Queeroes

by Steven Bereznai

  Please don’t, Chad thought, choking back the words. To his own surprise, he had tears in his eyes. And where’s Troy? he wondered.

  “I would be honored,” Gibbie said as Chad reluctantly took the flowers from his outstretched hands, “and very pleased, if you would go on a date with me.”

  Chad stared into those eyes, magnified by a pair of thick glasses, blinking up at him with so much hope.

  “Gibbie, I…” he struggled, “I’m very flattered.”

  The little strongman beamed, and Chad realized this was the first time Gibbie had ever asked anyone out. He’d never heard the “I’m very flattered” lead-up before. He didn’t know what it heralded.

  Chad bit his lip, looked away, and then forced himself to continue.

  “Gibbie, I think of you as more of a little brother. We can still go do something—see a movie, grab a burger, but…”

  Understanding crept onto Gibbie’s face.

  “But it won’t be a date, will it?”

  “No, Gibbie, it won’t,” Chad agreed.

  From behind a tree, Troy watched Gibbie in his ill-fitting suit. He felt Gibbie’s excitement as he walked up to Chad’s door. He could feel Chad’s excitement as he opened it. Troy hopped back on his bike and pedaled away as the sun began to set, not sticking around for how the rest turned out.

  Chapter 17

  The following morning Liza went about her new routine, rising several hours before school started. There was much to be done. Not about the house—though heavens knew Mrs. Dedarling would have fretted to no end watching the dust build up on her vast collection of paintings and sculptures. But such matters were trifling in the face of what it took to maintain true art—a two-person job, as it turned out.

  In the center of the upstairs art studio, the sole focus of Liza and Devon’s combined attention, were five naked men, all of them young and muscular. Their joints were merged together, one man kneeling on one leg, his flesh fused to the floor where they met, another man’s arms clasped through his, leaning on his back in a pose stolen from Cirque du Soleil. They, too, were fused together. In fact all five men were attached to each other in some fashion or another.

  Two of them were cheek to cheek—quite literally, their skin and the bones of their jaws merged together. Another man seemed to be falling, but hands from one of the cheeky fellows—as Liza had come to call them—had his arms behind him, fists melded into the falling man’s rear, so that he simply tilted at a dangerous angle. The soles of his feet rested on the same cheeky man’s thighs, as if he were a swimmer ready to push off from a wall. Liza had cooed and made him flex his arms into the double-biceps pose, and then Devon squeezed his fingers into the shoulders, elbows, and wrists, twisting around ligaments, locking him in place.

  “I wonder if I could turn their heads around backwards,” Devon mused.

  One of the cheeky men began to whimper.

  Liza went to him, dabbing at his tears with a hankie.

  “There, there, don’t cry,” she said. His online handle had been Karl_the_Kuddler. That was before he’d become part of the Creation. “If you don’t stop crying, Devon will have to make you stop.”

  Looking down, Karl_the_Kuddler saw that the man fused to him no longer had a mouth. It was just a lump of flesh.

  “Please,” he begged.

  “What did I say?” she pressed, talking to him as if he were a petulant toaster. She squeezed shaving cream into her palm, humming to herself contentedly as she spread it across his cheeks. With a new razor she scraped the scruff from his jaws. There was something therapeutic about the task, and the fact that she and Devon were doing this together made her glow. Creating and maintaining the creature gave her a feeling of purpose and connection unlike any she’d ever known.

  She bustled busily, and she no longer needed the jeweler’s glass to see the Creation for what it was. An object. She stepped back to regard it as a whole, imagining what pieces they would add to it next.

  “So I was thinking,” Liza said, patting on aftershave, “when are we going to add some women to the Creation?”

  “I told you,” Devon sighed, “this piece is all about male energy.”

  “Sounds kind of gay,” Liza said. She tried, and failed, to keep her tone nonchalant.

  Silence reigned in the room for a moment and Liza tried to ignore the flush rising to her cheeks. Devon applied shaving cream to one of ten muscular thighs belonging to the Creation.

  “If you have something to say, just say it.”She looked at the Creation, and then to him. “Mandy says that everyone who’s gotten powers is a homo,” Liza

  said in a rush. And then, with a tremble to her voice, “So, is there

  something you want to tell me?”Devon took a deep breath. “Actually, there is. Wow, after holding this inside for so many years, imagining what this moment would be like, and now here it is. No more lying, no more hiding the real me. Liza…”“Yes, Devon?” “Mandy’s an idiot. She’s a ditzy cheerleading shopaholic, okay?” Liza flopped her hands. “It’s just…”“Yes?” She bit her lip. She’d had the balls to come this far, but now the stakes grew in her mind. What if Devon was gay? What then?

  Did it actually matter? He loved her; wasn’t that enough?“Look,” he continued, “are you a dyke?” “No!” “Exactly,” he said. She considered pointing out that although he claimed they were soulmates, they’d barely even made out. But before she could… “I love you, babe,” he said. And that settled it. “I love you too,” she replied, the words bringing a glow to her cheeks. “Oh, I almost forgot,” Devon added, his hypnotic eyes gleaming with excitement. “Look what I picked up.”He pulled a plastic bottle from his back pocket. “Baby oil,” he said with a devilish grin.

  Hope grew in Liza’s heart.

  “That’ll be fun later,” she said seductively.

  “Later?” Devon scoffed. “Right now.”

  “Mr. Impatient,” she said, starting to unbutton her red blouse, which she’d pilfered from Mrs. Dedarling’s closet. She felt stupid now for doubting him. He’d been planning to seduce her all along, the little devil. Except Devon had already turned his attention back to the Creation, wiping the excess foam off Luvs_2_Sing’s now smooth legs. Devon then squirted baby oil into his hands and began rubbing it into the Creation’s silky skin, giving the hard muscles a polished gleam.

  Liza bit her lip and began to do her shirt back up.

  Chapter 18

  Dear Diary,

  Things are getting drama-rrific! Hold on to your ink or you’re going to give yourself a skid mark! Mandy Candy has not only dyked out—she’s…

  The bell rang, heralding the end of the school day, and there was the usual scramble amongst upper- and lower-classmen alike, rushing to get home.

  “I just don’t know what to do about this Gibbie thing,” Chad said to Mandy as they packed their bags at their lockers.

  “Well, it sounds to me like you have a blocked fourth chakra,” Mandy replied.

  “Come again?”

  “Chad, you really should come to this consciousness-raising yoga class I’m in. I only caught the last ten minutes of it this morning, but it’s really changed my outlook on things. Let me ask you this. How’s your heart doing?”

  “Not so good,” he replied.

  She nodded knowingly.

  “Dear sweet Chad. You have major issues. Your mom died when you were a kid. Your father denies you affection. Jake left you. And Troy, well, let’s not go there. You finally have the chance to be loved, but you think you don’t deserve it. So you go after guys who are like your father, distant and unavailable.”

  “You got all that out of a ten-minute yoga class?”

  She gripped his smooth forearm.

  “Listen, I’d love to chat more, but if I hurry, I can catch the tail end of this breath workshop over at the Y.”

  “Okay, call me after.”

  “Can’t,” she winced. “I’ve got a potluck with the grrrls from the vegan drop-in center. La
ter, babe!”

  He watched her go.

  “What about cheerleading practice?” he shouted, but she was already gone.

  He shook his head. Could she be right? He tried to picture kissing Gibbie. Chad’s mouth instantly soured up. All the same, he did not go right to cheerleading practice. Instead he roamed the emptying halls like the predator that he was. His nose flexed in and out and his ears sharpened into points.

  “Your antimatter is mine,” he heard Gibbie’s voice cry.

  Chad hurried over to the closed door it had come through. He opened it without hesitation. Gibbie sat there with a couple of other geeks, throwing an octagonal die onto a board filled with miniature soldiers.

  “What do you want?” Gibbie demanded as soon as he spotted Chad.

  “Can we talk?” the cheerleader asked.

  “Make it quick,” the small boy grunted. “Some of us have a life.”

  The cheerleader winced at the bitterness.

  He sounds like Mandy and me.

  Gibbie joined him in the hall, and went immediately over to the

  fountain to refill his water bottle. “I’m really sorry for what happened the other night,” Chad said.The water from the fountain came out in a pitiful gurgle. “Thank you for the apology,” Gibbe said, screwing the lid on the

  bottle. It was barely a quarter-full. “That’s it?” Chad said, jumping in Gibbie’s way. Gibbie easily picked him up and moved him out of the way.“Yes, Chad, that’s it.”Chad followed the younger student to the classroom door.“We can still be…” “What?” Gibbie demanded, rounding on him. “Friends? I have friends, Chad. Real ones. I don’t need a cheerleader in my circle, okay? Do you think I’m stupid enough to believe you’d actually invite me to anything? That we’d hang out?”

  “We do hang out,” Chad replied. “Not anymore,” Gibbie snapped. “You think I’m a joke, and the fact that I can lift heavy things hasn’t changed that.” “Maybe with a makeover,” Chad offered, trying to lighten the mood the way he would with Mandy. Gibbie’s face turned red. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to where I belong. You should too.” The door clicked shut behind him.

  “So,” Mandy said excitedly to Liza as they stood by Mandy’s yellow VW, “you totally have to come to this breathing workshop with me.” “I already know how to breathe,” Liza replied. “I do it all the time.” Mandy contemplated this. “Good point. So do I. Okay then, how about this. Let’s reclaim our female essences from the patriarchal hegemony!” “Uh, sure.” It was as good a way as any to avoid going back to the Dedarling mansion.“Great. Let’s go shopping!”

  Moments later at the mall…

  “This is very you,” Mandy said to Liza, holding up a satin dress that was five sizes too small for the tall girl. A chunk of the mall was still cordoned off with yellow police tape, but Mandy’s favorite store, Little Miss Thing, was having a red tag sale.

  “I’m not sure,” Liza said. She was thinking about Devon. All day long, he haunted her thoughts. She hated that they’d fought. She hated it even more that he was lying to her. But the thought of being alone again, after finally knowing what it was like to have someone…

  “Well, at least try it on,” Mandy insisted.

  Liza looked to the shopkeeper for help, but the mid-forties woman was thin as a rake and looked upon this Amazon and her punked-out friend in horror.

  “Fine,” Liza said, flipping through the rack and pulling out a much larger version of the same dress. “But this is my size.”

  “You tell ’em, grrrl,” Mandy growled. “The personal is political.”

  When Liza emerged from the change room, Mandy had to give it to her. In that dress, Liza was in her buxom glory.

  “I feel like I’m about to fall out,” Liza said, preparing to retreat behind the curtain.

  “No way,” Mandy said, pulling her back in front of the mirror. “You look amazing. Guys like a girl with a nice rack.”

  “Guys?” Liza asked.

  “Oh, I meant chicks. Lesbos,” Mandy rumbled. “My Goddess, it’s tough getting over this heterosexist brainwashing.”

  Liza nodded and continued to ponder the dress in the mirror.

  “It’s not very bulldyke,” she said, deciding to play along with Mandy.

  “Pshaw.” Mandy waved her words away. “It’s totally WeHo L-Word chic.”

  And then, losing her persona for a moment, in a more down to-earth tone she said, “You look good. That’s all that matters.”

  The compliment was sincere and totally took Liza off-guard. She regarded Mandy differently. For just a second it actually felt like they were friends.

  “Mandy, have you ever liked someone, and they liked you back, but you knew that they were keeping things from you?”

  “Oh my Goddess, are you talking about Sherry from chemistry class?” Mandy squealed. “You so have a crush on her, don’t you? I hear she’s totally bi-curious!”

  “Um, yeah, okay,” Liza replied, regretting her momentary attempt to open up.

  Mandy just kept feeling the fabric of Liza’s dress.

  “You could try one on,” Liza offered.

  Mandy pulled her hand back as if stung.

  “No. I’m fine. I’m the butch,” she smiled and, with a false laugh added, “Save the role-playing for the bedroom, sister.”

  “Well, it looks like you were right about the guys liking it,” Liza said, just as glad to change the topic.

  Mandy looked over her shoulder at a teen in a football jacket staring in from the store’s entrance.

  “Evan Mueller,” Mandy blushed. “Now he is one cute…”—she caught herself—“…miserable son of a bitch. Can you believe him? Staring at us because we’re a couple of dykes. You know what? I’m not putting up with it.”

  She looked ready to march up to him when Liza pulled her back.

  “Mandy?”

  “What?”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Hanging out with me.”

  “Because that’s what lesbian best friends do.”

  Liza was beginning to understand why the closet was so exhausting. Devon wouldn’t come out, Mandy refused to go back in, and Liza’s own charade was quickly wearing thin.

  “Are you sure you’re a lesbian?” Liza finally asked.

  “Am I sure,” Mandy practically spat. “Would I have quit cheer-leading if I wasn’t sure?”

  “About that,” Liza replied, “you do realize you can be a lesbian and a cheerleader. There’s even a movie about it.”

  “I…well…” Mandy looked about as if she were going to be sick as she processed this new and unexpected information.

  “Mandy, have you ever even been with a woman?”

  The panic was full in Mandy’s eyes, and she immediately went on the defensive.

  “If you’re finished bashing my sexuality, I have to go change my non-bleached hemp menstrual pad,” she snapped. Marching away, she added over her shoulder, “It’s a lifestyle, not a life!”

  Liza watched her storm off to the restroom.

  “She’s right, you know,” a male voice said.

  She turned, and Evan Mueller, curly-haired football stud, stood there.

  “About what?” Liza demanded.

  “You do look pretty.”

  “You’re funny,” she replied, clearly not laughing.

  “Why would that be a joke?” Evan asked.

  She looked down at herself and back at him.

  “You should go before my friend gets back.”

  “Sure,” he said, “I just wanted to give you this.”

  She took a slip of paper from his outstretched hand.

  “It’s my phone number,” he explained, “so you can call me, and we can go on a date.”

  Liza regarded it suspiciously.

  “If this is the number for Pizzaville…”

  “Liza! You’re hot, okay? I’m just glad you’re finally at a point where you’re ready to show
it off,” Evan insisted. “Just one more thing.”

  “Yeah?” She waited for the bomb to drop, for him to call her an ogre, or lard-ass, or ask how the oxygen was at her altitude.

  Instead he reached up and gently placed her hair behind her ears.

  “Better,” he said. “Now I can see your face.”

  Liza tried to say something, but found that as powerful as her voice was, it was mute in the face of this tall, dark, and handsome young man.

  As he left the store he turned and mouthed the words “call me” while making a phone gesture with his thumb and pinky finger next to his ear. She waved shyly.

  “What did that jerk want,” Mandy demanded, popping back into view.

  “Nothing,” Liza lied.

  “So what do you think?” Mandy asked. “About the dress?”

  “I think,” Liza began, “I think I’ll take it.”

  Mandy clapped excitedly as Liza returned to the change room. With the curtain closed, safely hidden from Mandy’s view, Liza looked at Evan’s number. She folded it like an origami master, and tucked it between her breasts.

  Chapter 19

  Devon heard the door open and for just a moment he waited for the clickity-clack of his mother’s heels and her usual spewing babble.

  I killed her, he reminded himself as he sat in front of his new computer. His chest tightened, but the regret was transitory, fading behind a wall of ennui.

  Liza walked into the room. She held a fancy-looking shopping bag. His mom would’ve approved. He stared at his video monitor.

  “You didn’t make it to school today,” she said.

  “Busy,” he replied. “Did you bring food?”

  “No,” she said, “I didn’t. I got a new dress, though. Want to see me in it?”

  “Can I eat it?” he asked.

  “No,” she replied, “you can’t eat it.”

  “Then I don’t want to see it.”

  She walked over to where Devon gazed at his monitor. She was pretty sure she knew what he’d be watching. The Creation slept fitfully. Devon had taken to drugging it when she wasn’t around to sing to it.

  Over Devon’s shoulder she watched the video of Jesse and Troy in the locker room. On the floor next to Devon was the bottle of baby oil.