Girl Mans Up (7 page)

THE NEXT DAY, THE NOISE DOWNSTAIRS STARTS
right around lunchtime, when the first carful of family pulls up to my house. Soon the smells of all kinds of different foods start making their way up to my room. Today is my dad's birthday—he's fifty-five—and the family's over from Ottawa. Worst timing ever. My head is full of Olivia and Colby.

My mom comes up to my room, which she doesn't do often.

“You wear hat,” she says. “I want no one see the hair.”

“Okay.”

“You watch out now, okay?” she says. “I want you no make hard for me
e
for
Pai
. I want you to be good girl. This no joke, Penelope.
Respeito.
”

“I'm not making things hard,” I say, but she closes her eyes and holds her hands up like she won't argue.

“You stop,” she says. She tells me she needs a break from me. “Not today, okay? Not today.”

I turn my collar up and reach for the black baseball cap hanging on the inner doorknob to put it on, flattening my freshly styled hair. The smile on my lips says,
Are you happy now?
She whirls around and I close the door behind her, maybe a little too harshly.

BY DINNERTIME, THE WHOLE
clan is here and I can't get away with staying up in my room anymore. Johnny's old bedroom is full of suitcases and the blow-up mattress is set up next to his old bed. There are, like, fifteen people here, and most of them take an hour asking me how school is and if I'm being a good girl and helping my parents around the house. Anyone walking into this house without knowing us might think we're all angry at each other. We talk with our hands, slap our knees, and act like every piece of news we share is unbelievable.

“Get outta here, Duarte!” my uncle Adão says to Dad, switching to Portuguese to talk about overtime laws in Canada. “You crazy!”

The women are in and out of the kitchen, bringing things to the table, and then serving their husbands like the men won't eat unless food is brought to them. My aunt Joana is the worst, not even sitting down to eat until she's sure my uncle Adão has everything he needs. I don't really know if this is a bad thing or not, because I don't know who's making who do what. Maybe my aunt likes it, being a servant.

When my mom tells me to set up the kids' table, it makes me pissy, knowing she's going to make me sit with the little ones. The kids' table is made up of two fold-out tables set up side by side in the hallway outside the dining room, and the other five kids who end up around it are all way younger than me. Marc's on his phone. Sara, Katie, and Amelia are talking about whether or not my mom has colored thread so they can make friendship bracelets they saw on Pinterest. Madison,
who's too young to care about that, lines up these tiny dog and cat figurines in front of her plate and then changes her mind and puts them back in this pink purse hanging over her shoulder. Madison's baby brother, Emanuel, gets to sit at the big-people table in his high chair.

I spend an hour staring at my phone, flipping between Facebook and texting Colby. I picture telling him I know about Olivia, just to see what he'd say. Marc tells me he's texting his girlfriend. When I ask what they're texting about, he says, “It's private. Okay, don't tell my mom and dad, but it's dirty—good dirty. Hey—your bathroom upstairs has a lock, right?”

“Aw, come on! That's disgusting. Keep it in your pants. You're twelve,” I say.

“Almost fourteen,” he says, then he's not listening anymore. That kid thinks he's the next Cristiano Ronaldo—without the soccer skills.

“Penny, I want ketchup!” Madison says.

She's, like, six years old, but still. “Dude, don't call me that.”

“Pen, I want ketchup,” she says.

“Fine,” I say, kind of glad for the excuse to get away. I head for the kitchen, where my cousin Constance is grabbing a plate and scoping out the casseroles on the stove.

“Your brother's a horndog,” I tell her.

“My mom says he's dating an older woman.”

“What? How old?”

She grins. “Fourteen.”

“The boy must have game,” I say.

We grin at each other, then she digs into the potato
casserole. “Look at your hair—it's so short! How's school?”

My hand goes to my head while I look around to see if Mom is within earshot. “You can tell it's cut?”

“Of course!”

“Well, can you, uh, not tell anybody?”

“It's a secret?”

“Not really. But my mom hates it, so . . . you know.”

“Gotcha,” Constance says with a wink. “Oh, I sent you guys an invitation to the wedding in the mail. You should get it soon.”

“Oh. Yeah. Congratulations.”

She squeezes my arm, while her other hand holds a plate overflowing with wedges of potatoes sprinkled with
pimentas
. “You bring Colby along if you want. He's such a little hottie. You're old enough to bring a date.”

“Oh. Um . . . okay.”

My dad's parked in his recliner with the remote in hand, which means the cousins can't watch TV so they keep bugging me to let them play with my iPod or my phone. The baby never cries because he's always in someone's arms, usually my mom's. She makes baby noises at him and he smiles. I really hope if he decides he likes dolls, my aunt Manuela won't turn out to be like my mom. The four aunts and my mom gather around the baby while they talk about their kids. I already know my mom won't be sharing any stories about hers.

JOHNNY COMES UP AFTER
dinner's over and we're all eating cake. He comes to sit beside me on the couch, a heaping plate of food in his hands. When my aunts and uncles ask
about his job, he lays it on thick about all the extra work he's gotten through his new Facebook page. Dad watches him with narrowed eyes, while Mom disappears to the kitchen to make coffee for everybody.

Johnny nods to Dad's unwrapped present sitting in its box next to the recliner. Everyone chipped in for a brand-new TV. I'm pretty sure we're both thinking gaming on that thing would be awesome—not that Dad would ever give up his spot in front of it.

“I wasn't sure you were gonna show,” I say.

“I get my balls busted if I come, and I get 'em busted if I don't. At least this way I get food, you know?”

“Yeah.”

My uncle Adão goes, “Hey, João. You no work at factory yet? Money money with the overtime, huh?”

Johnny gives me a look like,
Here we go
. “Nah, I'd rather work for myself. Grow my business.”

“Oh, you big business man!”
Tio
Adão says, downing his fifth beer. “Big Shot Oliveira! Why you not give you
pai
a job, huh? Big big shot.”

“Ya, ya.” Dad laughs, then says Johnny's a big shot living in his parents' basement.

It goes quiet and Johnny gives a twisted chuckle while he finishes his mouthful. So I say, “Johnny does the mayor's property, and he has the contract for all the apartment buildings in Castlehill. Plus, he gets recommended by real estate agents all the time. He's the best in this town. And in Crestonvale, too.”

“Forget about it,” Johnny says to me. He points to his ear.
“In one ear, out the other—remember?”

“No good,” Dad says, then he goes off about how the mayor is a crook who drives around in a Mercedes he pays for with the taxes he gets from my dad. Dad says if Johnny was smart, he'd take the job at the factory with the benefits and retirement package. “And you go buy a house.”

“I'd buy a new truck before I'd buy a house,” Johnny says to no one in particular. He dips corn bread into the runny stuff at the bottom of his plate.

“No smart,” Dad says, and my uncle nods while taking a swig of beer.

“Okay, okay,” my mom says, which is her version of “enough.”

“You got a girlfriend, Johnny?” my aunt Jacinta says. Johnny shrugs as a response, which is smart because Jenna isn't the type of girlfriend you'd want to answer questions about.

“A good-looking man like you—I'm sure you've got someone special,”
Tia
Valerie says. She's my uncle Francisco's wife, and he's got his hand on her thigh. Sara and Amelia scroll through an iPad at their feet, not paying attention to their parents at all. “You must be getting close to moving out and starting a life.”

“Oh yeah,” Johnny says. He leans over to me and whispers, “You know, because what I got right now isn't a life, huh?”

Tio
Adão says, “You gotta get good job to pay for the babies. Cut grass no give the money for the baby.”

I don't know why they always go off like they think all Johnny does is mow lawns as if he's some kid my age trying to
earn a couple extra bucks in the summer. What he did with the mayor's property ended up being photographed for the paper. Plus, he does all the repairs and painting of the vacant apartments waiting to be rented at the McKinley buildings.

“What about you, Penelope?”
Tia
Jacinta says.

“Penelope—what you doing? You got the boy
friend
?”
Tio
Adão asks.

Now all the adults are looking at me. Except for my parents.

“No,” I say.

“You no get a boy
friend
when you look like João, huh? Small One Johnny!” he says with another drunk chuckle. “Snip snip you hair. Scary tough girl!”

Mom gives me a sideways glare like,
Happy now?
Constance looks like she feels bad for me, wincing while she leans into her fiancé.

“I got gum stuck in it.”

“You little tough girl, Penelope! Small One Johnny!”

“Not really.”

“Yeah, you tough girl.” My uncle lifts his beer like he's toasting the fact that I'm a tough girl and he drains the rest of it.

“Hey,” Johnny says, meeting my uncle's drunken gaze. “Lay off her, okay?
Pare, agora.
”

“What you say?” Dad's eyes go right for Johnny, like how dare he talk to his uncle like that.

My uncle laughs and says, “You tough big brother, huh? Big man.”

Johnny puts his plate on the coffee table, then he leans back and stares at Dad. The vibe changes. People are getting
up and moving around, the girls rushing toward the dining room, my aunt Manuela bouncing the baby up and down, the other aunts clearing off the last of the dishes. Constance and her fiancé escape to the kitchen.

I send Colby a 911 text.

There's always some kind of argument when we all get together. My mom's going to lose it on me for being the cause of it this time.

“What?” Dad says to Johnny. “You wanna say something? Say.”

It sounds like a dare.

“I said nothing. You guys are the ones talking,” Johnny says.

“Big tough man,”
Tio
Adão says, except he's not as drunk– happy as he was a second ago. “I tell you, Duarte, my kids no tough like this. My kids . . . they got the
respeito
.”

“Let's just go,” I tell Johnny. “There's cake.”

“What?” Dad says. “What you say?”

“We're gonna go get cake,” I say.

“You house is you house, Duarte.”
Tio
Adão's shaking his head like he's disappointed in his little brother. “In my house,
I
say. I say this, I say that. No one say nothing in my house. Nobody tough in my house but me. I pay the money, I say.”

“You want another beer,
Tio
?” Johnny says. “You wanna drink some more?
Outra cerveja, Tio?
”

My uncle's laughing, but his eyes shift over to my dad, like he's waiting to see how his little brother's going to handle this.

“Hey,
esse é o seu tio. Respeito!
” Dad says, pushing to his feet.

It's like the whole house goes quiet, even though mostly everyone isn't even in this room. My dad rarely raises his voice.

“Yeah, yeah. Respect,” Johnny says, standing up. “You know, for a word to mean something, you gotta do stuff to back it up.”

“João Oliveira! You come in my house, no say hi to nobody, eat my
comida
, now you tell me what to do?”

Johnny's face hardens. His eyes close, and his jaw tightens. I want to say something, but all I can do is bounce my foot like crazy. Finally, he gets up and gives this fake smile.
“Desculpe. Pai bença. Tio bença
.
Obrigado por comida.”

Dad and
Tio
Adão don't give him a response because it's pretty obvious Johnny wasn't really sorry, that he was just saying words.

The doorbell rings, and Johnny takes off.

THERE ARE ALL KINDS OF EXCITED GIRLY NOISES
coming from the front hall now. Colby appears in the living room doorway, hitching his chin up at me. I knew he'd get his butt here right away when he saw the 911.

“What's up, Portuguese people?” he says to no one in particular. “I'm starving.”

“Hey hey, Koo
bee
!” my uncle says, raising his beer. “What you do, huh?”

“I smelled the fish from my house so I came over,” he says, which makes everyone smile with pride, because
bacalhau
is our thing—especially the way my mom makes it.

Everyone starts trickling back into the living room. My aunt Joana comes with a fresh beer for
Tio
Adão. My family's always liked Colby. He nods and laughs at the right times even if there's only Portuguese flying around the room, and at the table, he always takes seconds of everything. The aunts think he's such a nice boy, but I think they're basing that on the fact that he's got a nice-looking face and he smiles a lot.

“You like tough girl, Koo
bee
?” my uncle says.

“Uh . . . sure,” Colby says.

“You like the tough girl. This cut hair no good. Penelope
look like a boy. You tell Penelope she be pretty girl like her
mãe
. You nice boy, you tell her,”
Tio
Adão says.

I pull my baseball cap low to cover my eyes. “Oh man. This is messed up,” I whisper, knowing Colby can hear me.

“Yeah, okay. I'll tell her,” Colby says.

My uncle raises his beer and laughs. “I like you, Koo
bee
.”

“Thanks,” Colby says with a wide grin.

“You want some food?” I ask him.

He nods, and we head to the kitchen. My mom's Saran-wrapping food but she figures out what we're here for, so she starts loading fish on a plate for Colby.

“You
mãe
no make this for you, huh,” my mom says.

“Not like this,” he says. “This fish is awesome. It's that
pimenta
stuff.”

“
Pimenta moida
. I make. It's good, huh?” Mom's scowly face turns into a smile and she piles more fish. It's the perfect moment for me to say, “Can I go to Colby's?”

“It's black outside,” she says.

“Just for a bit,” I say.

“Just to eat some fish and watch a movie,” Colby explains. “Can I have bread, too? Did you buy it from that place again? Man, corn bread rocks. Can I take some fish for my dad? He loves it, too.”

She slices a big wedge of the bread and wraps it in a clean dish towel. Then she adds more fish to a different plate she gives to me, and shoos us away, saying, “You watch out now, Penelope.”

Colby winks at me as we escape the kitchen.

“Drunk uncle?” he says as we slip into our shoes.

“Yeah. And brother-dad drama,” I say. “Thanks. You know . . .”

“No problem, dude,” he says. “Got your back.”

WHEN WE GET TO
Colby's, we go through the front so we can give his dad some food. Mr. Jensen is this super tall dude who looks like an older version of Colby, but with a bald head. He rubs his hands together when I hand him a plate with fish and says, “Good job, son. Don't tell your mom. She doesn't want me eating fried stuff.” He turns to me and says, “Give my compliments to the chef. Is your brother home? I wanted to check with him about next week's work.”

“He just went out,” I say.

Mrs. Jensen comes in and narrows her eyes at Colby's dad with a piece of fish halfway into his mouth. “I'd like to thank you for feeding your father more crap and making him fat. Thank you.”

“You're welcome, Mom.”

Mr. Jensen finishes chewing fast. “Honey, I was just having a little—”

“I don't care. I don't want to hear it, Tom.” Mrs. Jensen walks out the front door, letting it slam behind her.

Colby waves me over and we take the stairs down to his room. I sit on the couch, holding a plate of smelly fish. Colby pulls the patio door open halfway and stands there going through his pockets.

“That fish is gonna be awesome later, when I get the
munchies,” he says, pulling out a joint. He sparks it and sucks on it for a while. We're not worried about getting caught because his mom's out, and Mr. Jensen secretly smokes weed, too. Colby found his stash last year.

“So what was going on at your house?” he asks.

“Same old crap. My dad taking hits at Johnny, and my uncle egging my dad on.”

“Your brother should move the hell out.”

“Yeah, but rent's really expensive. And my parents would always be calling him back over here to do all this work.”

“Then maybe he should just stop answering his phone for a while,” Colby says. “Your cousin was checking me out again.”

“Constance?” I roll my eyes. “Yeah, whatever. She's, like, twelve years older than us.”

“So? Every time I'm over there, she's all over me.”

“You wish.”

He laughs. “Anyway. Thought you'd want to know that even though you almost screwed things up for me, I still managed to score with that girl from the mall.”

“I wasn't the one saying all kinds of dumb stuff to scare her away.”

He glares at me from where he stands with one foot out the door so he can blow smoke outside.

I take a breath, thinking about Olivia, about how I could just tell him I know. But my mouth stays shut.

“You've kind of been a pain in my ass the last couple of weeks, Pen,” he says.

“What if
you're
the one who's been extra pissy lately?”

“What are you talking about? I'm no different.” He stares me down from behind a curtain of weed smoke that's trapped inside. “It's you that's got something up your butt. And I think I know what it is. It's a girl.”

“Huh?”

“I saw you yesterday with Blake. Not that I hadn't already figured. You really gotta be less of a douche about this, Pen.” He knows. “I can't blame you. You don't have any game yet. I haven't taught you how to be cool.”

“Nothing's happening. We were just talking.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, offering me the joint, but I shake my head. “It's not your fault. Everyone acts like an idiot when they first start getting some. But listen, when you get a girl, you can't go all pathetic and ditch your buddies. Only jerkoffs do that. It's a question of loyalty and respect.”

Respeito
. I know all about that. “I wouldn't ditch my friends.”

He chuckles, finishing with the roach. He slips it into his pack of cigarettes as he lets himself collapse on the opposite end of the couch. “You say that now, but just wait till a girl goes all whiny, guilt-tripping you into going to her place all the time to, like, watch her paint her nails. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. I've never let a girl get in the way of my loyalty, right?”

“Yeah.” This Olivia stuff was happening behind my back almost the whole time. Maybe he thinks that means she hasn't been getting in the way, because he never ditched Tristan and me, never disappeared. But that would be complete bull because he did let it get in the way—he let it screw everything up between me and him.

“You just gotta be ready. Girls try everything to get in there and stir up some shit. If I didn't put my foot down, these girls would've messed with my life so many times. I tell 'em to suck it. You gotta be tough. Even if you're not a guy, it'll probably work the same way. Guaranteed Blake looks at you and sees a dude—why else is she only giving you the time of day now that you look like that?” He pauses to shoot me a look like,
Am I right?
“So she'll just be acting like a regular girl about it. This is why you gotta remember where your loyalty lies.”

“So—okay, wait, let's say I did have a girlfriend, then what?”

“Well, first,” he says, “you don't bring her to hang out with us. That's just sad. No one wants to watch two people rocking their nastiness together. Plus, girls are annoying as hell when they're near the dude they're messing around with. Trust me, it could get ugly.”

“You bring girls around all the time.”

“They're not my girlfriends—that's the difference. They're just girls I'm working on hooking up with, so they're totally different. Once a girl's got you, she turns into something else. Trust me. You remember Leslie? Bailey? Alisha? Remember what they were like before I told them to take a hike?” Colby doesn't mention Olivia.

“Yeah.”

He lights up a cigarette and hands that to me. “Blake already thinks she's hot and badass, so she'll be way worse than the average hot girl. And because you're technically a girl, well—just be ready for whatever bull goes with that.”

“Like what?”

“This is Castlehill, dude. In real life, hot girls want guys. That's just how it is. I mean, maybe that girl Gina in grade ten could go either way, because she's super fit, but she's got half her head shaved and she wears those ugly boots. Otherwise, think of the decent girls at St. Peter's—they're all into guys. There are a few who pretend they're into girls, but only when they're trying to be all feminist about it, you know, like ‘I don't need penis,' when really they think we're gonna feel all threatened and start doing everything they ask just to get some.” He gives me that
Am I right?
look again. “The ones who are for-real into girls are the fat ones, the ones who look guyish, and the angry girls, but even then, it's usually because they're pissed off that they're not hot enough to get one of us to look at them. So, like, who the hell knows what Blake's deal is.” He points a finger at me. “I'm not saying you should stay away from her, but just know it could turn around real quick. So, rock that while you can,
if
you can.”

I can't help it, I give him a full on crooked-eyebrow, you're-full-of-it glare. But it's not like I can say he's wrong, because he knows way more than I do about this stuff. It all just sounds really messed up. Maybe I just don't want him to be right.

“Remember Jess Gallagher?” he says, then flashes me a look of challenge. “Right? How long was she a dyke for?”

“You don't even know her. She's two years older than us, and she's gone to college. How do you know what she's doing now?”

“Answer the question, dude.”

“Maybe she's bi.”

“Temporarily dykey, attention-seeking, confused straight girl. She's with Ike's brother now, going on a year.”

My answer is a roll of the eyes, then I shove the fried fish under his nose, and he digs in.

“Are we playing something or what?” he asks.

“Yeah. Let's play.”

He heads for the stack of games. His phone beeps with a text. It's lying on the couch next to me. Olivia's name appears on the display, along with a couple words of the text:
I swear. It's fine now—

I probably shouldn't, but I take a chance. “Dude, why is Olivia texting you?”

He shrugs, still busying himself with setting up the game. His back is to me. “Because she's crazy. I'm about to change my number, I swear.”

“Well, what's going on? Why is she crazy?”

He hands me the controller, picks up his phone, and flings it onto the bed behind us, then sits on the opposite end of the couch. “I told you. She's, like, in love with me. This is why I'm telling you to watch yourself with Blake. You never know what kind of crap these girls can pull just to keep you hooked in.”

“You think Olivia was going to make stuff up, just to hook you in?” I ask.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, like I'm naïve. “You know how easy it is for girls to run their mouths and have the guy look like an ass? Nobody questions when girls say things, even if it's total bull.”

I wonder if Olivia's texting because she feels bad that she jumped the gun with her late period, or because she feels bad
for lying about all of it thinking it would keep him around.

“Well, do you need me to talk to Olivia again? Do you want me to tell her to back off?”

“Nah,” he says. “It's fine now.”