M or F? (21 page)

I looked up at her. My sister's hair was pulled back into a tidy blond ponytail. I, on the other hand, was a disheveled mess and was lying on my bed hugging an ancient stuffed animal. “Do I look okay?”

Laura stepped into my room. She was holding a red shopping bag. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

“No,” I snapped.

“Okay. Jeez,” she huffed.

I heaved a sigh. “It's not because . . .” I somehow couldn't bring myself to tell her that it wasn't because I didn't want to talk about it with
her
. Because I really
didn't
want to talk about it with her. Little Miss Perfect Love, I thought bitterly. What's she going to say when I tell her that I think my boyfriend might be queer?

“It's just complicated,” I finished weakly. “And I'm kind of all talked out right now.” This part, at least, was true.

Laura's blue eyes softened. “Okay,” she said awkwardly. “Well—I'm here if you need me. You can knock on my door anytime.”

I pressed my lips together, surprised at how touched I was by the offer. “Thanks.”

Laura smiled and then held up a bag. “Could you do me a favor?” she asked. “Mom needs to exchange this for the next size down before the end of the week. Neither one of us is going anywhere near the mall for the next few days, and I know you're always dropping by to see Marcus. . . .”

“No problem,” I said quickly, not wanting to explain that I wasn't going to be visiting Marcus anytime soon.

“Thanks.” Laura flashed her super-white smile and dropped the bag by my door. That was when I read what was written on the side of it. INTIMATE PLEASURES. My stomach lurched. “Oh no,” I said quickly. I had to return Mom's negligee or whatever it was in that bag? Icky McBarf Bag—no way.

Laura had been halfway out the door, but now she turned in her tracks. “Frannie,” she snapped, “it's not a big deal.”

“It's gross!” I complained. “I don't want to think about Mom and Dad's sex life!”

“Then don't look in the bag,” Laura said in that annoyingly reasonable way she has. “Just ask the saleslady to do an even exchange.”

“It's still gross,” I grumbled.

“Look, it's important that we all support Mom and Dad on their journey to re-energize their marriage—” Laura began.

Okay, that was clearly a quote from
The Romance Handbook
. I didn't feel like arguing with a self-help book, so I decided that it was easiest to just give in. “Fine,” I snapped. “Leave it there by the door. But I'm never discussing this again.”

With a heavy sigh and an eyeball roll, Laura walked out the door.

Hopping off the bed, I kicked the bag halfway behind my dresser. Then I walked into my bathroom and stared at myself in my vanity mirror. I looked horrible. All of that crying had left my eyes and nose red, and my mascara had dripped dark tracks across my cheeks. I went to the bathroom sink and splashed my face, then repaired my makeup as well as I could.

I walked back into my room and looked at the phone. I really wanted to call Marcus, but I fought the urge. I wasn't ready to talk to him yet. I had to figure out what I wanted to say.

I sat down at my desk, drumming my fingers on the surface for a moment. Almost without realizing it, my eyes drifted toward the bag near my door.

It was almost like I could hear it beating, like the heart in that Edgar Allen Poe story we'd read last year. I hauled myself out of the chair, picked up the bag, and threw it into my closet. But it was no good. I still knew it was there.

I have to get out of here, I decided finally.

All of this noise—Jeffrey, Marcus, Mom and Dad and the negligee—it was just too much. I knew it was getting late, but I just really needed to be alone.

Alone with the evil flying monkeys in my brain.

 

 

I walked into Smoothie King and immediately stumbled backward. There was a guy in the corner, reading a novel and sipping a pink drink from a clear plastic cup. For a moment, I couldn't place how I knew him. He had dark eyes and long legs. . . . Something about him was ringing a bell, but he wasn't from school. He was wearing a green polo shirt and dark jeans. . . .

Then my eyes shifted down to his shoes. He was wearing black cowboy boots.

Suddenly, it all came back to me.

Sundance.

Oh,
crap
.

Just what I needed—a confrontation with a guy who'd seen me whooping it up to “Cotton-Eyed Joe.” My nerves can't take it, I decided. I've got to get out of here. I reached for the door handle—

Too late.

“Frannie!” Sundance called. He had put down his book and was waving at me with a huge megawatt grin.

“Hi!” I said, running my hand through my hair instead of yanking open the door. Crap! Crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap!

Sundance gestured to the chair beside his, and I managed a wavery smile. Oh, crap, I thought as I made my way over to join him. What is his name? I was blanking . . . but it was kind of too late to ask him now without looking like an insensitive jerk. Oh well. What did I really need to know his name for, anyway? I was getting out of there as soon as possible. “Hey, good to see you,” I said, thinking quickly as I slid into the chair. “I just want to warn you that I'm in a rush, though. I've got to meet my boyfriend down the street in ten minutes.”

“Marcus?” Sundance asked.

“No.” My face felt hot and I had to focus on breathing to keep the tears from coming. “Not him.” My voice sounded strained, even to me.

Sundance was silent for a moment. His face was sympathetic, and for a moment he looked like he might ask me what was wrong.

Please don't, I thought.

I don't know if he got the mental message or what, but Sundance seemed to change his mind. “Well, then,” he said, stretching out his long, lean legs as a smile crept up half of his face. “Ten minutes, hm? That still leaves nine minutes to talk to me.”

Trapped. I giggled nervously. Stupid Frannie—why didn't you say five minutes?

Sundance picked up his smoothie. “These are mighty good,” he said. “Want one?”

“Oh, no thanks.” Actually, I was sitting right in front of the cooler, so I reached in and pulled out a Jones Cola. Don't think about how Marcus always teases you for drinking these, I commanded myself, and my brain was instantly flooded with images of Marcus teasing me for drinking Jones Cola. The cap bit into the skin of my palm as I twisted off the top.

Sundance took another sip of his smoothie and shook his head. “Right refreshing,” he said. “I've been tryin' 'em all this week—kiwi strawberry, raspberry, mixed berry. . . . I even tried one with the extra protein powder in it. That didn't taste too good, though.”

His expression was so serious that it cracked me up. “That stuff's like chalk dust.” I had a weird out-of-body moment. Am I really talking about protein powder while my life is falling apart?

“Hm,” Sundance drawled, nodding thoughtfully. “Reminded me of the prairie dust I slap out of my jeans sometimes.”

I cocked an eyebrow. Something about the übercowboyness of that statement made me wonder if he was just trying to get me to laugh. Then again, I thought, maybe he's serious. After all, he likes line dancing. I decided to play it safe. “When do you slap prairie dust out of your jeans?”

Sundance grinned. “Didn't I tell you I was from Oklahoma?”

“Yeah—but you said Tulsa, not the windswept plains.”

“Busted.” Sundance laughed, and his drawl went down about two notches. “Most people out here seem to think that Tulsa
is
the windswept plains.”

I let out a giggle-snort. I usually hate it when I do that, but Sundance just smiled a little wider, so I let it go. “So, you've been coming here all week?” I asked, looking around the place. It seemed kind of weird—Smoothie King isn't exactly known for its ambience. I mean, it's clean, but it's kind of like any chain. Bright lights, Formica tables—it didn't really seem like Sundance's kind of place.

He shrugged, then smiled shyly. “Well, I heard you liked the place, so . . .”

For a minute, I wasn't sure I'd heard him right. Was he saying that he had been coming here looking for
me
? That was so sweet.

Then again, maybe that wasn't what he meant. Maybe he just really liked smoothies and wanted to find a good place in the area. I didn't want to read too much into anything. Besides, I so did
not
need some random hick crushin' on me right now. I had enough guy problems. “So,” I said awkwardly, “what are you reading?”

He showed it to me.
Einstein's Dreams
. I'd read it last year—it was really good. Beautiful, in fact. Not exactly what I'd expected a cowboy to be reading. “How are you liking it?” I asked.

Sundance studied the cover, like he was really thinking over my question. “I like it a lot,” he said slowly. “It's kind of melancholy, though.”

“Ooh . . . melancholy,” I teased. “Nice fifty-cent word.”

“You seem like a woman who appreciates a big word,” Sundance said. He took another sip of smoothie.

I laughed. “I do?”

“Sure.” Sundance leaned across the table. His shirt smelled clean, like Tide. “Do you know what else I bet you appreciate?” he asked in a low voice.

“What?” I asked dubiously. Ooh, I hope this conversation isn't about to take a turn for the weird. . . .

“A cheesy carnival.” His dark eyes twinkled as he leaned back in his chair.

I relaxed against my chair. “I
love
a cheesy carnival,” I admitted. “What gave it away?”

Sundance shrugged, but he couldn't stop smiling. “I'm not sure—maybe it was the way you entered that open-mike yodeling contest.”

Oh,
yikes
. I'd actually managed to block that part of the Line 'Em Up experience out of my brain until that very moment. I felt myself flush a little. “I guess you can tell a lot about someone by the way they yodel.”

“I guess you can.” Sundance fiddled with his straw wrapper, and the muscles in his forearm danced and rippled. “So,” he said finally, “how about it?”

“How about what?”

“Going with me to a cheesy carnival? There's a real old-school one here for the week down at the old ball fields in Chestertown.”

Chestertown—that was only one town over. “I don't know. . . .”

“They have cotton candy,” Sundance said temptingly. “And a shooting gallery.”

“I'll bet you're good at that,” I joked. “Being such a cowboy and all.”

“I cannot tell a lie,” he said with over-the-top sincerity. “Oklahoma state law—you've got to learn to shoot.”

“Is that why you left Oklahoma?”

“Yeah—it's way too dangerous. Bullets flying every which way.”

I laughed. “No, seriously. What brought you to Illinois?”

“College of the Midwest gave me a free ride,” he said. “They've got a great animal husbandry program.” He told me all about what he was studying. It was a pretty amazing course load—I had no idea how much you had to know in order to be a rancher. You practically had to be a veterinarian, it seemed like. I finished my soda and started another one.

Sundance cocked an eyebrow. “You sure you got time for that?”

“Why not?”

“Don't you have to meet somebody?”

“Oh, crap!” I'd completely forgotten about the little lie I'd told him when I came in . . . and now I was half an hour late for my fake date. Suddenly, an intense sense of panic flooded my body—as though I really were late for something. What am I doing here? I thought as I yanked a five-dollar bill out of my purse and slapped it on the table. “For the sodas. I'm so sorry—I've gotta go—”

“What about the carnival?” Sundance asked.

I hesitated, unsure. I mean, I sort of had a boyfriend. Even though, as Marcus had pointed out, maybe he wasn't even all that into me. And he
had
been kind of accidentally cheating on me with my best friend. Not to mention the fact that he might be gay!

Still, I didn't want to sound like a slut. I'm not like
some
people, I thought meanly as an image of Marcus flashed in my brain, who just cheated on people without even thinking about it. “I don't know. . . .”

Sundance nodded. “The boyfriend you're meeting?” he guessed.

I sighed. “Yeah.”

He blinked and looked down at the table, then back up at me. “Some guys have all the luck,” he said.

I didn't know how to respond to that, so I just said, “I guess.” I felt like I wanted to say something more—but I wasn't sure what. Finally, I had to give up. “Well, see you.”

“Yeah.” The corner of Sundance's mouth tucked into a smile, and he nodded. “I hope so.”