Girl Mans Up (10 page)

HE RAN HIS FINGERS THROUGH THE WAVES
against my back that night, like he was trying to give me chills. I've seen him do that kind of thing to girls before. And it worked, because I got goose-bumpy. I wasn't really sure I
wasn't
into it. It's hard to remember what I was thinking that night, but it all just didn't seem like such a big deal.

It was a huge deal. Because I felt like a homo. For the first time ever, I felt really queer. In a bad way. His hands were on me, and the feeling got worse. The feeling I get when I see myself naked in the mirror—that feeling, times a hundred. He touched me, and I turned into the kind of girl I'm not.

Now, while he stands there, staring at me, waiting to see if I'll be into doing a repeat of that night, I think about that feeling. About losing who I am and turning into someone else.

“We don't have to kiss if you don't feel like it. I'm cool with that,” he says. “Kissing just gets in the way.”

He presses his hand against the front of his jeans, the way I see all the guys around me do when they're adjusting their junk. It's never something to pay attention to. Tonight, though, I'm the reason for it, and it's nasty.

That other night, Colby grabbed my hand and flattened it
against his crotch, and at the same time he shoved his hand down my pants. I was thinking,
How the hell did he do that so fast?

This is gross and it needs to stop.

I pulled away and told him we were done. I said, “Yeah, no. This is weird. Sorry.” He laughed and called me a prude. Or maybe he called me a dude? I can't remember. Then it was over, and I said I had to go.

We were both going to pretend the messed-up stuff never happened. And now he wants to go there again. What the hell is wrong with him?

Who the hell is the queer one right now?

I STARE AT THE
carpet and shake my head. Hell no. My fists ball, nails digging into the skin of my palms. I hate feeling like a homo.

“What?” he asks. Then he sits next to me. “You didn't tell anybody, did you?”

“Are you kidding?”

“Okay, good,” he says, moving to his bed. “Look, I think we should do it. Last time was kind of weird, but listen, I know what I'm doing, and obviously, you need to get laid. Doesn't matter how guyish you are, you're still a girl.”

I can't even believe what I just heard. “Huh? I mean—what the hell are you talking about? This is the most messed-up thing ever.”

“What—because of what Garrett said? He was just messing around. He doesn't know anything.”

Colby hops over the foot of the bed, landing on his usual corner of the couch, arms folded against his chest, eyes on me. “Here's the thing: girls make things complicated. I learned my lesson, believe me. I'm done with drama. This is why you're so perfect. A dude, but a girl, right?” He wags his eyebrows, and I inch myself back a little. “Come on, man. People get horny. That's all this is. Why don't you just let me rock your world? It's not like you're getting any otherwise. You're sexually frustrated. Even if you're into girls, doesn't mean you can't get some on the side. It's just messing around. It's just fun. I won't tell anyone.”

My face feels like it's stuck in the expression I make when I don't like something I'm eating. “Yeah, if that was true, then you'd also be seeing if Tristan wants to mess around on the side. Or Garrett.”

Now he's doing the same face. “You're a girl, and I'm a guy.” I stare back at him like,
For real?
He nods like he figured it all out. “Oh, okay. Are you afraid you're gonna find out you're bi or something?”

“Uh, no. I know what I'm into.”

“Yeah? So . . . are you into sucking me off or what?” He laughs.

“Oh man, Colby. You're disgusting.” I stand up and rub my face.

“I'm just kidding. Relax,” he says. “Look, I'm not gonna laugh at you, if that's what you're worried about. I'm not gonna tell any—”

“No! Stop talking. Stop trying to flip this into something
I'll suddenly be into. I'm not.” There's no expression on his face, like none of it made it through to him. “I think Garrett's right—this whole thing is gay. Like homo gay. I like girls. Girly girls. I don't like guys, and I didn't think you did either.”

I don't know why I said that. I must be an idiot.

Colby puts his hands on his knees and his features drop. “Don't try to act like I'm a fag. You're a girl. You've
always
been a girl. You kiss like a girl, and when my hand was down your pants, I felt—”

“Shut up!”

“You think you're so tough, huh?” He snorts a laugh, but it feels like the whole room gets dark. Colby's pressing a fist into an open palm, grinding it. “Get over yourself, Pen. You don't get to be a guy now, just because you look like that. You better watch yourself. For real. You don't wanna be on my bad side. You don't want me to really start treating you like a guy. Trust me.”

“I can't believe you're saying that stuff to me. To
me
.”

“You're asking for it.”

“You've been full of it this entire time,” I say, turning to go. “I'm out of here.”

“This better stay dead, Pen. Stay out of my way with your identity crisis stuff and go back to normal. You're not gonna get another chance.”

By the TV stand is a tall stack of games, and when I walk by it, I whip the thing over with a smack, sending game cases flying against the wall. After that, I'm out of there, thinking it wasn't his face, but at least I got to hit something.

WHEN MY PHONE RINGS AT NINE ON SATURDAY
morning, I wake up remembering last night. It's an unknown number. But I pick up anyway.

“You sound like you just woke up. This is too early, isn't it?” Olivia says.

“How'd you get my number?”

“Sorry. Blake gave it to me.”

“Oh.” I sit up in bed and wipe the crusts out of my eyes. “What do you want?”

It sounds meaner than I wanted it to.

“Oh. I just wanted to check in about this afternoon,” she says, her voice coming out small. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called.”

“I—I can't talk to you right now.”

She hangs up before I can even wish I'd said something different.

FOR AN HOUR NOW,
I've thought about everything. It's like my head is too stuck in last night to be able to also be in today.

I have to ditch Blake's show. That's all I know.

I make it halfway down the stairs before I hear angry
voices. The basement door is half-open. I push it some more, glancing around in case someone's there. My mom can't be far away, if she's not down there already. I hear my dad's voice. He almost never goes down to Johnny's place. It's mostly Portuguese coming from down there, something about pulling a knife on some kids at the pizza place. Oh, man.

This is it—it's happening again. Going out for pizza wasn't worth this.

“It was a goddamn joke!” Johnny yells.

“
Não
funny,
é louco
. You crazy man,” Dad says.

Johnny says that it actually wasn't a joke, and that the jerks deserved it. “I'm the only one who pays attention. That hasn't changed, huh? You guys don't see. You don't even try to look.
O pai e a mãe não vê. Não vê
nothing.”

I want to rush in there and tell my parents to back off, to punish me instead. It's not Johnny's fault that he gets in trouble defending me. But I'm too much of a pussy to move from this spot.

“Estúpido
.
”
Dad says that Johnny's a psycho for pulling a weapon out on children. He says he had to find out about Johnny's dumb stunt from one of the delivery guys at the factory. “You want the police here again?”

It fills me up with anger, thinking about everything. Why didn't we just order the pizza and hang out downstairs? I should've used my damn head and realized this kind of crap was going to get worse the moment I cut my hair.

“Come on,
Pai
. You care more about this guy than you do about what his kid did to yours?” Johnny says, then he repeats
that the guys from the pizza place deserved it. “You let it all happen, then you blame her.”

“I tired, João. Okay?
Cansado
. No more.” My dad says he's sick of Johnny making him look bad, and trying to act like he's the man of the house. He says, “You wanna act crazy? What I tell you before, huh? I say you get outta here.”

My fingernails are digging into my palms. This is bull.

“
O pai sempre diz a mesma coisa!
Always the same thing. You know what would happen if I left,” Johnny says. “
O pai sabe o que vai acontecer.
It's not gonna go down like it did last time. You know what would happen this time.
O pai sabe.
”

What would happen this time? What would be different this time? Part of me wonders if he'd take me with him.

“I know? Nothing happen. This my house. I say in my house!” Dad's voice gets out of control. I jump. “This son—my son—got no
respeito
! No more. I can't no more.
Saia da minha casa,
João. I tired of everything.”

Saia da minha casa
—that means . . . get out of my house.

“Fine,” Johnny says. “I'm out.”

My mouth hangs open, and I stare at the purple half-moons dug into my palms. What's different about this time is that he's not putting up much of a fight. He's just taking off.

MY MOM PUTS A
hand around my wrist, pulling my arm up to look at my hand. She tips her head toward the kitchen.

“No. Not you busi
ness
, Penelope,” she says. “Come.”

She drags me to the kitchen. I'm so mad my eyes sting. We sit at the table, listening to the shouting going on below us.

“You let you
pai
talk to João,” Mom says.

“Whatever.”

“João got big big mouth, big head. He gotta shut up his mouth. He gotta stop being crazy. Stop being
estúpido.
”

I stare back at her. “Whatever, Ma.”

Her face goes all mean.
“Tu não quer saber o que tu faz para trazer problemas para o seu irmão?”

“I already know what I did. I already know it's my fault—trust me. You don't have to yell at me about it.”

“I no yell. Listen. You cut you hair, you get people laugh,” she says. “You go outside like this, what you think gonna happen? I tell you. I tell you this all the time.” She asks how I can expect people to understand something that doesn't make sense. “João no need
problemas de sua irmã
. You
irmão
he need to grow up, be a man. You grow up and be a woman.”

Things get quieter downstairs, and I picture Johnny throwing his stuff into garbage bags, getting ready to finally be done with the crap this house is full of. Maybe I should go help him.

“I tell you when you no try to be good girl, the other people they gonna have to . . .” She gets tongue-tied here, so she starts over in Portuguese, telling me when I insist on not being a good girl, I'm making things harder not only for myself, but harder for everyone around me. She says I should be bending for other people instead of expecting everyone else to bend for me.

“I already know all this, okay?” I say, my voice harsher than I meant it to be. “You can stop explaining it to me. I'm not stupid. I already know.”

There's pounding up the stairs now. Shouting. Johnny's the first one up. I leave the kitchen before my mom can try to pin me to the table. Dad makes it up the stairs, winded.

“João!” he yells.

Johnny stomps around the front hall. “It's done. This shit's been going on too long.”

“I tell you get outta here long time ago,” Dad says; then he says Johnny should've never been allowed to come back.

“Believe me, I didn't wanna come back,” Johnny says.

“Well, then why did you?” I ask. “Huh? Why the hell did you bother coming back?”

He goes quiet. Dad's finger is still up in the air like some kind of warning. All this yelling, and when I ask a question, everyone goes mute.

“Leave. For good this time,” I say. Johnny's looking back at me like I'm not speaking clearly. “Just go.”

They're all staring at me.

“Come outside a sec, okay? I gotta tell you some stuff,” Johnny finally says.

Dad looks ready to say something but I beat him to it.

“I don't need stuff explained to me like I'm stupid. I get it, okay?” My voice is louder. “You're old enough. You have a job. And you hate it here. Why would you stay? There's no reason. There's no reason at all for you to stay here.”

Johnny's looking around like he's trying to find a reason, but he's coming up empty. I can't stop clenching my teeth and staring at that statue of Mary, picturing myself dropping it on the floor and watching it shatter into pieces.

“You need to cool off,” Johnny says, tapping my shoulder.

I whip his hand off. “Don't touch me.”

“Pen, man,” he says.
“Calma.”

“I don't need to calm down,” I say. “I'm done calming down, okay? Get outta here.” He holds his hands up like I usually do when he's losing it in front of me. “Get out! Don't be a pussy. Leave.”

Johnny gets in front of our parents, but he turns to look at me. His biceps are huge, ready to bust. “Don't be a stupid little hothead, Pen. This family's all about talking shit about everyone else and then going off about
respeito
. Bunch of hypocrites.”

“You're one to talk,” I say.

“Que desgraça,”
Mom says.
“Nosso filho é uma desgraça.”

At being called a disgrace, Johnny pretends to wipe his hands and shake the filth off them before whirling around.

Then the door slams. He's gone.