Double Exposure

by Bridget Birdsall

  Roslyn pretends to sneak up behind me. “And you know who Joel’s best friends with, Alyx?”

  I look up.

  “Oh, God, not Peter Pitmani!” Mary says, and they all laugh.

  Roslyn slams her locker shut. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Martha and Mary exchange a look. Mary shrugs. “Nothing.”

  “He’s a nice guy!” Roslyn’s getting defensive.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that,” MJ grins. “Might want to make sure which team he plays on, if you know what I mean?”

  Mary opens her mouth to say something else, but Martha elbows her. They both look at Roslyn, who puts her hands on her hips and turns to me. “He’s not gay. That rumor was probably started by some jerk-off jealous jock. And he’s uber cute. And Joel says he wants Alyx to ask him.”

  “Hey, all I know is the guy’s obsessed, he’s always taking pictures of everybody—”

  “For the yearbook!” Martha looks at her sister, but Mary keeps going: “I don’t care what team he plays on, but any guy with his own darkroom is creepy if you ask me.”

  “It’s his dad’s, not his”—Martha shoves Mary gently—“stop spreading rumors.”

  “I’m not, just sayin’ what goes on in the darkroom stays in the darkroom.” They start giggling and pushing each other playfully.

  I bite down hard, my braces digging into my cheeks.

  MJ, who’s finished dressing, sashays toward the door. “I gotta go or Mom’ll kill me.” She nods at Mary and Martha before she disappears.

  Whirling around, Roslyn tells Mary and Martha, “Peter’s way cooler than Pepper.”

  Mary doesn’t like being reprimanded, even if she agrees. Her voice booms out as she pulls a shirt over her head: “Who cares if the guy’s gay, trans, bi, a cross-dresser, whatever, but Alyx deserves to know before you set her up.”

  Then they start talking over one another. I hear the word faggot. My feet want to run. My throat tightens. Grabbing my gym bag and my coat, I race out the door.

  CHAPTER 22

  Who’s Gay?

  The next day, I realize it’s not over. When I arrive at school, Pepper’s standing with Roslyn right in front of my locker.

  “What’s up?” I try not to freak.

  “Roslyn says you’re gonna ask Peter to the dance.”

  I cringe.

  “Uh, actually . . . I can’t go.”

  Pepper flashes her eyes at Roslyn. Doing a total one-eighty, she snaps, “See, I told you. People think Peter’s gay, but she’s the real lesbo.” And with that, Pepper marches off down the hall.

  “God, Pepper,” Roslyn calls after her, “way to win friends and influence people!”

  I lean my head against the locker. I’m tempted to bang it silly.

  “I feel so sorry for Peter,” Roslyn sighs.

  “What’re you thinking?” In drama queen style, I flip my locker door open. “Doesn’t Pepper hate me enough? Don’t you know when to shut up!”

  “It’s not like you have a ton of friends.” Roslyn’s eyes sprout tears. “I thought you and Peter would have a lot in common. You’re both braniacs.” She hugs her books to her chest as the ten-minute bell goes off.

  “Yeah, what else?” I pound my fist on the locker. “Like being the neighborhood faggot?”

  Roslyn frowns, her perfect eyebrows arch up together. “What?”

  “I mean,” I correct myself in a panic, “probably. In any case, I’m sure Peter just wants people to leave him alone, not to be arranging his social life and stuff.”

  Roslyn walks away without saying a word, and I chase after her.

  Finally, she says, “Joel told me Peter wanted you to ask him. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have said anything. I thought you’d be happy. Anyway, he’s not gay. Joel told me.”

  Carefully, I reach out and touch her arm with the butterfly tattoo. “Roslyn, Peter doesn’t even know me. Why would he want me to ask him?”

  She looks at me then says, “Because he met you at the park, and you’re in his homeroom, and you’re the only other sophomore who got into Anderson’s honors class, but mostly, because when he saw you shoot at the wrong basket, you were so cute about it, and he thinks you’re pretty.” Her eyes beam in on me as a prickly heat starts to consume my body. Sweat starts dripping down the inside of my T-shirt. Roslyn pauses, then continues, “It’s not like you have to go alone. Joel and I will double with you guys. Even Pepper wants you to—”

  “Why?” I say sarcastically. This just doesn’t make any sense.

  “I don’t know,” she hugs her books. “Maybe everyone disses him because he’s the opposite of Pepper—funny, sweet, and he hardly ever dates.”

  “Is he gay?”

  “God, Alyx! What’d I just tell you?” Exasperated, she rolls her eyes and pulls away.

  “I know, maybe he’s afraid to come out around here,” I sigh and shut my locker gently. “If he is, we could go as friends.”

  “I thought you couldn’t go.” Roslyn shakes her head. “He had a girlfriend, you know, but their dads hated each other. Now she’s hooked up with Bryce Swenson.”

  “Bryce?”

  “Yeah.”

  After a slight pause, Roslyn asks, “Are you gay, Alyx? Is that why you’re worried about Peter? ’Cause it’s okay if you are, even if you’re bi, whatever. Who cares? My best friend from Long Island’s gay, and he’s the most amazing guy you’ll ever meet. Are you the one afraid to come out?”

  “No,” I lower my voice. “I mean, I’m just not . . . I’ve never been on a date.” Two of the school’s big football stars walk by and my voice fades even more. “Maybe I’m not ready, is all.”

  “Me either. But what are friends for?” She points her finger at herself. “Like, duh, Alyx. You’re my friend, and you could do this for me, you know. I’m new at this school, too, and I’d rather not do the whole first date thing alone either, get it?”

  The final bell rings. A bunch of kids scurry past us into Mr. Anderson’s room. Bryce Swenson looks up and sneers, “You’re late. Tssk, tssk, detention time.”

  Speak of the devil. I can’t even look at him.

  Why would any girl in her right mind date Bryce Swenson? He stares at Roslyn and licks his lips. She smiles sweetly, then flips him the finger, which just serves to encourage him. I sneak a look in his direction. Roslyn and I are both taller than him. Rosyln by a little; me by a lot. I mouth the words to Roslyn, “Later, okay?”

  She nods.

  Bryce jabs a nub-nosed pencil into a sharpener on the wall and makes a big show of grinding away in rhythm with his hips as we head for our seats.

  As I walk by, he reaches out and grabs my arm. I freeze. “Lover’s quarrel?” he grins, yanking me toward him. His hands are strong and his fingers dig into my arm. Every muscle in my body begins to convulse as he puckers his lips and makes a gross sucking noise in my ear. “So, Alyx, is it true what they say about you girl jocks?” His smile widens. “Because you know I like to watch.” He releases my arm, but not before squeezing it hard one last time.

  A wave of revulsion washes over me as the voices of Prickman and his Neanderthals storm through my brain: Jesus! Did someone chop it off?

  Not knowing what to do or say, I turn and walk out into the hall, where I break into a run. The halls are empty. I run past rows of lockers, leaping over banged up cases containing trumpets, clarinets, and flutes.

  If Bryce only knew what I really looked like without clothes on, he wouldn’t want to watch . . .

  Oooo, a real val-e-dick-torian! An ocean of memories and voices dredged up from my past scream like a mob in my head. It’s like every bad encounter I ever had with Prickman starts replaying itself simultaneously in my head. Some strange daymare where Prickman morphs into Bryce and he stands over me, crushing a root beer can in his hand. Sticky foam dribbles down my legs.

  Atlas, what the f—? You shave your legs? You gay, or what?

  I keep running.

  Prickman’s sour, sweaty
, testosterone-fueled ashtray stink fills my nostrils, and the echo of his ape-boys attacks me in a damn chorus. A crescendo of voices chase me down the vacuous hallway as I aim for the exit sign—Come on. Make ’im fight. We want to see ’im fight. Watch out. He might like wedgies. Know what I mean? Oh, I’m so scared. What the hell! That ain’t a dick! You see that. Jesus, did someone chop it off or what?

  Then I hit something. Hard!

  Mr. Wexler grunts as our bodies bounce off each other. He drops a pile of papers when we collide less than ten feet from the front doors. Damn.

  “I’m . . . sorry.” My hands fumble across the floor as I frantically collect his papers and quickly wipe at my eyes.

  He looks surprised. “Ms. Kowalski?”

  He remembers my name? Standing up, I hand him the small stack of papers.

  “You’re in a hurry.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He looks me up and down, his eyes resting momentarily at my chest while he reshuffles the papers into a neat pile.

  “I’m late,” I mumble, staring at the floor.

  “But aren’t you heading in the wrong direction? Isn’t your homeroom that way?” He points in the same direction as the little red ducks flying across his tie.

  “I . . . uh . . . forgot something.”

  He blinks then grins at me over his glasses. “You may be forgetful, but the way you bagged those free throws Thursday night impressed us all.”

  Bagged? My eyes meet his.

  Reaching down, he collects the remaining papers. His hands are the size of dinner plates. No doubt he was a formidable opponent in his playing days.

  “I’m proud of you girls. Coming out of the gates and defeating the State champs is no small feat. Stephanie’s hopeful. Looks like she’s got a reason to be.”

  “She’s a great point guard, sir.”

  “She loves the game. She wants to play for the UConn someday. If you girls go to State, it may help her achieve what she’s dreamed of since the first day she picked up a ball. Her mother wanted her to stick with piano, but that’s not Stephanie. Basketball’s in her blood. A true champ, like her old man.” He grins wide.

  I nod.

  The bell rings, he checks his watch, clears his throat, and looks serious again. “Tell Mr. Anderson I detained you. Whatever you forgot can wait. I expect my students to spend their time productively. For you, Ms. Kowalski, that would be on the basketball court, not in detention.”

  I nod, turn, and escape down the hall. I duck into the girls bathroom and stand stock-still, not breathing. I stare at my reflection in the mirror above the sink.

  It’s quiet outside the door.

  Sucking in a long deep breath, I smooth out my hair. It’s getting almost long enough to pull back into a ponytail, though there’s still a bit of California surf-frizz at the edges. The hoop earrings Roslyn lent me glitter brightly under the florescent lights.

  Tears begin to stream down my face. It’s too hard to hold them back.

  I stare at myself, hating what I see. I still look like I’ve always looked, like a sad excuse for a girl—a super-sized, androgynous, super-freak with Grandma Clara’s frizz bomb blond hair, Mom’s blue eyes, Dad’s long, thin nose, and my own limited, special addition, freakfest body.

  CHAPTER 23

  Say Yes

  At practice after school, I move through drills as if in a trance. Afterward, Roslyn plops down on the bench beside me. I shift uncomfortably, and I can tell she senses my distance.

  “Those lines are killers, aren’t they?”

  I rummage through my locker, sorting socks.

  “Why is your face streaky, Alyx?”

  I reach down and untie my shoes.

  “Hey, Rossy, you getting excited about TWIRP?” Mary throws her sweaty T-shirt at Roslyn, who jumps up and they begin to talk about the upcoming dance.

  Then I hear Roslyn say, “So, you want Peter’s number or what?”

  Leaning down, she puts her face in mine. “Come on, Alyx. Say yes.”

  Obviously, she’s not giving up on this. “Roslyn,” I moan, then close my eyes and pound my head softly against the locker. They all laugh.

  “Come on, Alyx, just say yes!” Then they all chant: “Say yes. Say yes. Say yes!”

  In my mind’s eye, I see Prickman and Bryce standing on either side of Roslyn, sneering, but I hold out my hand anyway. She slaps me five and squishes a small piece of paper into my fist. “Call him, tonight. Okay?”

  I roll my eyes. She bumps my shoulder, smiles.

  “Don’t text him. Oh yeah,” she laughs, “you don’t have a cell. Even better. Call him, okay—talk to the guy!” She throws her gym bag over her shoulder and heads for the door. “Alyx, you’ll see. It’s going to be the best night ever! He’s totally hot for you!”

  A part of me wants to believe it’s true, but something doesn’t feel right, and I swallow at the lump rising in my throat.

  While Grandpa and Mom are in the living room that evening, I drag the portable black box dial phone into my room and stare at Peter’s number that’s lying on the bed.

  Q fish flutters near the side of the tank.

  I tap at the glass and she comes up and kisses it. She’s molting, looking even sicklier than usual.

  “You’re a sorry excuse for a goldfish. But I’m still your friend.” Laughing, I flick my finger and she darts back and forth, following it.

  I take a breath. Pick up the phone. As if on cue, the fish line up to watch, opening and closing their mouths in unison.

  “Here goes,” I tell them.

  Suddenly the clock chimes nine times in the living room.

  It’s a convenient excuse. Mom doesn’t like me calling anyone after nine at night, unless it’s an emergency. Putting the phone down, I decide to wait and ask Peter in the morning at school.

  CHAPTER 24

  Just Do It

  The next morning, Grizzly drops me off ten minutes early and I’m waiting near Peter’s locker when Roslyn comes skipping up.

  “Did you? Did you call him?”

  I shake my head.

  “Alyx, you promised!”

  “I did not.”

  “You did.” She pouts, and I shrug.

  “It got late. I didn’t want to piss Pepper off.”

  “Now everything’s messed up.”

  I’m confused, but at that moment Peter comes down the hall, a fancy camera with a huge zoom lens hanging around his neck. He’s fussing with the apertures as he walks. That is, until he spots Roslyn and me, then he makes a sharp turn into the boys’ bathroom. Is he avoiding me? My brain circuits are in overload.

  “I’ll ask him when he comes out,” I say, not wanting to disappoint her.

  “You better, because Joel already told him you’re going to.” Roslyn struts off toward homeroom.

  “Roslyn!” I holler after her. Is Peter feeling pressured, too? Why would he even want to go with me? A part of me just doesn’t believe it.

  I try to look bored and invisible, scrunching myself down as I lean against the wall. The ten-minute bell rings. A couple of girls from homeroom walk by.

  “She’s a slut!” one of them squawks.

  Probably not about me, but the comment makes me want to run and hide. My heart’s racing, the palms of my hands grow sticky with sweat, and something inside of me wants to disappear.

  About two minutes before homeroom, Mr. Wexler marches down the hall but Peter still hasn’t come out. The principal stops in front of me. “Ms. Kowalski, you’re headed for homeroom?”

  “Yes,” I say and rush off.

  When I get to Anderson’s classroom, the door is closed and through the slatted window I can see that the lights are out and everyone’s watching a movie. Not wanting to think about Peter, or have everyone turn around and stare at me, I head to the library to hang out until the next bell.

  All day long, I should be thinking about basketball. Instead, I fume over how Roslyn and Joel conspired behind my back.

 
; And then I keep wondering if Peter’s gay. Is that why he hid in the bathroom? But if so, why is he best friends with Joel, who never stops drooling over girls? During practice, neither Roslyn nor Pepper look me in the eye. Even MJ and Stephanie seem uneasy. Roslyn exits the locker room without telling anyone goodbye. Pepper and the rest follow her out, leaving MJ and me as the lone stragglers.

  I slam my locker shut.

  “Alyx!” MJ startles and drops a shoe. “What the heck is goin’ on?”

  “Roslyn’s mad. That’s what!”

  MJ picks up the shoe. “You hit that one dead-on, girl. And how about you?”

  “She wants me to ask Peter to TWIRP so we can double with her and Joel. But I haven’t yet.”

  “So, what’s the problem? Ask the boy. Is this what Pepper’s all hot and bothered ’bout, too?”

  “Roslyn says Pepper wants me to ask him.”

  “Hmm, all I know about Pepper is once she realized you could outshoot her, your status changed, big time. From friend to enemy, uh huh, it’s happened to all of us in one way or another, and now you stole her limelight, so that daddy of hers is gonna ride her butt to kingdom come.”

  My heart starts to pound. “She’s still a starter. It’s not like I replaced her.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s not our hotshot center any more, and she’s got competition as lead scorer. From a sophomore!” MJ kicks her locker shut and plops down beside me. “Listen, these Pitmanis, they’re used to getting their way. You gonna ask Peter to TWIRP, you’d better just do it or you’ll end up regrettin’ it all season.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” More quietly, I add, “Do you think he actually wants me to?”

  MJ stops tying her laces. “Well, you’re built kind of sturdy,” she reaches over and squeezes my bicep, “in a fragile kind of way. You’ve got a sweet smile and a few freckles and kind eyes. I can see how a handsome white boy might think that’s hot.”

  She ties up one shoe and switches to the other. “Alyx, you might be a giant, but you’re pretty, and that’s just what guys like. Peter’s pretty, too,” she laughs, but it’s not a mean laugh. “And I’m not doing him dirt, but I know being pretty, kind of like being black, works against him, especially with the meatheads around here. And let’s face it, the guy’s a little bizarre, but he’s a lot nicer than Pepper. Could be the jocks are just jealous so they spread rumors to keep their women away from him.”