“Let’s do it,” I murmur into her neck.
She stops breathing. Freezes. “What? Right now?”
I look up at her face. Her forehead is creased. She does not look happy.
“Um … yeah?”
She shakes her head. Says, “No,” in case I didn’t get the point.
Talk about a mood killer. I roll onto my back. Let out a heavy sigh.
After a second, she props onto an elbow and stares at me. “What’s going on with you?”
“We’ve been together two years. Don’t you think it’s time we finally have sex?”
“We’re only sixteen.”
“So? That’s like one hundred sixteen in guy hormone years. Time is running out.”
“It is not.” She taps my chest with her forefinger. “I want to. Eventually. Just don’t pressure me, okay? I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Yeah. Please do that.”
She lightly kisses my lips. I kiss her back.
The next morning I walk into first period well before the bell rings. I stand in the back. See an easel between two students, both girls. I quickly take it.
I recognize one of the girls. She plays in the school band. I smile at her. “Trombone, right?”
She smiles back, her mouth full of braces. “Trumpet.”
“Oh, right.” As I’m wondering how she can blow a trumpet with all that metal in her mouth, I notice Zach walking in. He heads to an easel on the other side of the room. I lower my eyes.
“That touchdown you made against Frasier in the playoffs was awesome,” she says.
“Thanks.” I grab a pencil from the tray on the easel. Tap it on my knee. “I guess you saw most of the games.”
“Yeah.” She smiles at me again.
I glance up. Zach sees me. Smiles and nods. My heart skips. My stupid, idiot heart skips.
I cannot believe this.
I was with Jillia last night. Completely turned on. Ready to have sex. Imagining us washing dishes together for the rest of our lives.
“Hey, did you hear me?” Braces says.
“What?”
“I said my name is Melanie. You don’t need to tell me your name. I know you’re Brett. Everyone at school knows Brett Miller.” Now she’s blushing.
Right. “Hi, Melanie.”
The late bell rings. For the next fifty-five minutes I’m the ideal student. Focus on drawing like I’m a budding Picasso. I do not glance at Zach. When my mind starts thinking about Zach, I switch to Jillia. Beautiful, amazing Jillia.
“Turn in your pages and clean up,” Mr. Spencer says as class ends. “Remember to sign your work or you won’t get credit.”
I quickly scribble my name at the bottom of the page. Rip the sheet off the pad. Rush to set it on the assignment table so I can get out of class.
Then I smell him. My knees go rubbery.
“I see you’re getting the hang of light sources,” Zach says. He’s pointing at my drawing. “Nice shading on that sphere.”
I don’t say anything. I will not say anything.
He sets his page on top of mine. His drawings are amazing. Full of detail. I can’t be a jerk. I have to say something. “Wow. Those are awesome.”
He shrugs. “I’ve had practice.”
I meet his brown eyes.
Someone calls, “See you tomorrow, Brett!”
I quickly look away from Zach. Melanie is waving at me, her braces flashing.
I give her a small wave.
“Fan?” Zach asks.
“Football groupie.” I roll my eyes.
He laughs. Mimics Melanie’s voice when he says, “See you tomorrow, Brett.”
“Yeah. See ya.” I watch him walk away.
As I’m running to English, I whack my fist against my forehead hard enough so it hurts.
CHAPTER
4
If you’re into anything mechanical, Earl’s Auto and Marine is like heaven. It’s a smorgasbord of used car and boat parts. The place is grimy and a complete wreck. I doubt the floor has ever seen a mop. But as I step inside, the scent of metal and rust and grease is like coming home.
Dad says he took me to Earl’s when I was a few days old. Mom never confirmed or denied his claim. She just rolled her eyes and smiled when he said it. But I do remember when I was about four. Running around the bins of valves and camshafts. Shoving my little hands into boxes of bolts. Gaping at the hundreds of chrome hubcaps lining the walls. Amazed by the engine blocks scattered along the floor in the back. They still make me think of metal boulders tossed by ocean waves.
Dad hasn’t come with me since I started driving. I thought of asking him this morning. But it’s a rare calm day in February. Perfect for crabbing. Dad was up and out of the house at three thirty. We won’t see him until late this afternoon.
Along with a few other guys, I’m picking through the discount boxes in the front of the store. A discount at Earl’s really means something. The boxes are usually full of useless junk. But I once found some extra lug nuts for my pickup for almost nothing. As I lift out an old wrench, Zach crosses my mind. I don’t want to think about him. I’ve been forcing myself not to think about him. But here I am, wondering if he’s into cars. I totally doubt it. But I imagine us working under the truck together. Reaching for a wrench at the same time. Our hands touching—
I drop the wrench on the floor. Take a deep breath as I pick it up. This can not be normal. I glance at the guy rummaging through the box next to mine. Does he ever think about men? And if he does, doesn’t that mean he’s gay? Because I’m not gay. I like girls. I love girls. I love Jillia.
“Hey, kid.”
I twist around. Earl, the store’s owner, is grinning at me.
“Hey, Earl,” I say.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he says, looking me up and down. “Don’t you ever stop growing? Have the Ducks recruited you yet?”
“No. I’m just a sophomore.”
“Well, they will.” Earl must be in his fifties or sixties. His Trail Blazer’s cap is practically black it’s so coated with grease. “How’s your old man?” he asks.
“Okay. Out crabbing.”
He nods. Breathes in through his teeth. “Hope he has a good day. It’s been a lousy season.”
It has? I figured it hasn’t been a good season the way Dad’s stressing over bills. But I wasn’t sure. “Yeah,” I say, like I know what I’m talking about.
“You guys getting by?”
I bite my lip. Shrug my shoulders.
He quickly says, “Sorry. None of my business. It’s just a big topic of conversation around here. This is not a good time to be a fisherman.” He claps his hands. “So. You here to see the Nissan I just got in?”
“Yeah.”
“I figured you’d be on that truck like a sand fly on seaweed. You know the way.” He pats my arm.
Another customer comes up and asks Earl a question.
“Thanks,” I tell him and head for the junkyard behind the store. It doesn’t take long to find the pickup. It’s pretty beat up. Must have been in an accident. But what I really need is an alternator. Lifting the hood, the engine compartment looks clean. The alternator is there. It’s probably worth giving it a shot. But I doubt I can afford it on my allowance. I’ll have to ask Dad for the money, and I really don’t want to do that.
I go back inside. Wait by the cash register while Earl rings up a couple of customers.
“What’s the verdict?” he asks when he’s done.
“How much for the alternator?”
He squints as he looks at the ceiling and then back at me. “For you? Thirty bucks.”
It’s less than what I’d pay anywhere else. But still more than I have.
“Okay,” I tell him. “I’ll see what I can do. Thanks.” I turn to leave.
“Hey, Brett,” he says. When I’ve turned back around, he says quietly, “I know it’s not fair. But lousy fishing is good for my business. Peo
ple without much money buy on the cheap. I’m busy.”
I nod. I noticed there are more people in here than usual.
“I could use another hand. Are you interested?”
“You mean a job?”
“Yeah. Tearing down vehicles. Helping customers. We can work around your school schedule.”
I don’t know what to say. Working at Earl’s would be so cool. Like, I can’t imagine a better part-time job. “Um, yeah, I’m interested. I really am. But—”
“No need to decide right now. Talk it over with your pop, okay?”
“Okay, yeah.” I shake Earl’s hand. “Thanks for the offer. I really appreciate it.”
“You’d be doing me a favor, kid. Say hi to the old man for me.”
As I drive home, part of me knows asking Dad about the job is useless. He’s just going to say no. But if money is that tight, maybe I can change his mind. It’s about three thirty when I pull into the driveway. Dad’s not home yet. Jillia and I are going to a party later, so I’ve got a few hours to kill. When I think about all of that down time, I back the truck out of the driveway and head to the marina.
I can see the radar tower of Dad’s boat when I cruise into the parking lot. I trot down the ramp to the dock. Seagulls are swarming around his boat, hoping for scraps. If he’s tying up, that means he’s already offloaded his catch. His crewmate, Hank, waves when he sees me. “Hey, long time no see!”
“Hi, Hank. Is Dad up there?”
“Yep. Just finishing.” He leaps to the dock. “I’m out of here.” He winks. “Big date.”
I stand next to the boat. Dad’s hosing down the deck. About fifty round crab traps are stacked in the aft.
“How did it go?” I call up to him.
He kind of jumps when he sees me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I want to talk to you about something.”
He gives me a strange look. Maybe because I haven’t been near the boat in months. He grumbles, “Give me a minute.”
When he jumps onto the dock, he’s gripping a large crab in each hand. They clack their claws open and closed. “Dinner,” he says.
I walk next to him toward the parking lot, but not close enough to get pinched. “I’m going out tonight with Jillia. I don’t need dinner.”
“Oh,” he says.
“So … Earl’s offered me a job.”
“No,” he says right off.
“Dad, hear me out! He’s willing to work around my school schedule. It’ll give me money for truck parts. For gas—”
“No!” He stops walking and stares at me. “You’re just sixteen.”
“So? You were only fourteen when you started fishing, right?”
“Yeah, I was. And I wish I’d never gotten sucked into this life. Focus on school, Brett. On football. Follow your dreams—”
“But it’s just a part-time job!”
“Listen to me. You would not believe how easily a part-time job becomes a full-time job. Then, suddenly, it’s your life.” He pulls his right arm back and throws the crab he was holding into the bay. Does the same thing with the other crab.
I let him walk ahead of me as he steams his way down the dock.
CHAPTER
5
After getting nowhere with my dad, I’m in a crappy mood for a party. I almost call Jillia and tell her to forget it. But it’s a birthday thing for one of her softball buddies. She’ll go even if I don’t. And I hate the idea of Jillia going to a party without me. I mean, I trust her and everything. But stuff happens at parties. Especially if there’s alcohol around.
I park in front of Jillia’s house. The truck’s headlights flicker. Stupid alternator. I don’t know how much longer it will last. If Dad would just let me take that job. In addition to some income, I’m sure Earl gives his employees a discount. But, whatever. It’s not going to happen. I just have to stop thinking about it.
I’m reaching to turn off the ignition when I hear Jillia’s front door slam. I look out the passenger window and smile as she trots to the truck. She’s wearing her short black skirt. Tight, low-cut top. Her hair is down, all wavy and shiny in the street light. She opens the passenger door.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hi. You look really nice.”
“Thanks.” She leans over and kisses me. It’s just a peck. I make it last longer. I’d like to stay parked and make out. But she pushes me away. “Let’s go, okay?”
I sigh. “Sure.” I put the truck in gear and pull away from the curb. We chat on the way to Carmelita’s party. I feel so normal around Jillia. So freaking comfortable. You know what? I’m not gay. I think my problem is hormones. I’m sixteen. I think about sex like ninety-nine percent of the time. I’ve got overflowing testosterone. I so totally believe this is true that I’m in a much better mood when we walk into Carmelita’s house.
It’s only eight o’clock and the place is already packed. In the kitchen, beverage cans overflow a tub filled with ice. I look for a beer. Don’t see any. Oh well. I hand a Coke to Jillia. Take one for myself. Lean against the kitchen counter. Feel the sweet soda fizzle in my mouth. I wrap my arm around my girlfriend. Kiss her cheek.
Life is good. Even without a job, I’ll get by. My family will get by. We always do.
“Yo, Brett.”
“Yo, Josh,” I say.
Josh has just come into the kitchen. He’s holding hands with Sanya, another player on the softball team. She squeals when she sees Jillia. They trot off together, all hyper and chatty.
“Girls,” I say, shaking my head.
“Yeah. Total mystery, man.” Josh picks through the cans in the tub. “No beer? Drag.” He grabs a soda and leans against the counter next to me. The kitchen opens up to the rest of the house, so it’s a great place to watch the party.
We’re talking about my truck and school and stuff when Eliza, the team’s catcher, walks in the front door. She’s with a girl I’ve never seen before. Josh nudges my arm. Gestures with his chin at Eliza. “She’s totally gay.”
“Oh yeah?” I feel my stomach tighten a little at the topic. Then I remind myself this has nothing to do with me.
“You didn’t know?” Josh says.
I shake my head.
“Pretty obvious, man. Cropped hair. No makeup. She even walks like a guy.”
I watch as Eliza and her friend stroll over and hug Carmelita. I don’t really see what he’s talking about. But I play along. “Lesbians, huh?”
“Yep. Sanya says a lot of softballers are lesbos.”
“Jillia never talks about it.”
“Ask her sometime. It’s a real eye opener.”
I laugh suddenly.
“What?” Josh asks.
I pause. Wonder if I should say what’s on my mind. What the hell. “Do you think girls look at football players and talk about how gay we are?”
Josh squints at me like I’m nuts. “Of course not. Sports are a naturally masculine activity. Not so for girls.”
I nod, like this makes perfect sense. Take a sip of my Coke, frowning. “So you don’t think there are any gay football players?”
He thinks. “Well, some kickers maybe. They can be a little swishy.” He laughs and punches my arm. Then he looks at his can of soda. Shakes it. “There has got to be alcohol somewhere. I’m gonna scope it out. Wanna come with?”
“No thanks. I’m good.”
As I wait for Jillia, I watch everyone, girls and guys. Wonder if they’re really who they seem to be. Or if they’ve got completely different lives going on that no one else knows about. The team’s center fielder, Angela Cornish, walks in. She’s alone. She is so amazing looking.
“Stop drooling.” Jillia’s back, reaching her arm around my waist.
“I only have drool for you, baby.” I return her hug. “Why didn’t Angela bring a date?”
Jillia shrugs. “Probably didn’t want the hassle of bringing her girlfriend.”
“What?”
Jillia takes a sip of my warm soda. �
�She’s a lesbian.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Really.”
“Really?”
Jillia shoves her elbow into my ribs. “Yes. Why is that so hard to believe?”
“I don’t know. She’s just so—”
“Feminine? Beautiful?”
“Well, um, yeah. I mean, Eliza I can kind of understand.”
Jillia stares at me. “You think Eliza is gay?”
“Josh said—”
“Josh doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“What about the girl she’s with?”
“What about her? She’s a friend. Eliza’s boyfriend is Jeremy Reynolds.”
“Oh yeah? He’s in my bio class. Wow, and I was thinking half the team was, you know, hitting on each other.”
“Yeah, that’s not how it is. Personally, I don’t really care. I just like playing ball.”
“You do?” I wiggle my eyebrows.
“Brett.”
“Sorry. Can we go now? I want to make out.”
She rolls her eyes. “But the party just started.”
“Please?” I kiss her lips. “Pretty please?”
She hesitates, then kisses me back. A nice, long kiss. She sighs. “Okay.”
Our make-out session goes great. Until I start thinking about Zach. And he gets stuck in my head. And Jillia wants to know what’s wrong. And I can’t tell her.
When I drop Jillia off at home, I am not a happy camper.
CHAPTER
6
Sunday sucks. Zach is in my head like a stupid song. I actually go to church with Dad and Darla. Figure a dose of religion might kick this ugly crap out of me. Unfortunately, Pastor Tom’s sermon has nothing to do with sex … or sin. I try to listen anyway. He’s reading a Bible scripture, and I hate to say this, but it’s really boring. I pick up one of those little pencils on the back of the pew in front of me. Poke the dull lead into my palm. Think about art class. Imagine Zach’s fingers wrapped around a pencil. Then I imagine his fingers wrapped around something else.
Holy …
I noisily shove the pencil back in its little holder. Darla gives me the evil eye. I glare back at her. Cross my arms and slouch into the pew. Hope a lightning bolt doesn’t strike me. Then hope it does. To put me out of my misery. I’d think about Jillia, but I’m not sure church is the right place for that either. So I half listen to Pastor Tom and imagine replacing the alternator in the pickup. Running football passing routes. The homework I have to finish when I get home.
Bi-Normal Page 2