by Ariel Schrag
“Oh, sorry, just . . . bathroom,” said Adam.
“That’s cool, you can go first,” said Boy Casey. He was wearing boxer shorts and no shirt. Adam had never seen him without his shirt before. He instinctively looked down at Boy Casey’s chest, not sure what to expect. It looked mostly like a guy’s chest, but was sort of loose and droopy, and through the dark Adam could make out two curved scars, one under each nipple. Boy Casey’s hips bulged out of his boxers. They looked womanly. Like Adam’s mom’s body. Adam whipped around and went back to his room, forgetting all about the bathroom. He closed the door, and in the safe, still dark of his room, he tenderly ran his hand over his own smooth flat chest.
Chapter 6
FRIDAY NIGHT AND everyone was going out to a club called The Hole. The Hole was in “The City,” which was what you called Manhattan if you lived in Brooklyn. Casey and June were really excited about The Hole, and for some reason Ethan had decided not to stay in his room looking at Rachel on the computer screen and instead go with them.
“It’s not like I’m gonna date anyone, but, whatever, I could hook up with a girl . . .” said Ethan.
“So this is, like, a straight club?” Adam asked. He couldn’t believe it, they were finally all going out to a straight club. It was actually happening.
“Why the fuck would we go to a straight club?” said June.
Right. Of course. Well, if Ethan was going, that was good enough for Adam. He didn’t even care where they were going. It was him and Ethan, out in the city, looking for action.
Everyone wanted to take a shower before they went out, which was a problem, since the bathtub had stopped draining a few days after they moved in. It would eventually drain; it just took about five hours. If you wanted to take a shower right after someone, you had to stand in their scummy water. The tub was some varying degree of cesspool throughout the day.
“Ugh! Those fucking hebes!” said June. They were arguing over who got to take the first shower.
“I know,” said Casey. “I’ve been calling them, like, every day since it stopped. They keep telling me someone’s on their way to fix it, and then no one shows up.”
“They don’t care about anyone who isn’t Hasidic,” said June. “There’s probably lead in the walls, too.” June glanced around the apartment, as if she realized a bomb could be lurking in any corner.
“I say oldest gets to shower first,” said Ethan.
“Second oldest second!” said Casey.
“Fine,” said June. “I’m next.” Thrilled to get to shower in Casey’s filth.
“Wait, that’s not fair,” said Adam.
Everyone ignored him.
While Ethan was in the shower, Casey’s cell rang. Their mom always called Casey first. Casey chattered away on her bed until Ethan came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, and Casey handed the phone to Adam.
“Casey just told me all about her new boyfriend!” his mom said, as though in the throes of religious rapture.
“Uh, yeah, I’ve met him,” said Adam.
“Is he just marvelous? Is he wonderful?” she said.
“Not really,” said Adam.
“Oh, how wonderful,” said his mom. She then moved on to how the roots of their neighbors’ bamboo plant were growing on their property from under the fence, and their dad had had words with the neighbors, but they hadn’t cut the bamboo down, and legal action might need to be taken . . . and then they hung up.
By the time it was Adam’s turn for a shower, the brown, oily water was sloshing out the sides of the tub. Whatever, he thought, naked and stepping in. He was going out to a club in the city with Ethan to look for girls, and a little flare of excitement sparked inside him. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and let the fresh spray hit his face.
***
Adam, Casey, June, and Ethan walked down Bushwick Avenue to Boy Casey’s apartment, where everyone was meeting to “pregame” before The Hole. A few of Boy Casey’s best friends were going to be there, and Casey was nervous.
“He’s always telling me how important his bros are,” said Casey. “What if they don’t like me?”
“Why wouldn’t they like you?” said June.
“I don’t know. Why would they?”
“Because you’re funny and smart and beautiful and—”
“I know. But they’re all so cool.”
“We’re cool!” said June.
But everyone knew she didn’t believe it.
“I don’t know, he seems pretty into you, to me,” said Adam.
Casey smiled at him. The good thing about spending 75 percent of your time insulting someone is that if you do actually say something nice, it counts.
They got to the apartment, and Casey rang the buzzer. She applied lip gloss and tugged the collar of her V-neck T-shirt down lower.
“Come up,” said Boy Casey over the intercom.
Boy Casey’s apartment was full of Star Wars paraphernalia: Star Wars posters on the wall, pillows on the couch, and a giant R2-D2 model in the corner.
“I guess you hate Star Wars,” said Ethan.
“Star Wars is my jam,” said Boy Casey. “You guys want some beer?” He gestured to the couch. “You know Schuyler, and that’s Jimmy.”
Schuyler and Jimmy were watching skateboarding on TV. Schuyler didn’t bother to look over at them, but Jimmy cocked his head.
“Whassup.” Jimmy was wearing a crisp Orioles hat tilted to the side, his tiny body engulfed in a baggy T-shirt and baggy jeans stuffed into puffy, colorful Nikes. Adam recognized a PSP sticking out of his jeans pocket. How old was this guy?
“Uhhhn, brutal,” said Jimmy, as a skater wiped out. The skater had bit it on a rail slide. “You know that’s gotta hurt.” Jimmy grabbed his crotch.
Boy Casey handed out beers. He sat down on a sofa chair and patted his lap for Casey. Casey perched on his knee. Adam could tell she was uncomfortable but didn’t know what to do. Ethan took the other free chair, and Adam and June sat down on the floor.
“Yo, Jimmy, kill the TV,” said Boy Casey. “Put on some tunes.”
“Man,” said Jimmy in a whiny voice. He did some things with the remotes, and emo music started playing.
“Man, I had a shit day,” said Boy Casey, taking a swig. “What have you guys been up to?”
“Just work,” said Casey. It was awkward because she turned her head to answer his question, but her face was already right next to his.
“I’m at Cooper Square Comics,” said June.
“I need some new comics,” said Boy Casey.
“Can you hook us up?” asked Jimmy.
“Well, not really . . .” said June. “We don’t get, like, a discount . . . but you guys could come say ‘hi,’ if you wanted. I work Tuesdays, Thursdays, and—”
“Work’s a cunt,” said Boy Casey. “I hate my job.”
“I thought you liked the MoMA?” said Casey, turning her head at that awkward angle again.
“I like art,” said Boy Casey. “I don’t like people.”
“Where do you work?” Schuyler asked Casey.
“At the YMCA day camp in Bed-Stuy,” said Casey. “Oh my god, today this little girl—it was the sweetest thing. I was working with the kindergarten group, and everyone was doing free play—just drawing or playing with whatever game they wanted. And this one kind of pudgy girl, Elizabeth, had this handful of shells, and she kept walking around to every group of kids saying, ‘Who wants to play with shells? Who wants to play with shells?’ But nobody wanted to play with shells. I almost died.”
“I hated camp when I was a kid,” said Boy Casey. “Capture the Flag! Red Rover, Red Rover! That shit was not for me.”
Adam and Ethan exchanged a glance. Adam looked down and smiled to himself. He wished he and Ethan could talk telepathically: Ten dollars says Boy Casey can’t go two minutes without bringing the conversation back to himself.
“What do you do?” June asked Jimmy.
“I sell weed. Four
years of college, stamped on that ass, and I’m sellin’ weed.” Jimmy grinned and slapped himself on the ass.
“Let’s get that shit going,” said Schuyler.
“Y’all a bunch of fiends,” said Jimmy. He rummaged in his pockets.
Fuck. Why did everyone always want to smoke weed? Adam seriously could not tell what anybody saw in it. Hey, wanna get totally paranoid and make everything you say sound stupid and fake? Awesome! He looked over at Casey and could tell she was nervous too.
Jimmy packed a pipe and lit it. He passed the bowl to Schuyler, who took a hit and passed it to June on the floor. June inhaled greedily.
“This isn’t bad,” she said, exhaling. “I’ll have to get your number. All the weed I’ve smoked in New York sucks.” She passed the pipe to Adam. There goes the evening.
“Where’re you from?” said Jimmy.
“Indiana,” said June.
Jimmy laughed as if June had told a joke.
“You’re from California, right?” Schuyler asked Casey. “That’s weed.”
“Yup,” said Casey.
Adam exhaled and passed the pipe up to Ethan.
“You guys from L.A., the Bay, or what?” said Schuyler.
“We’re from San Francisco.”
San Francisco?
“We live in Piedmont,” said Adam.
Casey glared at him. “Nobody knows Piedmont. We’re from the Bay Area—people know San Francisco.”
Ethan finished his hit and walked the pipe over to Boy Casey. Boy Casey took a hit and handed it to Casey.
“No thanks,” said Casey, waving her hand, and Boy Casey casually passed the pipe back to Jimmy. What the hell? Adam didn’t know you were allowed to pass. And he couldn’t just pass the next time it came around because that would show he’d changed his mind, was weak. He had to commit to getting high now.
“Lodi Dodi, I likes me a shawty, titties D to the double, gettin’ crackas in trouble . . .” Jimmy bobbed his head up and down as he rapped.
June passed the pipe back to Adam. Maybe he could get so high, he’d forget he was high. He took a big inhale.
“Isn’t Piedmont kind of rich?” said Schuyler.
“It’s near Oakland,” said Casey.
Why didn’t Casey want people to know they were rich? At EBP, the richer you were, the cooler you were . . . Isn’t that how it works? Adam glanced over at June. For the first time, he tried to imagine what she would look like normal—with long girl-hair and without the bull nose ring. She might not actually be that ugly. He looked around the circle of people and imagined that everyone, including himself, had a shaved head and a bull nose ring. Like they were all in a creepy cult. The weed was a special potion. Soon they would all enter a collective consciousness like the future human-robots in the movie A.I. June’s thoughts would be Jimmy’s thoughts; Casey’s thoughts would be Ethan’s thoughts. Adam’s nose would itch, and Boy Casey would scratch his own nose.
Adam scratched his nose. Was everyone staring at him? No. A conversation was going on. A conversation about . . .
“I like her,” said Schuyler. “I mean, she’s hot. But I don’t know if I wanna date a femme right now. I feel like she’ll push me to be trans, and I just wanna stay genderqueer for a while. I don’t know, maybe I’ll fuck her.”
“What about Sailor?” said Boy Casey. “I think ze has a crush on you. I bet ze’ll be there tonight.”
“Ze’s all right. I just feel like I could kind of do better than hir.”
“I met hir. Ze’s kinda annoying . . .” said Casey. “Roxanne was dating hir and said all ze ever did was talk about hirself.”
“Ze and I just go way back . . .” said Boy Casey.
“Who’s Zee?” said Adam.
Boy Casey, Schuyler, and Jimmy all laughed.
“There’s no ‘Zee,’” said Casey. “Hir name is Sailor, and ze uses the pronouns ze and hir.”
Adam started to open his mouth, but Schuyler cut him off.
“I go by ze too.”
Adam looked up at Ethan to see if he was getting all this. Ethan looked totally out of it. He was just staring into his lap, not paying attention at all.
Boy Casey continued, “Ze’ll be there tonight. If you want, I can ask hir what’s up. I’ll be casual about it—”
“Can we change the song?” said Ethan. He was still staring into his lap.
“You don’t like Neutral Milk Hotel?” said Schuyler.
“I love them,” said Ethan.
“Hey, pack that bowl again, Jimmy,” said Boy Casey. “I don’t feel high at all.”
Adam had never felt more high in his life.
Ethan was speaking really soft. “It just . . . reminds me of my ex. Can you please switch it?”
Schuyler cocked her head at Jimmy. Jimmy picked up the remote and the song changed.
“Dude, I feel you on that,” said Schuyler.
“Word,” said Boy Casey.
“No. It’s different,” said Ethan, looking up. His eyes were bloodshot. “It’s not that I can’t listen to it because it reminds me of her. I can’t listen to it because I save it.” His eyes fell back to his lap. “I don’t want to ruin it. I only listen to that song when I’m alone, when I want to think about her. If I listen to it too much, it won’t give me that feeling anymore.” His voice was slow and monotone. “The world means more if you compartmentalize. Songs belong to different people. A food can taste like a person. Put on the shirt you wore when you met, and she’s touching you. You only wear it when you want to wear her. But if you overwear it, you lose that. Everything fades. Before you know it, your world’s just a washed-out wasteland.”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“I know what you mean, man,” said Boy Casey. “I used to have this shirt I loved—I just looked good in it. Losing that shirt was like losing a person—”
“I gotta go,” said Ethan, standing up. “I’m sorry. I’m a dumb-ass. I shouldn’t smoke pot.”
“Are you sure?” said Casey. “Do you want another beer?”
“You’re sure?” echoed June.
“No, I really just gotta go. Thanks, though.” He turned to Schuyler and Jimmy. “It was cool meeting you.”
“Yeah, man,” said Schuyler.
Ethan looked at June and Adam. “I’ll see you guys later.”
Adam started to panic. Ethan was the reason he had wanted to go to this club. Ethan was his ally. He couldn’t go there alone.
“Wait, I think I’m gonna go too . . .” Adam said. He stood up.
“No, man, go out, have fun,” said Ethan. “Don’t be lame just ’cause I am.”
“No, I’m . . . tired anyway,” said Adam.
“Bye,” said Casey. She shifted awkwardly on her lap perch.
Adam nodded and looked at June. She gave him a nervous smile, like she wanted to ask him to stay. Adam felt kind of bad but waved goodbye. He followed Ethan outside.
Adam and Ethan walked down the steps of Boy Casey’s building into the night. A motion sensor went on, and the stoop light lit up. Ethan paused.
“You really don’t have to go home just ’cause I am,” said Ethan.
“I know . . .” said Adam.
Ethan turned the corner and leaned up against the wall of the building. He slid down till he was sitting. Adam did the same.
“Jesus, I really wigged out up there. I’m such a retard. I wish I still smoked. I need a cigarette.”
“We could go to the store . . .” said Adam.
“Nah,” said Ethan. He paused, staring at a crack in the ground. “I texted her at, like, four in the morning last night. Fucking stupid.”
“Rachel?” said Adam.
Ethan nodded. “I just feel so guilty. I fucking hate myself.”
“I thought she broke up with you?” said Adam.
“She did.”
“Did you . . . cheat?”
“Hell no. You do not cheat on Rachel.”
Adam wanted to know what had happened,
but for some reason, he felt like he shouldn’t ask.
“Fucked-up thing is . . .” said Ethan. “What I really wanna do when I feel like this, like if I could do anything, is cry. You know? But I just can’t.”
Adam did know. At some point in middle school, he’d decided that crying was not a thing he was going to do anymore. He knew it felt good though. He was eleven when they’d put their dog Lucy to sleep. She had tumors all over her face, distorting her expression, and smelled so bad their dad wouldn’t be in the same room as her. Adam had forced himself not to cry in front of the vet and his mom and Casey, but had done it alone in his room when they got home. It had made him feel better.
“It’s cool to cry,” said Adam.
“I know, man,” said Ethan. He smiled at Adam.
They sat in silence for a moment.
“How about that Jimmy?” said Ethan.
“‘Titties D to the double, gettin’ crackas in trouble,’” recited Adam.
Ethan laughed. “You really should still go out,” he said. “Seriously, you’re never gonna meet a girl staying home, watching TV on that scabies futon all night.”
Adam laughed. “I know . . .” He paused for a moment, and then, “I have this idea of this redheaded girl I’m supposed to meet in New York. It sounds stupid but . . .”
“Redhead is at The Hole right now, as we speak!” said Ethan.
“She is?”
“She totally is.”
Adam was getting that recklessly impulsive feeling again—the one he’d had on the street after the L Word party the first night they’d moved in. A feeling like anything was possible—all he had to do was act.
“You really think I should go?”
“I’m gonna kick your ass if you don’t go,” said Ethan. “Now get back up there.”
***
Adam, June, Casey, Boy Casey, Schuyler, and Jimmy walked to the end of the line outside The Hole. When Adam imagined a “club in Manhattan,” he thought of red-velvet carpets and roped brass barriers and big bald bouncers in suits. This was not the case with The Hole. The Hole didn’t even have a sign that said: THE HOLE. How everyone found it was beyond him. It was a concrete wall covered in competing graffiti and old peeling posters with a fat butch lesbian checking IDs at the front. At least the burly bouncer part was right.