Queeroes

by Steven Bereznai

  “Yeah,” Devon said, “I still need to hone my craft. Besides, won’t it be fun when her little video gets out?”

  “Which reminds me,” Liza said, holding up Mandy’s cellphone, “I should put this back in her purse.”

  When Mandy’s head jerked up with a start, she blinked rapidly and looked around the inside of her car in a daze.

  “Wow, you were really out,” Liza said next to her. “I guess I don’t know my own strength.”

  “Yeah,” Mandy agreed, wiping the saliva from the corner of her mouth.

  “Well, thanks for the lift!” Liza said cheerfully. “See you at school tomorrow.”

  “Sure,” Mandy replied, the car door slamming shut behind Liza. The cheerleader looked down at her purse. Her cellphone poked out. She looked at Liza suspiciously, and then shook her head. Liza was the gentlest soul she knew.

  Mandy took the phone, went through her video log and found the one of Troy and Jesse. She watched it for a few moments. It ran like a cheap porn loop, doing nothing to capture the bliss she’d seen.

  She pressed delete.

  When Mandy pulled into her own driveway half-an-hour later, she rammed the brakes, jerked her keys out, and slammed the door behind her.

  “What are you doing here?” Mandy demanded, glaring at Chad.

  “Begging for forgiveness,” he said. “I screwed up, I know I did…”

  He chased after her as she tried to get past him by going around back. She turned invisible. His nostrils caught her scent. His ears twitched, locking onto the sound of her steps. He sprang left and she walked right into him.

  “That’s cheating!” she cried, fizzling back into view.

  “Please.” He hugged her tight. “You’re my best friend. I need you. Everything keeps changing so fast, and I’m scared. I…I betrayed you. I’m sorry, okay? I did a bad thing, but I don’t want to be a bad person, and I don’t want to be a bad friend. I should’ve told you about Troy. I just didn’t know how.”

  She looked at him finally. He still held her tight. It felt kind of good, truth be told. Even in this short time, she had to admit she’d missed him.

  “You’re not a bad person,” she grumbled, “but you definitely messed up.”

  “I did, I know I did,” he agreed, stepping back.

  “Chad, I can handle Troy being gay. I can handle Jesse being gay. I can handle you messing around with Troy. It explains a lot, actually. But to send me into the locker room like that…”

  “Was it hot?” he asked.

  “Oh my God, yeah,” she confessed. “I thought I was going to wet myself.”

  “Please tell me you took a video.”

  She pushed him away with a light touch.

  “I deleted it.”

  “You what?”

  “Chad, I don’t want to be a bad person either.”

  He nodded grudgingly. “You still should have showed it to me first. Friends?”

  “Yeah,” she said, “friends. But the next time you and Troy make out, I get to watch. Deal?”

  “Mandy!”

  “Well,” she shrugged, “it’s not like you actually like him, right?”

  Chad said nothing.

  “Oh my God, you do!”

  “No!” Chad protested. “After Jake, I swore to myself no more closet cases.”

  “Chad and Troy, sitting in a tree…” Mandy cried as she opened the door of the house and pushed Chad inside, still chanting, “K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

  Troy sat at his desk in his bedroom. He wrote and wrote and wrote. It was a flurry that wouldn’t stop until he clenched his pen so tight his fingers seized up. He leaned his forehead on his fists, trying to quell the shaking tears coming from his body. With a deep breath he pushed them away.

  He set down his writing pad and lay his fingers on his keyboard.

  He googled the word “gay.”

  Chad and Mandy sat in her living room eating butter-free popcorn and watching Sex and the City episodes on DVD.

  “It’s kind of weird,” Mandy said.

  “I know,” Chad agreed, eyes focused on the TV screen. “Carrie and Aidan? I mean, what did she ever see in him?”

  “No, dumbass. Troy being a homo. He’s gay, you’re gay, Gibbie’s gay.”

  “Do you really think Gibbie’s gay?” Chad asked.

  “Uh…he pops a load every time you come into the room.”

  “No he doesn’t. Does he?”

  Mandy nodded knowingly.

  “Wow,” Chad said, “a gay geek.”

  “It seems a bit too much to be a coincidence,” Mandy went on, “that all the guys who got powers are gay.”

  “Well,” Chad said, “Gibbie was saying that probably only younger brains would be affected by drinking the contaminated water and that there might be other limiting parameters.”

  “Since when do you use words like ‘limiting parameters?’ God, you’re starting to talk like him.”

  “I know,” he bragged, “I’m super smart now. But anyway, maybe it only affects gay brains. Jake once said that our brains are different. Maybe it only works on queers. I mean, look at Liza. She’s pretty much the biggest dyke I’ve ever seen.”

  “Literally,” Mandy agreed.

  And then a horrified expression slowly overcame her.

  “Oh my God,” Mandy said, gripping her chest.

  “What’s wrong, pumpkin?” Chad asked.

  “If the only people who get superpowers are the gays, then I’m… a dyke?”

  Chad turned the TV off and angled his body to face his best friend.

  “That is crazy talk. There is no way you’re a lesbo.”

  “Are you sure?” Mandy asked.

  “Come on! Gay men and lesbians hate each other, and we’re super best friends. And look at you, girl. You look fantastic. Not a whisker in sight!”

  “That’s true,” she laughed a little nervously. “I mean, I don’t look like k.d. lang, right?”

  “Love her old stuff, though,” Chad said.

  “ ‘Constant Craving’ is in my all-time top twenty,” Mandy confessed.

  They stopped, worried by that.

  “I’ll delete it from my iPod!” she promised.

  Chad pulled back slowly.

  “It may not be enough.”

  “What do you mean?” Mandy demanded.

  “Well, I’ve been thinking. You’re a total babe, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So not exactly the diesel dyke poster child. But then again, look at the chicks on The L-Word. I mean those WeHo bitches are fierce.”

  Mandy looked ready to protest, but nothing would come out of her mouth.

  “And,” Chad continued, “it’s not like you actually like straight guys. Let me ask you this: Do you like pussy?”

  “Well, I like my pussy.”

  A pained expression came over his face.

  “Oh hell,” she cursed, “I’m into snatch.”

  Chapter 15

  Dear Diary,

  You should totally have seen what went down in homeroom today. One word, two syllables: AWK-WARD!

  The next morning, Troy was one of the first students to get to homeroom. He waited by the door as his classmates piled in. When Jesse arrived, Troy tried going up to him, but the taller youth brushed right by without even glancing at his once best friend. Troy didn’t know where to look after that. He went to his desk and pulled out his flip pad. He crossed “Talk with Jesse” off his list.

  At the desk next to Troy sat Chad. Chad looked at something he’d written in his own notebook. It was a heart with the words “Troy and Chad forever.” He quickly slapped the binder shut, but he realized Troy wasn’t even looking his way. Chad’s shoulders sagged, and reopening his binder, he began drawing thick edges around the heart.

  The biggest stir arose when Mandy arrived.

  Chad’s pencil fell from his nerveless fingers, his doodling forgotten.

  “Jesus Britney Christ,” he swore.

  Mandy’s l
ong black hair had been shaved down to the scalp. Her jeans were baggy and ripped; a chain ran from her belt into the wallet stuffed into her front pocket. She wore a white tank top, and now had a nose ring.

  She stopped at Troy’s desk and leaned in close.

  “Sorry about yesterday, brother. My bad.” she grabbed him by the shoulder and squeezed it hard. “Never be ashamed of who you are. Solidarity,” she said, tossing a pink triangle pin onto his desk.

  He clutched it quickly and stuffed it away.

  Mandy took her usual seat behind Liza, who gawked at her. Mandy ran her hands through Liza’s thick locks.

  “I love it how you’re so butch, and yet so femme at the same time. Good for you womyn—that’s womyn with a Y,” she said to the class, holding up a finger in warning.

  As Mrs. Cordial began taking attendance, Mandy leaned forward and murmured into Liza’s ear.

  “So I was thinking, maybe we could hang out tonight and rent The Incredibly True Adventure of Two Girls in Love. What do you say?”

  “I…uh…”

  Liza’s phone buzzed on vibrate mode. She flicked it open and read the text message that had just been sent to her.

  It read, “Do it.”

  She looked up and saw Devon, one seat over, looking at her meaningfully.

  “Okay, sure,” Liza said, bobbing her head from side to side in an attempt to mimic Mandy’s usual ditzy enthusiasm.

  Mandy blew a gum bubble, let it pop, and then sucked it back in. “Killer.”

  After school that day, Liza found herself surrounded by hues of pink and baby blue, accented by frilly white curtains. She sat with

  Mandy on Mandy’s bed. There was a stack of Vogue magazines on the floor. Liza picked one up. The cover of supermodel Gisele had been defaced with the word oppressor.

  Liza set the magazine down.

  “And so I reclaim this cut,” Mandy read.

  “My wound, my bleeding slit.

  “For it is no sheath, no vestibule for some man’s sword,

  “Vagina, you ask?

  “Trojan-ina, I say.

  “For this hole is me,

  “And it will fill you,

  “Until you bleed.”

  Mandy closed the book Dyke-otomies.

  “Lesbian poetry’s pretty cool, huh?”

  “Amazing,” Liza yawned. “This has been…”

  “The best night ever?” Mandy asked.

  “Sure,” Liza said, putting on her sweater.

  “You’re going?” Mandy asked.

  “Yeah, thanks for the tofu and couscous salad.”

  “But…”

  “I still have homework to do,” Liza said. “You stay there. I’ll show myself out.”

  The door clicked behind her.

  Mandy held up another book and yelled in her wake. “We haven’t even gotten to The Joy of Lesbian Sex!”

  “It was awful,” Liza said as she brushed shellac onto Mrs. Dedarling’s corpse. “Lesbians should be banned from writing poetry. Remind me again why I’m hanging out with Mandy.”

  “To gain her trust,” Devon replied, carefully painting his mother’s nails with bright silver polish.

  The doorbell rang. Liza started.

  “Don’t worry,” Devon replied, “I ordered takeout.”

  Liza opened the front door and stared at a broad-shouldered man in his early 20s. He could have done with a shave, but his blue-collar buffed body made up for it. He wore a jean jacket overtop a white T-shirt. It was very James Dean.

  “Uh, hi,” he said to Liza, “are you SexBombTripleX?”“I…no…I…” she looked back at Devon. He nodded vigorously. “I mean,” she continued, “yes I am.” She put her hand on the doorframe, trying to stretch her arm

  out in a seductive manner. Her face looked like she’d just pulled

  a muscle.“Well, SexBomb,” he said, “thank you for wasting my time.” “I…” “I’m going to report you to RuralHookupsRUs.com,” he threatened. “VGL my ass. Whose photos were those anyway?” He stormed away towards his car, and she started closing the front door.“Are you crazy?” Devon demanded. “Sing!” “Sing?” “Sing him a frigging lullaby!” he cried, pushing her out the door. Understanding dawned on her. Devon covered his ears. “Rockabye baby…” Liza began. The dude kept walking. “On the tree top…” His steps slowed. “When the wind blows, the cradle will rock…” He stumbled, arms flopping limply at his side. “When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall...” He fell to his knees, eyes rolling into the back of his head. “And down will come baby…” His cheek smacked into the paving stones of the driveway. “…Cradle and all.” Devon came to her side, uncovering his ears. Liza stared at the fallen dude. I did that, she thrilled, feeling a rush of invincibility.“Come on,” Devon said, “we’ve got to get LumberjackLuvsLife inside before your next date arrives.”

  “My next date?” Liza asked. Devon shrugged.“If you’re going to make art, you need raw material.”

  Chapter 16

  There was a clatter of dumbbells being foisted about in the basement of the Allstar residence—not an unusual noise in that particular abode, at least until Troy came down from his room and his parents looked up from their books, realizing the basement body-pumping was still underway.

  “Who’s lifting weights?” his mom asked.

  “Is it that new friend of yours? Chad, was it? He certainly looks like he works out,” his dad chuckled.

  “Uh, yeah,” Troy said.

  He stomped down the wooden stairs and watched as Gibbie did arm curls with five forty-five-pound weights loaded onto either end of a barbell. He set it down and went to look at the cracked mirror Troy had set up there long ago. Gibbie wore a tank top and flexed his tiny biceps, his body as skinny as ever.

  “Hey,” Troy said.

  Gibbie swirled around, blushing a deep red.

  “I…uh…”

  “It’s okay,” Troy said, “every guy flexes his muscles in the mirror now and then.”

  “Yeah, well, some guys have muscles to flex,” Gibbie sighed.

  “For someone who was the center of attention in the cafeteria yesterday, you seem kind of down,” Troy said. He came and sat on the bench. Gibbie sat next to him.

  “Yeah, it was pretty cool.”

  “You still pissed at me for raining on your parade?”

  “Kind of.” Then he shrugged. “No, not really. It was fun and all, but…look at me. I’m the strongest person on the planet, and I’m still the same skinny dork.”

  “It never used to bother you before that you were skinny,” Troy said.

  “It kind of did,” Gibbie countered.

  “So why didn’t you do anything about it?”

  “It felt kind of hopeless.”

  “And now?”

  “Now,” he sighed, “I know it’s hopeless.”

  He picked up the most recent issue of Muscle Pump magazine. A bulging yet defined fitness model grinned back with a perfect smile.

  “In order to gain muscle size one must take the muscle to failure,” Gibbie read, and then, throwing down the magazine, “but my muscles don’t get tired, so they’re not going to grow.”

  Troy looked at his brother with fresh sympathy.

  “There are other things in the world, you know.”

  “Kind of doesn’t mean much coming from a guy with a body like yours.”

  “We could play that Star Trek game of yours. That always makes you feel better.”

  “That’s kind of ruined too,” Gibbie said. “Part of why I liked those games was because I got to make-believe that I was powerful. Now that I am powerful, I have to make-believe that I’m not. It sucks.”

  Troy felt the full intensity of his brother’s situation.

  “You know, if you really want to do the track team, then do the track team.”

  “I’m not sure how much fun it will be,” Gibbie shrugged. “I already know I’ll win. And the whole getting-up-at-6-a.m. thing gets tired pretty quick.”

&
nbsp; Troy patted him on the back.

  “For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure Riley and Markham are going to leave you alone from now on.”

  “Yeah, that doesn’t suck,” Gibbie agreed. Then, as something occurred to him, he said, “Can I ask you something?”

  “Shoot.”

  “How do you get someone to like you?”

  It was the question every teen asked him or herself, sometimes every other minute. Troy thought about Jesse.

  “I’m not sure. You do stuff together, I guess. If you laugh at the same things, start talking the same way, with little inside jokes, not annoying the hell out of each other too much…then I guess you start to like each other.”

  “Well, what if you want to get someone to like you in a…special way.”

  “Oh,” Troy said, “a special way.”

  Troy thought of Jesse. Troy thought of Chad.

  I’ve made such a mess, he thought, I’m the last person to be giving advice. But Gibbie’s yearning gaze demanded an answer.

  “You take a chance,” Troy said at last, “and try not to screw it up.”

  Gibbie nodded. “Take a chance,” he echoed.

  “Just don’t ask me how to get them to stay,” Troy murmured.

  “Flowers,” Gibbie said.

  Troy’s head jerked up, but Gibbie was no longer paying attention to him.

  “I think I’ll start with flowers.”

  When Chad gazed out his bedroom window that particular evening, the sun was lowering on the horizon. He turned on his cat eyes to get a better look at what appeared to be a hunk on his bike coming down the street.

  “Troy,” he whispered.

  Quickly, Chad looked in the mirror, tried on three different T-shirts, and put fresh product in his hair. He then went running down the stairs.

  There came a loud knock on the door.

  “Got it!” he yelled to his dad.

  Heart hammering, he yanked on the handle and tried to look nonchalant.

  “Hey, Chad.”

  “Gibbie?”

  The younger of the Allstar brothers held a bouquet of roses. He wore a blue suit that was at least a size too big. Troy was nowhere to be seen, but Chad could swear his scent was on the wind.

  Gibbie held the flowers towards the male cheerleader.

  “I love you, Chad,” Gibbie said. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.”