Girl Mans Up

by M-E Girard

  Castlehill Alternative is where the messed-up kids go. The ones who can’t handle regular school. I could’ve ended up at Castlehill Alternative if things hadn’t worked out when I met Colby years ago. Elementary school wasn’t always that great for me and Tristan. I’d take off randomly from school a lot. The principal would call my parents, but it was always Johnny who found me. He’d take his beat-up white car—that’s what he drove before he made enough money to get the truck—and drive around the neighborhood until he’d spot me on the sidewalk. I wasn’t really going anywhere specific. Maybe I just figured Johnny would end up coming to get me.

  It backfired big-time when Johnny got kicked out for almost a year. I should’ve known better and just taken whatever came at me.

  Colby and this Avery girl exchange words over my head, and I’m mostly listening to the sounds of my own chewing.

  Colby says, “You smoke?”

  She shakes her head.

  “You wanna start?” He flashes her one of his grins and she smiles for the first time.

  Man, why can’t I be that smooth talking to a girl?

  “Is your, um, friend coming?” the girl asks, right when I’m catching a piece of onion before it falls out of my mouth.

  “Yeah,” Colby asks. “Pen’s got nowhere else to go.”

  I could just go home, but instead I’m doing what I usually do, and I follow.

  COLBY’S THE ONLY ONE smoking. We stand against the concrete wall, next to one of those cigarette-butt ashtrays that look like mailboxes. I sip the rest of my Coke, chewing on the end of the straw. That Avery girl left her friends behind; I’m third wheel now, which isn’t unusual for me, except today it sucks. I kick an empty can of Sprite around until Colby flashes me a look that says he’ll shove the can up my butt soon.

  “You guys go to St. Peter’s?” Avery asks, like she’s only now realizing we both have gray uniform pants on.

  “Yeah.” First word I’ve spoken since she appeared.

  Colby checks his cell phone. I pull mine out, then Avery does the same—it’s like a yawn.

  “So, what kind of stuff do you guys do?” she asks.

  I think of Blake and wonder about all the cool stuff girls could be into that they’re not obvious about. “Gaming. Do you game?”

  She shakes her head and shrugs. “My little brother does, I guess.”

  “We’re not losers about it,” Colby says, nudging me with his elbow. “Pen is, but I’m not.”

  Yeah, that’s why he goes nuts when I kick his butt at Street Fighter and tries to explain why it wasn’t fair that I won, while he pops old-school Double Dragon in and challenges me to rematches until none of it is fun anymore.

  “So you’re, like, a girl?” Avery asks. “Like a gay girl?”

  “Uh . . . ,” I say, staring back at her, pulling the straw in and out of my cup, making it squeak against the plastic lid. Colby takes a drag, and exhales the smoke in swirls.

  “I just didn’t want to assume,” Avery says, frowning.

  “Assume I’m a girl? I am, so that’s cool,” I say.

  “Do your parents know?”

  “That I’m a girl?”

  Colby snorts a laugh.

  “That you’re gay,” Avery says.

  “I don’t really know. I guess it’s obvious,” I say, but I don’t think of myself as being gay, because that word sounds like it belongs to some guy. Lesbian makes me think of some forty-year-old woman. And queer feels like it can mean anything, but like—am I queer because I like girls, or because I look the way I do? Maybe I don’t know enough words.

  “You never told them?”

  “No.”

  “It’s not really a big deal,” Colby says. “Kind of boring, actually.”

  That’s why I’ve had respect for Colby, because he’s always acted like the way I look and who I’m into is just as interesting as it would be when it comes to anybody else—so basically not interesting at all.

  She says, “Isn’t it hard to be religious? Do you go to church?”

  “Religious?” What does that even mean? She’s making me picture people holding their hands up and praising the lord. My parents go to church on Sunday mornings, and there are rosaries draped over the Virgin Mary statue in the living room and the framed pictures of my dead grandparents—does that make me religious? I don’t believe we came from Adam and Eve, and I don’t believe in doing things just because an old book says so. “Nah, I’m not religious.”

  “So how come you’re at a Catholic school then? Don’t they say anything about it?” she asks, like this is some kind of interview.

  “I guess if I went around doing queer things in the hall, they probably would,” I say.

  “For Pen to be able to do queer things in the hall, she’d first have to have some game,” Colby says, winking at me like it’s a joke. My eyes get all narrow and I clench my teeth. This is what I get for bringing up Olivia earlier. He pats my shoulder. “Better watch out for Mrs. McCallion, though. Our principal is a Jesus-loving psycho.”

  “So you’re not like that guy on TV. The one who used to be a girl?” Avery asks.

  Colby laughs. He’s always more of a jerk when he’s trying to impress a girl, and I usually cut him some slack. Usually it’s in one ear, out the other. Usually.

  “I just wanted to know if you’re a transgender guy. I was going to say that I’m cool with that,” she says.

  Colby laughs some more. Avery’s eyes dart between Colby and me.

  “Relax, man,” he says to me. “I mean, you can’t blame people for thinking you might be one of those. You’ve looked in the mirror, right?”

  “Why do people care so much?” I ask. “Should I put a bow in my hair, you know, to clear things up?”

  “I’m just saying, people are gonna ask questions. You can’t blame people for wondering what the deal is.”

  “I’m . . . going to go,” Avery says. “My friends—”

  “No, wait,” Colby says.

  “I have to go find my friends,” she says, pointing to the doors. Then she drifts away, fingers typing on her phone.

  Colby shakes his head while he lights a new cigarette, then he turns to stare me down. “Dude, you better stop getting in my way. All of a sudden you’re really screwing up my game.”

  “I didn’t do anything. I was just here—because you told me to come.”

  “Yeah, that’s my point. It used to be good when you were around, but now . . .” He shakes his head with this condescending fake look of disappointment. “First you mess things up with Blake. Now you tell this one that we’re douches who play video games all the time, and it becomes all about your identity crisis. And Olivia—well, let’s not even go there.”

  I have nothing to say back to him. It’s not the way he makes it sound, but it’s not wrong either.

  “Now I’m gonna go find that girl,” he says. “So I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Later.”

  “We good?”

  “Yeah,” I say, my back to him, “we’re good.”

  When I’m on the bus, he texts me: Old school Street Fighter on Thur?

  I stare at the screen, then shrug.

  Me: ok

  Him: U b Ken. I’ll b Ryu. I’ll still kick yr ass.

  Me: yeah right—i’d kick yr butt even with Chun-Li

  Him: I’ll take that bet. Winner buys pizza.

  Me: gonna snap yr head with Chun-Li’s mega legs

  Him: Hey would u do Chun-Li?

  Me: if she wasn’t a bitch

  Him: She would be. She thinks she’s so big & bad cuz she does 8000 leg-presses a day.

  Me: how many can u do?

  Him: Like . . . 4, easy. :P

  That makes me laugh out loud.

  NINE

  THURSDAY AFTER SCHOOL, JOHNNY AND I ARE sitting on his couch watching a bad remake of some horror movie that was already shitty to begin with. Colby hasn’t texted me about later, which is good because I don’t
feel like going anywhere today.

  Johnny stirs next to me. He stares at the credits on the screen and wipes his face. After thirty seconds of being motionless, he jerks up and stretches. With a bandanna, I wonder if I’d look like a mini-Johnny.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Johnny turns off the Xbox and Netflix disappears. “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Well, um . . . it’ll sound weird.”

  “Okay,” he says.

  “Um . . . nah. Forget it.”

  “All right, then.”

  He wanders into the bathroom, just off the living room so I can see him standing in front of the mirror, checking his face out before putting on some deodorant. I stare for a while, feeling like an idiot.

  “Okay, fine. So, do you, um, think that I’m trying to be a guy?” I look up and meet his gaze.

  “Are you trying to be a guy? Are you telling me you’re my little brother now?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “Is Ma saying stuff to you?”

  “No.”

  “Is anything weird going on at school or something?” He says it all innocent, but he’s watching my reaction.

  “No. Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Good. Because you know you just have to say the word and—”

  “I know,” I say. “It’s nothing like that. I just have a question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Well, like—why do you think people think that? That I’m trying to be a dude.”

  He looks totally annoyed. “People are always thinking stuff about other people. Let ’em do their thing, and—you know—in one ear, out the other. If it gets to be more than you can ignore, then you tell me and we deal with it.”

  “I don’t get why it’s such a big deal to people, the way I am. I know it’s confusing or whatever, but—”

  “You’re just gonna act the way that comes natural, little sister. How many times do I gotta tell you to toughen up and stop listening to everybody else—especially Ma and all the people like her.”

  I nod. When people keep acting like I’m the one who’s wrong, it starts to feel like they’re going to be right no matter how unfair it is.

  “And I mean, you in a dress? That’s what’s scary.” He laughs. “Listen, man, have you seen me in a suit? Or those damn shiny shoes Tio Adão wears? Can you see me working at the factory with Pai? Marrying some lady so I can make babies? Come on. I let nobody else decide what kind of dude I am. You shouldn’t either.”

  “Yeah, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “The difference is that no one would look at you weird if you decided to do that stuff. Because you’re allowed. You’re supposed to.”

  “My buddies would look at me weird. I’d feel like a douche, and that matters more, right?” He waits and I think. It’s like it all knocks on the door of my mind but it doesn’t actually go inside. “Look, just because people look at you funny, doesn’t mean you have to change anything. Screw ’em. Even if it’s your own mom giving you hell for it. You don’t have to change. Unless you want to. You wanna wear a dress?”

  “Hell no.”

  “You want your ponytail back?”

  “No.”

  “You wanna give me my shirt back?”

  I look down at the gray skater tee I’m wearing. “No way.”

  “There you go. Leave it alone. Worry about you. Everyone else can worry about themselves,” he says. “But for real, man, you gotta stop stealing my stuff.”

  “Can I borrow it?”

  “I got a reputation. I can’t be wearing the same stuff as my sister, man. I just can’t be doing that.”

  “Because I’m a girl?”

  “Because you’re twelve.”

  “I get it.” I roll off the couch and jog over to the stairs. “I guess I’ll just keep the shirt then. Thanks!”

  AFTER DINNER, STILL NO text from Colby. I send him one as I leave the kitchen, then my phone crashes to the floor and the battery pops out of it.

  “Shi—shoot . . . uh, balls!”

  “What? Why you crazy?” my dad asks, coming up behind me, probably on his way to the living room recliner. “Balls, balls. You no say balls.”

  “I’m not.”

  He tells me to go be crazy up in my room, then he screws up his eyebrows. “You hair look stupid.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You wanna be a tall girl with this?” he says, running his hand over the top of the fauxhawk; then he flattens the whole thing down against my head. “You wanna be tall, you get big shoes.”

  “I don’t wanna be tall. I want cool hair.”

  “Cool hair, cool hair,” he says with a smirk. “It’s dirty hair.”

  “That’s gel.”

  “Gel. You wash it. It’s dirty.”

  I pretend to fuss after it, fixing the spikes so they all point in the same direction—straight up. My dad rolls his eyes and wanders into the living room. That’s when I notice my mom watching from the kitchen.

  “You come here,” she says.

  “Why?”

  “I make massa. I show you how.” All of a sudden, it’s super important for me to learn how to bake sweet bread all by myself.

  “But I’m going to Colby’s soon.”

  She tells me to do what I want before turning away.

  UPSTAIRS, I SHAKE THE crap out of my mouse to wake my computer up so I can get on my NES emulator. There’s a Facebook message from Blake, just sitting there all fresh from four minutes ago.

  Her message: Hey Pen. :-)

  Me: hi, hey—i’m here—r u there?—sorry i missed yr message—hello?

  And then I erase it all and start over, without the creeper factor: hey—what’s up?

  One entire minute later, her: What r u up to?

  Me: not much—u?

  Her: Same, actually.

  Me: cool

  And then there’s silence, and it’s my fault because I answered with one word.

  Her: So . . . what if we were to hang out again?

  I throw a fist pump in the air, then type: well then i think fun would be had

  Her: i think so too

  Me: so . . . was that a hypothetical type of scenario?

  I don’t even know how I’m coming up with this stuff. I sound so much more chill than I feel right now.

  Her: I’m thinking it could be a real scenario.

  Me: real is good—so um . . . maybe i should run into u @ the Gamer Depot sometime?

  Her: I’m thinking we actually leave our houses & purposely meet somewhere to do the hanging out.

  Me: that sounds like an awesome plan—when

  Her: Tonight?

  Me: good idea—where

  I have no idea where she lives. We figure out that we live on opposite sides of Castlehill and neither of us can walk an hour in the cold to meet halfway. The buses go every half hour, but we’d have to transfer at the Castlehill Transit Station. That’ll take an hour and it’s already seven. On a school night, too.

  Her: It’s not looking good . . .

  This is not going to go down this way. I can figure this out.

  Me: i have a brother—he drives

  Her: Feel like coming over then?

  I close my eyes because I can’t believe my amazing luck tonight. I’m going to Blake’s. I’m going to her house, even if lightning strikes me or a bird craps on me. She invited me over.

  I dial Johnny from my cell.

  “What?” he says.

  “I need a ride. I need a ride so bad. Please, please, please.”

  He sighs into the phone. It shouldn’t be too much of a hassle because he does the outside work at the McKinley buildings, which is right by Blake’s house; he knows exactly where to go. I rush around my room, swapping jeans, spraying cologne on both sides of my collar.

  “I’ll pay you!”

  “You mean, I’ll pay myself,” he says.

  “Yeah.”

  “Fine. You got five minutes.”

&
nbsp; “Three, man! That’s all I need.”

  I end my Facebook conversation with Blake, then sprint to the bathroom to put on a fresh layer of deodorant and brush the crap out of my teeth and my tongue. You never know. My hair’s not too bad. I gel the stray pieces into place, then spray the whole thing so it won’t ever move again.

  I’m going to Blake’s. I made it happen.

  TEN

  HALFWAY UP THE DRIVEWAY, I STALL. THE DOOR opens wide and Blake’s there. I’m like a dirty raccoon caught in the garbage bins. I need to man up.

  Blake’s hair is in two loose, messy braids behind her ears. That’s how you do braids.

  “Come in!” she says.

  Inside, there are dark hardwood floors, a carpeted spiral staircase, and art on the walls. It’s not, like, rich-people fancy, but it’s a butt-load fancier than linoleum, Portuguese roosters, and thick lacy curtains covering every window so that you can’t actually see outside.

  “Want me to hang up your coat?”

  When the zip-up hoodie comes off, I feel kind of weird about the striped button-down shirt I slipped over my tee. It makes me feel too dressed up. I watch my hoodie draped over Blake’s arm, wondering if it’ll smell like her later.

  “Want something to drink?”

  I nod, and follow her to the kitchen.

  “Pepsi? Water? Orange juice? Uh . . .” She bends into the stainless steel fridge, but it’s not like I can see her from where I’m standing. Still, I think about her shirt riding up and her jeans getting tight around her—“Or milk? That’s all I got.”

  “Pepsi.”

  She hands me a can with her left hand and I reach with my right. My fingers are over hers, not for long but still. My phone launches into the Ninja Turtles theme. Blake grins while I fight with my pocket to dig inside it. It’s a call from Colby. I press Ignore, put my phone on Vibrate, and shove the thing back in my pocket. “Sorry.”

  “Follow me.” She heads back the way we came, pulling open a door. We take the stairs down to the basement. There’s a family room with a massive sectional couch, a TV, and a fake fireplace. I’d so live down here if this was my house. Blake puts her can of Pepsi and her cell phone on the coffee table, then moves to the TV unit to open its doors. There are shelves of video game consoles and rows of games in boxes or just loose cartridges.