If I Was Your Girl (6 page)

Inside, music rattled the floors and kids were packed together tightly, red Solo cups in hand. A keg stood by the entrance to the kitchen, a line snaking around the corner. Chloe and Layla waved us over as soon as we walked in, giving us both hugs. In the last week I'd been given more hugs than in my entire life combined. I was anxious about anyone touching me and my reflex was to tense up and jump away, but once I took a deep breath and relaxed I found that I actually enjoyed it, that momentary contact that said you weren't alone.

Chloe directed me toward the kitchen, telling the other girls we'd get them drinks—beer for Layla and water for Anna, who didn't drink. I started to say I didn't drink either, but then I remembered I had gotten high two days before, and suddenly a beer hardly felt adventurous at all.

When it was just the two of us, Chloe leaned in close. “Thanks again,” she said. “For Thursday.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” I told her with a smile.

She tapped her red cup against mine. “You know everybody here talks about how much other people talk,” she said. I was pretty sure that was more words together than I had heard her use all week. “But the more they talk about how shameful it is, the more they do it.”

Behind us, Layla and Anna were fiddling with our host's iPhone and speakers. They shrieked happily as a new song came on.

“If you ever want someone to talk to,” I told her, “I know how to keep a secret.”

*   *   *

Twenty minutes later I sat on a countertop staring out at the sea of people filling the house. Anna, Layla, and Chloe were all talking to other people, so I tried to look busy as I sipped gingerly from my red plastic cup and tapped my heel in time with the Top 40 hits blaring over the speaker. I was unimpressed with beer—it tasted like stale bread and water, and it wasn't making me feel any different.

“Um … hey,” a deep voice called, almost drowned out by the music and the crowd. I looked up and saw Parker standing a few feet away, a nervous expression on his face.

“Hey,” I said, trying to act nonchalant. Something about his heavy-lidded gaze always set me on edge. “Congrats on the game the other night.”

“We lost.”

“It was still the most fun I've ever had watching sports,” I said, shrugging. “Seems like there should be a prize for that.”

“Oh,” he said, looking away. His cheeks flushed red and it occurred to me that he was
nervous.
I felt guilty all of a sudden, as if just by existing and talking to him I was leading him on. It gave me a strange sense of power, and not one that I liked.

“Can I get you a beer?”

“I already—” I began, but he said, “I'll go get you one” abruptly and disappeared into the crowd. I let out a long sigh as I watched him go.

Only seconds had passed when Grant appeared in front of me. He wore a heather-gray T-shirt and well-worn jeans, looking completely at ease, his jet-black hair tousled like he'd stuck his head out a car window on the freeway.

“So, hey,” he said, giving me a mischievous smile. “I might be confused, but the idea of a party, generally, is to have fun.”

“I'm having fun,” I said, taking another sip of beer.

I had rehearsed this encounter all afternoon as I got ready. In the shower, I pretended I barely knew he existed, looking cool and aloof. As I blew out my hair, I threw caution to the wind and flirted mercilessly with him. While I got dressed, I gave innocent and naïve a shot. No more plans came to me when I got around to putting on makeup, and now that he was actually in front of me, I realized I didn't even have to try.

“You've been staring at the ceiling for the last ten minutes.”

“Well, then you've clearly been staring at me.”

“Can you blame me?” he said, shaking his head and laughing. “I just really wanna make sure you have a good time.”

“I'm having a good time, I promise.” I was starting to feel a little dizzy and realized the beer was finally having an effect. “I like this song a lot! It's, um, my favorite.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Somehow I doubt anything by Kesha is your favorite.”

“It could be!” He stared me down, plastering a maddeningly neutral look on his features. I broke in seconds. “Okay, fine. I only really listen to techno.”

“Come with me then,” he said, gesturing as he headed across the room. My head was buzzing pleasantly as I hopped down and followed him.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught Parker emerging from the kitchen, a red cup in each hand, craning his neck to look for me. The crowd parted at the other end of the room to reveal Grant swiping through the iPhone, his eyes intent on the screen. I tried to peek over his shoulder but he tapped the screen one last time, turned, and smiled at me triumphantly. The familiar, tinny beat of Daft Punk hit my ears, barely audible at first but quickly building. Grant bit his lip and bobbed his head in time with the music. I finished my drink, set the cup on the table, and joined him.

The vocals kicked in, a digitized voice commanding me to work harder, become better, faster, and stronger, reminding me my work was never over, and I felt so good, all of my fear gone somewhere else for the night. Grant took my hands, and I didn't shrink from his touch. Our fingers were the same length, I noticed, but his were much wider and stronger. He led me into the crowd, and when we took steps our feet moved in time with the beat, my hips following suit. Bodies pressed and swirled around me, but I didn't mind. I always avoided crowds instinctively, but tonight the crush of bodies actually felt comforting. Dancing with a boy for the first time in my entire life, I felt like a part of the people around me, like another cell in a healthy body instead of a hidden disease.

The song ended abruptly and I realized I was dizzy and a little nauseated. I squeezed Grant's arm, smiled, and jerked my head toward the corner, trying to indicate that I needed a moment to breathe. He nodded, ran his strong fingers through his wild hair, and grinned.

Crushed by the crowd, I navigated to a back wall, leaning against it. As I took long, even breaths, trying to slow my racing heart, my eyes were drawn to a photo on the mantel, of a dozen young boys roughhousing on a log. One of them must have been our host, but the one on the far right was clearly Grant, and his arms were wrapped around a smaller, light-haired boy I found myself staring at. They both had sunburned cheeks and dripping-wet hair, their faces wide with huge, earnest smiles. I wondered who the other boy was. Did Grant have a brother I didn't know about yet?

“Here she is!” Layla cried as she appeared before me, whirling through the crowd with ease. Chloe followed, hands in pockets and elbows out, the crowd parting for her.

“Thought we'd lost you,” Anna said, her hair messy from being jostled.

“I figured one of her admirers whisked her away,” Layla replied, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

I noticed Parker and Grant across the room, deep in conversation, and wondered what they were talking about. I realized I didn't want to think about it, so I held up the photo instead. “Who is this?”

“Some kid Grant knew back in the day,” Layla replied. “They were pretty inseparable, I remember.”

“I recognize him—they went to my church,” Anna said. Her eyes looked pained. “Him and his dad came every Sunday. The mom stayed home. He always seemed really sad, but my parents wouldn't let me talk to him. Bad influence.”

Layla lowered her voice. “I heard the kid was really sick. Like, terminal. That's why they moved away.”

Parker broke in, grabbing the photo from my hand. “You talking about Tommy? Grant's little gay boyfriend?” Two of his enormous buddies appeared behind him. Suddenly the space felt stifling. “I heard his mom went full psycho, killed the dad and little Tom-Tom with a shotgun, then turned it on herself, and their heads were so messed up the coroner had to use their teeth to identify 'em.”

Chloe narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. Anna looked down at her feet.

“Park,” Grant said, joining the circle. Parker turned around. Grant's hands were in his pockets, his jaw set in a hard line. “Don't say shit like that, okay?”

Parker scowled and stood up straight, squaring his shoulders so he took up as much space as possible. His gaze drifted from Layla to Chloe, who were both staring straight ahead. Finally, he turned to look at me, a snide smile in his eyes.

“Yo, Grant,” he said. “The new girl know you've got a vagina?”

I flinched as if I'd been struck. I wondered why people still made comments like that. I wondered when I'd stop caring. I took a step back and away.

But neither of them was looking at me. Grant just shook his head. “Have another drink, bud.”

“Five bucks says she won't compare to your ex-boyfriend,” Parker spat. He brushed his shoulder and headed for the keg, body-checking Grant on the way. His minions followed. Grant stayed put, not saying a word.

Someone turned the music back up, and soon the normal party sounds returned. Around me, people went back to talking and laughing and flirting and dancing. But I couldn't be one of them anymore. I'd been crazy to think I ever could. When no one was looking, I slipped through the crowd and out the back door.

 

ELEVEN YEARS AGO

I wrote a good story at school. Mrs. Upton told me my parents needed to see this story and to take it home right now, tonight. The story was for an assignment where we were supposed to imagine what we would be like when we were grown up, which was something I had thought about a lot.

In the story I found a car in my room like the one from
The Phantom Tollbooth
except purple instead of red because purple was my favorite color and also it was a time machine instead of a machine to go to magical worlds. I got in the car and turned the key and drove and I arrived in the future! And in the future I was in a science lab and there was a very tall and pretty lady there with long hair who was busy working on her computer. She was wearing a lab coat but it was also a very pretty dress in a way that was hard to explain, so I drew a picture. The lady got up and hugged me and said that she was me, grown-up! She showed me how she drank a special medicine so that when she grew up she became a woman instead of a man. She told me that the way I felt like a girl inside of me was a true thing, and was not bad or wrong. Then I got in my time machine and came home.

I read the story again while I waited. The line for car pickups was very long, and normally I did not care because I was very patient, a real cool customer Dad said, but I wanted to show my story to my parents and that made waiting hard. I just knew Dad would be so happy when he found out he had a daughter and not a son, but maybe he would also feel silly that he and Mom made such a silly mistake? When he tried to do boy things with me he always frowned and stopped, so I did not think he wanted a son really, which was fine because I hated sports.

The pickup lady in the orange vest called my name and pointed to our brown station wagon three lanes back. I started to run, but the lady in the orange vest told me to slow down, which was a rule for my safety. I walked slowly between the other cars, but really I was wondering what kinds of clothes Mom and Dad would get me now. Hopefully some skirts since the weather was hot and jeans were so bad, the worst! I climbed into my booster seat and buckled myself in. Dad was driving the car, and Mom was not in the car, which was normal. They did not like riding in the car together because it made them full of stress and then they yelled, which I did not like.

“How was school?” Dad asked.

“Good!” I said. Dad nodded and turned on some music. I wanted to tell him about my story right away, but it was not safe to drive and read and if I read it to him he would not see the pictures. I hummed along to the song and bobbed my head but I did not kick my feet because that noise distracted Dad, which was
not
a safe thing to do. Finally we pulled into the driveway.

“Dad!” I said. “Dad, look what I did today! I wrote a whole story!” I ran around to his side of the car.

“Did you now?” he said. He smiled a little bit and since I did not see him smile often, I thought that was a good sign. Dad liked books, so I thought he would like my story. “I bet you'll be the next Faulkner.”

He took the story from my hands and smiled when he read the cover. He smiled at the first page where I found the car. He smiled at the second page where I drove the car. He looked confused on the third page where I saw the beautiful lady. Then he frowned. My tummy felt sick and suddenly I wanted my story back. I was too scared to move though because he reached the page where the lady explained that she was me, and the lines were on his forehead like when he was very angry. He skipped the last three pages and read the note the teacher attached instead.

“Why does your teacher think you were being serious?” he asked. He looked at me and I felt like I had not had a bath for days but in my insides instead of my outsides. “This is a joke, right?”

I wanted to lie to Dad and I wanted to tell him the truth, and I did not know that a person could want two things like that at the same time. I looked at my shoes and felt myself starting to cry, which was a bad thing because Dad said crying was for girls, but I knew I was a girl but Dad thought that was a joke and he seemed angry about it and thinking about that made me cry even harder. Dad knelt and put his hands on my shoulders.

“Look at me,” he said. I shook my head. “Look at me!” he repeated, and his hands squeezed my shoulders. I wanted to close my eyes but I had already made him so angry. I did not want to be bad or in trouble. “You need to tell me this was a joke.”

“Yes, sir.” It was what I said when an adult was angry with me and I wanted them to stop being angry. He let go of my shoulders and put his hands on his knees. I sniffled and wiped my eyes and looked back up at him, but he was looking at the sky. He took a deep breath.