Boy

by Blake Nelson

  • • •

  It was Claude who first brought it up. “Hey, Gavin,” he said, one day in the cafeteria. “What do you think of Grace?”

  “Grace Anderson?” I said. “She’s okay.”

  “Just okay?” said Claude. “Dude, she’s hot.”

  Some of our other guy friends were sitting with us. They agreed. There was much murmuring about the hotness of Grace.

  “I’m not sure she’s my type,” I said.

  “What’s your type?” said someone else.

  That was the thing. I was a sophomore. I didn’t really have a type. Not that I knew of.

  “You should go out with her,” said Claude.

  “With Grace?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “She likes you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Hanna told me.”

  I shrugged.

  “You should like her,” repeated Claude. “She’s cute. She’s nice. She’s got a hot body. What else do you want?”

  The other guys agreed. I looked around at them. They were all nodding. They had talked about it. The girls had talked about it.

  So that was that: Grace and I would be together. I was tall and blond and good at tennis. Grace was cute and was friends with Hanna. Riding my bike home, I resolved to make it happen. I would ask Grace out on a date. And then I would ask her to be my girlfriend.

  • • •

  But that night, in my room, I found myself thinking about Antoinette. She wasn’t nearly as good-looking as Grace. And it wasn’t like I really knew her. But she’d stuck in my head. It had been a month since her brother died. And several weeks since our conversation in the breezeway. But I’d never stopped thinking about her.

  If I had to have a girlfriend, why not Antoinette? I began flipping through my cut-up book of landscape paintings. Was she my type? Could we do stuff together? Could I kiss her? Talking to her had been thrilling in some way. Talking to Grace, well, I had known her practically my whole life and I couldn’t remember a single thing she had ever said.

  In bed it got worse. I would turn one way and think about Antoinette and then turn the other way and think about her some more. I thought about her weird clothes. I didn’t know if I could deal with that. Why couldn’t she just wear Nikes and jeans like everyone else? But in another way, I could respect it. She was being herself. She was making a statement. I’d never been friends with anyone like that. It made me curious. It made me want to talk to her more.

  • • •

  But the next morning, in the cold light of day, I felt differently. I saw the absurdity of thinking I could be with Antoinette. I barely knew her. She had weird friends. She smoked. She obviously didn’t snowboard or play tennis or do any of the things I did. Plus, her brother had committed suicide. What did that mean about the rest of her family? Probably nothing good.

  No. It would never work. It was impossible. Grace was a much better fit. Grace and I had real things in common: friends, activities, history. She dressed right. She looked good. It just made more sense. It would be so much easier.

  • • •

  We still had to do it, though, Grace and I. We still had to officially get together. Our first attempt was at a basketball game. Several of us guys went, including Claude and Logan Hewitt. Grace and some other girls sat behind us in the bleachers. Claude elbowed me to move up to the girls’ bench and sit beside Grace, but I thought that would be awkward. There wasn’t room. And she was right behind me anyway. Her knees were touching my back. Wasn’t that being together, in a way?

  After the game, I stood next to her outside while people waited for their rides. I had this idea that I would kiss her good-bye when her ride came. But when her mom’s car pulled up, I saw the stupidity of my plan. I couldn’t kiss her in front of her mother. So that didn’t work.

  Then the next weekend, some of us went to Hanna’s to watch The Godfather. Grace and I sat together on the couch. This seemed like the perfect place to kiss her, but I waited too long and then Hanna’s little sister came in, and then someone ordered a pizza and I never got a chance.

  Back at school, Claude pulled me aside. “Dude, what’s going on?” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You gotta put the moves on Grace. You like her, right?”

  “Of course I like her.”

  “So put the moves on her.”

  “I am. I mean, I’m trying.”

  “Girls can only take so much hesitation. She’s admitted she likes you. And you’ve admitted you like her. So what’s stopping you?”

  “Nothing. I know.”

  Fortunately, the next Friday, Logan Hewitt’s older sister had a party and a few of us sophomores were allowed to come. We were in the basement when Hanna decided that we should play spin the bottle. We were too old for this, but Hanna turned it into a joke, which made it acceptable. Plus, people were feeling sorry for Grace and me. Mostly for Grace because she was doing what she was supposed to, less for me, since I was the one holding things up.

  Hanna made us form a circle. Then she took a Coke bottle, placed it in the middle, and gave it a spin. When it stopped, it was pointing at me.

  “I got Gavin!” she said. “That’s perfect. Gavin, I pass you on to Grace.”

  “What?” said someone.

  “I said I’m passing Gavin on to Grace. Which means I get to go again.” Hanna snatched the bottle back.

  “Can you do that?” said someone else.

  “Of course you can do that!” said Hanna. “It’s a rule. You can pass your spin to someone else, but only once per game.”

  Nobody had heard of this rule. But Hanna wanted Grace and me to get on with it, and this was the easiest way.

  “And because that was the first spin,” continued Hanna, flashing everyone a sexy grin, “you guys have to go in the bedroom for extended minutes.”

  There was more grumbling about Hanna’s made-up rules. But I stood up. Grace stood up too. We barely looked at each other as we slowly marched into the Hewitts’ basement bedroom, which was more like a storage room but did have a bed in it. I knew I couldn’t hesitate now, so I didn’t. As soon as I’d shut the door, I turned to Grace and kissed her. The main thing was to get it done, to seal the deal.

  We made out for a solid five minutes, standing next to the door. After that Grace opened her eyes and smiled at me with relief. She made a gushy girly face and kissed me again. She began to touch my neck and run her hands through my hair.

  After we made out standing up, we lay on the bed. Grace began to giggle, and at one point she rolled on top of me and pecked at my face, kissing me all over with her thin lips. As she did, I unfastened the buttons of her shirt. She had a fancy silk bra on. “Nice bra,” I whispered.

  “Victoria’s Secret,” she whispered back.

  We didn’t go any further than that. The important thing was that we stayed in the bedroom for nearly twenty minutes. Mostly kissing and rolling around on the bed. We didn’t talk much. It didn’t seem necessary. We were together now. We were a couple. I think we both wanted to think about that and get used to it. It was a pretty big change in your life.

  5

  So what was it like to have a girlfriend? The first thing I noticed: There was a lot of texting. Grace updated me every few minutes on what she was doing:

  I’m eating an orange.

  Bio homework. Forgot it in my locker!

  Hanna says tennis players have cute buns.

  I did my best to text back. It was easier if she asked me questions. Then I could answer. Other times I’d write whatever was happening.

  Logan just nailed Thomas in the balls.

  Mr. Miller “disappointed” by Algebra quizzes.

  NOT talking about you guys, talking about the Seahawks!

  The best part was the making out. Grace was a great kisser, one of the best in the school, people said. That, combined with her natural cuteness, her silky soft hair, and her general girlish enthusiasm, made sitting around Frenc
h kissing pretty much all we wanted to do.

  Another fun thing: Our status at school changed dramatically. Being a couple, and being so closely associated with Claude and Hanna, we were suddenly very important sophomores. Sometimes I’d catch people staring at me in a certain way, like if only they could have a super-cute girlfriend and be in love and be having sex. (We weren’t actually having sex, but everyone assumed we were or would be soon.)

  And then there was the sharing your life with another person. Every day, Grace and I checked in with each other to see what we were doing after school. The fact that we were an official couple overrode small problems like we didn’t like the same music or she didn’t get my jokes. I thought about Grace all the time. When we were apart, I wondered where she was and what she was doing. Other people, other girls, quickly faded from my mind. If I did think of someone else—like Antoinette—it was only to realize how ridiculous it was to think we could have been happy together.

  • • •

  That year the Valentine’s Dance became an extra-big deal. Several couples of my friends were having anniversaries. Logan Hewitt had been with Olivia Goldstein for one month. Grace and I had been together two months. Claude and Hanna would be celebrating almost five months. People seemed very excited, and not just about the dance but about love and relationships in general.

  There was one small problem brewing. It involved Claude and Petra. They had been together freshman year, but now, after a short time with Logan Hewitt over the summer, Petra wasn’t with anyone. Since Petra and Claude were still friends, she and Claude still talked occasionally. Hanna didn’t like this.

  Then one day Hanna looked through Claude’s phone and saw that Petra was calling Claude all the time. Claude claimed this was just to comfort Petra after she broke up with Logan. But most of the calls were more recent than that. Many were late at night. The truth was: Petra still loved Claude and couldn’t let him go.

  Hanna had tried to be nice to Petra. Now she started saying how pathetic she was and making fun of her practically to her face. She didn’t have to do this. No one in their right mind thought Claude would pick Petra over Hanna. Hanna was the hottest girl in our whole school by now, and Petra had just got dumped by Logan for Olivia Goldstein. But Hanna was like that. Not a drama queen exactly, but definitely a little crazy. As Grace said: “If there’s blood in the water, Hanna’s gonna smell it.”

  • • •

  So then the dance came. All the couples went and lots of other people too. Petra was super dressed up, with eye makeup and a new haircut. She got a lot of attention that night, from a bunch of different guys.

  Unfortunately, halfway through the dance, Claude and Petra got left on the dance floor together. This was an accident: A bunch of people had been dancing randomly, but then most of them walked off at the same time. This left Claude and Petra by themselves in the middle of the song. Claude, being stubborn and feeling it was in his rights, finished the dance with Petra.

  Hanna saw this and was furious. She retreated to a corner and fumed. Claude went over to her, to reassure her, which only made things worse. So then all of Hanna’s girlfriends had to go commiserate and offer support. This included Grace, who owed Hanna big-time for getting her a boyfriend.

  The guys gathered around Claude, but we weren’t as good at giving support as the girls. We mostly stood there, frowning to ourselves and scratching our heads. Claude thought it was ridiculous that Hanna was creating such a scene. Of course he would never cheat on Hanna. He loved her more than anything.

  After a while I saw there was nothing to be done and wandered off. I got a cup of punch and took a seat on the side and watched the DJ, who was now playing to an empty dance floor. Glancing back to see how Claude was doing, I realized I had sat down next to Antoinette Renwick.

  • • •

  I hadn’t even noticed she was there. She was with another girl, one of her “suicide friends.” I glanced down at Antoinette’s knee and foot. She was wearing a strange brand of shoes I’d never seen before.

  After a while, the other girl got out her phone. Antoinette, who was holding a red plastic cup of punch, turned and saw me.

  I also had a red plastic cup of punch. I lifted it toward her in a salute. “Hey,” I said, over the music. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing,” she said.

  “I’m Gavin,” I said, since it had been months since we spoke.

  “I know who you are.”

  The song ended. I watched the DJ. I tried to think of something to say to Antoinette. “What kind of shoes are those?” I asked.

  “You wouldn’t know,” she said.

  “Try me.”

  “They’re French.”

  “Seems like a long way to go for a pair of shoes,” I joked.

  “Don’t be an asshole,” she said.

  “I’m not being an asshole.”

  “Yes you are.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Why are you even talking to me?” said Antoinette. “Hanna Sloan is over there having a meltdown. Doesn’t she need your immediate attention?”

  I took a slow sip of my punch. “That has nothing to do with me.”

  “I don’t think so. Whatever Hanna does affects you a lot. You’re one of her minions.”

  I felt my cheeks burn for a moment. “How do you figure I’m a minion?” I asked.

  “What are you, then? You do whatever she says. You’re going out with that idiot Grace Anderson.”

  I kept my cool. “I happen to like Grace Anderson.”

  “Sure you do.”

  “How would you know anything about Grace and me?”

  “I know plenty.”

  “You think you know.”

  “I do know,” said Antoinette, sneering into her cup. “You guys . . . you and Claude and Hanna and the rest of them . . .”

  I wanted to respond. I wanted to put her in her place. But I couldn’t think of how. Maybe it was best to disengage. And to think I’d considered going out with this girl!

  Antoinette snorted with disgust and stood up. She stomped off toward the back of the room, her black mop of hair bouncing slightly as she walked.

  At that moment Grace saw me from across the room. She came skipping over. She gave me a big hug and whispered in my ear: “I think Hanna and Claude have patched things up!”

  “Thank God,” I said.

  6

  It was later that spring that Hanna decided smoking weed was cool. Lots of people smoked weed, of course, but in our group it wasn’t the center of things, like with some people. But that was before Hanna and Claude got high, listened to music, and made out for three heavenly hours.

  Since Hanna and Claude loved it so much, Grace and I had to do it too. We all went to the Westgate Pavilion one Friday and smoked a joint in Hanna’s car in the underground parking lot. Hanna was very funny when she was high. She was cracking us up. I don’t know how she did it; weed made me so stupid I could barely talk. Grace, on the other hand, couldn’t stop talking, rambling on about whatever popped into her head. It got so bad Hanna finally said, “Grace, I love you, but I can’t listen to you for another second.”

  After that the four of us wandered the mall. Then Hanna and Claude disappeared. Eventually Grace and I realized they had gone back to the car for some alone time. So then Grace and I were stuck walking around by ourselves. We ran into Petra and another girl. Petra thought we were laughing at her, since we were giggling so much. So Grace told her we were high. Then Petra thought we were funny and got out her phone and took our picture.

  Grace wanted to make out, since Hanna kept saying how great it was. But there was no place to go, since Hanna and Claude were in the car. So we both squeezed into one of the cushy armchairs outside Nordstrom and put our coats over ourselves and played “where’s my hand.”

  “Where’s my hand?” whispered Grace, snuggling against me.

  “In my pocket,” I said.

  “Where’s my hand now?”
<
br />   “Deeper in my pocket,” I said. “Where’s my hand?”

  “Ga-vin!” she gasped, pushing my arm away. “We’re in a public place!”

  “Okay, now where’s my hand?” I said.

  “On my waist,” she said.

  “How about now?”

  “Higher on my waist.”

  “How about now?”

  “Oh, that tickles. No fair!”

  “Does it tickle?”

  “Yes, IT DOES. Don’t, don’t, AAAAHHHH!!!! NO! Stop it. GAVIN!!!”

  I stopped. “Where’s my hand now?” I said.

  “No. It’s my turn,” she said. “Where’s my hand?”

  “In my armpit, where it’s gonna get crushed.”

  “How come you’re not ticklish?”

  “Because I’m a boy and I have no emotions.”

  “Okay, now where’s my hand?” said Grace. “No. Wait. Where’s my finger?”

  “On my chin.”

  “Now where?”

  “My nose.”

  “Now where?”

  “My muth.”

  “Does it taste good?”

  “It taith all right.”

  “Where’s my finger now?”

  “In my ear. And it’s wet. And that’s gross.” I twisted my head away. “Where are my fingers?”

  “They’re walking up my leg,” she breathed into my ear. “Toward my special private personal area. Where they’re not allowed.”

  “But they’re still walking.”

  “They better not be walking.”

  “But they are.”

  “Then their little legs are going to get smashed!”

  • • •

  When Hanna and Claude reappeared, the four of us drove to Logan’s house, where Petra and some other people had gone. For some reason Hanna decided to bury the hatchet with Petra and was super nice. Then we all smoked more weed and everyone got super giggly again. By the end of the night the group of us were lying on the living room carpet in the dark. That’s when I began thinking about Antoinette again. I was still pissed about our conversation at the dance. I still felt the sting of her minion comment.