Falling in Love With Hominids

by Nalo Hopkinson

  “Hey, girl,” Foster’s voice said, “you look great! You too, of course, Kashy.”

  Gilla didn’t answer. She put horrified hands to her mouth. Foster, big old goofy Foster with his twinkly eyes and his too-baggy sweatshirt, gently took the shoulder that he’d slapped so carelessly seconds before. “You okay, Gilla?”

  Kashy looked on in concern.

  Gilla swallowed. Found her voice. “Jesus fuck, Foster! You made me swallow it!”

  Seeing that she was all right, Foster grinned his silly grin. “And you know what Roger says about girls who swallow!”

  “No, man; you made me swallow the cherry pit!” Oh, God; what was going to happen now?

  “Oo, scary,” Foster said. “It’s gonna grow into a tree inside you, and then you’ll be sooorry!” He made cartoon monster fingers in Gilla’s face and mugged at her. Kashy burst out laughing. Gilla too. Lightly, she slapped Foster’s hands away. Yeah, it was only an old tree.

  “C’mon,” she said. “Let’s go to this party already.”

  They went and grabbed their bikes out of her parents’ garage. It was a challenge riding in those wedge heels, but at least she was wearing pants, unlike Kashy, who seemed to have perfected how to ride in a tight skirt with her knees decently together, as she perfected everything to do with her appearance. Gilla did her best to look dignified without dumping the bike.

  “I can’t wait to start driving lessons,” Kashy complained. “I’m getting all sweaty. I’m going to have to do my makeup all over again when I get to Patricia’s place.” She perched on her bike like a princess in her carriage, and neither Gilla nor Foster could persuade her to move any faster than a crawl. Gilla swore that if Kashy could, she would have ridden sidesaddle in her little skirt.

  All the way there, Foster, Gilla and Kashy argued over what type of cobra a hamadryad was. Gilla was sure she remembered one thing: hamadryads had inflatable hoods just below their heads. She tried to ignore how the ride was making the back of her neck sticky. The underside of the triangular mass of her hair was glued uncomfortably to her skin.

  Who went for a ride on a tiger . . .

  They could hear music coming from Patricia’s house. The three of them locked their bikes to the fence and headed inside. Gilla surreptitiously tugged the hem of her blouse down over her hips. But Kashy’d known her too long. Her eyes followed the movement of Gilla’s hands, and she sighed. “I wish I had a butt like yours,” Kashy said.

  “What? You crazy?”

  “Naw, man. Look how nice your pants fit you. Mine always sag in the behind.”

  Foster chuckled. “Yeah, sometimes I wish I had a butt like Gilla’s too.”

  Gilla looked at him, baffled. Beneath those baggy pants Foster always wore, he had a fine behind; strong and shapely. She’d seen him in swim trunks.

  Foster made grabbing motions at the air. “Wish I had it right here, warm and solid in between these two hands.”

  Kashy hooted. Gilla reached up and swatted Foster on the back of the head. He ducked, grinning. All three of them were laughing as they stepped into the house.

  After the coolness of the spring air outside, the first step into the warmth and artificial lighting of Patricia’s place was a shock. “Hey there, folks,” said Patricia’s dad. “Welcome. Let me just take your jackets, and you head right on in to the living room.”

  “Jeez,” Gilla muttered to Foster once they’d handed off their jackets. “The ’rents aren’t going to hang around, are they? That’d be such a total drag.”

  In the living room were some of their friends from school, lounging on the chairs and the floor, laughing and talking and drinking bright red punch out of plastic glasses. Everybody was on their best behaviour, since Patricia’s parents were still around. Boring. Gilla elbowed Foster once they were out of Mr. Bright’s earshot. “Try not to be too obvious about ogling Tanya, okay? She’s been making goo-goo eyes at you all term.”

  He put a hand to his chest, looked mock innocent. “Who, me?” He gave a wave of his hand and went off to say hi to some of his buddies.

  Patricia’s mother was serving around mini patties on a tray. She wore stretch pants that made her big butt look bigger than ever when she bent over to offer the tray, and even through her heavy sweatshirt Gilla could make out where her large breasts didn’t quite fit into her bra but exploded up over the top of it. Shit. Gilla’d forgotten to check how she looked in her new blouse. She’d have to get to the bathroom soon. Betcha a bunch of the other girls were already lined up outside it, waiting to fix their hair, their makeup, readjust their pantyhose, renew their “natural” lipstick.

  Patricia, looking awkward but sweet in a little flowered dress, grinned at them and beckoned them over. Gilla smoothed her hair back, sucked her gut in, and started to head over towards her, picking her way carefully in her wedgies.

  She nearly toppled as a hand grabbed her ankle. “Hey, big girl. Mind where you put that foot. Wouldn’t want you to step on my leg and break it.”

  Gilla felt her face heat with embarrassment. She yanked her leg out of Roger’s grip and lost her balance. Kashy had to steady her. Roger chuckled. “Getting a little top heavy there, Gilla?” he said. His buddies Karl and Haygood, lounging near him, snickered.

  Karl was obviously trying to look up Kashy’s skirt. Kashy smoothed it down over her thighs, glared at him, and led the way to where Patricia was sitting. “Come on, girl,” she whispered to Gilla. “The best thing is to ignore them.”

  Cannot ignore them all your days. Gilla smiled her too-bright smile, hugged Patricia and kissed her cheek. “Mum and Dad are going soon,” Patricia whispered at them. “They promised me.”

  “They’d better,” Kashy said.

  “God, I know,” Patricia groaned. “They’d better not embarrass me like this too much longer.” She went to greet some new arrivals.

  Gilla perched on the couch with Kashy, trying to find a position that didn’t make her tummy bulge, trying to keep her mind on the small talk. Where was Foster? Oh, in the corner. Tanya was sitting way close to him, tugging at her necklace and smiling deeply into his eyes. Foster had his “I’m such a stud” smile on.

  Mr. Bright came in with a tray of drinks. He pecked his chubby wife on the lips as she went by. He turned and contemplated her when her back was to him. He was smiling when he turned back. The smile lingered happily on his face long after the kiss was over.

  Are you any less than she? Well, she certainly was, thank heaven. With any luck, it’d be a few years before she was as round as Mrs. Bright. And what was this “less than she” business, anyway? Who talked like that? Gilla took a glass of punch from Mr. Bright’s tray and sucked it down, trying to pay attention to Jahanara and Kashy talking about whether 14 karat gold was better for necklaces than 18 karat.

  “Mum,” said Patricia from over by the door. “Dad?”

  Her mother laughed nervously. “Yes, we’re going, we’re going. You have the phone number at the Hamptons’ house?”

  “Yesss, Mum,” Patricia hissed. “See you later, okay?” She grabbed their coats from the hallway closet, all but bustled them out the door.

  “We’ll be back by 2 a.m.!” her dad yelled over his shoulder. Everyone sat still until they heard that lovely noise, the sound of the car starting up and driving off down the street.

  Foster got up, took the CD out of the stereo player. Thank God. Any more of that kiddie pop, and Gilla’d thought she’d probably barf. Foster grinned around to everyone, produced another CD from his chest pocket and put it into the CD player. A jungle mix started up. People cheered and started dancing. Patricia turned out all the lights but the one in the hallway.

  And now Gilla needed to pee. Which meant she had to pass the clot of people stuck all over Roger again. Well, she really needed to check on that blouse, anyway. She’d just make sure she was far from Roger’s grasping hands. She stood, tugged at the hem of her blouse so it was covering her bum again. Reach those shoulders tall too, strong one. S
tretch now. When had she started talking to herself like that? But it was good advice. She fluffed up her hair, drew herself up straight and walked with as much dignity as she could in the direction of the bathroom.

  Roger and Gilla had been the first in their class to hit puberty. Roger’s voice had deepened into a raspy bass, and his shoulders, chest and arms had broadened with muscle. He’d shot up about a foot in the past few months, it seemed. He sauntered rather than walked and he always seemed to be braying an opinion on everything, the more insulting the better. Gilla flicked a glance at him. In one huge hand he had a paper napkin which he’d piled with three patties, two huge slices of black rum cake and a couple of slices of ham. He was pushing the food into his mouth as he brayed some boasty something at his buddies. He seemed barely aware of his own chewing and swallowing. Probably took a lot of feeding to keep that growing body going. He was handsome, though. Had a broad baby face with nice full lips and the beginnings of a goatee. People were willing to hang with him just in hopes that he would pay attention to them, so why did he need to spend his time making Gilla’s life miserable?

  Oops, shit. Shouldn’t even have thought it, ’cause now he’d noticed her noticing. He caught and held her gaze, and still looking at her, leaned over and murmured something at the knot of people gathered around him. The group burst out laughing. “No, really?” said Clarissa in a high, witchy voice. Gilla put her head down and surged out of the room, not stopping until she was up the stairs to the second floor and inside the bathroom. She stayed in there for as long as she dared.

  When she came out, Clarissa was in the second floor hallway. Gilla said, “Bathroom’s free now.”

  “Did you really let them do that to you?”

  “Huh?” In confusion, Gilla met Clarissa’s eyes. Clarissa’s cheeks were flushed and she had a bright, knowing look on her face.

  “Roger told us. How you let him suck on your . . .” Clarissa bit on her bottom lip. Her cheeks got even pinker. “Then you let Haygood do it too. Don’t you, like, feel like a total slut now?”

  “But I didn’t . . .”

  “Oh, come on, Gilla. We all saw how you were looking at Roger.”

  Liar! Can such a liar live? The thought hissed through Gilla, strong as someone whispering in her ear.

  “You know,” Clarissa said, “You’re even kinda pretty. If you just lost some weight, you wouldn’t have to throw yourself at all those guys like that.”

  Gilla felt her face go hot. Her mouth filled with saliva. She was suddenly very aware of little things: the bite of her bra into her skin, where it was trying to contain her fat, swingy breasts; the hard, lumpy memory of the cherry pit slipping down her throat; the bristly triangular hedge of her hair, bobbing at the base of her neck and swelling to cover her ears. Her mouth fell open, but no words came out.

  “He doesn’t even really like you, you know.” Clarissa smirked at her and sauntered past her into the bathroom.

  She couldn’t, she mustn’t still be there when Clarissa got out of the bathroom. In the awkward wedge heels, she clattered her way down the stairs like an elephant, her mind a jumble. Once in the downstairs hallway, she didn’t head back towards the happy, warm sound of laughter and music in the living room, but shoved her way out the front door.

  It was even darker out there, despite the porch light being on. Foster was out on the porch, leaning against the railing and whispering with someone. Tanya, shivering in the short sundress she was wearing, was staring wide-eyed at Foster and hanging on every word. “And then,” Foster said, gesturing with his long arms, “I grabbed the ball from him, and I . . .” He turned, saw Gilla. “Hey girl, what’s up?”

  Tanya looked at her like she was the insurance salesman who’d interrupted her dinner.

  “I, Foster,” stammered Gilla. “What’s ‘calumny’ mean?”

  “Huh?” He pushed himself upright, looking concerned. “Scuse me, Tanya, okay?”

  “All right,” Tanya said sulkily. She went inside.

  Gilla stood in the cold, shivering. That liar! He has no right!

  Foster asked again, “What’s wrong?”

  “Calumny. What’s it mean?” she repeated.

  “I dunno. Why?”

  “I think it means a lie, a really bad one.” He and his toadies. If you find a nest of vipers, should you not root it out? “It just came to me, you know?” Her thoughts were whipping and thrashing in the storm in her head. We never gave them our favour!

  Foster came and put a hand on her shoulder, looked into her eyes. “Gilla, who’s telling lies? You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

  The warmth of her friend’s palm through the cloth of her blouse brought her back to herself. “Damn, it’s cold out here!”

  Something funny happened to Foster’s face. He hesitated, then opened his arms to her. “Here,” he said.

  Blinking with surprise, Gilla stepped into the hug. She stopped shivering. They stood there for a few seconds, Gilla wondering what, what? Should she put her arms around him too? Were they still just friends? Was he just warming her up because she was cold? Did he like her? Well of course he liked her, he hung out with her and Kashy during lunch period at school almost every day. Lots of the guys gave him shit for that. But did he like her like that? Did she want him to? By your own choice, never by another’s. What was she supposed to do now? And what was with all these weird things she seemed to be thinking all of a sudden?

  “Um, Gilla?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Could you get off my foot now?”

  The laughter that bubbled from her tasted like cherries in the back of her throat. She stepped off poor Foster’s abused toes, leaned her head into his shoulder, giggling. “Oh, Foster. Why didn’t you just say I was hurting you?”

  Foster was giggling too, his voice high with embarrassment. “I didn’t know what to say, or what was the right thing to do, or what.”

  “You and me both.”

  “I haven’t held too many girls like that before. I mean, only when I’m sure they want me to.”

  Now Gilla backed up so she could look at him better. “Really? What about Tanya?”

  He looked sheepish, and kind of sullen. “Yeah, I bet she’d like that. She’s nice, you know? Only . . .”

  “Only what?” Gilla sat on the rail beside Foster.

  “She just kinda sits there, like a sponge. I talk and I talk, and she just soaks it all up. She doesn’t say anything interesting back, she doesn’t tell me about anything she does, she just wants me to entertain her. Saniya was like that too, and Kristen,” he said, naming a couple of his short-lived school romances. “I like girls, you know? A lot. I just want one with a brain in her head. You and Kashy got more going on than that, right? More fun hanging with you guys.”

  “So?” said Gilla, wondering what she was going to say.

  “So what?”

  “So what about Kashy?” She stumbled over her friend’s name, because what she was really thinking was, What about me? Did she even like Foster like that?

  “Oh, look,” drawled a way too familiar voice. “It’s the faggot and the fat girl.”

  Roger, Karl and Haywood had just come lumbering out of the house. Haywood snickered. Gilla froze.

  “Oh, give it up, Roger,” Foster drawled back. He lounged against the railing again. “It’s so fucking tired. Every time you don’t know what to say—which, my friend, is often—you call somebody ‘faggot.’”

  Haywood and Karl, their grins uncertain, glanced from Roger to Foster and back again. Foster got an evil smile, put a considering finger to his chin. “You ever hear of the pot calling the kettle black?”

  At that, Karl and Haywood started to howl with laughter. Roger growled. That was the only way to describe the sound coming out of his mouth. Karl and Foster touched their fists together. “Good one, man. Good one,” Karl said. Foster grinned at him.

  But Roger elbowed past Karl and stood chest to chest with Foster, his arms crossed in front of him
, almost like he was afraid to let his body touch Foster’s. Roger glared at Foster, who stayed lounging calmly on the railing with a smirk on his face, looking Roger straight in the face. “And you know both our mothers ugly like duppy too, so you can’t come at me with that one either. You know that’s true, man; you know it.”

  Before he had even finished speaking, Haywood and Karl had cracked up laughing. Then, to Gilla’s amazement, Roger’s lips started to twitch. He grinned, slapped Foster on the back, shook his hand. “A’ight man, a’ight,” said Roger. “You got me.” Foster grinned, mock-punched Roger on the shoulder.

  “We’re going out back for a smoke,” Haywood said. “You coming, Foster?”

  “Yeah man, yeah. Gilla, catch you later, okay?” The four of them slouched off together, Roger trailing a little. Just before they rounded the corner of the house, Roger looked back at Gilla. He pursed his lips together and smooched at her silently. Then they were gone. Gilla stood there, hugging herself, cold again.

  She crept back inside. The lights were all off, except for a couple of candles over by the stereo. Someone had moved the dinner table with the food on it over there too, to clear the floor. A knot of people were dancing right in the centre of the living room. There was Clarissa, with Jim. Clarissa was jigging about, trying to look cool. Bet she didn’t even know she wasn’t on the beat. “Rock on,” Gilla whispered.

  The television was on, the sound inaudible over the music. A few people huddled on the floor around it, watching a skinny blonde chick drop-kick bad guys. The blue light from the TV flickered over their faces like cold flame.

  On the couches all around the room, couples were necking. Gilla tried to make out Kashy’s form, but it was too dark to really see if she was there. Gilla scouted the room out until she spied an empty lone chair. She went and perched on it, bobbed her head to the music and tapped her foot, pretending to have a good time.