She walks away from me and sits back on the bed, watching me.
“This is about you,” I say. “This is all, extremely, about you.”
She shrugs. “You're going through something. This discovering that you're gay thing, I never had this. I always knew.”
“Did Tristan always know he was trans?”
“Nope. Looks like I'm the weird one.”
“You're just like...everything I want to be.”
“Sugar, I am a girl living in a blank cabin waiting for the next gig to start. I'm not anyone's goals just because I fuck women.”
I wrinkle my nose.
“I'm sorry, does that offend your delicate sensibilities? Where exactly was it you had your face last night?”
“I mean, is that it?” I say. “Being a lesbian, it's fucking women? You and I aren't right now. If we were a straight couple with three days left...I mean, not that we're a couple, I don't mean—”
She waves her hand. “Move past it, it's fine.”
“Okay. But like you got to imagine they'd be all over each other, right? Just non-stop sex. And us...last night we had sex, and now we're playing with makeup. And talking about shit.”
She stretches over her legs and touches her toes. “And it's kind of awesome, right?”
“Yeah, it is.”
“That's because being a lesbian is better than being anything else.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Yep.”
“I want to dance,” I say.
“You and dancing, get a room.”
“Come on, I'm all dressed up now. Dance with me.”
“Oof, I'm too old for this. All right, all right.”
The thing I never pictured about sex was how much laughing there would be.
Mara is a different person when she's onstage, but she's not a different person when she has sex. And I don't suddenly turn into some grown up version of myself who's serious and sensual and confident with her body. It's just us, making fun of each other when we realize we're naked except for socks, sticking to each other with sweat and making weird noises, scratching each other up, stopping in the middle to get some water, or tell a story, or just put our foreheads together and look at each other.
It's just me, having sex.
It's just her.
And honestly it kind of makes me love my body, because look at this woman's body here with me, look how it moves and what it can do, this is me, I can do that. I know her like we've always been together.
My whole life I didn't even know who people like me were.
“Don't go,” she whispers.
Afterwards, we go to the old clubhouse and dig through the shelves, sitting on each other's shoulders, and find board games with half their pieces and old jigsaw puzzles and some mostly dried-out Play-Doh and an ancient record player. We lie around her room and she tries and fails to get the record player to work while I put together puzzles and we eat popsicles from her mini fridge. We paint each other's nails, and I try on her costumes, and we kiss popsicle syrup off each other's lips.
It's better than being anything else.
Chapter 10
The rain has stopped by the time I leave, but all the humidity is still hanging out in the air. Walking outside is like stepping into a mouth.
Oscar is emptying a trash can near the edge of the staff quarters. I give him a little wave on my way by.
“What are you doing here?” he says.
I rock back on my heels.
“Come on, who were you with?”
“Mara,” I say.
“Mara? Huh. Should have guessed.”
“I saw Tristan this morning,” I say. “Looks like he's doing better.”
“So you and Tristan are friends now?”
“Sure, why not? We have a lot in common.”
He hauls the trash bag out of the can and rolls his eyes.
“What?” I say.
He sets the bag down on the ground. “You start sleeping with Mara and now you know what it's like to be Tristan?”
“No, I'm not saying that. Just that me and Mara and Tris, we're...y'know. We're under the same umbrella. I'm just saying I finally found where I fit in, that's all.”
“You fit in with them?” he says. “My cousin had to get his fucking tits chopped off, but you sneak over here to have sex with a barrio girl and that's enough to get you in the club?”
“What the fuck do you know about it?” I say. “You're not in it.”
“What makes you think I'm straight?” he says. “You don't know a fucking thing about me. You're just like the rest of them.”
“I saved Tristan's ass,” I say. “I'm in a...a something with Mara. I care about them. You can't just make me out to be the same as every other rich girl.”
“Yeah, you're the savior to the poor kids,” he says. “Or is it just the entertainment staff poor kids?”
“What?”
“Newsflash, Sugar,” he says. “The entertainment staff treats the landscaping staff like shit. Do you really like poor kids, or just the pretty ones who can dance?”
“I don't have to be everything,” I say.
“You're right. You don't.” He picks up the bag. “So stop acting like you are.”
I take a deep breath. “I'm sorry I haven't talked to you much,” I say. “I know we got along well when I first got here.”
“Don't bother.”
“Maybe we can hang out some before I leave.”
“I have work to do,” he says. “I don't have time to hang out. Some of us have work to do that isn't dancing.”
“I don't know what you want me to do about any of this,” I say.
“Nothing,” he says. “I don't want anything from you, Sugar.”
“He's jealous,” Mara says. “He thought you were into him and he's being a baby about it. Ignore him.”
“It's not like you haven't said similar things to me,” I say.
“All the more reason you got to ignore him. You already get it from me.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Maybe.”
It's two in the morning, and we're sprawled out naked on her bed while she French braids my hair. I'm sleepy, but I don't want to go back to my room.
“You have great hair,” she says.
“I always wanted curls. Like my sister's. Or yours.”
“Hard to manage.” She winds an elastic band around the end of my braid. “There. Go look.”
“Noooo, I'm naked.”
“So?”
“So lying in bed naked is one thing. Walking around your cabin naked is a whole 'nother step.”
“I walk around naked all the time,” she says. “I'm pretty sure everyone on the staff here has seen me naked.”
“Yeah, well, if I had your body...”
“Oh stop,” she says.
“It is weird, though,” I say. “I don't give a shit what guys think of my body, but I want to look good to you.”
“That's because you're a lesbian,” she says.
I roll over onto my back. “It's because guys don't care what a girl's body looks like, they're just happy to be there. Girls...girls know.”
“Guys only don't care what girls' bodies look like because they only undress girls whose bodies they know they'll like,” Mara says. “It's not because they're nice and open-minded.”
“As opposed to what, lesbians just undressing everyone and then deciding whether they'll have sex with them? I think I like the other one more.”
She laughs. “No, lesbians are just as bad. It's just easier to be critical of women's bodies because we're familiar with ours.”
“So then you are looking at me and thinking about what's wrong with me.”
“You're ridiculous,” she says. “I'm looking at you and thinking about all the amazing shit your body can do. A girl who can lift me over her head and then eat me out like an expert? Pretty hot.”
“Ugh, you're making me sound like some sort of...lesbian robot.”
“Dyke
-tron 3000.”
“Ha.”
She rolls me onto my back and sort of leans herself over me, holding herself up on her forearms on either side of my head.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi. You're not a lesbian robot. You're a brilliant playwright. Slash dancer.”
“You've never read any of my shit, you don't know.”
She kisses my nose. “I know.”
I close my eyes and just rest in it for a minute.
“When's Rory coming back?” I say eventually, when I can't stand it anymore.
She doesn't answer right away. “Why do you care?”
“Come on,” I say. “Don't. Don't do that.”
She sighs and rolls off of me and props herself up next to me, facing me. She traces her fingers down my chest, between my breasts, casually like she doesn't know she's doing it.
“Tomorrow,” she says.
“Okay.”
“You don't need to worry about it, okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Sugar.”
“Tristan says she's using you,” I say.
“Tristan,” she says, “thinks that everyone else's relationships are terrible so he has a good excuse not to get close to anyone. And he's way too protective of me.”
I don't say anything.
“What,” she says. “You think I'm being mean to him?”
“A little.”
“And who says I'm not the one using Rory? I get to have sex with a celebrity. I could write a tell-all someday. Be rich and famous for five minutes. Why is everyone so sure she has the upper hand?”
“Do you love her?” I say.
“Ew, no.”
I just stare at her until her face changes. I'm good at it now.
“I used to,” she says. “Okay?”
“So what happened?”
“I grew up. I realized the hole in her life she was using me to fill. don't know. What you said. What Tristan said.” She points at me. “Just because he's right about this doesn't mean he's right about everything. Don't fall for that sage advice thing he does.”
“He's usually right about you.”
“Yeah, well. He knows me.”
“Or you're just not that hard,” I say.
“No way.” She kisses behind my ear. “I'm fearsome. I'm an enigma.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I'm complicated. Ferocious. Terrifying.”
“I'm so scared.”
She rolls me onto my back and works her mouth around my waist. She bites in to the skin above my hip and then skirts her tongue up my thigh.
I cover my face with my hands and make noises so high-pitched I can't believe I can hear them.
I sneak back into my room before sunrise and Bekah says, “Hey,” like it's the most normal thing in the world. Which I guess it's getting to be at this point.
I settle into bed. “Hey.”
“Are you having sex?” she says.
“Bekah...”
“I don't know why I'm ever asking. You're obviously having sex.”
“What about you and Josh?” I say.
“I have a boyfriend.”
“So then what are you doing with Josh?”
“It's complicated.”
“He's garbage, you know,” I say. “He treats the entertainment staff like shit.” I pause. “And I guess probably the landscaping staff too.”
“Ooh, so you're sleeping with someone on the entertainment staff?”
“You didn't give me a straight answer about Josh,” I say. “You could be sleeping with him even though you have a boyfriend. I think you should stay away from him.”
“I'm not sleeping with him,” Bekah says. “And I'm not sleeping with Shia either. I've never slept with anyone.”
I roll over and face her. She's lying on her back, totally still. If I didn't know better I'd say she was sleep. She looks peaceful.
“Seriously?” I say.
“Why is that such a surprise? I'm only sixteen.”
“I don't know, you're just...very out there.”
“I'm not waiting on anything, really,” she says. “It just hasn't happened yet. We do plenty of other stuff.” She pauses. “I actually thought about sleeping with Josh. Just to get my first time over with. So I wouldn't have to worry with Shia about if it would hurt or would I be good at it or something.”
I think this is the most words in a row tBekah's ever spoken to me.
“Didn't you worry about that stuff?” she says.
“I don't know. Before, maybe. But when it was actually happening...I don't know. It was mostly just thinking about...the other person.”
“Well, how do you know if it's the right person?” she says.
“I don't know. I guess it should be someone that you sort of love.”
“When Josh looks at me I feel pretty. Prettier than when Shia looks at me. Does that matter?”
“Well...Josh is prettier than Shia.”
“Yeah.” She shifts around a little. “I don't know. If I had sex with Josh it wouldn't be about him. It would be about me. Is that bad?”
“I think ideally it's about both of you.”
“But you just said that your first time it was about them, not you.”
“Yeah, well, I don't think anyone's first time is ideal.” I pull the covers up over me. “I just wanted to show them how much...I wanted them to feel as amazing as they are.”
“I wish someone felt that way about me,” Bekah says.
“They will.”
“It would be nice to know if I'm amazing,” she says.
Chapter 11
It's Friday morning, the sun is shining, dozens of families are playing croquet and doing water aerobics and taking improv classes, and Mara and I are in her dance studio over her lunch break, squeezing whatever time we can in around her full day of private lessons.
“Kiss me,” she says.
“No, I want to dance.” She has something light with a salsa beat on in the background that she uses to get everyone in the mood when they get in the studio. It's the Puerto Rican equivalent of elevator music. I put one hand in hers and one on her waist, in my Very Serious Mambo pose.
She starts dancing half-heartedly.
“Um, excuse you,” I say. “Start on the two. What is this dance frame? You need a strong dance frame, Mara.”
“Sugar.”
“Limp arm! Mambo is about tension.”
“Oh my God.”
“You have to be in control of every muscle of your body.” I hover my face right in front of hers. She leans forward to kiss me and I spin away, dancing my way across the floor.
She groans and drops to her knees. “You're the worst.”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Why didn't you have this kind of confidence when we actually had to perform?”
“Because you told me the mambo was about sexual tension so I couldn't sleep with you beforehand and blossom into my best self.”
“Oh, that's why we didn't sleep together, huh? Because of your deep respect for the mambo?”
I wiggle around.
“Oh my God, Sugar. You're a disgrace.”
I do a slow crawl across the floor and kiss her. She makes this noise in the back of her throat that makes me never want to get off the ground.
Then the door to the studio and someone yells, “Hey, Mara? You in here?” and we scramble up. I take a position in front of the mirror and act like someone studiously working on her form.
Mara does her teacher voice. “Right, like that, but your back should be straighter.”
“Screw you,” I mumble.
“Yeah,” she shouts. “I'm in here.”
Josh walks into the studio in full waiter array.
“What's up, golden boy?” Mara says.
“Sorry, Sugar, didn't mean to interrupt,” he says. “I didn't know you were taking private lessons. Y'know, I could have—”
“Hey. Pig,” Mara says. “What's up?”
“My granddad
sent me to talk to you about the end of the year performance,” he says. “We had some ideas.”
“You couldn't talk to me about this after hours?” she says, watching me the whole time. She corrects the bend of one of my elbows. Jerk.
“Yeah, I tried, but it's been kind of hard to find you after hours.”
“Mm,” she says, because what else really can she say.
“So, you have a minute now? Your schedule said you were between classes, but I guess...”
“It's fine,” she says. “What's up?”
“Well, since Tristan's sick, we were talking about what you should do for your partner for the closing show on Saturday night,” he says. “I know the two of you always do your mambo trick.”
“He has a replacement here. Tony. Very talented. We did a merengue lesson together last night, went great.”
“Sure, Tony's fine. But we were wondering if maybe we should take Tristan being out of commission as an opportunity to shake things up a bit.”
“Performing in front of the all the staff and visitors with a new partner isn't shaking things up a bit? The show's tomorrow. It's too late for me to make changes.”
“Well, this would be no different. Just a new partner. We were thinking, what if you did the dance with someone from waitstaff?”
She finally looks away me to give him a look I can only imagine by the back of her head. “Someone from the waitstaff? What, like you?”
He does this really insincere laugh. “No, not me. I was thinking Travis. You know Travis?”
“Travis?”
“Yeah, he's got that big muscular thing going on.”
“He's like two feet taller than me,” she says. “It'll look ridiculous.”
“Well, that dissonance was kind of the thing we were going for.”
She crosses her arms.
“You know...” he says. “Like an unlikely pair thing. Instead of you and Tristan, or you and Tony, we get this whole...y'know. Different sides of the tracks thing.”
“Different sides of the tracks? Are you shitting me?”
“It's a cross-cultural commentary,” he says. “Sure, it's a little cheesy, but you have to consider your audience. Think how much the people here would love the story of the big guy pulling you up, and you sharing your heritage with him.”
“Are you like...are you actually in my studio saying these words to me right now?”
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