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, pained 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.
“It’s not weird,” Edith chirped. “Don’t worry if you don’t understand it all now. Many of our new recruits don’t.” She looked at Emily’s parents. “We have a superb track record of rehabilitation in the greater Philadelphia area.”
Emily wanted to throw up. Rehabilitation? She searched her parents’ faces, but they gave her nothing. She glanced out to the street. If the next car that passes is white, this isn’t happening, she thought. If it’s red, it is. A car swept past. Sure enough, it was red.
Edith placed her coffee cup on its saucer. “We’re going to have a peer mentor come talk to you. Someone who experienced the program firsthand. She’s a senior at Rosewood Senior High, and her name’s Becka. She’s very nice. You’ll just talk. And after that, we’ll discuss you joining the program properly. Okay?”
Emily looked at her parents. “I don’t have time to talk to anybody,” she insisted. “I have swimming in the mornings and after school, and then I have homework.”
Her mother smiled
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, pained 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.
“It’s not weird,” Edith chirped. “Don’t worry if you don’t understand it all now. Many of our new recruits don’t.” She looked at Emily’s parents. “We have a superb track record of rehabilitation in the greater Philadelphia area.”
Emily wanted to throw up. Rehabilitation? She searched her parents’ faces, but they gave her nothing. She glanced out to the street. If the next car that passes is white, this isn’t happening, she thought. If it’s red, it is. A car swept past. Sure enough, it was red.
Edith placed her coffee cup on its saucer. “We’re going to have a peer mentor come talk to you. Someone who experienced the program firsthand. She’s a senior at Rosewood Senior High, and her name’s Becka. She’s very nice. You’ll just talk. And after that, we’ll discuss you joining the program properly. Okay?”
Emily looked at her parents. “I don’t have time to talk to anybody,” she insisted. “I have swimming in the mornings and after school, and then I have homework.”
Her mother smiled
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