by Alex Sanchez
“Hi, guys!” His ma paused in the kitchen doorway to kick her shoes off, smiling. She’d gotten over her anger at Carlos, even though he was still grounded. “How did it go today? Oh, before I forget,” she told Carlos. “I finally made you a dentist appointment.”
With her words, Carlos ceased chewing his pear. His entire world seemed to stop, even his breathing. As Sal’s smile evaporated, his eyes flooded with hurt.
“Sal?” Carlos’s ma asked. “Would you like to join us for dinner?”
Sal remained silent, his eyes trained on Carlos as the hurt in them transformed into fury.
“No thanks.” He pitched his pear aside, rushing out the door. “See you later, Mrs. Amoroso.”
“Sal, wait!” Carlos chased after him, but Sal was already bounding down the building staircase. At the bottom landing, Carlos caught up, grabbing hold of his arm. “Wait!”
Sal whirled around, shaking him off. “You goddamn liar! What the hell was that shit about being the change in the world?”
Carlos opened his mouth in defense but something in his throat grew larger, making his voice not quite itself. “Roxy invited me over. I almost got laid!”
“So?” Sal’s eyes were indifferent. “Like that makes everything okay? We had a deal, remember? Obviously your makeover barely scratched the surface—’cause who you are inside is a lot crappier than you ever looked outside!”
Carlos winced as if a giant fist had slammed into his stomach. Sal spun around and stomped away, while Carlos watched silently, trying to regain his bearings.
Couldn’t Sal understand how important having a girlfriend and getting laid were to Carlos? It would mean he’d stop being a kid. And yet, as Carlos shuffled back up the stairway, he couldn’t help agreeing with Sal: Inside, he felt like crap.
Fifty
CARLOS SHUFFLED BACK into the kitchen, where his ma was rinsing lettuce.
“Is everything okay between you and Sal?”
Carlos stared down at the tile floor. What could he say? That he’d bagged out on Sal in hopes of getting laid before she got home?
“Everything’s fine,” he mumbled.
He withdrew to his bedroom and flopped onto his bed. Staring at the made-over walls, he tried to sort out the events of the afternoon.
He wished he could go back to lunchtime that day and start over. But would he really choose any differently? How could he have turned down Roxy?
Even though he felt like crap about flaking out on Sal, wouldn’t he have felt worse if he’d passed up Roxy’s invitation?
Carlos brought his hand up to scratch his nose and smelled the lingering aroma of Roxy’s cherry-scented perfume. In his memory, he could still feel her tender fingertips where no other person had ever touched him. Hadn’t that been worth everything?
Besides, he hadn’t been the only one to bag out on Sal: Espie, Vicky, and Carlotta had flaked out too. What if Carlos had turned down Roxy and shown up for the GSA, with only Sal, Mr. Quiñones, and Hard-Ass Harris there? What kind of pathetic meeting would that have been?
Maybe Sal was right. Maybe they should forget about the GSA idea.
All evening long, Carlos’s thoughts bounced back and forth between Sal and Roxy. After dinner, he went to his computer, hoping to find her online. But she wasn’t. Carlos’s buds IM-ed, asking how far he’d gotten with her, but Carlos didn’t feel like going into it.
I’ll tell u tomorrow, he replied.
To which Playboy messaged back: Didn’t get any, huh?
Annoyed, Carlos went offline. He tried doing some homework while listening to music. But to complete his crappy day, his headphones broke.
When his ma came to say good night, he told her about them. “Can I have money for some new ones?”
“Sorry, mi amor …” She kissed him on the forehead. “But things are tight right now.”
Carlos turned away, even more depressed.
Near midnight, he climbed into bed and easily summoned a fantasy of Roxy. But afterward, he felt even guiltier than ever before.
Fifty-One
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, as Carlos bounced down the bus aisle, Vicky asked, “How was the GSA meeting?”
Carlos felt the color creep up his cheeks. Ever since waking, he’d been fretting about how Sal might react to him at school, but he hadn’t foreseen Vicky confronting him. “Um, I didn’t go.”
“You didn’t go?” Today she was wearing Goth black, and her brow furrowed beneath her ghoul-white face powder. “Sal was counting on you!”
“I know” Carlos gripped the seat handle to steady himself.
“Why are you in the GSA, anyway?” Vicky turned away. “I knew you were a poser.”
“No, I’m not!” Carlos argued, though he wondered: Am I posing? As what?
He swayed down the bus aisle toward the back row, where his friends crowded around him.
“So, what happened with Roxy?”
“Tell us!”
“Spill the dirt, man.”
“Promise you won’t tell anyone?” Carlos said, and in a low voice he started to relate his Roxy progress.
“She got into your pants?” Toro whispered excitedly
“Not bad!” Playboy patted Carlos on the back. “At least you got some oral.”
“Um, not exactly,” Carlos confessed. “Her ma came home.”
“Holy shit!” Pulga exclaimed. “What did she do?”
“Mostly yelled at Roxy. She told me not to go over there if she wasn’t home.”
“Parents suck,” Playboy proclaimed.
“Yeah,” the rest of them agreed.
During the remainder of the ride, Carlos’s thoughts focused on Roxy. How would she act toward him now that she’d dived into his pants? Surely she’d have to acknowledge him at least a teensy bit more.
At lunchtime, he gazed expectantly across the cafeteria. Roxy chatted and laughed with her friends, but she barely gave Carlos a crumb of a smile. He didn’t get it. How could she be that way? Even though his buds claimed those were the rules, it was starting to annoy him. He wanted to talk to her about it, but what could he say?
Um, Roxy, how come you want to get me naked but won’t talk to me at school?
His mood didn’t perk up any after lunch, when he waved to Sal in the hall. “’S’up?”
He figured Sal would yell or glare at him, but at least he’d be on his way to getting over yesterdays blowout.
Instead, Sal walked right by, as though Carlos didn’t even exist.
Carlos’s smile sagged. Once again, he wished Sal were straight. A straight Sal would’ve had thicker skin and not gotten so upset and hurt about the whole thing. After their fight, Straight Sal would’ve gone to bed that night (without cleaning, toning, and moisturizing) and gotten over it the next day, when Carlos walked up to him in the hall and socked him in the arm.
“Cut it out!” Sal would’ve punched him back. “Pendejo homo!”
And things would’ve returned to normal, simple as that. After school, Straight Sal would go to Carlos’s and they’d eat about a million bags of greasy potato chips and sugar cookies, along with several cans of non-diet root beer, and afterward have a burping competition.
Then they’d lie on the carpet listening to Los Lonely Boys and not talk—they wouldn’t have to. They’d just know they were bound by friendship, no matter what.
And when things got too quiet, Straight Sal would ask Carlos, “So how far did you get with Roxy?”
If only, Carlos thought, and watched Sal disappear down the hallway.
Fifty-Two
IN THE FOLLOWING days, Carlos tried to put his quarrel with Sal out of his mind—mostly by playing an endless loop of his matinee with Roxy. He left out the part where her mom had walked in.
Her warning to Carlos not to come around when she wasn’t home meant Roxy and he would have to find other ways to be together. Maybe they could go to a movie, like other couples. Except, he’d never invited a girl to anything.
And yet, desp
ite what Sal had said during their fight, Carlos felt his makeover had changed him inside, making him feel a teeny bit braver. But, bold enough to ask Roxy out?
That weekend, Carlos finally got off restriction. Saturday afternoon, he saw Roxy was online. Sweat blistered on his forehead as he typed: Sup? U wanna go see a movie tonight?
He hit send and waited, leg jiggling impatiently at the computer, not certain what he’d do if she told him no … or what he’d do if she actually said yes.
When the IM chime finally sounded, he jumped.
Can’t, she replied. Going to a concert with friends. Sorry.
Carlos studied the message. What concert? What friends? Why didn’t she invite him to go too?
But she’d probably gotten tickets long ago, he rationalized, before she and he were on getting-naked terms. And now the concert was no doubt sold-out. Plus, she was most likely going with her girl friends.
Well, he wrote, u wanna go to the movies tomorrow?
Once again, he stared at the computer screen for what seemed like hours.
At last, her reply came: Look, not a good idea. Let’s just hook up again sometime, ok?
Carlos analyzed the IM even longer than he had the last one, trying to make sense of it. What did she mean by “not a good idea” and “just hook up?” He paced the room, pausing every once in a while to reread the message, trying to decode its meaning.
That evening, he invited his buds over after dinner. When Playboy and Pulga arrived, he showed them Roxy’s IM.
“Obviously, she just wants to be friends with benefits,” Pulga suggested. “She doesn’t want to date.”
But, to Carlos, that didn’t make sense. “If she wants to get into my pants, why not date me?”
“She probably doesn’t want the hassles,” Playboy explained. “The drama and pain.”
Pulga laid a consoling hand on Carlos’s shoulder. “Dating causes pain.”
Carlos shook his head. Wasn’t not dating Roxy and only hooking up also causing him pain?
“You know how many guys would give up a week of jacking off to get Roxy in their pants?” Pulga’s voice rang with admiration. “Don’t screw it up, pendejo. Look at how Carlotta screwed things up by wanting to date. Remember the numero uno rule of hookups: Don’t get attached. It’s suicide.”
“Just lean back and enjoy.” Playboy punched Carlos. “Forget the hassles of dating. Stop being so needy.”
Toro arrived after that, bringing over a new video game. Carlos wished Toro had been there for the conversation so he could’ve gotten his point of view. But the guys wanted to play the new game and Carlos didn’t feel like rehashing the subject.
Later, after his buds left, Carlos stared at Roxy’s J-peg a long while, thinking about everything Playboy and Pulga had said. Was he being needy? Maybe he should be happy with what he was getting. And yet, he also remembered Sal’s comment after the first hookup with Roxy: “You’ve got to decide what you want.”
Carlos got ready for bed and curled beneath the covers, eager to summon forth one of his favorite Roxy fantasies. But instead, the image of her at some concert, laughing and having fun with her friends, kept intruding. And the picture didn’t include him.
In spite of what Pulga had said, Carlos wondered: Was he even getting a “friend with benefits,” or only the benefits?
Fifty-Three
CARLOS’S DOUBTS ABOUT Roxy only deepened the following week. At lunch, some senior dude stopped by her table. He was a little taller than Carlos and definitely better built, with a cocky swagger and confident smile. As the dude talked with her, Roxy grinned back, starry-eyed and laughing.
Carlos shifted in his metal chair. Who was the guy? Was he one of the boys Roxy’s mom had implied when she said, “I told you last time …”? Or one of the “friends” Roxy had gone to the concert with? Why was she talking openly to him in front of everyone and yet treated Carlos like some embarrassing secret?
During afternoon classes, Carlos tried to flush away the image of Senior Dude and Roxy, but it kept bobbing back up his mind.
When Carlos arrived home, he marched directly to his computer. From his buddy list he could see Roxy was online. In spite of her mom’s warning, he asked, Can I come over?
He watched the screen, hoping she’d say yes so that he could get a little reassurance. The clock on his monitor showed the passing minutes. Why wasn’t she responding?
Finally, an IM chimed: Not today … Sorry … L8terz.
A sickening feeling seeped into Carlos’s stomach. Why didn’t Roxy want him to come over? She obviously wasn’t at choreography class, cheerleading, or chorus. Was it because Senior Dude was coming over for a hookup?
Carlos peeled his jean jacket off, feeling warm, and threw it on the floor. Then he stretched his fingers and typed: Y not?
He hit send and waited, balling his fingers into fists, while crazy thoughts of Roxy doing it with Senior Dude on her couch whipped through his brain.
At last, an IM popped up: U can’t come over cuz I said u can’t. I don’t have to give u a reason. LATER!!!
A wave of anger surged inside Carlos. He slammed the keyboard tray beneath his desk, muttering, “Bitch!”
Immediately, he flushed with embarrassment. He’d never called a girl that before—and he’d definitely never imagined saying it about the girl he cherished.
Fifty-Four
CARLOS STORMED away from his computer and into the kitchen. From the cupboard, he yanked out a jumbo bag of potato chips dating from pre-Sal. Weeks had passed since he’d eaten any junk. Now, he devoured the entire bag of chips and guzzled a liter of Coke, while he tried to calm his frenzied thoughts. Doesn’t she like me anymore? Maybe she never liked me in the first place. But then why did she make out and nearly go down on me?
Unable to come up with an answer, he scarfed down some old, crystallized ice cream he found at the back of the freezer.
When he’d stomped back to his computer, he found an IM from Pulga: Sup, pendejo?
Carlos wanted to tell him how furious and confused he felt about Roxy. But he didn’t want to keep sounding needy. Nothin, he said instead. Sup with u?
Nothin, Pulga replied, just sorta thinking about Carlotta … Can I tell u something? Promise u won’t tell the other guys?
Okay. Carlos sat forward in his chair. I promise.
After a long moment, Pulga replied, The truth is … I really like Carlotta, even if she is freaky tall. When we’re together, she makes me feel great. I even sort of like her being so tall. Weird, huh?
Carlos stared at the message. Was this the same Pulga who had warned him that getting attached was suicide? Was he now joking? To check, Carlos asked, For real?
Yeah, Pulga messaged back. I feel like such a loser … U think I’m a loser?
It hurt to hear his friend put himself down, especially when he recalled how Carlotta had told him she liked Pulga.
Ur not a loser, Carlos typed. U know she likes you, don’t you?
U really think so? Pulga replied.
Yeah! She told me so when we were making GSA posters. She wants 2 date u! What more do u want?
The computer screen was still, as if Pulga were considering what Carlos had said. Then came his response: Playboy says I’d be pussy-whipped crawling back to her. I’d feel like a total loser.
Who cares what Playboy says? Carlos argued. He remembered the advice Sal had once given him: Just tell her that you like her. What have you got to lose? U already feel like a loser anyway.
True, Pulga agreed. U really think I should tell her?
Yeah, Carlos encouraged him. Just do it.
After a few more messages, Pulga logged off.
To Carlos, the solution to Pulga’s situation had seemed so simple. But his own crisis continued to baffle him.
Maybe he should’ve told Roxy that he liked her from the start, as Sal had said. Perhaps he should tell her that now. Except his situation was different from Pulga’s. Roxy had never told Carlos she liked hi
m. Was he willing to be the first to say it?
A shiver ran down his back. Compared to pulling his pants down, this felt way more risky.
Fifty-Five
THE NEXT DAY at lunch, Carlos stared across the lunchroom, his stomach grinding. Senior Dude was not only talking to Roxy, he was sitting at her table.
His buds followed his gaze. Toro asked, “Why is that guy sitting with her?”
“I don’t know.” Carlos stabbed the tomato on his burger. “And I don’t care.”
Playboy stretched his arms, patting Carlos on the back. “Well, you know what they say: If you love someone, let ’em go. If they don’t come back, hunt ’em down and kill ’em.”
Carlos pondered Playboy’s suggestion, his head burning. For Roxy to ignore him had been annoying. For her to diss him with another guy was enraging. All afternoon, in every class, Carlos shifted in his chair, debating his options, till he finally made a choice.
When the final bell rang, he trekked slowly toward Roxy’s homeroom, his heart galloping ahead of him. Amidst the clamor of students, Roxy stood at her locker with her friends, talking and giggling.
Carlos shoved his fists into his jean jacket, fighting the urge to back out. Steeling himself with all his courage, he called out to her,“’S’up?”
Roxy darted a glance at him, briefly nodded, and returned her attention to her friends.
As she turned away, Carlos felt his resolve collapse. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. But he had to do it. He swallowed the lump in his throat and burst out, “Hey, can we talk a sec?”
The words boomed louder than he’d meant, echoing against the metal lockers.
Roxy’s group turned instantly silent, peering at him.
“Please?” he quickly added.
Roxy said something to her friends. Then she stepped toward him, her beautiful lips pressed into an irritated line. “What’s so important?”
“Um …” Carlos felt the sweat dampening his neck. “Can we go talk somewhere?”
Roxy gave him a hard-jawed look, as if considering. “Look, I’ve got to get to cheerleading practice. What is it?”