by Don Calame
At all.
Sure, she has reddish hair, but it’s stringy and dull. Not long and lush like Valerie’s. And she’s got a raccoon mask of freckles, which isn’t a good look for a girl with the sort of pinched-thin nose that she has. Also, her voice is all nasal and shrill. Like a crow with a cold.
And then there’s that cheese smell. It’s weird. It’s not like it’s so awful as much as just really there. Like maybe she works in a deli or something and is exclusively in charge of slicing the Swiss. Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Swiss cheese. Just not wafting off a girl’s body.
“Are you here with anybody?” Evelyn asks.
“Just some friends. Matt and Coop,” I specify, reminding myself that she was in our computer class. “You?”
“My Girl Scout troop. We took a vote for our winter break outing. Needless to say, this was not my choice.” She snort-laughs like an excited piglet.
“Girl Scouts? Really? Do people still do that?”
“Sure. I’m a Senior Scout. I’m also a Counselor-in-Training. It’s cool.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.”
“Shut up.” Evelyn giggles as she punches me in the shoulder. Hard. “Is too. We go on all sorts of cool trips. Plus it’ll look great when I apply to college. It shows I’m committed.”
“Like, to a mental institution?”
“Oh, funny, funny. No. But once I finish the Counselor-in-Training program, I can get a job at a summer camp.”
“I sure hope you can swim better than you skate.”
“Okay, Mr. Graceful.” She whales me in the arm again. Jesus. “Or maybe you slid into me on purpose so you could start talking to me?”
“Um, no. I definitely did not mean to run into you. I’m actually a pretty good skater.”
“Good.” And before I know what’s going on, Evelyn grabs my hand, stands, and yanks me up. “Then you can teach me how to skate better. To make up for knocking me over.”
God, she’s strong and pushy.
I glance around and don’t see my so-called friends anywhere. So, fine. I’ll be the nice guy and show Swiss-cheesey how to balance on her skates. What could it hurt?
OH, MAN, HER PALM is super clammy. Ick.
I didn’t notice at first because I was so shocked by her bossiness. And her superhuman strength. But now that we’re skating around the rink, hand in hand, it’s like I’m holding a warm soggy dinner roll.
“How’s this?” Evelyn says, shuffling clumsily along on her skates. “Pretty good, huh?”
I nod. “Yeah, you’re doing great.”
She’s gripping my hand tight, cutting off all the feeling in my fingers. I’d really like to let go of her, but she’s using me for balance, and if I pull away right now, she’ll do a face-plant onto the ice for sure.
Evelyn looks over at me and smiles. “You’re a good teacher, Sean.” She stumbles and nearly falls. I have to use all my strength to keep her on her feet.
“Eyes ahead,” I instruct. “We’ve got to get you so you can do this on your own.” Like, now.
“I don’t know,” Evelyn says, staring forward again. “I kind of like skating like this.”
It’s strange, but she’s much more attractive from the side. Not like a “Yeah, I’ve got to tap that” kind of attractive. But certainly an improvement over how she appears face-to-face. I guess that’s what people mean by having a “best side.” Evelyn’s is definitely her left one by a good margin.
I wonder if I should mention this to her. So when she gets her picture taken, she can always pretend she’s looking off at something over to her right.
As I debate this with myself, the lights are suddenly dimmed and some slow, sappy love song starts playing over the loudspeakers. A disco ball is lowered from the center of the ceiling and casts little squares of light all over the place.
“Couples skate,” a guy announces in a deep Darth Vader-ish voice. “Couples only.”
“Hey, we can stay on,” Evelyn caws, crushing my hand. “Because there’s two of us.”
“Yeah.” I look around at all the other couples joining us on the ice and feel like someone just dumped a fistful of itching powder down my boxers. People are going to think I actually asked her to skate. “Great.”
I sigh quietly. But then I think, So what? So what if people think I asked Evelyn to skate with me? It’s not like she’s so hideous. And it’s certainly not like I have any other prospects. Besides, Evelyn seems to really be enjoying herself. Let her have her fun. Maybe I’ll bank some karma points with the girlfriend gods.
See, he’s a nice guy. Let’s send him someone really special.
“I love this song!” Evelyn sways in time to the beat as the female singer bellows on about how people wait their whole lives for a moment like this.
“Careful now,” I shout over the music. “Focus on your balance. Don’t get too carried away.”
“I’m already carried away.” She looks over at me as the song swells, her eyes wide and wet like a love-starved puppy.
Oh, crap. I think I might have boarded a runaway train here. Not good.
I flip through the possible excuses in my head. Food. Bathroom. Leg cramp. They all sound so made-up. And nowhere near good enough to make her release the death grip she’s got on my hand.
Still, it’s not fair to lead her on.
I’m about to throw myself to the ice under the guise that I’ve lost an edge on my skate blade when Coop and Helen glide up next to us, the flickering fairy lights of the disco ball dancing across their faces. Helen gives me a big smile. Coop shoots me a way-to-go wink and thumbs-up combo.
I glance over at Evelyn again. The muted lights make the left side of her face that much more appealing. Cute, even.
Could I overlook all that other stuff — the voice, the whiff of cheese, the sweaty palms — for a girl with a moderately pleasant profile?
Yeah, I think I probably could. I mean, I’m not looking for someone to marry. I just want a girlfriend. Someone to go to the movies with. And watch TV with. And to hang out along with my friends.
Besides, everyone says you should play the field before you settle down. This would just be like that. Who knows? Maybe we’d really get along.
And then, out of the blue, I get a pang of uncertainty. Like, what if I read the signs wrong? What if I imagined that look of longing in her eyes? What if I make a move and she smacks me down? Rejected by a sort-of-homely ninth-grader. That would not look good on the dating résumé.
Suddenly, just as the cornball song reaches a crescendo, Evelyn’s skate blade catches a rut and she trips.
I grasp her hand tightly and pull her up before she hits the ice.
“Oh, my God.” Evelyn gazes into my eyes, her arms somehow having wound up around my neck. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” I ask, wondering if she popped her shoulder or something.
We’re standing in the middle of the rink, all the other couples streaming past us like a river around a rock.
“The lyrics to the song,” Evelyn says breathlessly. “She was singing about how she wants someone to catch her when she falls. And then you caught me just as I was falling! It’s a sign, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t really listen —”
Evelyn leaps up and smashes her mouth against mine. Her tongue pries open my lips and she’s exploring the inside of my mouth like a spelunker searching for cave treasure. There’s a moment when I think she’s actually playing tetherball with my uvula.
Part of me wants to detach Evelyn from my face, but another part — a lower part — is enjoying the kiss too much, however ferocious it might be. My eyes dart around like crazy as I try to guide the two of us out of traffic and toward the boards.
When I finally get us to safety, she pulls away with a loud wet smack, biting my lower lip like a wild animal.
Evelyn’s out of breath. She’s staring at me with this strange hungry look in her eyes. Like if she could, she would a
ctually eat my entire head.
She grabs me in a powerful hug, pressing her cheek to my chest and squeezing the air from my lungs. “I guess this means we’re going out now, huh?”
“Uhhh.” I choke. “I . . . um . . .” My brain is short-circuiting. Can’t focus. Though the throbbing in my boxers is unmistakable.
And that’s when I see Val and Matt, smiling and waving from the other side of the glass.
Something about how they’re beaming at me, and the swirl of the song coming to an end, and how I don’t want to wind up being the guy at college who dated only one girl in high school, clears the fog from my head.
Well, that, and the uprising going on downstairs.
“Yeah,” I say. “I guess so.”
Evelyn laughs and hugs me harder, if that’s even possible. “Ohmygod, my very first boyfriend! I can’t even believe it!” She leans back, her dead-serious stare boring into me. “Don’t ever break up with me, okay?” Her eyes start to fill up at just the thought of it. “I mean it. I don’t think . . . I don’t think I could take it. Promise me, okay?”
“Uh . . . okay,” I croak. “Sure.”
“Thank you.” Evelyn buries her face in my coat and sniffles. “I believe you.”
I pat her back awkwardly.
I should be happy here, right? I mean, I’m finally dating someone again. Someone fairly cute. Sort of. From the side. So why do I feel a nauseous sourness in my stomach? Like I just ate three Big Macs with way too much special sauce?
Like, I maybe just made one of the biggest mistakes of my life?
I’VE GOT BROCK LESNAR down on the mat — ready to take my rightful place as the Ultimate Fighting Champion — when I hear the family-room door open and footsteps coming up behind me.
“Off the TV, scrotum. I’m watching a movie.” It’s Cathy, Queen of Darkness.
“Clearly you’re not,” I say, waving my Xbox controller.
“I will be once you turn off your idiot games.” She gestures at the cold pack I’ve got wrapped around my neck. “What’s up with the ice? Get a little too vigorous with the wanking?”
“Ha, ha. You should be a clown, Cath. You’ve already got the white face makeup.”
“Is that right?” Cathy snatches the ice pack from my neck and dangles it in the air. “Who’s laughing now, little boy?”
“Give it back, jerk!” I pause my game and leap off the couch.
Her dark-shadowed eyes go wide when she sees my neck. “Holy crap, Sean. Where’d you get all those welts? Were you attacked by bats or something?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Some of your vampire buds ambushed me last night.” I lunge for the cold pack, but she swings it behind her.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say those were some major hickeys.” Cathy laughs. “Tell me who gave them to you, and I’ll give you back your ice.”
“Eat it,” I say, glaring at her. It looks like she’s got a new brow piercing, which makes two over each eye now. Mom’s going to flip.
Cathy shrugs. “Fine. But secrets just lead to speculation.” She taps the silver stud in her lip. “Let me guess: Johnny Weir showed up at the rink last night and the two of you spent the entire evening doing some serious neck sucking.”
“Johnny Weir would never skate at the Salisbury Park Ice Rink,” I say, making a grab for her arm that she easily dodges. “He trains at the Ice Vault Arena in Wayne, New Jersey.”
Cathy’s jaw drops.
“Well, well, well,” she says. “Someone knows quite a lot about a certain flamboyant figure skater.”
“Just give me the freakin’ ice pack, will ya? I have to get rid of these things before school on Monday.”
“It’s a simple barter system, baby brother.” Cathy dangles the cold pack in the air. “Goods for information. Now come on. Tell your big sister who’s been gnawing on your neck.”
Cathy was born nine minutes before me, which she loves to rub in any chance she gets.
“Don’t you have a cemetery to haunt or something?” I say.
“Listen, Sean.” Cathy gives me her I’m-so-compassionate look. “I could be your biggest champion if you let me.” She reaches out and grabs my shoulder. “All you have to do is be honest. I’d be totally supportive, I swear. Now tell me, do I know him?”
“I’m not gay.” I step back from her. “What about that don’t you understand?”
She cocks her head. “Please. It’s so obvious. I mean, besides your stalker-like knowledge of Johnny Weir’s whereabouts, there’s also the little matter of your iTunes library. Lady Gaga? Justin Bieber? The Sweeney Todd soundtrack? The signs are everywhere, sweetie. You dress up in women’s clothing. You’re a mama’s boy. You play homoerotic video games. Should I go on?”
“One time! I dressed up in girls’ clothes one time! And it was to see a naked girl, which you seem to have conveniently forgotten.”
“So you claim. But what about this?” Cathy gestures at the television, where Brock Lesnar and Heath Herring are lying frozen on the mat in a bare-torsoed grasp. “Tell me there’s nothing gay about two barely clothed men embracing each other on the floor.”
I point at the screen. “That’s a rear naked choke.”
Cathy raises her eyebrows. “I rest my case.”
“They’re beating the pus out of each other.”
She shrugs. “If you say so. But it looks like man-love to me. And it’s totally cool. Some of the most influential people in the world have been gay. Leonardo da Vinci. Alexander the Great. Oscar Wilde. Isaac Newton. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not ashamed.” A vein in my left temple pulses. “If I was gay, I’d admit it.”
“Really? I’m not so sure. Or maybe you just don’t realize what’s so clear to the rest of us.”
“You know what? Keep the stupid ice pack.” I grab the remote control, shut off the television, and storm out of the family room.
The second I’m through the door, I am engulfed by our panting, whining dogs. I make my way through the living room, trying to pretend that I can’t hear Cathy hot on my heels.
Ingrid, our African gray parrot, squawks from her cage in the corner of the room. “I’m hung like a horse!”
“You’re a girl, Ingrid,” I snap. “You’re not even hung like a bird.”
“Take the pecker!” She jabs her beak at the air.
Two years ago, Ingrid was found in the home of some dead old guy who must have had nothing better to do with his time than teach her how to curse at people. Strangely enough, we haven’t been able to adopt her out.
“You like it birdie style!” she caws, grabbing the side of her cage with her claws and doing little thrusting motions with her body.
“You see?” Cathy laughs. “Even Ingrid knows.”
I ignore both of them and go to the kitchen. Yank open the freezer door and look inside to see if we have anything I can use as a substitute cold pack. Peas. A box of Fudgsicles. A whole salmon.
“I mean, Mom and Dad probably won’t understand,” I hear Cathy say from the doorway. “Being as uptight as they are. But they’d have to accept it eventually. With some counseling, they’d learn to love you again. And think about how much more interesting you’d be.”
“Blah, blah, blah.” I stare into the freezer, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of my full attention, even if it means I have to shout for her to hear me. “You can talk and talk all you want. It doesn’t matter. There is nothing you can say that is ever going to convince me to change how I feel about guys, okay? I know who I like and who I don’t. And frankly, what Mom and Dad think about my sexual tendencies doesn’t even enter the picture.”
Someone clears their throat behind me and I can tell immediately that it’s not Cathy.
I whip around to see my parents standing there, shopping bags dangling from their hands, their eyes wide. I scan the kitchen for my sister, but she’s nowhere to be found.
I shut the freezer door and clap my hand on my hickey-peppered neck. �
��Hi, guys.”
Mom’s eyes start to tear up. She glances at Dad, then back to me. “Is there . . . ? Is there something you’d like to tell us, hon?”
I blink, confused. Then it finally hits me. “Oh! No. No, there’s nothing. Cathy was just . . . She was trying to . . . Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
Mom takes a deep breath, sniffling. “It’s okay, sweetie.” She uses her placating, everything’s-fine-here voice. The one she uses whenever Dixie — our lactose-intolerant beagle — accidentally soft-serves on the living-room carpet. She plops her bags on the kitchen table, then looks at Dad. “Believe it or not, your father and I have actually discussed this. We had a . . . a hunch that you might be . . . you know . . . and we are . . .” She swallows the jagged little pill. “We are okay with it. Aren’t we, honey?” She looks over at Dad again.
“Yes,” Dad says, sounding like his shorts just shrank three sizes. “As long as you’re absolutely sure. And you don’t want to, you know, maybe talk to Father Hurley about it first.”
“What? No! I don’t —”
“I’m sure there’s no need for that,” Mom says, coming to my rescue. “If he knows, he knows. It’s not going to make a difference.”
“Okay, this is ridiculous,” I say. “What you heard me say was . . . I was talking to Cathy and . . . Look, the point is, I like girls, okay? End of story. I’ve had a girlfriend. Tianna, remember? You met her.”
“You mean”— Mom scrunches up her face —“the girl who sort of looked like a boy?”
“What? She did not!”
Dad grimaces. “She kind of did, Sean. Like that actor. What’s his name? The one who played the hobbit.”
I smack my forehead. “Holy crap, are you serious?”
“Sean,” Mom scolds. “Language. Please. My goodness. And here I was under the impression that the gays were more refined.”
“You know what? Forget it. I’m just going to pretend we never had this discussion.” I storm out of the kitchen, the excited dogs swarming around me.
Mom calls after me, “We love you, Sean! All we want is for you to be happy. Whatever that means for you!”