Perfect (Book Three)

Thirteen: Hello, My Name Is Emily, And I'm Gay.

That night at 7:17 Emily pulled into her driveway. After she'd run out of the natatorium, she'd walked around the Rosewood Bird Sanctuary for hours. The busily chirping sparrows, happy little ducks, and tame parakeets soothed her. It was a good place to escape from reality...and a certain incriminating photo.

Every light in the house was on, including the one in the bedroom that Emily and Carolyn shared. How would she explain the photo to her family? She wanted to say that kissing Maya in that picture had been a joke, that someone was playing a prank on her. Ha ha, kissing girls is gross!

But it wasn't true, and it made her heart ache.

The house smelled warm and inviting, like a mixture of coffee and potpourri. Her mother had turned on the hallway Hummel figurines cabinet. Little figurines of a boy milking a cow and a lederhosen-clad girl pushing a wheelbarrow slowly rotated. Emily made her way down the floral wallpapered hallway toward the living room. Both her parents were sitting on the flowered couch. An older woman sat on the love seat.

Her mother gave her a watery smile. "Well, hello, Emily."

Emily blinked a few times. "Um, hi..." She looked from her parents to the stranger on the love seat.

"You want to come in?" her mother asked. "We have someone here to see you."

The older woman, who was wearing high-waisted black slacks and a mint-green blazer, stood and offered her hand. "I'm Edith." She grinned. "It's so nice to meet you, Emily. Why don't you sit down?"

Emily's father bustled into the dining room and dragged another chair over for her. She sat down tentatively, feeling jumpy. It was the same feeling she used to get when her old friends played the Pillow Game—one person walked around the living room blindfolded, and, at a random moment, the others bombarded her with pillows. Emily didn't like playing—she hated those tense moments right before they started smacking her—but she always played anyway, because Ali loved it.

"I'm from a program called Tree Tops," Edith said. "Your parents told me about your problem."

The bones in Emily's butt pressed into the bare wood of the dining room chair. "Problem?" Her stomach sank. She had a feeling she knew what problem meant.

"Of course it's a problem." Her mother's voice was choked. "That picture—with that girl we forbade you to see—has it happened more than once?"

Emily nervously touched the scar on her left palm that she'd gotten when Carolyn accidentally speared her with the gardening shears. She'd grown up striving to be as obedient and well behaved as possible, and she couldn't lie to her parents—at least not well. "It's happened more than once, I guess," she mumbled.

Her mother let out a small, painted whimper.

Edith pursed her wrinkly, fuchsia-lined lips. She had an old-lady mothball smell. "What you're feeling, it's not permanent. It's a sickness, Emily. But we at Tree Tops can cure you. We've rehabilitated many ex-gays since the program began."

Emily barked out a laugh. "Ex...gays?" The world started to spin, then recede. Emily's parents looked at her self-righteously, their hands wrapped around their coffee cups.

"Your interest in young women isn't genetic or scientific, but environmental," Edith explained. "With counseling, we'll help you dismiss your...urges, shall we say."

Emily gripped the arms of her chair. "That sounds...weird."

"Emily!" scolded her mother—she'd taught her children never to disrespect adults. But Emily was too bewildered to be embarrassed.