Free I Am the Wallpaper by Mark Peter Hughes

to know what’s on my mind? Is it that obvious? I guess I can never get anything by you, can I? You notice everything.
    Okay, so maybe you can help me understand something.
    It’s been two days in a row now, and Wen seems very very concerned about me. Is it my imagination, or does it seem, O my wise and enlightened future self, like these calls might be just a little bit more than mere friendly cheer-me-up conversations?
    But that has to be just a crazy idea—me getting my hopes up, right? Why now? And what about Kim? Doesn’t he still have her right there with him?
    I wish you could come back and tell me what’s going on here!
    Still, no matter how you look at it, Wen is nicer than Calvin could ever be in his wildest dreams.
    That afternoon, after I’d bicycled home from Gary’s studio (even though Wen no longer worked there, I’d decided to keep going—I actually liked fiddling with all the equipment), Richard and Billy and their friends completely stopped what they were doing just to watch me. One minute they were playing in the street, shouting and laughing, and the next minute they were quiet. It’s weird enough to have a crowd of people suddenly turn and stare at you, but when it’s a bunch of little boys it’s absolutely creepy.
    I tried to ignore them and calmly got off my bike. Just as I was about to wheel it into its place under the stairs, Billy called out in that strange voice of his, “Are those things heavy to carry around?”
    At first I didn’t know what he meant, but when I looked at him and followed his gaze to my tank top I understood. He was staring at my chest. I crossed my arms to cover myself.
    “Pervert!” I said.
    The other little boys snickered.
    On top of spying on me from his window, was Billy going to turn all the neighborhood boys into crude little jerks?
    I shoved the bike under the stairs and stomped inside.

    Wednesday night, Gary took Richard and Tish out to a Pawtucket Red Sox game. He even told my mother she didn’t have to go. I think he just wanted to give her a break from taking care of my cousins.
    “If your aunt Grace doesn’t appreciate the beauty of baseball, there’s no point in wasting the five bucks on a ticket,” he said, winking at the kids. “We’ll just go without her. Okey-doke?”
    I had to hand it to him. He kept trying.
    My mother gave him a little kiss on the cheek and his face went on red alert. It was sweet but sad.
    Happily, nobody made a fuss when I said I didn’t want to go.
    So my mother rented
Love Me Tender
. My mother is a big Elvis Presley fan, so we sometimes rent his movies and watch them together. In this one, one of our favorites, Elvis marries his dead brother’s fiancée, only to find that his brother, who was away fighting in the Civil War, isn’treally dead—he comes back after the war expecting to marry his fiancée, who he still loves.
    Another relationship shot to hell.
    In the middle of the movie, I was thinking about how Gary kept doing nice things for my mother.
    “Are you sure there’s nothing going on between you and Gary?” I asked.
    She reached for another handful of popcorn. “No, we’re just friends.”
    “Positive?”
    “Yes, I’m sure. Why do you ask?”
    “I don’t know. I think he likes you, and not just as a friend.”
    She shrugged but kept watching the TV. She didn’t normally talk about stuff like this with me. My mother is a very private person. In that way she’s the complete opposite of Lillian.
    “Yes, I’m positive,” she said eventually. And then she raised one eyebrow. “Is this a subtle message? Don’t you see enough of Gary already? Do you want me to start writing him romantic notes?”
    I studied her face. She was joking.
    I had to laugh. I guess it really was a silly idea. My mother wasn’t interested in dating anybody, and even if she had been, I couldn’t imagine her with Gary. He was a nice guy and everything, but he just didn’t seem like her type—too