Bi-Normal

by M. G. Higgins

  Five rows down, Nate turns, looks at me. What? Does he want me to mouth thank you? Thanks for sending your bi friend to remind me how truly horrible my life is. To try and recruit me into your gay club. You faggot. You stupid faggot.

  I run my hand through my hair. Jump up. “I have to go,” I tell Josh and Fermio.

  I hop down off the bleachers. There’s the thick metallic thwang of a bat hitting a ball. I notice a bat leaning against the end of the dugout. With everyone screaming, their eyes on the field, I grab it. I hold it next to my body as I walk to the parking lot.

  I find Nate’s car. His stupid gay Civic. I look around the lot. Don’t see anyone. I pull the bat up over my right shoulder. Bash it against a headlight. The glass breaks with a satisfying crunch. I smash the other headlight. I raise the bat again. Bring it down on the hood with all of my strength. All of my balled-up anger. I do it again. And again.

  I’m panting. Staring at Nate’s ruined car. Feel like I can’t move. Then I shake myself out of it. Carry the bat to my pickup. Get inside. My heart is beating fast against my ribs. I’m trembling all over. Reaching behind me, I throw the bat behind the seat.

  I sit there a second. What did I just do?

  Turning the key in the ignition, the engine stutters. On the third try, it starts. I slowly back out of the parking space. I pay attention to the speed limit as I drive away from school. Check the rearview mirror for flashing red and blue lights.

  CHAPTER

  18

  I should go home. Instead, I drive. And keep driving. I’ve only got a few dollars on me. So I stop when there’s just enough gas in the tank to get me home. I park at a county beach. Walk out on the sand. Sit with my back against a dune. It’s foggy. The sand and air are cold. The chill seeps through my jeans and thin hoodie. It’s like I haven’t stopped shivering since I left school. At least the cold gives me something to focus on besides my brain.

  I listen to the waves crashing in. The squawking seagulls. Fish trawlers bob like toy boats out on the water. One of them might be my dad’s. It’s weird thinking I might be looking at my dad out there. I lower my eyes. Grab a piece of driftwood and draw marks in the damp sand. Mom used to bring Darla and me here. On Saturdays when Dad was fishing.

  Mom was a loving person. An understanding person. I think that’s why Dad kind of fell apart after she died. He misses her like crazy. I do too. Especially now. I could walk into the kitchen today, tell her about me, and I think she’d get it. She’d love me anyway.

  I start drawing circles. Wonder who I can count on. Who my friends are. Yesterday, I would have said Jillia. I’m not sure anymore. A week ago, I would have said Fermio, Josh, the other guys on the team. Now I’m not sure about them either. How can I be friends with guys who’d hate me if they knew who I really was? They might not throw popcorn at my head or try to steal my backpack. I’m too big for that. No, they’d find more underhanded ways to get at me. Like what I did to Nate’s car. Or worse. I can imagine it getting so bad I might have to quit the football team. Maybe go to a different school. I don’t know how Nate and his friends cope.

  The breeze picks up. I wrap my arms around my legs and rest my chin on my knees. I laugh to myself. The only person I consider a friend I’ve known for two weeks. Zach. He’s not an arrogant jock. He’s just a nice guy. With a good sense of humor. And he likes me. I think the same way I like him. I’m not sure. I’m tired of not being sure.

  It’s really getting cold. I scramble to my feet and brush off the sand. Hike back to the truck. Catch a glimpse of the bat behind the seat. Feel sick to my stomach. Don’t want to think about Nate discovering his bashed-in car. Or wonder if the cops are searching for me. So I push it out of my head.

  I drive toward home. But instead of taking my turnoff, I keep going. Drive downtown. Hang a right on Fifth. Park up the street from Coffee Plantation. Sit in the Nissan a minute. Listen to the hot engine click-click-click as it cools. I made a promise to myself this morning. That I wouldn’t come here. I guess some promises are impossible to keep.

  The coffee shop is more crowded than before. All the tables are taken. It’s the same people with their laptops and e-readers. Weird, but I don’t feel like such an outsider today. I’m not one of them, but I don’t feel like I’ve landed on an alien planet either.

  I get in line at the counter. Zach is ringing up another customer. When he sees me, his broad smile just about knocks my socks off.

  “Hey, Brett! Mocha? Whipped?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “Good to see you, man. We’re kind of busy. Give me a few minutes until things calm down.”

  “Cool.”

  After giving the cashier my last four dollars, I take my paper coffee cup to a small table that someone just left. Glance at the artwork on the walls. Wonder if any of it is Zach’s. I sip the drink, trying not to be too obvious as I catch glimpses of him behind the counter. The blue apron he’s wearing is lame, but on him it looks good. Shows off his broad shoulders. He must work out. He didn’t build up those muscles slinging coffee. I guess I could ask him. He looks over at me while he’s waiting for a woman to figure out her order. He smiles and shrugs.

  As I smile back, Jillia pops into my head. I’m stabbed by guilt. What if Zach were a girl? Should I be sitting here ogling her? Admiring how she looks in her apron? Well, as long as I don’t act on my ogling, what’s the harm?

  As I take another sip of the mocha, it’s obvious what the harm is. I want to do more than admire Zach. I want to know what it’s like. To be with a guy. With a guy I’m crazy about. With him. That would make me a cheat. Which means I shouldn’t do anything more than what I’m doing right now—looking.

  Except I don’t know if I can spend the rest of my life pushing away this part of myself. Denying who I am. My cup empty, I crush it in my hand.

  “Ready?”

  I look up. Zach’s dangling a keychain in his raised fist.

  “Yeah.” I hesitate a second. Then I’m out of my chair.

  I follow him out the back door. Into the parking lot. Against the gloomy alley, the Mustang looks like a red cherry on a slab of chocolate ice cream. He unlocks the driver’s-side door. Pops the hood.

  “This is all a mystery to me, but I thought you might want a look.” He raises the hood and props it open. Rests his hands on the front of the engine compartment. I stand next to him. Close enough to feel the heat coming off his arm.

  Under the hood, there’s chrome everywhere. Chrome valve covers. Chrome air filter. What isn’t chrome is black or brushed aluminum.

  “I’ve never seen such a pristine engine in my life,” I tell him. “It makes my truck look like a junk heap.”

  “I guess Sarah and her boyfriend put tons of hours into this. I keep telling her I’m going to draw it.”

  I laugh and look at him. “Yeah, you would.”

  He shrugs. “What can I say? I like interesting shapes.” He meets my eyes. I remember him drawing me this morning. If I move closer, our lips will touch. I quickly lower my eyes, heat rising to my face.

  “Seen enough?” he asks.

  I nod.

  He lets the hood close with a gentle slam. “Okay, now for the interior. It is so sweet. You’re gonna love this.”

  He sits on the driver’s seat. Unlocks the passenger door from the inside. I feel myself standing on a thin edge about to slide. If I’m going to leave, I need to do it now.

  Right now.

  CHAPTER

  19

  I look around the empty parking lot. The empty alley. Hear the car window roll down. “You okay?” Zach calls. “Have to babysit your sister again?”

  I hesitate. Think how lame it would seem if I ran away again. “No,” I answer as I slowly walk over and open the passenger door. Sit on the bucket seat. The upholstery is butter-soft leather, the same red as the exterior. “Wow. This is nice.” I can’t help rubbing my hands over the seat cushion.

  “Right? I told you it was sweet.”

&nbs
p; I look around the interior. “It’s like the car is fresh off the lot. Only better.”

  “Exactly. Not bad for something older than my parents.” He slouches down a little. Holds the steering wheel like he’s driving. “Sarah says it was totally rusted and ready for the junkyard when they bought it.” He grabs the gearshift in his right hand. “Too bad it’s a manual transmission. I’ll never get to drive it.” He turns his head. “Do you know how to drive a stick?”

  I nod. “My Nissan’s a five speed.”

  “Really? Wow, that’s old school. I am impressed.”

  “It’s not a big deal. Once you get the hang of it.” I point toward his feet. “You just press your left foot down on that far pedal.”

  “This one?” He taps the clutch with the toe of his sneaker.

  “Yep. Go ahead and push it.”

  When I see his leg extend, I press my hand over his on the gearshift. I do it without thinking. Like when my dad wrapped his arm around me and my fishing pole the first time I cast a line. Zach’s warm skin against my palm is incredible. I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s too weird. But if Zach thinks it’s weird, he doesn’t flinch.

  I swallow. “Push forward,” I say, my voice thick. I press our hands up. “That’s first.” I pull our hands down. “That’s second.”

  Our hands are the same size. Fit perfectly together. I want to lace my fingers through his. Pull his hand against my chest. I’m so close to doing it, I freak. Let go. “Sorry,” I mumble. “I guess you don’t need me pushing you around.”

  “That’s okay. It helps.” He says it calmly. Like guys grab his hand every day. Maybe they do. Then he says, “So there’s more than first and second, right?”

  “Um … right.” I take a deep breath. My hands gripping my knees, I tell him, “Third is up and to the right. Fourth is down and right.”

  I hear the gearbox clunk into place as he goes through the motions.

  “Then back to the middle is neutral.”

  He grins at me when he’s done. “Cool. Though I’m assuming it’s not this easy when you’re driving.”

  “Uh, yeah, it’s a little more complicated. You can practice on my truck if you like. Sometime. It’s an old clunker. You’re not going to hurt it too much if you screw up.”

  “Really? Yeah, I’ve always wanted to drive a stick. Like only wimps drive automatics, right?”

  He smiles. Looks me in the eyes. I’ve got to stop dancing around this. I’ve got to say something. Get my feelings out in the open. Find out what his feelings are. “Hey, uh, Zach—”

  There’s a knock on the driver’s-side window. We both jump.

  A girl with long black hair is smiling at us through the glass. Zach rolls the window down. “Hey!” he says.

  “Hey.” She leans in and kisses him on the lips.

  Zach says, “Nicole, this is Brett. Brett, Nicole.”

  She grins. Her eyes brighten. “Oh, the guy from art class! Zach told me about you.” She sticks her hand into the car. I shake it. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Yeah,” I mutter. “Same here.”

  Zach’s eyes widen. “Oh no. What time is it?” He opens the door. “Sarah’s gonna kill me. I told her I’d only be gone a minute.” He jumps out of the car.

  I do the same.

  Zach waves at me. “See you in class tomorrow?”

  “Yeah.” I wave back.

  “Thanks for the stick-shift lesson.”

  “Sure. Thanks for the car tour.”

  I shove my hands in my pockets. Watch as Zach and Nicole wrap their arms around each other and trot back to the coffee shop.

  I take a last, lingering look at the Mustang. Make sure the doors are locked, feeling strangely responsible for it. I walk through the alley to the street. Back to my truck. I stick the key in the ignition. Sit there with my hand on the gearshift. Feel tears pressing against my eyes. I go ahead and let them out. Don’t give a crap who sees me.

  I sit there for a long time. Miserable. Frustrated. So Zach has a girlfriend. I do too. But since he didn’t pick up on my awkward pass, I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s not gay or bi. That means romantically, sexually, he’s off-limits. It can never go further than friends. I can’t believe how sad I feel. And embarrassed that I let it go as far as it did.

  I look around for something to wipe my snotty nose with. Have to settle for the semi-clean corner of an oil rag. I don’t know what to do. Right now. Ever. I can’t imagine going through this again. Falling for a guy. Not knowing if he’s gay or straight or whatever. Being afraid to find out. Being afraid of other people finding out about me. I hate this. I hate my lame-ass life!

  I look out the window. It’s dark. I need to get home. Turning the key in the ignition, I hear a pathetic click.

  S——t! I slam the steering wheel. Jump out of the truck and look under the hood. The wires are firmly connected. It doesn’t surprise me when I try again and the engine doesn’t start.

  I take a deep breath.

  Home is a couple miles away. I could walk. Call Dad for a ride. But he’ll ask why I’m parked downtown. I don’t feel like answering a bunch of his paranoid questions. I could call my buddies. But they’ll ask their own stupid questions, and I can’t deal with their macho crap right now. Jillia’s house is just a few blocks from town. The game must have ended a while ago. She’s probably home. It would be good to see her. Maybe I can try apologizing again.

  The more I think about making things right with Jillia, the better I feel. She’s my girlfriend. I love her. I really want to see her.

  I pull out my phone. See a couple of messages, both from Dad. Asking me where I am. I call and tell him I’m doing homework at Jillia’s.

  “Why didn’t you call back?”

  “Sorry. I turned off my phone and lost track of time.”

  Another pause. Then a gruff, “You know I like being able to reach you. Be home by nine.” He hangs up.

  I start to call Jillia, then change my mind. Maybe she’ll be more receptive if I show up on her doorstep like a lost puppy.

  CHAPTER

  20

  I sink my hands into my hoodie pockets as I walk the five blocks to Jillia’s. It’s sprinkling and freezing-ass cold. She doesn’t have a car, but the one she drives—her mom’s minivan—is parked in the driveway.

  I take a deep breath before I knock. Man, I hope she’s in a good mood. Her mom opens the door a crack.

  “Oh. Brett.” Her voice is a bit icy. But that’s not unusual for her. She narrows her eyes. “Is Jillia expecting you?”

  “No. I’m just stopping by. Is she here?”

  “Just a minute.”

  She closes the door in my face. Wow. Couldn’t even invite me in? I stamp my feet on the cement porch to stay warm. It feels like I’m out here an hour when Jillia finally comes to the door. She’s frowning. Says, “What are you doing here?”

  “I’d like to talk to you.”

  “I told you to leave me alone for a while.”

  “I know.” I shiver. Try to think what to say. How to get past her anger. “Look, my truck stalled. Downtown. The alternator finally conked out. I walked over here. I thought maybe you could give me a ride.”

  “What about your dad?”

  “He’s … busy.”

  She stares at me.

  “Do you mind if I come in for a second? I’m freezing my butt off out here.”

  She sighs. “Yeah. Okay.” She opens the door and closes it behind me. “I need to get a jacket and change my shoes.”

  I start to follow her to her bedroom. She twists around. “Stay here please.”

  I stop in my tracks. “Okay.” I guess we won’t be having a heart-to-heart in her bedroom. At least we can talk in the car.

  I stand awkwardly near the living room. The rest of her family is watching TV. “Hey,” I say with a nod. “How’s it going?”

  Jillia’s dad usually asks me about football or school or something. He just glances at me and nods. Her mom is nervou
sly tapping the armrests of her easy chair. At first I’m thinking that whatever is on TV must be really gripping. Then I think, they hate me. Way more than usual. What did Jillia tell them?

  She’s back, sweeping through the room. Says to her parents, “I’m giving Brett a ride home. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Her dad looks up, suddenly concerned. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you have your phone with you?”

  “Yes.”

  Then we’re out the door. Once in the van I ask, “Did you tell them we did it or something?”

  Her eyes widen. “Are you crazy? Of course not.”

  “Then what was going on back there? Why do they hate me all of a sudden?”

  She shrugs. “I told them I’m breaking up with you.”

  My stomach tightens. “What?”

  She starts the car. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. Today it was all I thought about. Even during the game.” She backs out of the driveway. Puts the van in drive. “It’s the only decision that feels right, Brett.” She says it so matter-of-factly. So definitively.

  I lean my head against the headrest. “I’m sorry,” is all I can think to say. I mean it in so many ways that I’ll never be able to explain to her.

  She says sadly, “Yeah. Me too.” Then she says, “You know what kept running through my head all day? Watching you and Fermio pick on Nate and Ryan at practice last week. You guys are bullies. I’ve always known it. It just never really bothered me until I experienced it firsthand.”

  My jaw drops. “You’re saying I bullied you?”

  She doesn’t respond.

  “Jillia. What are you talking about?”

  She glares at me. “Sex, Brett!”

  “I bullied you into having sex?”

  She stares out the windshield. “Yes.”

  I think about it. “Okay. Maybe I pressured you a little. But bullied? No way.”

  “That’s how it felt to me.”

  “Wow. Really?” I start scrambling. “What if I tell you I’m not that person anymore?”

  “I would say your timing is pretty convenient.”