by Alex Sanchez
Carlos fumbled with the tape, dropping it. “Um, what do you mean?”
“I mean …” Carlotta picked up the tape and handed it to him again. “Sometimes I think he just wants me for my body.”
She definitely had quite a length of body—even taller than Carlos, her boobs currently just below his nose. Carlos forced himself to look up from the breasts to her face—a pretty face, with big, brown giraffe-like eyes, long lashes, and a warm, friendly smile.
“Tell me the truth.” Carlotta pushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. “Does he really like me?”
Carlos watched her eyes puddle up. “Um, yeah, he likes you.”
“Then why won’t he date me?” She wiped her cheek.
“I don’t know,” Carlos said softly. He’d always thought she was nice. Now he felt bad for her—and helpless that he didn’t know how to comfort her.
As they finished putting up posters, he thought that Sal’s GSA was turning out to be more than he’d bargained for.
Thirty-Five
CARLOS BROODED ALL afternoon. That evening, Raúl came over for his midweek visit. As usual, after dinner and TV, Carlos’s ma and Raúl went to bed. And Carlos went to his computer, put his headphones on, and cranked the music full blast so he wouldn’t hear them.
Ever since he’d told Sal about all that, he’d felt a sense of relief. But he’d also started to feel angry—not only with his ma and Raú, but at himself for not speaking up about it. Maybe Sal was right: He should talk to his ma. But how?
He tried to take his mind off the whole thing by playing his Master Kick Butt computer game, punching and kicking his adversaries. Just as he faced a new opponent, an IM popped onto the screen. Startled, Carlos lost control of his player, who got hit, kicked down, and tossed off a cliff.
But Carlos didn’t care. The IM was from GlitterGirl Roxy, asking, Wassup?
Thirty-Six
CARLOS STARED AT Roxy’s IM, wide-eyed and unblinking, as a million questions jammed his brain. Why had she suddenly written him again? Especially after practically ignoring him at school? Was she interested in him after all?
His heart pumped optimism and his mind ballooned with boobs. Roxy had thought of him, totally without his prompting. He yanked his headphones off and leaped up from his chair as he tried to figure out: What should he respond?
Abruptly, he sat down again. Nothing’s up here. Sup with u?
He hit send and awaited her response, wiping the sudden waterfall of sweat pouring off his forehead.
Nothing at all, Roxy IM-ed back. Bored … bored … booored!!! My mom’s working late and my little bro’s in bed so I can’t go out. What about u?
Carlos scratched his leg, considering how to interpret her question. Was she asking if he could go out? No, that couldn’t possibly be it. She must be asking about his ma.
My ma’s gone to bed, Carlos explained, but left out mentioning Raúl. I don’t have any bros or sis’s.
Lucky u, Roxy answered back. What about ur dad?
Carlos typed: My folks split up.
Roxy: Mine too.
Sorry.
No big deal.
Carlos stared at her message, trying to figure out what to say next. Ideally he’d keep things rolling with something clever and funny But nothing came to mind. Their conversation had screeched to a dismal halt. Carlos slumped in his chair, disappointed yet also amazed that he’d written as much as he had. Sal would be proud of him.
Suddenly Roxy IM-ed again: So what ru up to tonite?
Carlos sat up with renewed confusion. Hadn’t he already told her he wasn’t doing anything?
Not much, he reiterated, wondering how many times they could cover the same territory. He never expected what Roxy sent next: Ur cute. U wanna come over?
Carlos read the message three times. It had to be a joke. Could the girl of his dreams truly be inviting him to her house? Fantasies collided inside his brain, exploding in images of boobs, lips, kisses, and hands …
Another IM appeared on his screen: Hellooooo!!! R U THERE???
Carlos stared at the message, thinking I can’t do this.
But wasn’t this what he’d always wished for? A voice in his mind sneered, Loser! as he brought his fists to his forehead, pounding it. But then a new encouraging voice gently whispered inside his brain: Stop saying, ‘I can’t!’ Just say ‘Yes!’
The words rang so clearly that Carlos whirled around, half expecting to see Sal. But no one was there. He turned back to the computer, his hands nearly shaking off the keyboard as he typed: U want me 2 come over?
He hit send and waited breathless for Roxy’s answer.
It came back fast: Yeah. U wanna?
One by one, Carlos typed what seemed like the most important three letters of his entire life: Yes.
Then he drew an enormous breath and hit send.
Thirty-Seven
AN INSTANT LATER, Roxy IM-ed Carlos her street address, adding: Hurry! I’m not supposed to have guys over. My mom gets home @ 12.
Carlos remained in his chair, trying to make his heart slow down. What if Roxy’s mom came home early? But it was barely ten o’clock. Besides, the vision of Roxy’s boobs quickly pushed aside fear of her mom. His bigger concern was, what if Roxy actually wanted to make out? Would she realize he was the only fifteen-year-old who’d never French-kissed?
The image of her lips beckoned just beyond reach. Carlos desperately needed to bolster his courage. But how?
He grabbed the phone and called Sal. But Sal didn’t answer. Carlos was on his own.
His legs wobbled as he got up and walked to the mirror. At least his crater face had cleared some—quite a bit, actually. His teeth were a little whiter. And hadn’t Roxy said his hair looked cute? Maybe Sal was right: Maybe he wasn’t as gross-looking as he’d thought.
His hands trembled as he carefully sprayed fresh deodorant and changed into the black shirt he’d bought with Sal. He tucked it into his patchwork jeans and SEXY belt buckle. Then he pulled on his denim jacket and glanced in the mirror again, taking a good, hard look at himself.
He started to say something, but stopped. Then he forced himself. Even though barely a whisper, he said it aloud: “I’m hot, damn it.”
Flushing bright red, he quickly left the room.
As Carlos padded down the carpeted hallway, he debated telling his ma he was going out. Behind her bedroom door, it was quiet. Why wake her just to have her ask a bunch of questions? Besides, Raúl was with her. And what if she told Carlos he couldn’t go out? What would he tell Roxy? He didn’t want her to think he was a baby.
Better to leave a note. That way, in the unlikely event his ma did notice he was gone, at least she wouldn’t worry to death. But did he really want to tell her he was going to a girl’s house? He decided to say he was going to Sal’s.
After placing the note on the kitchen table, Carlos tiptoed across the darkened living room and slipped out the front door into the cool, dark night. Upon reaching the sidewalk, he stepped quickly toward Roxy’s. Although he didn’t want to arrive sweaty and stinky, it took all his willpower to keep himself from sprinting.
Thirty-Eight
ROXY LIVED ON the third floor of a Spanish-style pink stucco building only six blocks from Carlos, even though they took different buses. His hand shook as he tapped her apartment door knocker, half expecting Sal or Playboy to jump out, yelling, “Fooled you!”
But when the door opened, Carlos blinked in disbelief. There stood Roxy, live and in person.
She gave Carlos a friendly little greeting smile while talking into her cell phone: “Uh-huh … yeah … I know what you mean.”
Carlos’s gaze moved to her necklace, from which a tiny gold heart dangled into the cleavage of her scoop-neck T-shirt.
“He told you he wanted what?” She continued talking into the phone. “You’re kidding … I say dump him.” She motioned Carlos in toward the living room sofa. The TV was on, broadcasting a tampon commercial.
&nbs
p; “Sorry about that,” Roxy said, hanging up her phone. “Sit down. You want a Diet Sprite?”
“Um, sure,” Carlos replied, his throat parched from nervousness. He watched her glide barefoot toward the kitchen, her teeny, tight black nylon shorts showing off her long, smooth legs. When she’d disappeared, he sat down and caught his breath.
The place seemed messier than he would’ve expected. Teen People and telenovela magazines lay open on the coffee table, and little kids’ toys were scattered around the worn carpet. Prior to Sal, Carlos never would’ve noticed messiness. Now, he neatly arranged the magazines on the table to help calm his nerves.
When Roxy came back and handed him his drink, he remembered to tell her, “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She slid onto the sofa next to him as the TV program resumed: Queer Eye.
Carlos nearly choked on his drink. The coincidence was way too freaky. Playboy and Pulga had to be spying from the next room, laughing their butts off.
“Are you okay?” Roxy patted Carlos’s back to soothe his coughing.
“I’m fine,” he wheezed, gulping his drink.
Roxy extended the remote control to turn the volume up. “I think fags are so funny. Did you hear they’re starting a homo club at school?”
Carlos winced. “Um, it’s actually a Gay-Straight Alliance.”
“Oh.” Roxy peered silently at him, her gaze moving to his blond highlights. “You’re not gay, are you?”
“No! No, no.”
“I mean, tell me if you are.”
“No!” Carlos gave his head a vigorous shake. “I’m not.”
Roxy’s brow relaxed as the corner of her lips curved into a little smile. “That’s good.”
She turned to the TV, where the gays were teaching the straight guy to make spiced nuts in a skillet, with brown sugar, cinnamon, cloves, and allspice.
A mix of emotions stirred in Carlos. He’d never expected the girl of his dreams to use terms like “fag” and “homo.” Granted, in his fantasies she barely spoke as she tore away his pants and threw herself at him.
Now, she lifted her bare legs onto the coffee table and crossed her ankles. In the glow of the TV, she radiated a vision of beauty, from her sparkling pink toenails to the shimmering gold heart dangling between her breasts.
“Why are you staring at me?” she asked out of the corner of her mouth.
Carlos’s face flared so hot he could’ve fried an egg on it. “Um …your eyes are really nice.”
“Thanks. But my eyes are up here.”
“Um, yeah. Sorry.” But as Carlos forced his gaze to the TV, the image of Roxy’s legs and cleavage stayed emblazoned in his mind.
The show reached the point where the gay guys revealed to the straight dude his redecorated apartment. Roxy excitedly uncrossed her ankles, and in the process laid her hand beside Carlos. “I love this part!”
Carlos’s attention remained focused on her hand. Did she expect him to take hold of it? What if she yanked it away, shouting, “Dude! What the hell do you think you’re doing? I only invited you to hang out. Get out of here! Now!”
Then again, what if she thought he was a lug for not making a move? He sat stiffly, sweat streaming down his back. What to do? He didn’t want to make the wrong move. But what was the right move?
On TV, the gay guys prepared to unveil the new, improved straight guy to his girlfriend. Without warning, Roxy grabbed hold of Carlos’s hand. He jumped. And Roxy giggled. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” He cleared his throat and gripped her hand in return, a little fearful she might pull it away again. But was he clutching it too tight? Quickly, he loosened his grip, and realized how clammy his palm was. Would she be grossed out?
If she was, she didn’t show it. Without turning from the TV, Carlos stole a glance at her lips. Now that she’d taken hold of his hand, firmly establishing they were more than friends, the next logical step was to kiss. But how? Was he supposed to simply lean over and plop his tongue into her mouth? Good thing that Sal had made him start to brush and floss regularly.
On TV the girlfriend thanked the gay guys for making over her boyfriend. It made Carlos wonder what advice Sal would give him, kissing-wise. They’d never talked about stuff like that, nor did the guys on TV. But, knowing Sal, he’d probably say something like, “Ask first.”
And yet, in movies the guy never asked the girl. He simply looked meaningfully into her eyes.
Carlos turned to Roxy. He tried to give her what he thought was a meaningful look.
“Yeah?” she said, still watching the TV.
“Um …” He took a deep breath, his throat tightening over it, and whispered, “Can I kiss you?”
He held his breath, expecting the worst.
“Wait till the commercial,” Roxy replied. “I want to see the ending.”
Carlos turned back to the TV, amazed. Roxy had neither laughed nor screamed at him. So, what would happen once the commercial came? Was she expecting a mouth-kiss? He should have clarified that.
The program ended and Roxy turned to Carlos. “Okay.” Her eyebrows lifted expectantly, her lips parted slightly, and to Carlos’s immense relief, it was obvious what kind of kiss she wanted.
Keeping his eyes open so as not to screw up, he leaned toward her. His lips gently came to rest on hers, and a thousand microscopic nerve endings quivered. Tasting her sweetness, his soul quaked too. He let his eyes close and lost himself in time, wishing their kiss could last forever.
A moment later, he came back with a jolt. How much time had elapsed? He didn’t want to seem greedy Quickly, he pulled away.
“Why are you stopping?” Roxy whispered. “Don’t stop!”
“Sorry.” Carlos returned his face to hers, more confident now, feeling like he was getting the hang of it. And when she tapped her tongue against his, it seemed like the most natural thing on earth.
As their lips pressed and parted, their breaths came harder, chests rising and falling. And Carlos became keenly aware of Roxy’s breasts squishing against him. He tried to pull away, fearing she might think he was trying to cop a feel. But the breasts seemed to chase after him.
Suddenly, Roxy pulled her mouth away and gasped, “Do you want to see them?”
Carlos blinked, a little dazed. This was too much like a scene from his fantasies to be true. So he simply said, “Um, okay.”
Thirty-Nine
ROXY LEANED BACK on the couch, her boobs waiting beneath the scoop-neck T-shirt.
Except … Carlos wasn’t exactly sure how to proceed. Even though his buds and he had spent endless hours extolling the marvels of breasts, they’d never discussed the specifics of precisely what to do if a girl willingly volunteered them.
As if understanding Carlos’s plight, Roxy took hold of his hand.
She rested his quivering palm on her T-shirt and he rocketed into ecstasy. Every nerve of each fingertip leaped with joy as he gently, uncertainly stroked. He hadn’t expected the breast to feel so supple and yet firm.
Roxy closed her eyes, smiling peacefully until, after a while, she lowered her voice as if telling a secret: “You can touch the other one too, you know.”
“Um, sorry.” Carlos immediately shifted his hand. He hadn’t meant to snub the other boob. Determined not to repeat his blunder, he now alternated, giving each equal time.
Abruptly, Roxy’s cell phone rang. Carlos jumped with a start, yanking his hand away from her chest.
“Ugh!” Roxy groaned, grabbing the phone. She glanced at the caller ID and answered, “Did you tell him? What did he say?”
While pressing the phone to her ear, Roxy reached for Carlos’s hand and laid it on top of her breasts again.
Who is she talking to? Carlos wondered.
“Don’t worry about that,” she spoke into the phone. “Oral is oral, it’s not sex. It’s like kissing—except you’re kissing something else.”
She darted a devilish glance at Carlos and said to whomever she was talking,
“Listen, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later and tell you about it, okay?”
What exactly will you tell them later? Carlos wondered as Roxy hung up. He wanted to ask, except she suddenly took hold of his wrist and slid his hand underneath her shirt.
Shit, she’s bra-less! As his fingertips touched her naked skin, his heart slammed against his chest. He was touching Roxy Rodriguez’s breasts—skin on skin. Had anyone known greater joy? He wanted to borrow the phone and call his own friends.
Except, he would like to see the breasts first. Fingers quavering, he nudged Roxy’s T-shirt up. She good-naturedly aided him along, guiding him like an angel with perky breasts.
“Kiss them,” she whispered.
Carlos gazed up. “Huh?”
“Kiss them.”
Carlos gulped, slightly terrified. But how could he refuse? Leaning forward, he gently pressed his lips onto her breast. Roxy gave a soft moan.
Carlos glanced up to make sure he hadn’t hurt her. But her face displayed no sign of pain. With increasing agility, he planted a tender kiss on her other breast.
Roxy squirmed and moaned, her flat, smooth stomach arching beneath him.
Feeling nearly like a pro now, Carlos began moving his mouth slowly from one breast to another, lightly brushing his lips across the pliant skin till Roxy suddenly gasped.
“Are you okay?” Carlos quickly pulled away.
In response, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and head, pressing his face so tight against her breasts that he could hardly breathe. But he didn’t mind. He’d gladly have given up breathing for the rest of his life.
Forty
UNFORTUNATELY, A FEW minutes later Roxy pulled her T-shirt down over her boobs, closing up shop. “That’s enough. My mom will be home soon.”
Carlos slumped back on the sofa, dazed.
“Hey!” Roxy giggled, shaking his shoulder. “What are you doing? Get up!”