Girl Mans Up

by M-E Girard

Her eyes are closed most of the time, but that’s okay because I’m staring at her mouth. By the time the song’s over, I don’t care about anything except kissing her.

  THE BAND DOES SIX songs, and Blake sings all of them. When the show’s over, people gather around to talk to the band. Even though I’m dying to talk to Blake, I stay put at the table with Olivia.

  “I wish I could’ve been in a band,” Olivia says.

  “Why can’t you?”

  “I don’t sing very well. And my fingers are too short. I’d need a child’s guitar,” she says, fanning her hands open to show me her small fingers. “I think composing the score for films would be fun. Sometimes I watch these films and the music totally changes the tone. Do you know what I mean? Like, if they’d scored it differently, the movie would’ve been darker, or funny, or sad.”

  “I never thought about that. I wonder if it works the same for video games.”

  “Definitely. It’s all about writing a piece of music that will add to the story. Create atmosphere,” she says. “You and Colby are really into video games.”

  “Apparently he’s not cool with girls knowing that about him. But yeah, we are.”

  “He thinks you’re the best gamer he knows,” she says. When I give her this look like, Are you for real? she nods a bunch of times, like a little kid who thinks the faster they nod, the more they’ll be believed.

  “Well, I am. But I’m surprised he said that,” I say. “What else has he said about me?”

  Now she’s shaking her head. She pretends to zip her lips. “See that girl over there?” Olivia points to one of the girls from our school. I nod. “She wears her uniform skirt really short at school so everybody can see her underwear—have you noticed that?”

  “Yeah, that’s kind of Morgan’s thing.” The guys and I have all seen her underwear, on many occasions.

  “Last Thursday, I could’ve sworn she was wearing the same polka-dotted ones she wore the day before.”

  “Ha!” I cover my mouth. “Maybe she has two of the same?”

  “Maybe, but then she should space them out.”

  I’m laughing my butt off. “I think it’s funny as hell that you look at her crotch every day.”

  “Accounting is just so boring,” she says with a small shrug. “Blake looked really good up there, didn’t she.”

  “Really, really good.”

  Soon Blake click-clacks her way over, thumbs hooked into her front pockets. She slips into the same spot she was in before going up, and our knees touch.

  “Okay, lay it on me,” she says.

  I open my mouth but Olivia beats me to it. “I think your mic needs to be turned up a little. You shouldn’t be afraid to get closer to it, even when you do your louder parts, because the instruments can drown you out. But overall, this was stellar. Do you guys have a CD yet? I would buy it. Your lyrics are pretty sophisticated. Who writes them?”

  “Wow—thank you,” Blake says, her face lighting up. “Charlie’s the word guy.”

  “Really? I was hoping it was the bass player,” Olivia says, looking down. “He just seems . . . I don’t know.”

  “That would be Elliott. He’s bass, but he actually composes most of the melodies,” Blake says. “He plays guitar too, so he comes up with these chord progressions, and then Billy takes over to rip the hell out of them. Eventually we’re hoping to add another member to play rhythm so Billy can really focus on lead.”

  Olivia gives a smile. “That’s impressive.”

  “We’re packing up. Can you guys stick around?” Blake says to me.

  “We can help,” Olivia says.

  “Uh, I can help with the heavy stuff,” I say, throwing Olivia a glance. Our eyes lock and the light in hers dims a little.

  “I can sort out the cords and microphones or something?” Olivia says.

  I think we both know people who are pregnant aren’t supposed to lift heavy things.

  AN HOUR LATER, EVERYTHING is taken apart and packed away in Elliott’s dad’s work van.

  “When did you start writing music?” Olivia asks Elliott, while we’re all standing around waiting for the community center guy to come get the key.

  “I started taking guitar lessons when I was ten, and playing other people’s songs was fun for a while, but I was always hearing my own tunes in my head, you know?” Elliott says.

  “They’re really great songs,” she says, and he smiles.

  “The lyrics are mine,” Charlie says.

  “Are you a poet?” she asks.

  Charlie puffs up, palming his scruffy chin. “I just like to let the words flow.”

  “Liar!” Blake says, throwing a weak punch to his arm. “He drives himself crazy over each word and then changes his mind a hundred times. I’m a wordsmith, babe. You can’t rush me.”

  Babe. I know they used to date, but still, it doesn’t feel good to hear that. I’d been wondering about calling her babe, and now it feels like the word is taken.

  Next Olivia’s asking Billy how long he’s been playing guitar.

  “Since I was three or four. My stepdad’s in a band,” Billy says, lighting up a cigarette.

  “You’re very good,” Olivia says.

  “Thanks,” he says.

  The Ninja Turtles theme breaks out from my pocket and for a moment, it makes me feel like the little kid in a group of cool kids. Elliott laughs and says, “I so approve of that ringtone.”

  I smile and nod knowingly, and then I’m backing away from the group and answering the call because it’s my house.

  “Where are you?” My mom sounds annoyed or suspicious about something, but that’s the way she always sounds.

  “I went out with my friends.”

  “You no tell me,” she says.

  “It’s daytime and it’s the weekend, Ma.”

  She tells me she thought I was hiding in my room this whole time, and she expected me home today, that my bathroom needs a good cleaning.

  “I’ll do it tomorrow.” I can feel her rolling her eyes because when my mom’s decided something needs doing, it has to get done right away. She tells me to be home for dinner. That’s in less than an hour. “I’m grabbing pizza. We’re going to the movies later.”

  “No, no,” she says.

  “Why?”

  She tells me she doesn’t have to explain herself to me.

  “Ma, come on. It’s Saturday,” I say, looking over at everyone standing around. My eyes linger on Blake, watching her mouth move while she says something that makes Olivia crack up and Charlie shake his head and grin like she just took another shot at him. I’m not going home. “I’ll be home tonight, okay?”

  “Penelope Oliveira!”

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “In trouble,” she mutters. She says it has nothing to do with being in trouble, that it has to do with kids doing as they’re told.

  Blake glances at me just then, head tilted and a side grin on her lips. I can’t believe I’m standing here arguing with my mommy because she wants me to come home.

  “Fine,” I say.

  When I get back to the group, Elliott’s asking Olivia something and their conversation gets quieter. Olivia’s doing this shy smile for him so I look away. Blake shivers next to me. Time’s going by too fast. I wish I could put my arm around her. I wish I could at least open my mouth and ask a decent question or something.

  “I’m glad you came,” Blake says, when Billy and Charlie dive into some conversation about having a pickup installed into one of their acoustic guitars and how much that’ll cost. “And I’m really glad you’re coming over.”

  “Me too.” With that, I reach into my pocket and turn my phone right off. When I get in trouble for this later, it’ll totally be worth it. “You kicked ass. You guys could totally record an album.”

  “Yeah?”

  “For sure. Your voice is just . . . well, I don’t really know how to explain it, but it’s got a lot more going on than just being able to hold a note.”

/>   One of her fingers hooks around mine. Icy skin against icy skin, but it’s the warmest thing I’ve ever felt.

  Charlie looks over at us then. I wish I could know what he sees when he looks at me. Does he see a girl pretending to be something she’s not? Because nothing I’m doing, nothing that I am is about pretending.

  TWENTY-TWO

  ELLIOTT TAKES OLIVIA IN HIS VAN BACK TO Blake’s, while I hop in the back of Charlie’s little car, Blake next to me. Billy rides up front with Charlie. At Blake’s house, we unload all the equipment, making a hundred trips to and from the basement.

  I wait for Olivia while she’s in the bathroom—the fourth time she’s gone today already. She comes out looking regular.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  She nods. “Elliott offered to drop me off on his way home. He’s so nice.”

  “Yeah, he seems all right.”

  “I don’t think I should talk to him,” she says.

  “Because of Colby or because of . . . the other thing?” I ask.

  She makes a face like she’s annoyed with herself. “Of course I can’t talk to him. What’s wrong with me?”

  It makes me wonder if maybe for an hour, she forgot how seriously messed up her life is right now. I forget all the time. Nothing looks wrong right now, so it makes it seem like nothing actually is wrong.

  “Olivia,” I say, making sure to lower my voice. “Do you know what you’re going to do?”

  Her cheeks get flushed. “I won’t talk to him. But a ride home would be nice.”

  “Uh . . . okay,” I say. “But that’s not really what I meant.”

  She doesn’t acknowledge what I said, staring off at a framed photo on the wall of two people decked out in wedding gear, sporting old school–looking hairdos, and smiling at the camera.

  “Well, obviously you don’t want to be talking to me about this stuff—which I get—but maybe you should be talking to someone.” When I realize that what I just said could be taken the wrong way, I add, “But not him. When he thinks someone’s a threat—well, you already know what he’s like.” She won’t look up at me now. “Say you wanted to decide stuff, I just don’t think letting him in your head would help. Things would get all twisted and confused.”

  When she still won’t look up, I say, “Trust me. I know what I’m talking about.”

  “I’m not confused.” She takes a deep breath and shakes her hair out. “I know that much.”

  OLIVIA TAKES OFF WITH Elliott not long after Charlie and Billy leave, and now it’s just Blake and me. She brings me upstairs, down the hall, and into her room. The walls are pink with big angry streaks of black spray paint. The curtains are black, and so is the bedding. There are photographs everywhere—some overlapping one another in collages, some framed, and some stuck in the edges of the big mirror next to her closet. There’s a shelving unit filled with records—like old-school, massive records.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever really looked at one of these in real life,” I say, heading over to pull one out—a soundtrack for a movie called Saturday Night Fever. “Where’d you get all these?”

  “My uncle. People are always throwing stuff out like it’s not worth anything anymore,” she says, pulling off the big dangly earrings she had on. “So is it just me, or is Elliott into Olivia? I’m pretty sure she’s into him, too.”

  “Yeah.” I can’t help it, I say it with the wrong tone. Blake looks over from the edge of her bed. Oh, man—does she think I’m jealous? “Just, uh, well, she’s on the rebound, and I’m sort of looking out for her.”

  “Elliott’s a really good guy.”

  “Yeah, he seems cool.” I flip through the records, not really recognizing any of the band names. “You’re allowed to be up here with someone, with the door closed?”

  She laughs. “Yeah. Why, you’re not?”

  “My mom likes to spy.”

  “Come,” she says, patting the spot next to her.

  I sit on the edge of her bed and she gets up, only to return with a handheld game system. When the game starts up, she hands it to me. It’s the same game I tried that time in her basement.

  “You really want me to like this game, huh?” I say.

  “That’s to swing the sword, and that’s the action button,” she says, pointing them out for me. “This is one of my saved games. I’m about halfway through. This game wins everything. You won’t be able not to love it.”

  So I steer this character around a field, hacking monsters and tufts of grass to find money and items. The whole time, Blake is next to me, against me. Her feet are bare since she ditched the heels downstairs, so every once in a while, I look at her sparkly blue-painted toes and think feet aren’t supposed to be this interesting. I also think that if I were a guy, I probably would’ve made a move by now. The thing is, I have no idea if I should be making a move or not. It’s not clear what’s going on. The rules are clear when it’s boy-girl. If I was a dude, I’d probably be saying something to make her smile and blush, like, How am I supposed to kick ass at this game when you’re all pressed up against me, smelling like that? And then maybe I’d touch her on purpose, trying to get her to make eye contact with me so I could see what’s reflected there, which is how I’d know she’s into it. But this—the way things are because it’s me—well, it’s all blurry to me.

  “You’re pretty good,” she says.

  “I’m just riding around on a horse now,” I say.

  “Hand it over. I’ll take you to where the action is.”

  She teleports the Link character to some dungeon, and hands the game back to me. “No, you do it,” I say. “I want to watch you.” She uses a bow and arrow to get rid of enemies and her aim is perfect. She’s all squinty-eyed and nibbling her bottom lip, hardly taking any damage while she fights with her sword and all kinds of other weapons.

  Somewhere along the way, I stop looking at the screen and I just look at her. I want to learn all the lines of her face. Maybe she’ll let me. Maybe she’ll want to look at me, too. I’m in a trance, staring at her lips now. My hands tingle and my eyes blur from the blink-less staring.

  Her lips are really pretty. I might die if I don’t touch them soon.

  “You’re staring at me,” she says.

  “Yeah—uh, no. What?”

  She’s still looking down at the game. “Do you want to kiss me?”

  “Uh . . .” My heart goes nuts.

  She presses Pause and puts the game down next to her, before shifting her weight toward me. Her cheeks are flushed now, and her breaths are deep. I don’t want to crowd her, so I lean in a little, my eyes darting between her eyes and her lips. And then I’m kissing Blake. It’s happening. It’s close-mouthed and it’s soft at first. I’m thinking too much, thinking it’s going to end here, but then it doesn’t. It keeps going. I don’t know who reaches for who first, but somehow, we’re holding hands.

  THIS— US KISSING— IS giving me mini heart attacks over and over. She makes little noises, which make me have to hold on to bigger noises that try to force their way out of my throat. I don’t know how late it is, but it feels like time stopped and sped up at the same time. I just want to be next to her, to have her be super close to me all the time.

  “Is this real?” I say.

  She smiles all wide. “It better be real, or else we’re having the same dream.”

  “Like in Dream Warriors.”

  “What?”

  “The third Freddy movie, where Kristen can pull Nancy into her dreams so . . .” I roll my eyes at myself. “I’m just going to shut up now.”

  She laughs, and then she lies down on her side and pulls my hand so I’ll go down with her. I can’t believe I’m here, in Blake’s room, kissing the crap out of her. We’re getting better. I sort of know her rhythm and what she likes. And, well, what she likes is what I like.

  “Blake!” It sounds like it’s coming from right behind the bedroom door—a woman’s voice. I hop off Blake, smooth my shirt, reach for my hair to
fix it as though I still have my long ponytail to slick back. Then comes a knock. “Don’t spend the evening in there. Your dad’s expecting your help.”

  “Okay!” Blake says, and she’s holding a finger up at me, laughing without a sound. “Be right there!”

  There’s nothing more from the lady, who must be Blake’s mom. I’m in the far corner of the room, hands in my pockets. Blake’s laughing.

  “Do your parents know you’re up here—making out with a girl?”

  “I really hope not.” She comes to stand close to me. I try to move back, but there’s nowhere to go.

  “No—I mean, do they think we’re just friends having some friend hangout to work on a project? They don’t think there’s something going on, do they?”

  “I don’t know what they think,” she says. She touches my wrist. I flinch. “Pen, are you freaking out?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, say your mom freaks out, and she comes at me with a broom.”

  Blake gives me this look that’s barely holding back a laugh. “Aw, you’re actually nervous. That’s kind of adorable.”

  “No, no it’s not.” I feel dumb, but if my being a douche is going to cause her to look at me that way, with her sparkly eyes, then maybe that’s okay. “I need to know how I’m supposed to act. Around your parents.”

  “Just act normal,” she says.

  “I don’t want to embarrass you. I don’t want to do something stupid, you know?”

  She does this thing, balling her fist and putting it against her heart. My mom does that too, but only when she wants us to know we’re breaking her heart. With Blake, it feels like something to smile about.

  DOWNSTAIRS, BLAKE’S MOM WHIPS back and forth through the hallway, a phone cradled to her ear. She’s a tall, skinny lady with blond hair to her shoulders, but other than the hair, I don’t see much resemblance between her and Blake. The white cat darts down the stairs next to us, hissing. Blake’s mom waves at me when we get to the main floor, and she winks in between saying “uh-huh” and “absolutely.” Blake takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen. I let go when her dad comes into view. He slices an onion while something sizzles in a skillet on the stove behind him.