by Alex Sanchez
“But why?” He clutched the pillow more tightly to his chest.
“Because you’re gay.”
“I’m not gay; I’m bi. If I was gay I wouldn’t have sex with you, would I?”
On the other end of the line, she took a breath. “I don’t like how you’re talking to me.”
“How do you expect me to talk? You’re the one who’s cheating on me with another guy. I told you I was bi from the start. If you had a problem with it, you should’ve said so. Why are you trying to blame this on me?”
The phone line clicked off.
“Hello?” he demanded and started to call her back, but then he stopped himself. What would be the point?
“You bitch!” He hurled the phone onto the mattress but it bounced to the floor. “Shit!” He sprang off the bed and grabbed the cell. Seeing that it was okay, he speed-dialed Kimiko.
“You were right,” he told her, his voice quivering. “I’m sorry I doubted you. She dumped me.”
“Hang on,” she told him. “I’ll be right over.”
“I’m so pissed at her,” he told Kimiko when she arrived. “And at myself. Why did I trust her? I was so stupid! Why did I ever go out with her?”
“Because you were in love . . . Here . . .” She handed him a pillow to punch. “Give it a whack.”
He punched the pillow several times. Then the tears began to flow. Kimiko put her arm around him while he sobbed and wiped his nose, until his tear ducts hurt.
In the months since the breakup, he’d tried to numb his hurt feelings in any way he could: eating chocolates by the carton, working out, hooking up with guys over the Internet, wasting hours trying to teach tricks to his guinea pig.
“’Sup, watch,” he told Kimiko when she came over. “Come on, Elton! Stand up! “ He held a food pellet above its head. “He did it this morning. I think he’s nervous that you’re watching him.”
“Dude,” Kimiko said, “you need to get a life.”
“I have a life,” he muttered. “Come on, Elton! You can do it.”
But he knew deep down that she was right. After a while, he got tired of hooking up. Some of the guys he’d met were so cold and impersonal that they left him feeling like a slab of meat. Others were so scared and jumpy that it was hard to have much fun at all.
He wanted a real relationship, someone he could talk with, do stuff together with, teach and learn from. . . . Yet at the same time he wondered: Would—could—he ever fall in love again? He’d gradually gotten over Zelda, but the experience had left him with a lingering sense of mistrust.
“Have you called Lance?” Kimiko asked him at school.
“No,” Sergio muttered. “He hasn’t called me either. I think it’s because of the bi thing. If he can’t deal with it, I don’t want to push it.”
“Well, then maybe you should give Serena a chance,” Kimiko suggested, referring to the new girl in her creative writing class. “She asked me if you’re going out with anyone. She’s cute, smart, and has a nice rack.”
It cracked Sergio up when Kimiko guy-talked like that.
“Did you tell her I’m bi?” he asked.
“Yeah. She seems cool with it.”
For a minute Sergio considered the idea of going out with Serena. “But every time I think about a girl, I’m reminded of Zelda.”
“Then maybe,” Kimiko said, “you’re not ready for a relationship again.”
“Maybe,” he agreed. But after school that day, he returned to Lance’s online photos. The one that most snagged his attention was an abs shot in which Lance shyly lifted his shirt to reveal six neatly stacked little white bricks.
“Screw it!” he said suddenly and dialed Lance’s number. It hadn’t been two days yet, but he no longer cared. He’d always sucked at rules anyway.
“He called!” Lance announced when Allie answered her phone. “We’re meeting up Saturday for dinner and a movie—just the two of us.”
“Woo-hoo!” Allie cheered, breaking from the calculus she’d been working on.
“Yeah, I’m kind of psyched,” Lance said. “Actually, I’m really psyched.” He paced his bedroom, unable to sit still. “Can you like come pull me off the ceiling?”
Hearing Lance’s excitement made Allie think about her own lack of excitement with Chip. She missed that thrilling sense of possibility she’d once felt with him.
After talking with Lance, she finished her homework and went online. In her in-box she found an e-mail from her school anime and manga club reminding her about a convention coming up Saturday.
She glanced up at the kanji lettering on her bulletin board. Would Kimiko want to go with her?
Kimiko had just come home with her little brother from their karate classes when her cell rang. Allie’s name appeared on the screen. Kimiko’s heart went into a gallop as she answered, “’Sup?”
“Hi, this is Allie. Remember me?”
“Dude, of course,” Kimiko replied, bounding upstairs to her room. “From the mall, right?”
“Right,” Allie said, moving to the loveseat across her bedroom. “What are you up to?”
“Not much.” Kimiko closed her door. “Just came home from karate with my little bro.”
“Karate?” Allie asked. “Wow, that’s so cool! How long have you been doing that?”
“Since I was six,” Kimiko said modestly. Even though she’d progressed to brown belt, the second highest kyu level, her family had taught her not to boast. One of her mom’s constant admonitions was: “The nail that sticks out gets hammered down.”
“Do you play any sports?” Kimiko asked Allie.
“Bowling, swimming, tennis . . . nothing like karate. I’m impressed.”
“No big deal,” Kimiko said, picturing Allie in a cute white tennis outfit.
“So, did you ever wish you lived in Japan instead of the U.S.?” Allie asked.
“No, I’m definitely American,” Kimiko said and sat down on the rug. “Though it might’ve been easier to grow up there. Here I got picked on by kids saying stuff like: ‘Your eyes are weird,’ or ‘Where’s your nose?’”
“I wish I had your nose,” Allie replied. “I’ve never liked mine.”
“Are you kidding?” Kimiko said, recalling Allie’s ski-jump nose. “Your nose is beautiful, dude.”
“Thanks!” Allie laughed. Nobody had ever complimented her nose before. “I think your eyes are beautiful.”
Kimiko turned quiet. Was Allie flirting with her? Yeah, right, she told herself. Keep dreaming!
“I guess we all get picked on for something,” Allie continued. “I got the tall jokes: ‘How is the weather up there? Har-har-har.’ So annoying.”
“Dude, I wish I were as tall as you. I got called shrimp.”
“Well, I wish I were petite like you.”
“Petite?” That sounded daintier than Kimiko thought of herself. “Not me! I remember one time in kindergarten I got so mad at this boy teasing me that I slugged him in the stomach.”
“Really?” Allie giggled.
“Yeah. My mom was like horrified. That’s when my dad sent me to karate to teach me self-control. I think he always wished I’d been born a boy. I did too.”
“You did?” Allie asked. She’d wondered at times if gay people wished they were the opposite sex. “I asked Lance if he’d ever wanted to be a girl, and he told me, ‘Never! I like being a guy.’”
“Yeah, who wouldn’t want to be a guy?” Kimiko said and glanced at herself in the mirror: boy’s jeans, oversize T-shirt, baseball cap. “Guys get all the breaks.”
“Well, I’m glad I’m a girl,” Allie replied. “I never wanted to be a guy. So, do you consider yourself trans?”
“No, just butch. I never wanted to get a sex change, or felt I was born in the wrong body, or anything like that. But if somebody mistakes me for a guy, that’s cool. I wish people wouldn’t get so hung up on gender. You know?”
“Well, last year”—Allie giggled—“for Halloween I borrowed one of my dad’
s suits and I wore a fake mustache? It was such a hoot! But you could still tell I was a girl.”
“I would’ve loved to see that.” Kimiko laughed, trying to picture it in her mind.
“I’ll e-mail you a photo,” Allie said, returning to her computer. “Hey, would you like to go to a manga convention Saturday afternoon?”
“Dude, I’d love to!” Kimiko pumped her fist in the air, excited.
“Super,” Allie said. “I’ll pick you up so we can go together.”
They continued to talk for another half hour while Kimiko stared at the JPEG Allie sent of herself in guy drag. Although the picture was cute, Kimiko definitely liked her better as a girl.
After hanging up, Kimiko immediately phoned Sergio and told him about the call.
“Kimiko’s got a date,” he teased in singsong. “Kimiko’s got a date!”
“You’re being a dork,” Kimiko replied. “We’re just going as friends. It’s not a date”—although she wished it were.
On Friday evening, she went over to Sergio’s for dinner. Afterward, they hung out in his room, listening to music while he debated what to wear for his date with Lance the following night.
“Do you think he’s a virgin?” Sergio asked as he picked through shirts. “He kind of gives off that vibe like: ‘I want you to seduce me.’ Did you notice?”
Kimiko gave him a look as though to say: Are you insane?
“Since it’s your first date,” she suggested, “maybe you guys should go slow—stick to just making out and get to know each other first.”
Sergio gave her a grumpy pout and put on a red shirt with buttons down the front. “How about this one? Good for easy access! He he he.”
“When did you get that?” Kimiko said, admiring the shirt. “Can I borrow it sometime?” Even when she was little she’d worn clothes from the boys’ section.
“But you’re a girl!” her mom had argued, trying to entice her with ruffled skirts and frilly blouses, to no avail.
“You want to wear it tomorrow?” Sergio asked, pulling the shirt off. “On your date with Allie?”
“Dude, you’re really getting annoying. Pick something else out for me.”
“Here, you always liked this one,” Sergio said, pulling out a western cowboy shirt with curlicue stitching. As Kimiko put it on, Sergio gazed at her in the mirror. “You look awesome in it, though maybe you should ditch the baseball cap? Otherwise you two will look like dipstick and lipstick.” He pulled her cap off and tossed it onto the bed. Then he combed his fingers through her hat hair. “Let her see your eyes!”
“She said she thinks they’re beautiful,” Kimiko whispered.
“But it’s not a date, huh?”
“It’s not! Girls say that kind of stuff to each other all the time. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Riiight,” he said and rested his chin on her shoulder.
After showering on Saturday morning, Kimiko put on the borrowed cowboy shirt but couldn’t bring herself to abandon the baseball cap. Even if it did hide her eyes, without it she felt naked. Instead, she spun the bill around backward, like Sergio always did.
When the doorbell rang after lunch, she raced downstairs. On the front stoop stood Allie, wearing a hair band with little velour cat’s ears. Thick black eyeliner framed her eyes, sixties style. And she wore a pair of low, low, low-rise skinny jeans.
Kimiko drew in a breath. Oh. My. Goddess.
“’Sup, dude?” She fist-bumped Allie and explained her family’s shoe custom: “You leave them facing the door and change into house slippers.”
As Allie turned around, Kimiko couldn’t help notice the top rear thong strap—it peeked above Allie’s waistline like a whale’s tail rising gracefully out of the ocean.
Kimiko steadied herself and led Allie to the living room. “Come meet my family!”
Although her dad wasn’t usually a big smiler, upon meeting Allie he couldn’t stop grinning. And her little brother, who generally ignored Kimiko’s friends, showed Allie his latest handheld game.
What happened to my REAL dad and brother? Kimiko wondered.
“Please, sit down,” her mom told Allie and complimented Allie’s pink sweater set. “It’s lovely. . . . Isn’t it, Miko? Why don’t you wear something like that?”
Kimiko didn’t bother to answer.
Allie felt thrilled to be meeting a real-life Japanese family. “My dream is to go to Japan,” she told Kimiko’s mom.
“You should go,” Mrs. Kawabata said, serving them chrysanthemum ice tea.
A wild idea popped into Kimiko’s mind: Maybe she could come with us next summer! Then she noticed her mom signaling her about how she was sitting. Dutifully, she brought her knees together.
“I like your family,” Allie said as she and Kimiko walked outside.
“They’re okay,” Kimiko agreed. If only her mom would accept her more.
Allie unlocked her car—a VW bug with a daisy in the little dashboard vase.
“Sweet!” Kimiko exclaimed, brushing her fingertips across the velvety petals. “I love flowers.”
“Me too,” Allie said, plugging in her iPod and handing it to Kimiko. “Here, you want to choose something? What do you like? I’ve got lots of J-pop.”
“I’m not really a big J-pop fan,” Kimiko said, but she saw that Allie had a lot of sixties rock and roll, which Kimiko liked. As they drove along, she picked out a Beatles playlist, and when Allie began to sing along, Kimiko joined her, rolling down the window to catch the breeze. The air was crisp; the sun was warm. It all felt perfect.
When they arrived, the convention was already packed with fans, a lot of them wearing elaborate, wild cosplay costumes.
“That’s so rad,” Allie whispered about a guy with bright yellow foam rubber hair that stood about two feet off his head, streaming out in all directions.
They meandered through the live action role-play area, took turns at a Sailor Moon video game, and listened to a panel about boys’ love. All the while, Kimiko giggled along with Allie. It seemed like ever since they’d first met, they were both giggling constantly.
“Hey, Allie!” a group of girls called as they were leaving the boys’ love session.
“Hi, guys,” Allie waved and turned to Kimiko. “These are my friends from our manga club.”
“’Sup?” Kimiko said, feeling suddenly out of place as Allie talked and joked with the group. Even though they seemed nice, they were all WASPy girlie girls.
“Would you rather hang out with them?” Kimiko whispered to Allie as the group left. “If you do, I understand.”
“No. I see them all the time. I’d rather hang out with you.”
“Really?” Kimiko replied with a smile. “Cool.”
They next watched an anime film, managing to get the last two seats together in the warm, packed room. The minty scent of Allie’s lip gloss wafted across the darkness, and Kimiko breathed it in.
After the movie, they wandered to the merchandise area and flipped through mangas. Allie picked up copies of Tokyo Mew Mew and Instant Teen: Just Add Nuts. When they got to the girls’ love section, she asked, “Which do you like?”
“Revo Girl Utena is good,” Kimiko said, “but wicked surreal. Read or Dream is also good, though my fave is Girl Panic.” She handed Allie the first installment and watched her expression as she scanned the pages.
“It looks fun,” Allie said, nodding approval.
“I’ll get it for you,” Kimiko offered.
“All right.” Allie giggled. “But then I get to treat for eats.”
They paid for their mangas, got some frozen yogurt, and sat down on a patch of carpet at the edge of the crowded convention hallway.
“I’m so happy you came,” Allie said. “This is such a blast. Chip isn’t into manga.”
Chip? Kimiko wondered. Oh, yeah. The Boyfriend.
“He’s a wonderful guy,” Allie continued. “I like him a lot, but . . .” She chewed on her lip for a moment, debating if she should c
onfide her recent doubts. “I’m not sure where our relationship is going. I don’t feel the same connection anymore. You know what I mean?”
“Are you breaking up?” Kimiko asked, a little surprised. She felt flattered that Allie was opening up to her so much, considering they barely knew each other.
“It’s not to the point of breaking up yet. But I wonder if that’s where it’s headed.” She was glad she’d decided to talk about it to Kimiko—somebody who was impartial and didn’t go to her school.
“Have you talked with him about it?” Kimiko asked.
“Not yet. I’m still trying to figure out what to say. I don’t want to hurt him. . . .” She gave Kimiko a questioning glance. “Any ideas?”
Me? Kimiko thought. “Sorry, dude. I have like zero experience with relationships. I guess just be honest with him.”
“Yeah, that’s what Lance says.”
They sat quietly, eating their yogurt, watching the crowd. And a question that Allie had been curious about drifted into her mind.
“Can I ask you something? How did you realize that you liked girls? I mean—you know—as more than just friends?”
Kimiko stared at her, caught off guard, and recalled Sergio’s teasing about Allie being “bi-curious.”
“Well . . .” Kimiko stirred her spoon in her yogurt, deciding where to start. “I always felt different from other girls. At first I thought it was because I’m Asian, but then . . . I remember this party in like sixth grade when we played Eleven in Heaven? You know that game where some random boy and girl go into a closet for eleven seconds, supposedly to kiss, while the people outside count down?”
Allie nodded, remembering her own experiences with middle school parties.
“Well, when I got inside,” Kimiko continued, “I realized there was no way I wanted to kiss a boy. So I told him that I had mono. Of course I didn’t, really. And I buried my face in the clothes rack, although I felt kind of bad for him.”
The story was so different from Allie’s experience: She’d wanted to kiss boys since she could remember and, despite her doubts about Chip, she still thought guys were hot.