by M-E Girard
“I’m the older brother,” he says, looking over at me while we wait at a red light. “It’s my job.”
“Yeah, but I’m not a kid anymore.” I don’t look at him. “I can take care of myself.”
My eyes are on the road flying by through the passenger window, and Johnny says nothing more.
SEVENTEEN
LATER FRIDAY NIGHT, I HEAD TO COLBY’S. I PUSH the gate to the backyard to find Garrett there, too. I suck it up and head over to join them, sitting in the empty chair between the two. Colby gives Garrett his joint, then he pulls out a cigarette.
“What’s up, Penelope?” Garrett asks. “Oh, my mistake. I mean Steve.”
“Ha ha,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Garrett was just going on about this chick he banged yesterday,” Colby says. “I don’t believe any of it. Who’d wanna get with that face?”
“You talk all you want, Colby. I’ve got quite the skills.” Garrett wags his eyebrows and does some nasty thing with his tongue. “So we went back to her place but her parents were home, so we hid inside her parents’ trailer. This big thing parked on the driveway. It was like our own hotel room. Anyway, we had some drinks,” Garrett says. “So, we’re in the tiny bed, and I’m right about to score and she gets all freaked out.”
“Figures,” Colby says.
“Why’d she get freaked? Were you being your usual self?” I say.
Garrett flashes me a dopey grin and continues, “I sorta forgot to bring a condom. So, I was right about to . . . you know, and she goes ‘Stop!’ and gets all worried about getting pregnant. I told her I’d pull out before, but she was paranoid, saying it doesn’t work.”
Colby’s eyes are on me, and mine are on him. It can’t last long because I feel the truth starting to change my face.
“It doesn’t,” I say to Garrett. “It doesn’t work.”
He shrugs and brings the joint up to his lips. “It’s worked for me enough times.”
“Well, you’ve probably just been lucky. Luck runs out,” I say.
“So, then what’d you do?” Colby asks.
Garrett says, “I put my jeans on and ran to the corner store. Got a box of rubbers and ran back. A man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do—am I right?”
Colby smacks Garrett’s hand, then takes another toke before passing it to me.
“You like that, Steve? You like living vicariously through our guy stories?” Garrett asks. I’m pretty sure I like Penelope better than Steve.
“I don’t need to live vicariously through your made-up stories,” I say. “I got my own stories.”
“Oh, yeah?” Garrett leans forward. “What are you waiting for? Spill it! This is the whole point of being friends with a dyke.”
Colby tokes and watches me through the smoke.
“As if I’d tell you,” I say.
Garrett laughs this lazy, stoned sound. “You save it all for your diary? Dear Diary, today I touched a boob. It made me feel gooey inside. Love, Steve. Ha! I think you’re full of it. You’ve got nothing to tell, do you, Steve?”
“I’ve got nothing to tell you,” I say. “Think what you want.”
A couple tokes and my mind goes a little hazy. Garrett takes a few more shots at me, calling me Steve, and then Colby starts a story about the girl Avery from the mall. I lean back in the chair and let my head fall to stare at the sky.
AN HOUR LATER, SO much weed has gone around that I wonder how the cops weren’t called here by smoke signal. I haven’t smoked any more but I still feel weird. It must be getting to me by secondhand.
“Ike and them are meeting up soon,” Garrett says. “We going?”
Colby shrugs. “Maybe later.”
Garrett sighs and pretends to be super bored. I check my phone a couple times. Nothing. Not that I’m expecting anything.
“Hey, hey, Pen, I got an idea,” Garrett says. “Show us your boobs.”
“Oh, give me a break.”
“If I had some, I’d show you.”
“You do have some,” Colby says.
Garrett pulls his shirt up to show his slightly flabby man-boobs. “These aren’t real. It’s just from all the McDonald’s I’ve been eating. Come on, Steve. You’re not even using them.”
“The Steve thing is getting old,” Colby says.
“It’s genius,” Garrett says.
“Right. I look like a guy so you call me a guy’s name. That’s so genius,” I say.
“You’re a guy with real girly boobs,” Garrett says. “Come on. Let me see.”
“Just because she cuts her hair doesn’t make her any less of a girl,” Colby says. I look over at him, not sure if what he said is a compliment or an insult. Maybe it’s nothing at all.
“I just wanna see some boobs!” Garrett says.
“Dude, screw off. Why don’t you show us your junk, huh?” I say.
He looks interested. “What, you wanna see it? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“You’re nasty. What’s wrong with you?” I sit up straight, ready to take off. “Your mom definitely dropped you on your head when you were a baby.”
“That’s why his face is like that,” Colby says.
“Hey!” Garrett crosses his arms. “You guys are so mean! My feelings are hurt. I think the only way I’ll cheer up is if I see some boobs.”
Colby gets a text, so the conversation stops. Garrett pulls out his Baggie of weed and starts squeezing tobacco from a couple of cigarettes and pulls off the filters, probably because he ran out of papers. He mixes a couple flakes of weed with tobacco and stuffs some back into one of the cigarettes, twisting it into a tight joint.
“You’re being pretty damn stingy with those,” I say.
“They’re for that little creep in grade nine. He can’t tell the difference,” Garrett says. “My brother used to do that to me all the time, sell me fake stuff. We all have to learn those harsh lessons, am I right?”
He does the same to the second cigarette and then puts them back into his pack. He hands me a regular cigarette. I take it.
“That was a peace offering,” Garrett says.
“Yeah, whatever.”
Colby puts his phone down and reaches for the cigarette between my fingers. He lights it, takes a couple drags, then places it back between my fingers.
“All right, guys. Are we meeting up with Ike, or what?” Garrett says.
Colby and I ignore him. Colby’s definitely distracted, and he keeps shooting me weird looks.
“This is boring. How can we make this interesting . . . ? Oh—I know! With one very important question,” Garrett says. “This is serious business. I’m doing research.”
“What?” Colby asks.
“Okay, so would it be gay if Pen screwed a guy? Think about it for a minute. Would it be gay? It’s confusing, am I right?” Garrett says.
All I know how to do is sit here and clench my teeth. But I’m not going to run away. I say, “I don’t know how it works either.”
“Garrett, man, you’re so pathetic,” Colby says.
“This is legit,” Garrett says. “It’s research!”
“Research for who?” I say.
“For me. It’s a personal project.”
“Why don’t you go meet up with Ike and them?” Colby says. He gets up from the table and points to the side gate. “I’ll text you later and let you know if I’m coming.”
“Finally! I’m out of here!” Garrett says. To me, he says, “For real, though. Would it be gay? I think it would be. Especially if the guy were to call you Steve while it was going down.”
Garrett sticks his tongue out at me and wiggles it between his index and middle finger. I give him the finger and head for Colby’s room.
I SIT ON THE couch at the foot of Colby’s bed, staring at the TV even though it’s not on. Colby throws his cigarettes on the bed, then peels his jacket off before taking a seat next to me.
“I love this movie,” he says, then laughs. When I don’t respond, he
rolls off the couch to go flip on the stereo. Rap music starts playing low. He stands there for a minute before saying, “Damn, I’m baked. Wanna play Street Fighter?”
“Okay.”
“Why don’t you stay over tonight?”
“I can’t.”
Colby turns and slides his hands into his jeans pockets. His eyes are on mine like he knows it’ll mess me up. Being stared at always messes me up. I don’t like the feeling spreading through me. It’s nasty.
“Stay,” he says. “Come on. I kicked Garrett out. It’s just us.”
Oh, man. Not again.
“I was thinking of trying something,” he says. “Maybe mess around.”
This is that night happening all over.
EIGHTEEN
HE RAN HIS FINGERS THROUGH THE WAVES against my back that night, like he was trying to give me chills. I’ve seen him do that kind of thing to girls before. And it worked, because I got goose-bumpy. I wasn’t really sure I wasn’t into it. It’s hard to remember what I was thinking that night, but it all just didn’t seem like such a big deal.
It was a huge deal. Because I felt like a homo. For the first time ever, I felt really queer. In a bad way. His hands were on me, and the feeling got worse. The feeling I get when I see myself naked in the mirror—that feeling, times a hundred. He touched me, and I turned into the kind of girl I’m not.
Now, while he stands there, staring at me, waiting to see if I’ll be into doing a repeat of that night, I think about that feeling. About losing who I am and turning into someone else.
“We don’t have to kiss if you don’t feel like it. I’m cool with that,” he says. “Kissing just gets in the way.”
He presses his hand against the front of his jeans, the way I see all the guys around me do when they’re adjusting their junk. It’s never something to pay attention to. Tonight, though, I’m the reason for it, and it’s nasty.
That other night, Colby grabbed my hand and flattened it against his crotch, and at the same time he shoved his hand down my pants. I was thinking, How the hell did he do that so fast?
This is gross and it needs to stop.
I pulled away and told him we were done. I said, “Yeah, no. This is weird. Sorry.” He laughed and called me a prude. Or maybe he called me a dude? I can’t remember. Then it was over, and I said I had to go.
We were both going to pretend the messed-up stuff never happened. And now he wants to go there again. What the hell is wrong with him?
Who the hell is the queer one right now?
I STARE AT THE carpet and shake my head. Hell no. My fists ball, nails digging into the skin of my palms. I hate feeling like a homo.
“What?” he asks. Then he sits next to me. “You didn’t tell anybody, did you?”
“Are you kidding?”
“Okay, good,” he says, moving to his bed. “Look, I think we should do it. Last time was kind of weird, but listen, I know what I’m doing, and obviously, you need to get laid. Doesn’t matter how guyish you are, you’re still a girl.”
I can’t even believe what I just heard. “Huh? I mean—what the hell are you talking about? This is the most messed-up thing ever.”
“What—because of what Garrett said? He was just messing around. He doesn’t know anything.”
Colby hops over the foot of the bed, landing on his usual corner of the couch, arms folded against his chest, eyes on me. “Here’s the thing: girls make things complicated. I learned my lesson, believe me. I’m done with drama. This is why you’re so perfect. A dude, but a girl, right?” He wags his eyebrows, and I inch myself back a little. “Come on, man. People get horny. That’s all this is. Why don’t you just let me rock your world? It’s not like you’re getting any otherwise. You’re sexually frustrated. Even if you’re into girls, doesn’t mean you can’t get some on the side. It’s just messing around. It’s just fun. I won’t tell anyone.”
My face feels like it’s stuck in the expression I make when I don’t like something I’m eating. “Yeah, if that was true, then you’d also be seeing if Tristan wants to mess around on the side. Or Garrett.”
Now he’s doing the same face. “You’re a girl, and I’m a guy.” I stare back at him like, For real? He nods like he figured it all out. “Oh, okay. Are you afraid you’re gonna find out you’re bi or something?”
“Uh, no. I know what I’m into.”
“Yeah? So . . . are you into sucking me off or what?” He laughs.
“Oh man, Colby. You’re disgusting.” I stand up and rub my face.
“I’m just kidding. Relax,” he says. “Look, I’m not gonna laugh at you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m not gonna tell any—”
“No! Stop talking. Stop trying to flip this into something I’ll suddenly be into. I’m not.” There’s no expression on his face, like none of it made it through to him. “I think Garrett’s right—this whole thing is gay. Like homo gay. I like girls. Girly girls. I don’t like guys, and I didn’t think you did either.”
I don’t know why I said that. I must be an idiot.
Colby puts his hands on his knees and his features drop. “Don’t try to act like I’m a fag. You’re a girl. You’ve always been a girl. You kiss like a girl, and when my hand was down your pants, I felt—”
“Shut up!”
“You think you’re so tough, huh?” He snorts a laugh, but it feels like the whole room gets dark. Colby’s pressing a fist into an open palm, grinding it. “Get over yourself, Pen. You don’t get to be a guy now, just because you look like that. You better watch yourself. For real. You don’t wanna be on my bad side. You don’t want me to really start treating you like a guy. Trust me.”
“I can’t believe you’re saying that stuff to me. To me.”
“You’re asking for it.”
“You’ve been full of it this entire time,” I say, turning to go. “I’m out of here.”
“This better stay dead, Pen. Stay out of my way with your identity crisis stuff and go back to normal. You’re not gonna get another chance.”
By the TV stand is a tall stack of games, and when I walk by it, I whip the thing over with a smack, sending game cases flying against the wall. After that, I’m out of there, thinking it wasn’t his face, but at least I got to hit something.
NINETEEN
WHEN MY PHONE RINGS AT NINE ON SATURDAY morning, I wake up remembering last night. It’s an unknown number. But I pick up anyway.
“You sound like you just woke up. This is too early, isn’t it?” Olivia says.
“How’d you get my number?”
“Sorry. Blake gave it to me.”
“Oh.” I sit up in bed and wipe the crusts out of my eyes. “What do you want?”
It sounds meaner than I wanted it to.
“Oh. I just wanted to check in about this afternoon,” she says, her voice coming out small. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”
“I—I can’t talk to you right now.”
She hangs up before I can even wish I’d said something different.
FOR AN HOUR NOW, I’ve thought about everything. It’s like my head is too stuck in last night to be able to also be in today.
I have to ditch Blake’s show. That’s all I know.
I make it halfway down the stairs before I hear angry voices. The basement door is half-open. I push it some more, glancing around in case someone’s there. My mom can’t be far away, if she’s not down there already. I hear my dad’s voice. He almost never goes down to Johnny’s place. It’s mostly Portuguese coming from down there, something about pulling a knife on some kids at the pizza place. Oh, man.
This is it—it’s happening again. Going out for pizza wasn’t worth this.
“It was a goddamn joke!” Johnny yells.
“Não funny, é louco. You crazy man,” Dad says.
Johnny says that it actually wasn’t a joke, and that the jerks deserved it. “I’m the only one who pays attention. That hasn’t changed, huh? You guys don’t see. Yo
u don’t even try to look. O pai e a mãe não vê. Não vê nothing.”
I want to rush in there and tell my parents to back off, to punish me instead. It’s not Johnny’s fault that he gets in trouble defending me. But I’m too much of a pussy to move from this spot.
“Estúpido.” Dad says that Johnny’s a psycho for pulling a weapon out on children. He says he had to find out about Johnny’s dumb stunt from one of the delivery guys at the factory. “You want the police here again?”
It fills me up with anger, thinking about everything. Why didn’t we just order the pizza and hang out downstairs? I should’ve used my damn head and realized this kind of crap was going to get worse the moment I cut my hair.
“Come on, Pai. You care more about this guy than you do about what his kid did to yours?” Johnny says, then he repeats that the guys from the pizza place deserved it. “You let it all happen, then you blame her.”
“I tired, João. Okay? Cansado. No more.” My dad says he’s sick of Johnny making him look bad, and trying to act like he’s the man of the house. He says, “You wanna act crazy? What I tell you before, huh? I say you get outta here.”
My fingernails are digging into my palms. This is bull.
“O pai sempre diz a mesma coisa! Always the same thing. You know what would happen if I left,” Johnny says. “O pai sabe o que vai acontecer. It’s not gonna go down like it did last time. You know what would happen this time. O pai sabe.”
What would happen this time? What would be different this time? Part of me wonders if he’d take me with him.
“I know? Nothing happen. This my house. I say in my house!” Dad’s voice gets out of control. I jump. “This son—my son—got no respeito! No more. I can’t no more. Saia da minha casa, João. I tired of everything.”
Saia da minha casa—that means . . . get out of my house.
“Fine,” Johnny says. “I’m out.”
My mouth hangs open, and I stare at the purple half-moons dug into my palms. What’s different about this time is that he’s not putting up much of a fight. He’s just taking off.
MY MOM PUTS A hand around my wrist, pulling my arm up to look at my hand. She tips her head toward the kitchen.