. I’d accept his words, harsh as they’d be. I’d accept him pushing me away. And, if I needed to, I’d accept the inevitable: if she had to choose between us, Sister Bernadette would stick with her longtime friend. Not me. The same with Dima whenever he left the camp.
And as much as that sucked, I accepted it.
Sister Bernadette’s hand slipped in mine, squeezing. I gave a gentle squeeze back then let go. Okay. I could do this. “We’d better get back. Sooner we can catch Kline, the better. And I can’t do it if I don’t have access to my stuff. So let’s not waste any more time.”
“Amen,” she said as we left the house, ready for the long trek home.
23 No One
It had been so long since I wore a binder, I forgot how much of a pain in the ass it was to get on. Everyone bitched at conventions, arguing over brands. Double front compression with smooth seams but a snugness that was like a medieval torture device, versus an under-the-armpit Velcro that took tons of attempts to tighten and readjust. Then there were the people who used surgical vests with double rows of hooks and eyes and—
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. If I was at a convention, I might have used a full body compressor designed to be pulled up over the hips and then the shoulders, but for this, I needed more mobility.
I grunted as I wriggled my shoulders, gasping in pain as the fabric scraped my skin. I’d been at it for five minutes and I still couldn’t get my arms through the holes. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, studied the small swell of my breasts and the harsh red lines indenting them.