Girl Mans Up

by M-E Girard

“Uh . . . no. These are not cute. These are badass.”

  “What do you do with them exactly?” She holds Donatello up like he’s useless.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, with dolls, you can brush their hair, change their outfits, have parties. You can fix them up on dates, and they can sleep in the same bed together,” she says. “Those don’t really do anything.”

  “You’re crazy! Okay, take a couple of them. But not that one,” I say, reaching for Donatello. “He’s mine. But take Raph. Most people think Raphael’s the best one anyway.”

  “Okay. Can I also have the rat?”

  “Sure. But he’s so not just a rat.” I hand her the figure. “His name is Splinter, and he’s a wise old dude. Now we gotta get some books. Heavy ones.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re going to build a fort.”

  “We’re sixteen years old, Pen.”

  “So?” I place the figures back into the box, then I point to the encyclopedia. “Do you really feel like reading more of this book?”

  “No,” she says, pushing to her feet.

  We get to work, but soon the librarian shoots us annoyed glares, so we take our stuff over to the back of the fiction section where she can’t see. We build this thing that doesn’t really end up looking like anything but an awkward stack of books, but it still works.

  “What are you guys doing?” Blake says.

  I pop my head up from behind the tower of paperbacks. “Oh, hey. Hi. Uh . . . Olivia made me.”

  “As if she’d believe I play with action figures. Turtle-y ones, too,” Olivia says, while I’m trying to figure out how Blake’s taking our twosome having turned into a threesome. “I’m trying to build a kitchen and bedrooms but Pen won’t let me.”

  “That’s because the Ninja Turtles order pizza and they live in a sewer,” Blake says, dumping her bag on the ground and finding her way over to me.

  “We’re meant to be,” I say.

  Blake smiles so wide, it makes me want to take a picture of that and make it the only photo in our project. She kneels next to me and puts her arm around my shoulders. I wish I could tell her I missed her.

  “That’s disgusting,” Olivia says. When Blake and I turn to stare at her, Olivia goes, “Oh, no, not that! I meant living in sewers.”

  Blake pulls out the box of quotes and we spread them out on the floor.

  “Olivia?” Blake says. “I think you’re pretty much back on Team Three. Face it. This is our project now.”

  “I don’t know, you guys.” Olivia sighs.

  “Come on,” I say. “I have no idea how Blake and I are supposed to get this all done and ready for the school anniversary.”

  Blake nods. “Yeah, and the guys and I are rehearsing three times a week until the Battle of the Bands, so we could definitely use your help, Olivia.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Olivia says, totally not convinced. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  Blake and I watch her walk away, then I say, “She had to get out of her house. I guess I should’ve asked you first if it was okay.”

  “It’s fine,” Blake says. “Really. But . . . what’s the matter with her? Is she sick?”

  I stare at Donatello in my hands, but he’s no help.

  “This whole thing is suspicious,” she says, untangling herself from me. “I don’t like being the only one who has no idea what’s going on.”

  “I can’t really—” My face feels hot, and my eyes won’t look up. “It’s not my place to tell.” That makes it sound worse. “Okay, look, Colby really messed her up, and I feel bad.”

  “You feel bad?”

  “Yeah, because he makes messes and never sticks around to clean them up,” I say. “Olivia’s going to be fine.”

  “But you can’t tell me what’s going on.”

  “No.” I feel like such a jerk right now. “You’re probably mad now, because it looks bad—I know it looks bad. But it’s Olivia’s mess and . . . I guess I’m just hanging around her a lot while it gets cleaned up, just to make sure she’s all right, you know?”

  “Well, what if I could help, too?”

  “You can help. Just be nice to her,” I say. “She’ll be fine.”

  Two more days and everything should be cool again.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THURSDAY COMES AND AT LUNCH OLIVIA DOES nothing because she’s not supposed to eat or drink before the appointment. Blake wants to meet up for lunch so I have to lie and tell her Olivia and I are walking over to where her mom works so she can lend us a tripod. I end my text with: <3 like it’ll make up for the lie.

  This is what they say at the clinic: They say Olivia will be there for the rest of the afternoon. They say the procedure will only take a few minutes, but there’s paperwork to fill out, and blood to draw, and she has to talk to someone before and after. She shouldn’t drive herself home, but she doesn’t have a license anyway. They say it’s good she brought someone to help her get home, and that she’ll be fine to go to school tomorrow. Some cramping is all she should expect afterward.

  There’s a decent waiting room with a TV playing talk shows and a stack of lady magazines I’d never flip through. My phone is the only thing here that can keep me from thinking to death, but I don’t want to overdo the data usage because with the way things have been, I don’t know how long my parents are going to keep paying the bill. But now that I have a job, I should probably start paying for it myself anyway.

  What if Olivia is lying there wishing I’d barge in and stop her? What if she was hoping I’d tell her she could do it, have a baby? Maybe she’d be able to handle it. Maybe I should’ve said more stuff. Maybe Colby should be here instead of me.

  Oh, man.

  I walk over to the desk, where there’s a lady typing at a computer. “Excuse me? Could I talk to my friend Olivia? She went in about an hour ago.”

  “I’m sorry. You have to wait out here. Is there something you want me to tell her?”

  “Uh—let’s say she changed her mind, would she be allowed to leave?”

  “Of course. She’s going to be speaking with one of our counselors regardless.”

  “Okay.”

  The lady gives me a smile, then goes back to her computer.

  “But, um, can I ask another question?” I say. “Do girls who get this done end up regretting it a lot of the time?”

  “I think it’s different for everyone, and we can’t know it in advance. I do know that with the fluctuation of hormones, women can feel sad or down. It usually gets back to normal once the hormone levels adjust.”

  My neck is sweating into my collar. “Oh, man. Will it be bad?”

  “Are you all right?” the lady asks. “Do you want to talk to somebody?”

  “It’s okay. Thanks.”

  I grab my phone and head outside for air.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THE TRUCK CIRCLES TWICE AROUND THE LOT, TOO heavy on the gas. Then someone pulls out of a space, and Johnny takes it. He marches up to the entrance where I’m standing. He lights up a cigarette before reaching the curb. Two puffs later, he’s looking down at me where I’m crouched against the wall.

  “What the hell did you get yourself into, man?” he asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Could you call the school about me missing this afternoon? I can’t have Ma on my back for something else.”

  He crouches next to me. “What’s going on?”

  “Olivia,” I start. Then I tell him everything even though I haven’t said anything real to him in weeks. Even though he stole back his clothes, took the Xbox, took everything away. I tell him about Olivia having decided to make this appointment. About how her mother doesn’t know—that no one knows but me. I tell him Olivia’s in there right now. What I don’t say is that Colby, my ex–best friend, is wrapped up in this. “They told me she could feel sad and depressed afterward. She’s already scared she’ll feel like a different person. And her stomach’s going to hurt. I don’t know w
hat to do with that.”

  “That’s some big stuff you’ve got going on.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What have you been up to these days? Some guy called me for a job reference for you. Everything’s different,” he says, and he has the nerve to sound sort of annoyed.

  “I’ve just been doing my thing. That’s what you’ve been doing too, huh?”

  He looks like he’s going to say something, like tell me to screw off, but instead, he rubs his face, takes a drag of his cigarette, and goes, “So what’s your plan then, with Olivia?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “You were just gonna take the bus back to her place and that would be it?”

  “Yeah.”

  He shrugs. “So why can’t you still do that?”

  “I’m freaking out because I’m worried she’ll regret getting it done and blame me.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Because maybe she didn’t really want to do it.”

  He shakes his head and exhales smoke all over both of us. “Well, listen, man, that’s her problem.”

  “What?” It’s too bright out today for this. I shield my eyes with a cold hand. “That’s rude, Johnny.”

  “It’s not rude. It’s the truth,” he says. “It’s a big decision, and you know, she might end up regretting it—who knows? But, it’s her decision to make, you know what I’m saying? I mean, you ditched school to come here—that’s pretty stand-up of you.” He pats my head like I’m a dog. “You did good.”

  “What if she goes nuts over it?” In the pavement, I can almost see what a crazy Olivia would look like. “Maybe at the very least, I should be kicking the guy’s ass.”

  “You could,” Johnny says. “Or you could just make sure you don’t ever act like that.”

  “Or maybe you could kick his ass.”

  “I could. But I’m not dumb enough to fight with a kid your age.” Johnny pulls his phone out and taps my knee with it. “And who knows, maybe his dad’s one of my clients.”

  My face goes numb, and I’m sure there’s guilt all over it. But Johnny’s pushing to his feet and says, “Just wait and see what happens when she’s done, okay? Then you can worry about what to do. You want a smoke?”

  “Nah.”

  “Good. You’re not allowed to smoke. It’s bad for you.”

  So he pulls out a fresh one and makes a point of holding it to his side, like it’ll keep the smoke from reaching me.

  WHEN OLIVIA COMES OUT, I’m back in the waiting room, in the same seat I started out in. She looks sort of blank. She’s not crying. Her arms are loose around her waist, and her eyes find me. Still blank.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Hi.”

  We walk out into the hallway. It’s weird. There’s silence and for once, I want to talk.

  “Sorry it took so long,” she says.

  “It’s cool.”

  We get to the elevator. I’m the button presser. Olivia checks her phone, but makes a face like she regrets doing it. I wonder if there’s a text from Elliott on there. I wonder if her mom’s tried to call her. Or Colby even. I wonder so many things.

  We walk past the pharmacy and the exit gets closer and closer.

  “So, um . . . I called my brother.”

  “What?”

  It’s hard to tell if she’s pissed about it because she’s so mellow and almost sleepy-looking.

  “He’s outside, in his truck, waiting for us,” I say.

  “Why did you call him?”

  “Because I turned back into a pussy for a minute, I guess. But he’s cool, so don’t worry. He can drive us back.” Old people in walkers shuffle past us on their way to the elevators. Nobody goes into the deserted eyeglasses shop. Faint music plays overhead. Olivia looks thoughtful.

  “Well, that’s nice of him,” she says. “I really don’t feel like being on the bus.”

  In the parking lot, Johnny waits in the truck. He starts the engine when we walk up.

  “Where to?” he asks Olivia.

  She gives directions to her house, and Johnny puts on some of his classic rock, but not too loud. Olivia sits in the back, me next to her. Nothing is said while we drive home. Nothing is said when we pull up to Olivia’s little house. The truck idles on the curb, and still nothing is said. Olivia stares at her house but doesn’t make a move.

  “Is your mom home?” I ask.

  “No. Not until late tonight.”

  I push open my door. I catch Johnny’s gaze through the mirror. “Thanks for the ride.”

  His eyes narrow like he’s about to say something, but I hop out of the truck. It’s a bit of a jump from the truck to the ground, so I rush over to the other side to take Olivia’s bag.

  “So that’s it then?” Johnny says, looking down at me from his open window.

  “Yup,” I say. “That’s it.”

  “Thank you,” Olivia says.

  He nods a couple times, then takes off, the tires screeching. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised he’d basically peel it out of here.

  “He’s really good-looking,” she says. “You’re like a younger version of him, except for your—”

  “Boobs?”

  “Well, I was going to say hair. His is long.”

  We start the walk up Olivia’s long driveway. She’s super careful with each step and one of her arms is always against her stomach.

  “My drunk uncle calls me Small One Johnny. Everyone thinks I’m some cheap Johnny knockoff with boobs.”

  She makes a sad face. “So you’re pretty mad at him, huh.”

  “Nah. We’re just both doing our own thing,” I say. “So . . . how’s it going?”

  “My stomach . . .”

  “Yeah, well, you should probably sit down for a while or something. And Tylenol,” I say. “I bet Tylenol would help. It helps with everything.”

  “You’re missing the whole afternoon,” Olivia says.

  “That’s okay. I don’t really like school.”

  When we get to the side door, she unlocks it and then we take our shoes off and head to the basement. Olivia curls up on the couch, hugging a pillow against her belly. She looks out of it. I sit down in a big chair across from her.

  “You’re probably tired,” I say.

  “I’m kind of dizzy,” she says. “But it’s better now that I’m sitting. I’m not tired.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” She smiles, but then her eyebrows shift and that’s when I realize she’s bawling. “I’m not even sad. I think I’m just being a baby.”

  “Whoa, Olivia, man.” I get up, moving close enough to pat her shoulder. “I think you’re leaking hormones all over your couch.”

  She tries for a little laugh and gets the hiccups. She wipes at her face with the backs of her hands. “I thought I’d feel guilty about today. But I don’t. Do you think I will later?”

  “You know . . . those hormones—”

  “I mean after all that. Do you think I’m supposed to feel bad?” She’s hanging on to my face with her eyes, just waiting. Waiting for me to make it better.

  “I think so,” I say, and her face shifts to make it clear she expected a different answer. “I mean, it depends about what. You don’t have to feel bad for having done it, but I think you might end up feeling bad about something, anything. Like feeling bad you could never tell your mom, or feeling bad you didn’t get the pill, or feeling bad for liking Colby, or . . . anything really.” Man, I hope this is coming out right. “I think it’s okay for you to feel like crap about this, but I don’t think you’re supposed to . . . die of guilt every day just because. You’re not a bad person for having gone to the clinic today. You’re still a nice girl.”

  She wipes a couple of tears that spill from the outer corners of her eyes. She covers her face, then breathes in deep. “How do you know, though?”

  “Because. I saw this video on YouTube of this girl who videotaped her visit to the clinic—not the actual thing, just from t
he neck up.” I cover my face, because it’s embarrassing to admit I sat there and YouTubed this stuff. “The girl said stuff about how girls are taught to think they’re supposed to feel like bad people for getting that done. So she made this video, and way after the fact, she still doesn’t regret her decision. She feels better. You should just feel better now. It’s over.”

  She’s smiling and covers it with the pillow. “You watched videos?”

  “It wasn’t like that! I was doing research,” I say. “I’m on YouTube a lot. Stop looking at me.”

  “You know,” she says. “If you were a boy, I’d probably fall in love with you.”

  I think it shocks us both. My cheeks feel hot.

  “You’re not, though, are you?” I ask. She shakes her head, and all I can see are her forehead and eyes peeking over the pillow. “Because I don’t think I could handle another girl drooling over me. It’s just too much, you know?”

  She grins a little. “I know you’re here because I asked, but still—you’re a nice person, Pen.”

  It makes my face get hot. “I’m not just here ’cause you asked. That makes you sound like a charity case or something.”

  She shrugs. “You know what I mean.”

  “Look—yeah, I only started talking to you because of all the puking and the Colby drama,” I say. “But that was then. It’s not like that now.”

  “Well, then, what’s it like?”

  “Now . . .” I let out a breath and meet her gaze. “Now we’re just hanging out.”

  She nods and goes to add something but a door upstairs closes.

  I freeze. Olivia’s eyes go wide, and I hold out my hands like, WTF? She shakes her head and stares at the ceiling, where we can hear soft footsteps. There’s no exit down here that I can see. It’s all tiny windows I’d never fit through.

  “The dishwasher is still full!” a woman yells. “Olivia!”

  “She was supposed to be working late.” Olivia tries to get up and wobbles in place, a hand moving to cup her forehead.

  “Don’t try to stand,” I whisper.

  The footsteps get closer until they’re on the stairs behind me. Olivia’s mom is an Asian lady who looks like she’s not that much older than Johnny. She’s in some fancy suit, her arms crossed. “I guess we’re having people over tonight, then. Thank you for letting me know, Olivia.”