Girl Mans Up (6 page)

HALFWAY UP THE DRIVEWAY, I STALL. THE DOOR
opens wide and Blake's there. I'm like a dirty raccoon caught in the garbage bins. I need to man up.

Blake's hair is in two loose, messy braids behind her ears.
That's
how you do braids.

“Come in!” she says.

Inside, there are dark hardwood floors, a carpeted spiral staircase, and art on the walls. It's not, like, rich-people fancy, but it's a butt-load fancier than linoleum, Portuguese roosters, and thick lacy curtains covering every window so that you can't actually see outside.

“Want me to hang up your coat?”

When the zip-up hoodie comes off, I feel kind of weird about the striped button-down shirt I slipped over my tee. It makes me feel too dressed up. I watch my hoodie draped over Blake's arm, wondering if it'll smell like her later.

“Want something to drink?”

I nod, and follow her to the kitchen.

“Pepsi? Water? Orange juice? Uh . . .” She bends into the stainless steel fridge, but it's not like I can see her from where I'm standing. Still, I think about her shirt riding up and her jeans getting tight around her—“Or milk? That's all I got.”

“Pepsi.”

She hands me a can with her left hand and I reach with my right. My fingers are over hers, not for long but still. My phone launches into the
Ninja Turtles
theme. Blake grins while I fight with my pocket to dig inside it. It's a call from Colby. I press Ignore, put my phone on Vibrate, and shove the thing back in my pocket. “Sorry.”

“Follow me.” She heads back the way we came, pulling open a door. We take the stairs down to the basement. There's a family room with a massive sectional couch, a TV, and a fake fireplace. I'd so live down here if this was my house. Blake puts her can of Pepsi and her cell phone on the coffee table, then
moves to the TV unit to open its doors. There are shelves of video game consoles and rows of games in boxes or just loose cartridges.

“Oh, man,” I say. “Wow. Can I look?”

“Of course.”

“I've been thinking about starting my own retro collection.”

“You should do it,” she says. “Although you won't find much decently priced. All the thrift stores have caught on and they're overpricing everything.”

“Do you watch YouTube a lot?” I ask. She nods. “Me too. I watch that more than I watch actual TV.”

I point to systems and ask questions, and she's got all the answers. She shows me the three Nintendo handhelds—the majorly old-school Game Boy that doesn't have any color besides the greenish-yellow background and the gray graphics, the Game Boy Advance that has color, and the newest DS, which I've been dying to try.

“Wow. You're really into
The Legend of Zelda
, huh?” I say, pointing to the sword-wielding main character, Link. “I played him in Smash Bros. at Tristan's house. I don't have any new Nintendo consoles, though. I just never thought the
Zelda
games would be that good.”

“Are you crazy? If Nintendo puts out new
Zelda
games almost as much as they put out
Mario
games, isn't that a pretty good indicator of how righteous these games are?”

I smile and maybe my cheeks get hot because I'm getting schooled about gaming stuff by a girl. A girl like her. “Okay, fine. Yeah, I'm an idiot.”

“Smash Bros., huh? So you're definitely a beat-'em-up type of gamer, then.”

I nod. “And hack-and-slash games. First-person shooters, too, obviously.”

“The
Zelda
games are adventure, puzzle games—no, don't make that face. They're absolutely amazing.”

I reach for one of the smaller boxes, a more recent
Zelda
game for the handheld system I really want to try.

“Good choice.” She passes me the handheld console and the game, then we go back to the couch to start this thing and drink some Pepsi. The cut scenes are long as hell, but the story sounds kind of cool. It becomes obvious pretty quick how much I suck at this game because I get annoyed at not knowing where to go.

“See, this is why I like playing with other people,” I say.

“I like relying on myself, on my own skills. Besides, the whole point is to explore everything, meet different characters, and try things out because then you end up finding what you need,” she says.

“I just kind of charge in there and mash buttons.”

“What do you do when you get your ass kicked?”

“This is why I like playing co-op. I charge in there, and if I get in trouble, they have my back. And vice versa.”

“That's not really brave, you know? In these games, you have to learn and make sure you gained all you can before you go up against evil. You have to grow into your powers and truly know you're the hero. That's how you make sure you kick some serious ass. All by yourself. Like I do.”

My mouth opens, but there's nothing in there except for a smile. She laughs the sound I've been playing in my head for days when I hand her the console to take over. She's so pretty, and now I get to steal glances at her while she's busy with the game.

“Okay, fine, this is pretty cool,” I say, watching her go. “I guess I don't have enough patience. Which is probably why I get so pissed off playing my NES emulator.”

“I get pissed off, too, don't worry.”

A little while later, I point to a closed door with a poster of a rock band I like on it. “What's in there?”

“That would be the band room.”

“Band room? You practice here?”

She pauses the game. “Yeah.”

“Can I see?”

She nods and gets up. Her shirt is loose and cut so that it's longer at the back. Around her neck are three or four silver chains and the bracelet on her wrist looks like barbed wire. She is so badass, I can't even handle it.

My phone vibrates six times in a row, which means it's a phone call. I check it in case it's Johnny, but it's Colby again. Ignore. I never told him I was definitely coming over tonight, and he didn't bother getting back to me until now. Besides, it's not like he hasn't bailed on me a thousand times before.

A white furry thing darts out of the band room when Blake goes to turn on the light.

“That's Dove. She's my cat, except we're not friends. She doesn't like me.”

The cat glares at us from the stairs and hisses before disappearing.

“Damn, she really doesn't,” I say.

“I don't know why, either. She only likes my mom. Whenever she's not home, Dove hides.”

Blake turns on the light and we step into the band room. It's about the size of my parents' bedroom. At the far end is a set of drums. Then there are a couple big amps laid out against the left wall. There's a mic set up on a stand with its thick wire leading to another amp at the right of the room. The walls are covered in music posters, and some of the bands in them are ones I like. Beside me is a big sofa that faces where the band would stand.

“Wow. This is pretty sweet. How often do you guys practice?”

“A couple times a week usually.”

I take a seat on the couch. “So, how'd you get into singing?”

“It all started with choir,” she says, diving into a story about the elementary school she went to, back when she lived in Ottawa. “And then last year, Charlie and Billy put an ad online looking for a girl singer and a bass player. At first, we used to practice in Billy's garage, but it was cramped in there so my parents said it was okay that we move everything in here.”

“So, those are some guy's drums?”

She nods. “Charlie's. The drums are a pain to move, so it would've been nice to have practice at his place, but he lives in an apartment building. It's not far from here, so he can come and check on them and practice if he wants—as long as I let him, of course.”

“He lives in the McKinley buildings then?” I say, and she nods. “My brother does work there.”

“Oh yeah? So, how old's your brother?”

“Twenty-six.” I talk about him for a bit.

“Sounds like he wins everything.”

“He's pretty cool.”

“I don't have any siblings. Charlie and his brother are constantly fighting—like until something breaks or bleeds. Two weeks ago, they got a noise complaint over one of their fights. The cops and the super showed up at their door. Charlie was texting me through the whole thing. I think they're crazy.”

“Me and my brother aren't like that. Johnny's always been cool. Once, when I was little, we built a fort and I thought we were gonna move in there, it was so sweet.”

Blake smiles and curls a leg under her. We just keep talking, about anything, and all of it is interesting to me. And when I tell her stuff about me, it seems she's into it.

“You're really pretty,” I say without meaning to. The shock makes me choke on my spit. Blake's smiling like she's not embarrassed at all by what I just said. That makes me even more nervous. “Uh, so are you just friends with a bunch of guys then?”

“No. Robyn's my best friend and she's a girl,” she says. “And I've been hanging out with this new girl since we teamed up for the photo diary project.”

I'm pretty sure there's only one new girl in grade eleven this year. “Olivia?”

“Yeah. You know her?”

“Sort of,” I say, and Blake looks like she's waiting for more but I don't want to talk about Colby right now. “She . . . uh. She hung out with people I know. So, is Charlie your boyfriend?”

“No. Not anymore.”

That goes right for my chest and takes all the words out of my head. This Charlie guy she keeps talking about was her boyfriend. His drums are in her house.

“Oh. Well, that makes sense,” I say. He's the Some Guy Colby was talking about.

“It does?”

“I just mean—well, he seems like the kind of dude someone like you would be into.”

I pull out my phone and pretend to stare at it. Colby keeps texting
suck it
over and over. When I look up, Blake's making a face, like I'm something impossible to figure out. Or maybe from where she's standing, I just look like a friend. I always look like just a friend. Just some girl.

WHEN BLAKE GOES TO
grab her drink from the other room, I send Johnny a text. My mom probably thinks I'm at Colby's, but she still expects me home by now.

Johnny replies with:
Gonna swing by in 20 min. Be out front.

Blake reappears. Looking at her makes my back go tingly, and the tingles turn into chills. She takes a seat but instead of being completely at the end of the couch, half of her is on the middle cushion. There's less than a foot between my knee and her left thigh. That's what I focus on while she checks her phone.

“Feel like playing
Mario Kart
or something?” she says when she's done.

“Yeah, but my brother's picking me up in about fifteen minutes.”

“Already? But you just got here.”

“Yeah. I figured your parents would probably be home soon and think it's weird that I'm here,” I say. “And it's a school night and all.”

“Why would they think it's weird you're here?”

“Just because they don't know me, I guess.”

“My parents are nice to strangers.”

When she walks out, I leave a few feet between us. It seems like the more I want to be near her, the farther away I stand. She probably smells the massive crush evaporating off my skin.

We head to the staircase, me hanging behind. I swear, she keeps slowing down so I'll gain on her. Or maybe I can't keep track of my legs right now. She flips the basement light off, and the glow from the top of the stairs is all there is. My arms are all tingles, like they're trying to tell me something, so I shove my hands in my pockets.

At the bottom of the stairs, Blake stops.

“You're not going to try anything, are you,” she says, her back to me.

I can't tell if it's a question or a statement. But it gives me goose bumps. Why can't I just go for it?

She pauses, takes a step back so that her back is almost against me. Her hair is right there, and I want to touch it. “Can you put your arms around me?”

“Yeah.”

My hands go up to her waist, palms and fingers flattening the material of her shirt against her sides then her stomach. Then her back is against my chest. My face is in her hair. It smells pretty, like berries. When she moves her head to the right, mine goes to the left. A little more and my chin would be on her shoulder. She rests her arms on top of mine.

Time passes and we stay like that.

She moves in my arms and I feel like she might get away. So I kiss her ear. It's kind of awesome to feel a shiver move through someone and know I'm the one who caused it. I just can't believe this is happening because not five minutes ago, I was pretty sure she'd never think of me that way.

I think maybe she could be my girlfriend. I don't want to be
her
girlfriend, though. But there's this part of me that totally knows I could be her boyfriend. I don't want her to think of me as a boy, or a boy substitute, though. I want to be a boyfriend who is a girl. I have no idea how to explain that stuff to anyone, let alone a girl I like. I just wish it was already all understood.

She pulls away and whispers, “Let's go.”

She grabs my hand. We're holding hands now.

The whole way up the stairs, I think about how I might be asleep right now. How can this be real? It's so intense, my heart is beating too fast. Maybe it's Blake. Maybe she's the reason this is so nuts.

Or maybe this is just me being a total girl about it.

WHEN I WAKE UP IN THE MORNING, I WONDER IF I
made last night up. But then I see my clothes draped over my chair. On my cellphone, Blake's text from last night is waiting to be read over and over again. She texted:
I so wish you could've stayed longer, Pen.
I'd texted her back:
Me too
. What would've happened if I'd stayed?

I stare at my hands. They touched her. My skin remembers. My lips were on her ear. I think that might've been a dumb move. I never pictured myself as the type to kiss a girl's ear, but it was right there and—yeah, it was dumb. No one's first kiss with a girl is between their lips and her ear.

On the bus, Colby tells me to suck it for wasting his time last night. I tell him I fell asleep on Johnny's couch. He doesn't buy it. Whatever.

At school, I don't talk to Blake. I don't even look at her. Things are different the morning after. Sometimes they're better, but other times they feel wrong. Sometimes you regret doing something so much because it made you realize things about yourself—like that you never wanted to do that thing in the first place.

So I give her space. And I hope to hell she doesn't actually want it.

After the lunch bell, I'm at my locker putting my books away when she heads over. I make myself look at her. There's a smile on her face. And she tucks her hair behind her ear—
the
ear.

“I sort of have something to ask you,” she says.

“Okay, shoot,” I say.

“I just wanted to know if you're free to hang out in two weeks, on Saturday, October first, around four to be exact.”

“In two weeks? That's in forever. But yeah, I'm totally down for that.”

“Really?” She gives me this wide grin. “Robyn can't come, but I invited Olivia, too.”

My face wants to bend into some expression that would make it clear how weirded out I am. I give her thumbs-up with both hands, hoping it'll make up for my face. “So what is this October first thing, anyway?”

“I have band practice that day. It's sort of a big deal because we're rehearsing at the community center. Charlie thought it would help to have a practice in the hall where the Battle of the Bands is going to be on New Year's, so we're inviting a few people to sit in.”

“So you want me to come stare at you while you sing?”

“You are
not
allowed to stare at me!” She twists the end of a chunk of her hair. “I also have a favor to ask: Will you tell me if I suck? Robyn always lies to me and says I'm great.”

“Robyn's smart.” I grin, making myself hold eye contact
with her. It's kind of awesome that she cares what I think. “I'm pretty sure you'll rock no matter what.”

She's the one who looks down now and her cheeks go pink. It makes me feel badass. I wish some part of me was touching her. Whenever she's near, my fingers tingle. Facing her again. I grin like a moron. She grins back. Last night flashes in my mind.

I follow Blake to her locker. For just a second, it's almost like I'm walking my girlfriend to her locker. I'd carry her books if she let me. I wonder what she sees when she looks at me. Outside of school—outside of her basement, surrounded by regular people, by her friends, by tall dudes with beards—she'll realize I'm not a guy. She'll also realize I'm not exactly a girl either.

AFTER BLAKE GOES TO
find her lunch table, I wander away from the cafeteria, avoiding my usual table. Colby and Garrett are sitting with Tim and Ray, these two guys in grade twelve. Tristan's sitting at a table near the microwaves with Trent and Kyle, so that probably means Garrett and the others were being jerks. I watch Olivia finish up in line, carrying a little container of fries. She walks along the tables, not looking at anybody. Blake and Robyn wave and call her name. Olivia's head pops up and she smiles and waves back, but she keeps walking.

When she gets close enough to the hallway, I call her name. She looks weirded out by the fact that I'm here. “Can I talk to you?”

She stands there, holding the cardboard container with both hands. “What is it?”

“Not here,” I say. “Follow me.”

In the west hallway, there's a chapel that never gets used for chapel-y stuff. Inside, there's a small supply closet, a tiny room with a lightbulb that swings from the ceiling. It's always locked, except it doesn't latch, so most of us know to wiggle the knob and push to get it to open. There's a big painting of the Virgin Mary on the back wall, a couple fold-out chairs, an altar, crates of candles, and a bunch of other boxed stuff used for mass.

We stand inside, and Olivia closes the door behind her.

“You ever wonder why this chapel is even here?” I say, and Olivia's eyebrows go up. “I mean, it's not like we have a priest here, and mass happens in the auditorium. Like, what did they think when they built the school? That a bunch of us would want to come pray between classes?”

“Praying doesn't work,” she says.

“Praying definitely doesn't work.”

I'm thinking about my mom and her Mary statue, thinking about all the prayers she must've had about me. I wonder what Olivia's thinking about.

“Okay, so Blake invited me to her thing next week,” I say. “I think I want to go.”

She might be a little relieved. “Oh. Well, I can tell her something came up.”

“Why?” I say. “Blake said you'd feel weird going alone.”

“I think I'd feel weirder going with you.”

That's kind of harsh. “Why? Because people will think you're weird for showing up with a girl who looks like a boy?”

She seems panicked, like she wasn't thinking that at all. “No! That has nothing to do with it.”

“Well . . . what then?”

She holds her hands out like,
Are you serious right now?
“You really think I want Colby to hate me more than he already does?”

“He's not coming. He doesn't even know I talk to Blake.”

“Yes,” she says, “he does.”

My eyebrows go screwy, and now I'm the one giving her my own are-you-serious-right-now gesture. “How do you know?”

“Because he told me.”

“How? When?”

“Sometimes he calls me.”

He calls her? He wants me to threaten her to stay away from him and he
calls
her? What the hell. “Okay—what is the deal between you and him? Because obviously you didn't listen to the advice I gave you.”

“It's not that easy,” she says.

“How is it not easy to stop hanging around someone who makes you feel like crap?” I ask. “You said you learned your lesson.”

“He's different when it's just us. And I know that sounds stupid, but things were complicated, okay?” she says. “You have no idea.”

“What was complicated?”

She rubs her eyebrows obsessively, like she's trying to
smooth them into place even though they're super thin and clean to begin with. “What's going on? Did he put you up to this?”

Paranoid—both of them. She rests her things on the edge of the altar and looks down, putting her hands on her hips, and it just doesn't look good. She tries to act all tough, but under the surface, she always seems ready to lose it and bawl.

“It's bad,” I say. “Isn't it.”

“It's fine.”

It's not fine. Her face says so.

“Olivia?” I ask, and it's like time stops. Because I'm not an idiot. This whole mess—it has to be bad enough to account for everything that's been going on, for the way they've been acting. What if it's big—really big?

“It's fine,” she says to the ground.

“Olivia,” I say again. “Are you—are you pregnant?”

“What? No!” she says, all exaggerated. I felt like crap for even asking, until her gut reaction crumbles, and fear makes her features freeze.

“Because you were sick,” I start, watching her eyes dart between the floor and the walls at her side. My heart starts pounding. “And Colby's worried you're going to talk shit about him, and you guys have obviously had some secret thing going on this whole time.” She says nothing. “And . . . he told me.”

“He told you.” It's not a question. She closes her eyes.

“No,” I say. “But I think you just did.”

Is this really what's been going on this whole time? This is bigger than big. It's massive.

“I'm not pregnant, okay? I'm not,” she says, and it sounds like she's about to cry. “I thought I was, but I'm not.”

“Why did you think you were?”

“Because we didn't use anything, and I was so worried. He just said it wasn't his problem, that I should stop freaking out.” Her words are coming out fast, like she's afraid I might start yelling at her. “But then I was late, and I took tests. I guess I panicked too soon. But he got really mad at me for it, and now it's all a mess. He's different. But I won't say anything about him. Believe me, Pen, okay? I want this all to be over.”

I could say I believe her, or tell her I'm sorry, but right now, I'm just stuck thinking about that night, and about how their mess spread over to me. Olivia wasn't there that night, but it was about her. She has no idea what her panicking too soon about being knocked up caused. And I don't know who, out of the three of us, I'm more pissed off at right now.

“Are you sure it's over now?” I say.

She frowns, probably because my tone changed. She nods and says, “I'm sorry.”

She whips the door open, and it slams into a box of candles. She's gone before I can tell her I'm sorry, too.