Girl Mans Up (12 page)

ELLIOTT TAKES OLIVIA IN HIS VAN BACK TO
Blake's, while I hop in the back of Charlie's little car, Blake next to me. Billy rides up front with Charlie. At Blake's house, we unload all the equipment, making a hundred trips to and from the basement.

I wait for Olivia while she's in the bathroom—the fourth time she's gone today already. She comes out looking regular.

“You okay?” I ask.

She nods. “Elliott offered to drop me off on his way home. He's so nice.”

“Yeah, he seems all right.”

“I don't think I should talk to him,” she says.

“Because of Colby or because of . . . the other thing?” I ask.

She makes a face like she's annoyed with herself. “Of course I can't talk to him. What's wrong with me?”

It makes me wonder if maybe for an hour, she forgot how seriously messed up her life is right now. I forget all the time. Nothing looks wrong right now, so it makes it seem like nothing actually
is
wrong.

“Olivia,” I say, making sure to lower my voice. “Do you know what you're going to do?”

Her cheeks get flushed. “I won't talk to him. But a ride home would be nice.”

“Uh . . . okay,” I say. “But that's not really what I meant.”

She doesn't acknowledge what I said, staring off at a framed photo on the wall of two people decked out in wedding gear, sporting old school–looking hairdos, and smiling at the camera.

“Well, obviously you don't want to be talking to me about this stuff—which I get—but maybe you should be talking to someone.” When I realize that what I just said could be taken the wrong way, I add, “But not him. When he thinks someone's a threat—well, you already know what he's like.” She won't look up at me now. “Say you wanted to decide stuff, I just don't think letting him in your head would help. Things would get all twisted and confused.”

When she still won't look up, I say, “Trust me. I know what I'm talking about.”

“I'm not confused.” She takes a deep breath and shakes her hair out. “I know that much.”

OLIVIA TAKES OFF WITH
Elliott not long after Charlie and Billy leave, and now it's just Blake and me. She brings me upstairs, down the hall, and into her room. The walls are pink with big angry streaks of black spray paint. The curtains are black, and so is the bedding. There are photographs everywhere—some overlapping one another in collages, some framed, and some stuck in the edges of the big mirror next to her closet. There's a shelving unit filled with records—like old-school, massive records.

“I don't think I've ever really looked at one of these in real life,” I say, heading over to pull one out—a soundtrack for a movie called
Saturday Night Fever
. “Where'd you get all these?”

“My uncle. People are always throwing stuff out like it's not worth anything anymore,” she says, pulling off the big dangly earrings she had on. “So is it just me, or is Elliott into Olivia? I'm pretty sure she's into him, too.”

“Yeah.” I can't help it, I say it with the wrong tone. Blake looks over from the edge of her bed. Oh, man—does she think I'm jealous? “Just, uh, well, she's on the rebound, and I'm sort of looking out for her.”

“Elliott's a really good guy.”

“Yeah, he seems cool.” I flip through the records, not really recognizing any of the band names. “You're allowed to be up
here with someone, with the door closed?”

She laughs. “Yeah. Why, you're not?”

“My mom likes to spy.”

“Come,” she says, patting the spot next to her.

I sit on the edge of her bed and she gets up, only to return with a handheld game system. When the game starts up, she hands it to me. It's the same game I tried that time in her basement.

“You really want me to like this game, huh?” I say.

“
That
's to swing the sword, and
that
's the action button,” she says, pointing them out for me. “This is one of my saved games. I'm about halfway through. This game wins everything. You won't be able not to love it.”

So I steer this character around a field, hacking monsters and tufts of grass to find money and items. The whole time, Blake is next to me, against me. Her feet are bare since she ditched the heels downstairs, so every once in a while, I look at her sparkly blue-painted toes and think feet aren't supposed to be this interesting. I also think that if I were a guy, I probably would've made a move by now. The thing is, I have no idea if I should be making a move or not. It's not clear what's going on. The rules are clear when it's boy-girl. If I was a dude, I'd probably be saying something to make her smile and blush, like,
How am I supposed to kick ass at this game when you're all pressed up against me, smelling like that?
And then maybe I'd touch her on purpose, trying to get her to make eye contact with me so I could see what's reflected there, which is how I'd know she's into it. But this—the way
things are because it's me—well, it's all blurry to me.

“You're pretty good,” she says.

“I'm just riding around on a horse now,” I say.

“Hand it over. I'll take you to where the action is.”

She teleports the Link character to some dungeon, and hands the game back to me. “No, you do it,” I say. “I want to watch you.” She uses a bow and arrow to get rid of enemies and her aim is perfect. She's all squinty-eyed and nibbling her bottom lip, hardly taking any damage while she fights with her sword and all kinds of other weapons.

Somewhere along the way, I stop looking at the screen and I just look at her. I want to learn all the lines of her face. Maybe she'll let me. Maybe she'll want to look at me, too. I'm in a trance, staring at her lips now. My hands tingle and my eyes blur from the blink-less staring.

Her lips are really pretty. I might die if I don't touch them soon.

“You're staring at me,” she says.

“Yeah—uh, no. What?”

She's still looking down at the game. “Do you want to kiss me?”

“Uh . . .” My heart goes nuts.

She presses Pause and puts the game down next to her, before shifting her weight toward me. Her cheeks are flushed now, and her breaths are deep. I don't want to crowd her, so I lean in a little, my eyes darting between her eyes and her lips. And then I'm kissing Blake. It's happening. It's close-mouthed and it's soft at first. I'm thinking too much, thinking it's going
to end here, but then it doesn't. It keeps going. I don't know who reaches for who first, but somehow, we're holding hands.

THIS— US KISSING— IS
giving me mini heart attacks over and over. She makes little noises, which make me have to hold on to bigger noises that try to force their way out of my throat. I don't know how late it is, but it feels like time stopped and sped up at the same time. I just want to be next to her, to have her be super close to me all the time.

“Is this real?” I say.

She smiles all wide. “It better be real, or else we're having the same dream.”

“Like in
Dream Warriors
.”

“What?”

“The third Freddy movie, where Kristen can pull Nancy into her dreams so . . .” I roll my eyes at myself. “I'm just going to shut up now.”

She laughs, and then she lies down on her side and pulls my hand so I'll go down with her. I can't believe I'm here, in Blake's room, kissing the crap out of her. We're getting better. I sort of know her rhythm and what she likes. And, well, what she likes is what I like.

“Blake!” It sounds like it's coming from right behind the bedroom door—a woman's voice. I hop off Blake, smooth my shirt, reach for my hair to fix it as though I still have my long ponytail to slick back. Then comes a knock. “Don't spend the evening in there. Your dad's expecting your help.”

“Okay!” Blake says, and she's holding a finger up at me,
laughing without a sound. “Be right there!”

There's nothing more from the lady, who must be Blake's mom. I'm in the far corner of the room, hands in my pockets. Blake's laughing.

“Do your parents know you're up here—making out with a girl?”

“I really hope not.” She comes to stand close to me. I try to move back, but there's nowhere to go.

“No—I mean, do they think we're just friends having some friend hangout to work on a project? They don't think there's something going on, do they?”

“I don't know what they think,” she says. She touches my wrist. I flinch. “Pen, are you freaking out?”

“Kind of.”

“Why?”

“Well, say your mom freaks out, and she comes at me with a broom.”

Blake gives me this look that's barely holding back a laugh. “Aw, you're actually nervous. That's kind of adorable.”

“No, no it's not.” I feel dumb, but if my being a douche is going to cause her to look at me that way, with her sparkly eyes, then maybe that's okay. “I need to know how I'm supposed to act. Around your parents.”

“Just act normal,” she says.

“I don't want to embarrass you. I don't want to do something stupid, you know?”

She does this thing, balling her fist and putting it against her heart. My mom does that too, but only when she wants us to
know we're breaking her heart. With Blake, it feels like something to smile about.

DOWNSTAIRS, BLAKE'S MOM WHIPS
back and forth through the hallway, a phone cradled to her ear. She's a tall, skinny lady with blond hair to her shoulders, but other than the hair, I don't see much resemblance between her and Blake. The white cat darts down the stairs next to us, hissing. Blake's mom waves at me when we get to the main floor, and she winks in between saying “uh-huh” and “absolutely.” Blake takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen. I let go when her dad comes into view. He slices an onion while something sizzles in a skillet on the stove behind him.

“This must be Pen,” he says. “It's nice to meet you. Is Pen short for Pencil?”

“Dad, are you serious right now?”

I let out a chuckle because I've never heard that one before. “It's short for Penelope. But I don't go by that.”

“Penelope doesn't really suit you. I like Pencil,” he says. His hair is dark—almost black like mine—but his eyes and nose are definitely the same as Blake's. “How was Blake's band practice?”

“It was awesome. They sound pretty sweet.”

“Did they do ‘Heartless'?” He starts humming the tune, and singing a couple of lines.

“Dad, you're making fun of me,” Blake says. “Which is not cool.”

“Blake!” Mrs. Austin yells from somewhere down the hall. “Laundry, now! It's not my job to put your things away.
Welcome to our home, Pen. Do you put away your own laundry? I hope you do.”

“I do,” I reply.

Blake gives me this face like,
This is so messed up
.

“Pen can hang out with me,” Mr. Austin says. “Do you want to prepare the bell peppers?”

Blake says, “She's not going to do that.”

“No, it's cool. I'm actually really good at it,” I say. “I help my mom make sauce all the time. I have to gut, like, seventy of these at once.”

“Really?” Blake gives me a funny look. “Okay then. I'll be ten minutes, tops. Don't say anything weird, Dad.”

I wash my hands. Mr. Austin calls me to the island, where he puts a bowl of peppers in front of me and hands me a fancy-looking knife. I push up my sleeves and get to work. The knife is sharp as hell. I'm used to our dull ones with wooden handles. It takes me five minutes to get all three red peppers cleaned out and rinsed. Blake's dad places three zucchinis in front of me.

“Dice those up,” he says. I get to work, thinking about how this isn't really awkward as long as I've got vegetables to mutilate. Blake's dad slices tomatoes and runs his knife along the edge of each quarter in one quick motion, taking the thin layer of skin right off. I wonder if he has any idea I was sucking face with his daughter a few minutes ago and that I wish I was still doing it.

“So,” he says, “should I give you the same speech I gave the other guys?”

“Um . . . I don't know—maybe?”

“Blake's my little girl. Should you break her heart—well, you've seen how good I am with a knife.” He keeps his eyes on the carrot he's currently dicing into little cubes. When I don't reply, he looks up with a grin that makes it clear he's joking, but underneath the joking, there's a real warning.

I try not to grin. “I got it, sir.”

He nods. “Now, would you like to know my spaghetti sauce secret?”

“Totally.”

He pretends to whisper. “I use a jar of nacho salsa.”

I catch his eye and nod, wondering what Blake's dad thinks of me, who he thinks I am. I think I could be anybody as long as it means I get to keep kissing Blake.

LATE THE NEXT MORNING, THE SOUND OF A TRUCK
door banging shut outside my window calls my attention. I know that sound. The truck's in the driveway as usual, except the flatbed's packed with stuff that belongs in the basement. The black floor lamp, the full-length mirror, the little microwave, and the mattress and box spring.

I race downstairs to Johnny's place, and run into Dom and Naveed as they finish unhooking the TV and carry it toward the patio door.

“What the hell? What's going on?” I ask.

“Hey, Pen,” Naveed says, and they both stop in their tracks. “Your brother's coming back down in a sec. He just made a trip up.”

Dom and Naveed head outside with the TV, while I scope out the place. The bedroom's empty, and there's nothing hanging in the closet. Nothing at all. Not even the shirts he didn't like—the ones he left hanging there, clean and ready for me to pick through. The living room's barely hanging on now that the TV's gone. The Xbox, the games—they're gone, too.

“Hey, man,” Johnny says as he parts the blinds to come inside.

“What are you doing? What is this?”

“Found a place on short notice, so you know . . .”

“You're moving out?”

“Yeah. Not far.”

“You're moving and you didn't tell me?”

“You knew. Don't be bustin' my balls, Pen. You—”

“Does
Mãe
know? Does
Pai
?”

“What are you smoking, man? We were all there yesterday. It had to be done.”

“What's wrong with you? You think you're too good for this place?”

He's just shaking his head, like he has something to say but he doesn't want to say it now. He heads for the bathroom,
where he starts chucking stuff into a box. The clipper—how am I going to keep my hair short? Dom and Naveed reappear and they go for the couch. I watch them carry it out, just like they did with the TV. It's like all of a sudden, this isn't my life. I feel like punching them, even though they didn't cause this.

“Where are you moving to?” I ask, once Dom and Naveed are gone again.

“McKinley buildings. It helps to know the manager.”

“You got an apartment already? For real?”

Johnny steps away from the cupboard to look at me. “Pen, man, come on. Don't get all bent outta shape. Just take a breath. I'll tell you what the deal is.”

But I can't even listen.

“It's cool. I get it. I mean, fine. Take everything and go.”

He pokes his head out of the bathroom and gives me this look like,
Quit being such a drama queen.

“I'm taking my stuff,” he says, bouncing the clipper in his hand. “I got something for you, okay?”

“Yeah, that's okay. You can keep it.” I'll buy my own damn clipper. “See ya.”

“Hang on, Pen. Stop being such a little hotheaded idiot,” he says, but I'm already gone. I book it up the stairs. My mom's in the front hall. She holds a rosary and stares out the front bay window, at the guys loading the couch into Dom's truck.

“Don't pray,
Mãe
. Jesus didn't do this. You did. Why did you guys even have kids?” I say before rushing upstairs and slamming my bedroom door.

I find my phone and head for my closet, where I sit on the
floor and message Blake. She's being funny and sweet, sending me pictures of what she looks like waking up in the morning, her hair all insane, and the side of her face creased with pillow lines—and it still manages to be hot as hell. Johnny doesn't even try to text me, so I text him two letters,
F
and
U
.