Queeroes

by Steven Bereznai

  It was then Chad began to feel different. He swore he could smell two of the most annoying cheerleaders on their squad coming their way.

  Lacey and Stacey, he thought, without turning around.

  “Lacey and Stacey,” Mandy called out, standing on tiptoes and waving over Chad’s head.

  “Not a word about Jesse,” Mandy muttered under her breath, and with a grin she clapped enthusiastically. “Hey, hotties!”

  “Hey!” the two girls squealed, running up to them, shopping bags bouncing as they hugged Mandy tightly.

  From the scrunched-up look on Mandy’s face, Chad knew she just wanted to push them away. They were vacuous to the point of making Mandy and Chad appear deep. He prepared to play the old “I think I have diarrhea—Mandy, can you drive me home?” card, but from the corner of his eye he caught sight of his own reflection, and what he saw made his heart beat quickly.

  His eyes…there was something messed up about his eyes.

  “I…I have to go pee,” he said.

  “I’ll come with,” Mandy offered.

  “No!” Chad said hastily, shielding his face with his hand and darting away from the trio.

  Out of sight, he hid behind a giant fern and pulled out a My Little Kitty compact. He stared into the mirror. Instead of his beautiful blue eyes, he gazed at a pair of pupils in the shape of vertical slits, surrounded by a yellow iris.

  “This is effed up,” he said, trying not to panic.

  There was a light tap on his shoulder, making him shriek. He whipped around, and when he saw who it was, he restrained from hitting him.

  “Gibbie!”

  “Hey,” the gawky redhead replied, fidgeting from foot to foot. “Funny running into you at the mall.”

  “Sure,” Chad said. “Listen, do I look weird to you?”

  Gibbie’s eyes were huge behind his thick glasses. His gaze drank in Chad’s strong thighs, tiny waist, and rounded pecs, barely contained in a Nuffim High cheerleader zippy.

  “You look awesome.”

  “Nothing…off?”

  “Really awesome.”

  Chad looked back into the mirror. His eyes were normal again. Still, things were not as they were. A kid dropped a small bouncy ball and Chad flipped in the air, diving after it instinctively. He caught it in his mouth and landed on his hands and feet.

  The kid, his mom, and Gibbie all stared. Chad bashfully removed the ball from his mouth, wiped off the saliva and returned it to the little boy. His mom grabbed it away from him and threw it in the garbage with a disgusted look on her face. Chad was uncharacteristically speechless.

  “So where you headed tonight?” Gibbie asked, as if nothing untoward had just happened. It was as if he was on autopilot, and was not deviating from his assigned trajectory no matter what.

  Meeting Gibbie’s four eyes, Chad growled, “I’m going hunting.”

  The little nerd blinked uncertainly, and Chad had to shake himself as if from an altered state.

  “I mean, I need to get home, that’s all,” Chad said. And he really did. He did not feel right, and what the heck was up with catching a ball in his mouth? That was gay, even by his standards.

  “Well maybe we could, I don’t know, I mean later, if you’re free...” Gibbie stammered.

  His stuttering words trailed off, and then stopped altogether. Riley and Markham were coming out of the Fitness Depot carrying tubs of protein powder. Their faces widened into smiles as their eyes fell on Gibbie.

  “What were you saying?” Chad asked, staring at his nails and wondering why they were so long when he’d just cut them.

  Gibbie’s mind went blank.

  “I gotta go,” Gibbie said quickly. The thought of being humiliated was bad enough, but in front of Chad? It was too much to bear. Already the two jocks were bearing down on them. Chad’s nose twitched at their scent, but he was in no mood for the likes of them. He needed to run free.

  “See ya at school, squirt,” Chad said, tousling the younger boy’s hair, not even noticing how greasy it was.

  Chad headed for the revolving doors separating him from the parking lot, and the wilderness beyond.

  Gibbie swallowed hard and backed away from the approaching jocks.

  Chapter 2

  Troy Allstar watched the whole thing go down. Gibbie and Chad had been standing not far from the Aberbombie and Stitch store while Troy finished folding waffle-patterned undershirts with the A&S logo sewn onto the chest.

  Troy had long suspected Gibbie was a homo, and that he had the hugest crush on Chad. But there was no time to dwell on it. Troy’s boss saw to that.

  The guy was an MBA student eager to work his way up to Aberbombie corporate. His name was Joe, but he made everyone call him Diesel. It was more Aberbombie, he explained. In fact, Diesel looked like he’d stepped right out of the catalogue, with his A&S Mountain low-rise jeans, chunky hand-knit Savannah sweater, and the perfect mix of shoulders, cheekbones, and laser-whitened teeth.

  “We need to talk,” Diesel said in a way that did not bode well, “Listen, you fold shirts like nobody’s business, but when it comes to sales…well, you’re no Jesse, that’s for sure.”

  Jesse was ringing up a cute brunette’s purchase of a tank top and miniskirt. She waved at him as she left and he flashed her his patented smile.

  Diesel kept his tone on the level, almost pained, but Troy felt something else. Relief perhaps, that it had finally been said.

  “Look, man, sales is about emotion, and connecting with your customer, and it’s like you’ve got this wall up all the time.”

  Because I do, Troy wanted to reply.

  “I can get better,” Troy objected, “I…I can emotionally connect with people.”

  Diesel seemed to be considering it when he noticed someone coming through the store’s doors. It was Troy’s brother, Gibbie. His face was flushed and he kept looking nervously over his shoulder. Markham and Riley were closing in.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Diesel said, “Sell that kid something, and I’ll think about it. Just remember, there are different kinds of shoppers. Moms looking to get a present for their kids want to seem cool. Those jocks over there”—he pointed to Markham and Riley—“want to feel like they’re part of the tribe, and this one”—Diesel took in Gibbie’s skinny frame and thick glasses—“he obviously doesn’t belong here, but you have to make him feel like he could. This kid is a wannabe. He’s got a dream, to be like one of us, and we sell that dream for $45.99 a T-shirt.”

  It would take more than a shirt to make Gibbie fit into this world. He looked around uneasily, and not just because he was about to have his ass kicked. Dance remixes of rock classics blared, a wooden canoe hung from the ceiling, and all around were framed prints of muscular tween guys dressed in soaked jeans snapping towels at each other. Gibbie stopped next to a beaten-up metal sign with a cartoon of a smiling fish that said, “Throw back undersized catches.”

  Diesel gripped Troy by the back of his shoulders and pushed the teen forward.

  “Make a sale,” the manager hissed.

  “Hey, Tr—” Gibbie began.

  “Hello there, customer!” Troy said to his brother, jerking his head meaningfully towards his boss. “Now this would look swell on you!”

  He held up a shirt that said “SWIM TEAM.”

  Gibbie looked back at Riley and Markham, who had stopped just inside the store. Markham mouthed the words “You’re dead” while making a slitting motion across his neck.

  “Come on,” Troy said, angling his brother towards the change room, “I’ll deal with them, but you’ve got to try this on.”

  Diesel gave the thumbs-up as the pair passed by.

  When Gibbie emerged from the change cubicle, the XS shirt hung loosely about his frame. Troy could sense his brother now felt ridiculous and terrified. “Are they gone?” he asked fearfully.

  “One size smaller, coming up,” Troy said as Diesel poked his head in. Seeing Gibbie’s uncertainty, Troy added under his breath, �
��I’ll check, all right?”

  Back in the showroom, Troy pulled out an XXS. He searched for Markham and Riley, but thankfully they were gone. Chasing off potential customers to defend his brother would not have cut it for Diesel.

  “Here, these are for those two guys in the change room,” Diesel said, handing Troy a belt and a hat. “They’ve got up-sell written all over them.”

  “What two guys in the change room?” Troy asked, his stomach sinking as he began to suspect where Riley and Markham had gone.

  “Oh, and get them to try our new cologne,” Diesel added as Troy was already running back towards his helpless younger brother.

  Gibbie stood silently berating himself as he waited for Troy to get back.

  Today I had to ask Chad out. It just had to be today. What is wrong with me? I knew Riley and Markham were out there. Did I actually think getting rejected by Chad was worth it? I am such a loser! I deserve to get beaten up!

  But then he remembered something. Chad tousled his hair.

  He touched me!

  Gibbie gently patted his own skull, remembering the feel of the blond’s palm on his scalp. It was sheer bliss.

  That’s when Markham and Riley stepped into the changing area. They towered over Gibbie’s trembling form.

  “Look who it is,” Markham taunted with feigned surprise. “Little Gibbie Allstar actually thinks he’s cool enough to wear Aberbombie. Is that it, Gibbie? You think you’re cool?”

  “N-n-n-n-o,” he stuttered, looking about desperately for Troy.

  “Oh, so you think you’re hot,” Markham concluded.

  “I d-d-d-d-don’t think I’m hot,” Gibbie protested, his cheeks burning red.

  “Yeah, I think you do. Maybe we should cool him down,” Markham said. Riley’s laugh always came out as a bark.

  “We’ve got a very special beverage for you, Gibson,” Markham said, and already Riley was pulling out a bottle of Etienne water from a knapsack.

  “That was recalled,” Gibbie protested. “I heard it on TV, just twenty minutes ago. There was some sort of contamination at the bottling plant.”

  “Yeah,” Markham agreed, “I heard that too. I was going to save this for you and your nerd buddies at school tomorrow, but since you’re here…”

  He cracked the bottle open and Riley grabbed the small teen in his paws.

  “Please,” Gibbie begged. “I have irritable bowel syndrome. That could really mess me up…”

  But Markham was already wedging the tip of the bottle into Gibbie’s mouth, shoving it deep between his cheeks. The smaller boy tried to pull away, but Riley gripped his jaw, forcing him to swallow or choke. Down, down the water went, and when the bottle was empty Markham let it clatter to the floor.

  “There,” Markham said, “Now you’re cool.”

  Gibbie was panting and wiping away tears. Markham pulled out his iPhone.

  “I have got to get this onto YouTube.”

  “No!” Gibbie shouted, reaching for the jock’s arm. He couldn’t let Chad see him like this. He wouldn’t! Markham’s free hand swung back and came flying down, aimed at smacking Gibbie’s cheek, like so many times in the past. Markham never hit hard enough to leave a mark—just enough to hurt, and more importantly, to humiliate.

  But this time, somehow, somewhere, someone rewrote the script. For just an instant it was as if the scene was caught in freeze-frame. Not one of them moved. The shock ran that deep. Skinny, useless little Gibbie had caught muscular Markham’s wrist, and held it fast.

  The larger teen tried jerking free. Gibbie waited for his grip to break easily under the force of Markham’s superior arm. It didn’t happen.

  He’s playing you, Gibbie told himself.

  The guffaw from Riley confirmed it.

  So why did Markham look so freaked out? Why was he grimacing in pain?

  “You…you’re hurting me,” Markham squealed, his voice hitting an unfamiliar pitch. “Let go, you little faggot!”

  Understanding crept slowly into the young nerd’s mind.

  As if in a dream, he shoved Markham, and the force sent the teen flying off the ground in an arc, smashing into the far wall. Troy skidded into the changing area just as the jock crumpled to the ground. The wrestler stared in amazement at the dented drywall.

  The hulking Riley tried punching Gibbie and the scrawny geek caught the bully’s fist in his palm. With a jerk of the arm, Gibbie sent the giant through the air to land on top of Markham. They lay there, stunned for a moment. They clambered to their feet, gazing at Gibbie in awe. The little nerd took a menacing step towards them, and they ran out of the store.

  “What the hell just happened?!” Diesel demanded, poking his head around the corner and screaming at Troy. “You’re supposed to be up-selling to those two, not scaring them off!”

  Anybody else would’ve panicked, but Troy was Troy.

  “Shoplifters,” was all he said.

  Diesel’s eyes widened and he darted away, screaming for security.

  With the store manager gone, Troy turned to his little brother.

  “Did that just happen?”

  Judging by Troy’s tone, he could’ve been talking about the weather. Any surprise or concern he might have expressed were locked in quarantine. Gibbie stared at the busted-up wall, nodding slowly.

  “So,” Gibbie said, panting and wiping nervous sweat from his brow.

  “So,” Troy agreed, still trying to process.

  “Are you going to tell on me?” Gibbie finally asked, staring at the dented wall. He did not want to get into trouble.

  Troy pondered this. Who would he tell? What would he say? And who would believe him? More importantly, this was his baby bro.

  “I don’t think so,” Troy replied, “but…”

  Carefully his rational mind began bending the situation this way and that, leisurely printing off questions in his mind like a clunky dot matrix. Slow was good in times like this; slow kept the panic at bay.

  “Are you on something?” Troy asked

  “No!” Gibbie replied, and Troy knew his brother was telling the truth. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did. Pinpricks were running down his spine, and as if they were some sort of polygraph test, he had no doubt about his brother’s honesty.

  “Go home,” Troy said.

  “And then?” Gibbie asked.

  “And then,” Troy paused, thinking, rearranging his thoughts like a never-ending game of Tetrus. “And then we’re going to pump some iron.”

  Mandy was vowing revenge on Chad, who’d left her stuck with Lacey and Stacey. Of course Mandy had no idea that her best bud was going through a metamorphosis more traumatic than coming out and puberty combined, and so she thought, You are so dead, my fag friend.

  “I wish I had a homo,” Lacey sighed to Mandy as Chad disappeared from sight.

  “You’re so lucky to have a gay,” Stacey chimed. “It’s, like, better than

  Prada.”

  “Gay rights!” Lacey and Stacey cheered, giggling and clapping each other’s hands. Their jaws never stopped chomping on their gum.

  I’m so tired of being public property, Mandy thought. I wish I could just hide.

  Fortunately, a side act was only a few feet away. If Mandy was going to be forced to perform, she always felt better using a prop. And there was the perfect target—their large-boned Amazonian classmate Liza Larsdon.

  Liza stared into the window of an outdoors store. On display were a range of crossbows, hunting knives, and even a bear trap. She looked down at a piece of paper in her hand. On it, in her delicate calligraphy, were the words “Hit List.”

  “Oh my God, is that Lezzie Liza?” Mandy said loudly, forcing her voice to a titter. She took a look at Liza’s bulky gray top and sweatpants. She might as well have been wearing a muumuu.

  Girl, why do you have to make this so easy? Mandy wondered, almost feeling sorry for the gentle brute. Sometimes it was like clubbing a baby seal. A giant baby seal in stretchy pants, but a baby sea
l nonetheless. These thoughts she kept to herself. Aloud, she said, “Honey, Addition Elle’s that way.”

  She was about to touch Lacey and Stacey on the back while they were distracted by their own laughter, and say to them, “See you later girls,” so she could go grab Chad by the scruff of the neck and make him pay for abandoning her, but before Mandy could execute her plan…

  “I love what you’ve done with your hair!” Lacey cooed to Liza, picking out one of the spitballs Markham had shot there.

  “But it seems to be missing something,” Stacey added.

  They both reached into their mouths and removed their pink bubble gum.

  Mandy’s eyes widened in horror; a little verbal abuse was one thing— they were in high school after all—but there was a line, and it was about to be crossed.

  “Guys, that’s really not cool,” she began to say.

  But her words were futile, her reach too short. She watched as if in slow motion as Lacey and Stacey stuck their gum in Liza’s hair.

  “Much better!” the two girls squeaked with delight. “Hubba Bubba chic!”

  Lacey and Stacey covered their mouths as they squealed in glee. Mandy looked about in quiet embarrassment, knowing full well she’d started this, and had done little to stop it.

  “Liza, I’m sorry,” she began, but there was something in her classmate’s face that halted Mandy’s words. The look in “gentle” Liza’s eyes reminded Mandy of Hannibal Lecter, the bone-chilling cannibal from Silence of the Lambs.

  Oh my god, she’s going to punch me! Mandy realized in horror.

  Mandy prepared to defend herself against Liza’s ogreish fists, but the giant of a girl did not clench her fingers. Nor did she break the camping store’s window and reach for a hunting knife. Instead Liza went for Mandy’s weapon of choice: words that struck more surely than a bludgeon.

  If one were to ask Liza why she snapped at this moment, instead of all the other instances of her awkward adolescence, she’d probably shrug and grunt, “I dunno.” But the truth was she did know. She felt a new strength within herself, and it demanded to come out.