M or F?

by Lisa Papademetriou

  Movie hound . . . loyal friend . . . uses humor . . . wants attention . . .

  Glenn was me.

  He was the straight version of me, whether or not I wanted to admit it.

  Which made him totally perfect for Frannie.

  The whole thing was starting to take shape in my head, and the only glitch I could see was that it was too perfect to believe. Frannie and Glenn. Me and Jeffrey. I didn’t want to get attached to the idea, but I liked where it was going. And if Frannie was wrong about Jeffrey being gay, well, then I’d just have to kill her. No, maim her. Then she’d never be able to get away from me again.

  “Hey, why don’t we all do something after school?” Jeffrey asked. I could see he was jumping on this opportunity. It was something he had suggested in one of our chats, and I (Frannie) had shot it down. Now for the first time, this little foursome seemed like a good idea to me.

  “Sure,” I said, but then remembered. “Wait. I promised Ethan Schumacher I’d go to the GSA meeting today.”

  “You did?” Frannie asked me.

  “Well, yeah,” I said. “He’s been working it really hard, trying to get more people there.” I felt a little sheepish since my original motivation had been more about shopping for new friends, even if Frannie didn’t know that.

  “What time’s the meeting?” Jeffrey asked.

  “Right after school,” I said. “Three-thirty.”

  He looked around at us. “Well, it’s the Gay-Straight Alliance, right? We can all go and then do something after. Get something to eat or whatever. How’s that?”

  Frannie and I exchanged a super-concentrated bit of eye contact—tiny on the outside, huge on the inside. This was perfect.

  “That’s perfect,” she said.

  “Can I meet you guys later?” Glenn asked. “Like five o’clock? I have to be home with my sister today until my mom gets off work.”

  Sure, you do, Glenn, I thought. He probably wouldn’t have been caught dead at a GSA meeting.

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” Jeffrey said. “Frannie? Marcus?”

  Frannie’s face looked like a mirror of my own little smile. There was plenty of time to get the full lowdown from her before the meeting, and we both knew it.

  “Sounds like a plan,” we both said at the same time.

  Room 108 was crowded at three-thirty. Apparently, Ethan had recruited more than just me to this meeting. Brendan Thomas had cracked open the closet door and shown up, I was glad to see. And there were about two dozen other people, many of them obviously queer, some obviously straight, and a few hard-to-tells, including the blue-eyed hottie sitting with Frannie and me on a wide windowsill at the back of the room. Jeffrey seemed perfectly comfortable to be there, no crossed arms, no tension on his face. I wrote it all down in my mental notebook.

  By now, Frannie had told me the full story of her little seduction scheme and how that had gone. The more we talked about everything, the more I agreed with her that this had potential—if not for her, then for me. There was still the whole question of how—and if—she needed to break things off with Jeffrey, since maybe he’d been faking it all along, and/or maybe we’d been imagining that things were more “on” between them than they actually were. Either way, Frannie was now officially hands-off where Jeffrey was concerned, and I was hands-on, if I wanted to be, with her blessing. Still, I was going to need some kind of push or sign or something before I’d be ready to do anything about it.

  “Okay, everyone, let’s come to order.” That was Ms. Bayonne, the well-meaning but clueless faculty liaison to the GSA, who tended to use phrases like tolerance for homosexuals and life partner. “It looks like Ethan’s done a marvelous job turning out some new faces,” she said. Ethan got a polite round of applause. “I thought we’d start with a little ice breaker to get things going. Let’s go around the room and say one thing you think we can do to make RBHS a more tolerant place for everyone. Bridget, would you like to go first?”

  Bridget thought for a second and said, “We should write our own nondiscrimination policy for the school.”

  Ms. Bayonne wrote the idea on a flip chart. “Good. Let’s keep going around.”

  The girl holding Bridget’s hand said, “We should have unisex bathrooms.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Ms. Bayonne said nervously, clicking the cap back onto her felt marker.

  “I do,” said Nicole, who was the closest thing to an out trans kid I knew at our school. “People shouldn’t assume that everyone’s either just gay or lesbian.” Several people nodded supportively.

  “Ethan?” Ms. Bayonne asked, anxiously moving things along.

  “I think everyone who feels like they can be out at school should be. There’s nothing more powerful than that.” He got another little round of applause for that one. I whistled, too.

  As it came around to us, I couldn’t wait to hear what Jeffrey had to say. I didn’t even think about my own answer ahead of time, so I just said, “I agree with Ethan. People should be out when they can.” Then, in a mini-moment of inspiration, I added, “We should have some kind of buddy system for people who aren’t ready to be out but want to talk to someone about it. I’d be willing to work on that.” Are you listening, Jeffrey?

  Frannie went next. “I think we should stop talking about ‘tolerance’ and start looking at real diversity,” she said. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but tolerance is for things that you wish weren’t there.”

  I love my brain twin. I couldn’t have said it better.

  Ms. Bayonne gave a tight smile. This clearly wasn’t going the way she had planned. “Next?” she said hopefully.

  Jeffrey looked a little uncomfortable with all the eyes on him. “Well,” he said, nodding in Nicole’s direction, “I like what you said. People shouldn’t make so many assumptions about other people. You can’t tell anything just by looking at someone.” It seemed like he was going to say more, but then he just ducked his chin, as though he were putting a period on the sentence.

  I looked down at my hands in case my face was showing more than I wanted it to. Jeffrey didn’t know it, but he had just given me the little push I was looking for. I knew right then what I was going to . . .

  . . . or at least, wanted to . . .

  . . . but was scared to death to . . .

  . . . but maybe just absolutely had to . . .

  . . . do.

  Fourteen

  “Hey, Mom,” I said gently as I walked into the kitchen.

  Mom looked up from a cup of coffee and smiled at me. She was wearing a black tank and black silk drawstring pants—pretty sophisticated for her. She looked really pretty—in a casual way. “Hi, sweetheart,” she said, sliding a plate of oatmeal raisin cookies across the table in my direction.

  “Are you going out?” I asked tentatively. She and I had never actually discussed the whole Intimate Pleasures moment—thank God. I was hoping that I might be able to spend the rest of my life pretending that it hadn’t happened. Although I was pretty sure that Mom’s silence wasn’t going to last. Mom’s a brooder. She’ll process something for a long time, and then, once she has the right words—bam!—she’ll bring it up. Permanent, total denial is more my style.

  “Staying in,” Mom corrected.

  “Really?” I asked as I slid into the chair across from hers. “It’s Saturday—don’t you have a date with Dad?”

  Mom chuckled softly. “Oh, sweetie, I think that’s over.”

  I pressed my lips together as guilt stabbed through me. “You’re giving up on The Romance Handbook?” I asked guiltily.

  “Absolutely.” Mom sighed.

  I didn’t say anything for a moment—I just sat there, feeling like the worst daughter ever. What was it that Laura had said? “It’s important that we all support Mom and Dad on their journey to reenergize their marriage.” Okay, so it sounded like something that a TV talk show host would spout. But it was still true. And what had I done? Borrowed Mom’s slip and tried to seduce my gay boyfrie
nd in it.

  I’d never even returned it for the smaller size—I’d just put it back in the bag and kicked it way to the rear of my closet.

  Way to go, Frannie, I thought. You’re really supportive.

  An image of Marcus flashed in my mind. Maybe if I’d been more supportive of him, he wouldn’t have ever had to lie about chatting with Jeffrey—and then things wouldn’t be as complicated as they were now. . . .

  The fact was, despite incontrovertible evidence that Jeffrey was queer, Marcus still hadn’t made his move. I wasn’t sure what was holding him back. He knew that they got along great. So what was the risk? I wasn’t sure. But whenever I tried to bring it up, Marcus shut me down. Not yet, he’d say. Soon.

  So, okay. I didn’t want to press him. But I couldn’t help feeling that this whole mess was kind of my fault. If only I hadn’t gone for Jeffrey in the first place. If only Marcus had felt he could tell me about his feelings. If only I hadn’t been so focused on what I wanted . . .

  So maybe permanent, total denial isn’t really fair to Mom, I thought. Maybe it’s time to start being a little more supportive. . . .

  “Mom,” I said in a soft voice, “I’m really sorry about your slip. . . .”

  “What?” Mom’s brow crinkled for a moment. “Oh, that.” She laughed uncomfortably and sat back in her chair.

  My breath left my chest in a rush, like air from a balloon you’ve just let go of. “I can get you a new one. . . .”

  “Forget it,” Mom said, waving her head dismissively. Actually, she looked like she didn’t want to discuss this topic any more than I did. Still, there was something I needed to say. And I just couldn’t wait until she had finished brooding. I mean, who knew how long that could take?

  I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry,” I told her.

  Mom’s pale eyebrows drew together. “What for?”

  “For ruining your date with Dad,” I said slowly. “For ruining The Romance Handbook. For everything.”

  Mom blew on her coffee. “Honey, you didn’t ruin The Romance Handbook. . . .” She shook her head. “Look, seeing you in that nightie made me realize just how ridiculous the whole thing was.”

  “Um . . .” I wasn’t really sure how to take that.

  “It’s just . . .” Mom toyed with a few crumbs on the table. “I realized that your father and I just aren’t really romantic types. We’re not spontaneous. Your dad likes to have a plan, and so do I.” She shrugged. “We’re never going to be Laura and Steve—drinking champagne on a sunset picnic. That’s great—for them. But it’s just not who we are.”

  “I guess . . .” I said slowly, “I guess that just because something seems ideal doesn’t mean that it can work for everyone.”

  “Your dad isn’t Mister Romance,” Mom admitted, smiling. “But his style has worked for twenty-three years. I don’t know why I thought I needed to change things now. The truth is . . . I just like being with him. We’re perfectly happy sitting on the couch together. We don’t need chocolate-covered strawberries or fancy lingerie.”

  I laughed, and suddenly, an image of Jeffrey popped into my mind. Jeffrey—reading that poem in assembly, the first time I really noticed him. He’d seemed so perfect then . . . and so perfect for me. But he wasn’t—that was just an illusion. I looked into my mom’s sweet blue eyes. I guess I wasn’t the only person who’d fallen into that “ideal love” trap. It was oddly comforting, in a way, to know that I wasn’t alone. And to know that my mom wasn’t as perfect as I’d always thought.

  “Where are you off to?” Mom sipped her coffee.

  “King Kong. Marcus is meeting me at Lincoln Park,” I said, taking a bite of cookie. Wow. It really was good. I silently forgave Marcus for always oohing and aahing over Mom’s treats.

  Speaking of . . .

  I looked down at my watch. “I really have to jet.” I brushed a few cookie crumbs off my lap as I stood to go.

  “You look great,” Mom said, eyeing my outfit. “I really like that belt buckle.”

  “Yeah?” I looked down at the fat turquoise-and-silver buckle. “I stole it from Laura.” I guess she’d bought it on our family’s trip to New Mexico three years ago. I’d been in her room earlier looking to borrow a hair clip, and when I saw it in her drawer, I knew I had to have it. It reminded me of line dancing with Sundance. Besides, Laura never wore it, anyway.

  Mom’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “You look good. Not as good as in the nightie, but—”

  “Mom!” I screeched. With a grin, I flipped my long hair behind my shoulders. Leaning over quickly, I gave her a peck on the cheek.

  “Have fun, sweetie,” Mom said.

  “And you have fun staying in with Dad,” I told her.

  “Don’t worry.” A grin twitched at the corners of Mom’s mouth. “I will.”

  Late, late, late. Marcus is always late, I thought as I paced back and forth in front of the Lincoln Park Cinema. Arty-looking people streamed past me, lining up for the three-thirty showing of King Kong. Why hadn’t I volunteered to pick him up in Chirpy? But parking at the theater is always a nightmare and generally I end up in a lot, which costs somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty bucks for three hours—so Marcus and I had agreed to take the El instead and meet there. Brilliant. Now I had two tickets in my pocket, but no friend to see the movie with.

  I checked my watch: 3:17. One minute later than the last time I checked. Come on, Marcus! I thought. I didn’t want to miss the trailers. Normally, I wouldn’t have cared, but at Lincoln Park, they play these hilarious old movie trailers whenever they show a classic film. It’s the best part of the show.

  “Frannie!” shouted a voice behind me.

  “Nice of you to show up!” I turned, but it took a full second for my brain to process that I was looking at Glenn, not Marcus.

  He winced. “Sorry, I couldn’t find parking—”

  “Oh!” I said, although that really didn’t make sense as a reply to what he’d just said. “I mean, I know—it’s impossible to park around here. Uh . . . hi.”

  Glenn smiled. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “You just said that.”

  “Right.” I guess my brain wasn’t really functioning. I was just confused—Glenn was acting like he was supposed to be here. And Marcus was still nowhere in sight. I felt like I was in some parallel universe, in which you make plans with one person and someone else shows up. “Um, don’t take this the wrong way . . .” I started.

  “But—what am I doing here?” Glenn asked, finishing my thought. His full lips curved into a smile. “Marcus invited me. Sorry—I thought he told you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “There’s a lot he’s been leaving out lately.” Okay, so Marcus invited Glenn along on our hang. That was . . . weird. I guess. Although Marcus and Glenn had seemed to get along okay when the four of us—including Jeffrey—hung out earlier that week, after the GSA meeting. Maybe that was what Marcus was thinking. “Is Jeffrey coming too?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  “So—where’s Marcus?” Glenn asked, looking around. “It’s three-twenty.”

  “Right. Let’s find him. And yell at him.” I pulled out my cellie, found his number, and pressed the send button.

  “You rang?” Marcus sounded like he’d been expecting my call.

  “Where are you?” I demanded.

  “Actually, I’ve got a flat tire,” Marcus said nonchalantly. “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it.”

  “Oh, a flat,” I repeated, looking over at Glenn, who lifted his eyebrows in response. Very interesting, Marcus Beauregard, I thought. Considering that you don’t have a car.

  “Does he need us to pick him up?” Glenn whispered.

  “Is Glenn there?” Marcus asked knowingly.

  “Yes, he’s here,” I said into the receiver. “He wants to know if we should come and pick you up. He seems very concerned that you might be stuck on the highway, struggling with the spare tire.
” I made my voice as sarcastic as I could without giving away too much to Glenn.

  “Why don’t you two go ahead and see the movie?” Marcus suggested brightly. “Maybe you could catch some dinner afterward, too.” Then he actually giggled.

  I shook my head. So that was his little game. Marcus was trying to set me up with Glenn!

  I looked over at Jeffrey’s best friend, who was standing there in a crisp khaki button-down shirt and fresh jeans. He smiled uncertainly, flashing a set of white teeth. Dark hair, soulful dark eyes . . . Yeah, Glenn was cute. Shorter than Jeffrey but still tall and muscular. And we got along great. I could see where Marcus was getting this. But I just didn’t have that vibe with Glenn. He was a friend—that was all. “Nice try,” I said into the phone. “Why don’t you just worry about fixing that flat?”

  “Yeah . . .” Marcus’s voice was playful.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Marcus repeated. “Well, I think it’s time for a total overhaul, actually. And by the way, I’m meeting Jeffrey by Buckingham Fountain in ten minutes.”

  My heart leaped. “You are?” I screeched.

  Glenn looked worried. “Is everything okay?” he whispered.

  I waved him away, nodding. Yes, everything was okay! My best friend was about to go for it! Finally!

  “I am,” Marcus said.

  “Well—good luck with that . . . flat. I hope it goes really well. I can’t wait to hear all about it!” Marcus laughed and Glenn gave me a weird look as I flipped closed the phone. “Everything’s fine,” I said to Glenn. “But it’s just you and me for the movie.”

  “Oh. Okay. Shall we?” He held out his arm, and I laced mine through his.

  “I have the tickets already.”

  “Then I’ll get the popcorn.”

  “That’ll probably cost about ten thousand dollars more than the tickets did.” I breathed in the clean scent of Glenn’s shirt. I’d never been this close to him before. He smelled really nice. Suddenly, I felt unbelievably silly, out on this made-up “date” with Glenn. Marcus, you nut, I thought as we stepped into the cool, dark lobby.