Free Who I'm Not by Ted Staunton Page A

want to know. It didn’t seem fair, since I didn’t want to tell Gillian about my past either. Roy said, “What about him?”
    â€œOh, you remember,” Shan said. “Last year. He was the one ran that investing service, stole all those people’s money and ran off.”
    â€œRiiiight.” Roy slathered margarine on Wonderbread. “Couple older guys at work got burned in that.” He did his big-guy chuckle. “Better not tell her how much you make with Dave there, Danny.” Roy inhaled half the bread slice. “Speaking of money,” he said with his mouth full, “maybe you should talk to some of those reporters and TV people.” He swallowed. “Maybe we could turn your story into some real money.”
    Shan glared at him and shifted in her seat.
    â€œOw,” said Roy. “What’re you kickin’ me for? I’m just saying—”
    â€œHe’s been through enough. We don’t want reporters and all that coming around, all over us.”
    â€œGeez, it’s not like it’d be some, whatsit, 60 Minutes scandal thing. He’d be a hero.”
    â€œNo,” I said.
    â€œNo,” said Shan. “He’s just a kid. Look what happened at school already.”
    â€œFine.” Roy scowled. “I’m just sayin’. I bet they’d pay a nice price for an interview. Your loss.” He shot me a look. “And ours. It’s not like it costs nothing for you to live here.”
    I gave him the Danny smirk. I wanted to take the macaroni and shove it in his face. Maybe I should have. It would have been almost the last good thing that happened for a long time.
    The next day, Gillian and I took our lunches to the park across from the library. It still felt a lot like summer. Wasps kept straying over from the trash bin. We were sitting side by side at a picnic table, with our legs stretched out and our backs leaning against the table edge. Gillian was taller than me.
    â€œI have to work at the library after school,” she said. Like always, she was wearing jeans, this time with a yellow long-sleeved top. It made her arms look long and thin. Her fingers were long and thin too. She had green-and-white-striped laces in her running shoes. “What are you doing?”
    â€œI have to work with Dave the Garden Fairy tomorrow.” On her lap she had a zippered, blue, padded lunch box. I’d had one like it once, back in the Bad Time. She didn’t unzip it. She gazed at the library. “I mean, what are you doing today?”
    I shrugged. “Going back out to the beach, maybe. I made this little place to sit. It’s great. All quiet, and nobody goes there.” It seemed okay to tell her. Now that I knew her dad was gone, I felt as if we were tighter than ever.
    â€œIs it out by the railway tracks? Down a path across the field?”
    â€œYeah.” I was surprised. “You know it?”
    â€œI’ve never been there, but kids go down there to party sometimes.”
    â€œOh. Yeah. I saw a campfire and some beer cans, but nobody’s been there in a long time. It’s pretty private. You could come with me sometime.” All at once I wanted her luck for there, too. I waved away a wasp. She still hadn’t said anything. I looked at her. She was blushing. “What?” I said.
    Then I got it. She thought—My own face got hot. I spoke fast. “Listen, like, I didn’t…I mean, I don’t…like, I can’t—” And then I realized what that sounded like. It was the first time I’d lost it with words since I was little. Finally I said, looking away and swatting at a wasp that wasn’t even there, “I mean, I can , but I didn’t mean…about you.” I heard my voice melting away until it was barely a whisper. “I just…I don’t like touching, because of some things people did to me.”
    I wished I was a car fading down the