Babe in Boyland (20 page)

“Oh, we met all right.” Summer’s eyes sparkle. “In fact, we already know each other quite well, don’t we,
Natalie
?”

“Natalie?” Emilio looks confused.

“Uh-huh. Natalie.” A wicked smile spreads over Summer’s face.

Emilio chuckles nervously. “No, that’s his cousin, this is . . .” But he trails off when he sees my expression.

“I—this isn’t how I wanted to—
scheisse!
” I’m so flustered, it’s all I can spit out.

He takes a step back. “What’s going on?”

Summer’s obviously thrilled by the sight of me cringing like a cornered animal. She projects her voice so that even the people in the kitchen can hear. Stage hog. “Yeah, why don’t you explain? I’m sure everyone would love to hear about your cross-dressing adventures.”

A ripple of murmurs spreads through the gathering crowd. Fine. This isn’t what I had in mind, but if she’s going to force my hand, so be it.

“Okay, yes.” I take off the fedora. “I’m Natalie and Nat. Both. I mean, obviously I’m not Nat, but I pretended to be Nat so I could—”

“So you could what?” Summer interrupts. “Sneak into the guys’ dorm and learn all their dirty secrets? Brag about it later?”

“No, I . . .” But I don’t know how to finish. She’s right, in a way. I wanted to prove I could pull it off, an acting challenge and undercover journalism feat all rolled into one. Now it feels like so much more than that; I owe it to the guys who befriended me to write something real about their lives, but in the beginning it was mostly about me proving myself as an actress and a writer, both of which were under attack. “Okay, at first, it was kind of like that, but then—”

“You know what?” Summer’s face is rigid with a hostility she usually covers up with saccharine smiles. “You’re pathetic. You’re obsessed with one-upping me.”

“What?” I’m honestly baffled by this.

“I’m in a play at Underwood, so what do you do? You couldn’t just audition for the role like a normal person, compete with me fair and square—no, you had to cook up an elaborate cross-dressing stunt.”

“Believe it or not,” I say, “this isn’t about you, Summer.”

“Ha!” It’s more a bark than a laugh. “I like Emilio, and he just
happens
to be your roommate? Coincidence? I doubt it. All you care about is moving in on my territory.”

“He’s not your territory!” I shoot a glance at Emilio, who watches us with a mixture of disbelief and revulsion.

“You must be so insecure.” She takes a step toward me, leans in until I can smell the vodka on her breath. “I feel
sorry
for you. Hope you enjoyed your one night as Cecily. Because let’s face it: You’ll never be anything more than my understudy.”

“Cat fight!” Someone in the crowd yells, which elicits a couple of hoots and giggles. I see Tyler, Max, and Earl push through the throng, curiosity and confusion showing plainly on their faces.

I’ll admit, I desperately want to do damage to Summer’s perfect little ingénue face right now. I’m not a violent person, but something about her sneering, glossy mouth makes me want slam my fist into it. I take a deep breath. This whole situation is humiliating enough; I don’t need to compound that humiliation by diving on Summer and rolling around like a couple of ghetto chicks, clawing and scratching while onlookers film us with their camera phones so they can post it later on YouTube.

“Hold on a second.” Fighting to keep my voice steady, I look Summer right in the eye. “I didn’t go to Underwood because of you, okay? I had my own reasons.”

“Oh yeah?” Her lips twist into an infuriating smirk. “Like what?”

“I wanted to know how guys really think.” I glance at Emilio, then Tyler. “I wanted to walk in their shoes. I knew I’d never get real answers as a girl, so I became a guy.”

Some bozo hollers, “Dude had a sex change?” More laughter.

Summer looks extremely pleased that my impassioned efforts to explain myself are just a big joke to this crowd. “She’s so flat-chested, all she needed was a haircut.”

Breathe,
I tell myself.
Retract claws. Focus on what matters.

I catch sight of Tyler shaking his head, looking baffled. Max wears a cryptic little grin, and Earl’s mouth hangs open in obvious shock. I need to explain myself better—I can’t have them thinking this was all some stupid prank. How can I, though, when my own motivations are so tangled inside my brain?

“I really wanted to get at the truth,” I say. “But in the process, I told a lot of lies. I made really good friends at Underwood.” I summon all my courage and face Emilio. “I hope they’ll forgive me for lying to them. They showed me a side of myself I never even knew existed. I’m grateful for that; I really am.”

Silence. Emilio and I stand there, eyes locked, and the rest of the world seems to disappear . . .

Thwack!
Somebody lands an amazingly hard slap on my cheek. I spin around, stunned, expecting to see Summer. Instead it’s Erica, glaring at me with savage eyes. “You
puta
! I can’t believe I
kissed
you!”

The whole room seems to gasp in unison.

Summer cackles. “Oh my God! So now you’re a lesbian?”

“Hey, I’m sorry.” Ignoring Summer, I cover my burning cheek with one hand; it hurts like hell. Girl’s got some muscles. “It wasn’t my idea.”

Behind her, Emilio stares at me, stunned. “Nat . . . I . . . is this for real?”

“Which part, exactly?”

His face hardens. “You lied to me. To everyone.”

“No—well, yeah, in a way, but—”

“You were laughing at us the whole time, weren’t you?” He shakes his head.

I feel tears stinging at my eyes. “No! I thought it was the right thing to do.”

“Next time, leave me out of your research.” He turns and, taking Erica’s hand, pushes back through the crowd away from me.

My vision blurs. Tears stream down my cheeks. Some remote part of me observes that at least I’m not wearing mascara. I look around at all the faces, but none of them are familiar—everything seems distorted and surreal now, like something from a Hieronymus Bosch painting.

“Come on.” I feel a hand on my elbow, turn to see Darcy at my side. “Let’s go. We’ll take you home.”

Summer lets out a mean-spirited giggle. “It’s just so cute that you’re exploring your masculine side, Natalie. Love the facial hair.”

Chloe steps between us and snarls, “Yo, she-bitch, let’s go!”

That shuts Summer up. She might be vindictive, but she’s not about to risk a brawl with Chloe. Darcy holds my elbow protectively while Chloe clears a path with dirty looks and snarky comments.

As they’re guiding me out the door, I turn one last time, searching the crowd for Emilio’s face. No luck, though. He’s disappeared.

I can’t help wondering if I’ll ever see him again.

Chapter Twenty-two

W
e drive to Underwood so I can pick up my things. Darcy and Chloe wait in the car. We figure I have a better chance of dashing in and out without incident if I go alone, since girls aren’t supposed to be in the dorms without permission, especially after hours.

I stuff my few belongings into the duffel bag and am almost ready to leave when I hear footsteps out in the hall. I freeze, half longing for and half dreading the sight of Emilio loping through the door. There’s a knock. My heart beats so frantically I can feel it in my throat.

“Yeah?” I croak.

The door opens a crack, and Tyler peeks around it, his expression uncertain. “Hey. You’re still here.”

“On my way out, though.”

A look of hurt flickers in his eyes; immediately I regret my brusque tone.

“But I can stay a minute. What’s up?”

He takes a step into the room. Behind him, I see Earl and Max. The three of them look almost scared of me, as if they’ve learned I’m a trained assassin and might pull a gun on them at the slightest provocation.

I gesture at the bed, where I’ve laid out Tyler’s uniform with a Post-it note stuck to the blazer pocket. I didn’t have time to write anything except
Please return to Tyler.
Now I feel ashamed of that hastily scribbled message. I owe these guys an explanation. They deserve that much.

“I, um, left your uniform. Thanks for the loan.” I shove my hands into my pockets. After a week spent tamping down my natural exuberance, of curbing my urge to gabble on in a girly way, I suddenly feel more guy-like than ever. No words spring to my lips. All I can do is stare at the floor, embarrassed.

It’s Max who breaks the silence. “I think what you did was amazing!”

I look at him, shocked. “You do?”

“It was brave and reckless, straight out of Shakespeare.” His eyes shine with real admiration.

“At least you make more sense now,” Tyler says. “All those weird questions you were always asking? We figured you were just socially retarded.”

Earl nods, a half-ironic smile on his lips. “Which was something we could relate to, at least.”

I giggle, then stop myself. For half a second silence threatens to settle over us again, but then we all burst out laughing at the same time.

“So you guys aren’t mad?” I ask.

“Why would we be mad?” Tyler shrugs. “I mean, it’s weird, but we’re not exactly experts in ‘normal.’ Weird’s okay.”

“I tried getting answers as a girl,” I explain, “but nobody would be real with me. It was the only way I could get the inside scoop.”

I shut up abruptly when I hear more footsteps in the hall. Emilio? My heart speeds up again. Maybe he’s come to apologize for what he said at the party. That’s absurd—why would he? He was right—I totally lied to him. These guys aren’t mad, though. Still, I never got as tight with them as I did with Emilio. I haven’t betrayed them in the same way, somehow.

When the door swings open again, though, it’s not Emilio who appears there but Darcy, her hound’s-tooth fedora pulled down over her hot pink hair. Her eyes peek out from under the brim furtively.

“What are you doing?” She keeps her voice low, addressing me. “Your cover’s blown—you’ve got to get out of here. We could get in trouble just for being on campus!”

I see the way Tyler’s face lights up at the sight of her. He gazes at her like an eager puppy dog. I wish I could do something to help him make headway—something to bridge the gap between them. I really think they’d get along, if only they could get past the initial awkwardness. Darcy’s right, though. We’ve got to go. Now’s not the time for matchmaking or shooting the breeze with these guys. When Underwood administration learns of my deception, I’ll be in major trouble. I’ve got to skedaddle, like pronto.

“Listen, I’ll be in touch,” I say to them.

They nod as I sling my duffel bag over my shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” Tyler assures me. “We won’t nark.”

“You guys are awesome.” I hesitate, unsure of how to say good-bye. Then, on impulse, I throw my arms around Tyler. “Thanks for everything.”

He turns beet red. “Yeah, no worries.”

Since I’ve hugged Tyler, it feels weird not to do the same with Max and Earl. Max squeezes me tightly, uninhibited, but Earl angles his body slightly so that I end up awkwardly gripping his side. Whatever. It’s the thought that counts.

“Tell Emilio . . .” But I don’t know how to finish. “I’m sorry, I guess.”

Tyler nods, his expression grave. “I’ll tell him.”

When we’ve passed the brass sign announcing Underwood Academy, Chloe heaves a sigh she’s obviously been trying hard to suppress. “This was supposed to be a happy night. How did it turn into such a train wreck?”

Darcy glances at her in the rearview mirror. “Seriously.”

“It was opening night! Natalie finally got to play Cecily, and she rocked the house. I was going to get it on with Josh, except he decided to molest those tweens. Who were those skanks, anyway? I feel like calling up their parents. ‘It’s midnight. Do you know who your offspring is blowing?’”

Darcy giggles, then tries not to, shooting a worried look in my direction. I’m riding shotgun, staring straight out the window in grim silence.

“Come on, Natters!” Chloe leans forward from the backseat. “Life sucks, but moping isn’t going to fix anything, is it?”

I shrug.

“Will it make you happy if I admit you were totally right about Josh? He’s a shit, and I should have listened to you. We know you love being right.” She pokes me in the shoulder playfully.

I find myself fighting a smile. “I’m not going to say ‘I told you so’—”

“Oops!” Chloe pokes me again. “I think you just did.”

“Shut up!”

“I’m starving,” Chloe complains. “What’s open?”

That’s how we end up spending two hours at Denny’s chowing down on French fries and milkshakes while analyzing my undeniably fascinating week at Underwood. I feel like a soda can that’s been shaken up—a whole week’s worth of thoughts and feelings erupt in a foamy geyser of words. I move my hands as I talk, reveling in the freedom to gesture and shriek and giggle without restraint. I didn’t realize just how repressed I’d been as Nat—how abbreviated. I bask in their rapt attention, giddy with relief and weak with gratitude for their
mm-hms
and
Oh my Gods
.

Around one a.m. I deflate abruptly. I remember Emilio’s last words to me, the profound disappointment in his eyes, and it makes my chest ache.

“So now I guess Emilio hates me.” I pick up one of the last stubby French fries and drag it listlessly through a smear of catsup. “I don’t blame him, really.”

“Why, though?” Chloe asks. “I don’t get that. You had to lie to him or the whole plan would have been whacked.”

“I betrayed his trust. That’s a big deal for guys—especially someone like him who doesn’t let people in that easily.”

Darcy slurps the last dregs of her milkshake. “I can see that. He’ll get over it though, won’t he?”

“I doubt it.” I slump back against the booth. “It’s sad, because I really bonded with some of those guys—Emilio especially. In some weird way I was more myself with him than I’ve ever been with any guy before.”

Chloe arches an eyebrow. “Forgive me, but weren’t you pretending to have a penis? That hardly seems like the real Natalie Rowan.”

“I couldn’t manipulate him, though, you know?” I gaze at the ceiling, remembering. “I couldn’t just giggle and flip my hair to get what I wanted. I had to find some part of myself that was deeper than that. More essential.”

“Don’t knock the hair flip.” Chloe demonstrates, and Darcy laughs.

I ignore them. I’m trying to put words to something I can barely grasp, struggling to connect the dots. “I saw a side of him he’d never show to a girl either. Maybe that’s why he’s so pissed. It’s like I tricked him into being himself.”

“The feelings between you are real,” Darcy says quietly. “He’s got to see that.”

“Yeah.” I tip my head back all the way, hoping they won’t notice the tears that threaten to spill over. Being an expressive girly girl again is one thing; turning into a sentimental crybaby quite another. “I hope so.”

Sunday night I’m a wreck. I spent the entire weekend working on my article. Actually, I spent most of it pouting in front of my computer. I’d type a few words, delete them. Type a sentence, stare at it for a long time, groan. Delete. I’d check my vitals: MySpace, Facebook, e-mail, Twitter. Then I’d check my phone to make sure Emilio hadn’t called. I’d scribble some notes by hand, pour myself more coffee, and start the entire process over again.

Finally, at three a.m. on Monday, I sit straight up in bed, electrified. When I crawled under my duvet four hours ago, I’d accepted that my Story of the Year entry was never going to materialize. I simply couldn’t force the tangle of thoughts and feelings into anything that resembled a paragraph. Now it comes to me. I rush to boot up my laptop and begin to type.

A Girl’s Guide to Guys:

Their Top Seven Secrets Revealed

by

Dr. Aphrodite (aka Natalie Rowan)

Okay, I know what you’re thinking: what the *?#! Natalie Rowan is Dr. Aphrodite? I’ve been seeking advice from a girl whose relationship resume could fit on a Post-it note? Yes, it’s true. I am indeed Dr. A. And yes, before now, my firsthand knowledge of love was severely limited. That’s why your fearless Doctor spent last week risking everything for top-secret undercover research. I, Natalie Rowan, enrolled at Underwood Academy as a dude named Nat Rodgers. I cut off my hair, strapped down my boobs, and stuck a sock in my BVDs. Why did I do this, you ask? So that you, dear reader, might benefit from my tireless quest to understand the most mysterious of animals: the human boy.

Below you’ll find answers to your burning questions about the secret lives of guys—all the things you always wanted to know but were too afraid to ask. Even if you did ask, you probably didn’t get straight answers. Believe me, I tried. That’s why Natalie Rowan had to die for a week so Nat Rodgers could be born.

1) When you say you’re going to call and you don’t, what happened?

This requires a little anecdotal evidence, so bear with me. While disguised as Nat, I went on a date with a girl. Before you cue the girl-on-girl porn reel, remember: I went on said date with a sock packed rather awkwardly into my underwear. Despite being a girl for seventeen years, prior to this experience I’d never really considered what we girls act like on dates. Let me tell you, the reality was eye-opening.

The girl I went out with—let’s call her Jennifer—was perfectly nice. She was sweet and smart with a dazzling smile. I’m sure if I met her under normal circumstances I’d rush to fix her up with my most eligible bachelor-friend.

Being on a date with her, though, threw me for a loop. It was clear she had great expectations I was supposed to fulfill, yet decoding those needs from moment to moment felt like a warped game of charades. She wanted me to be Man of Mystery and her sleepover BFF all at once. How could I help but disappoint her? Then I realized something: Jennifer’s cryptic, high-maintenance behavior was eerily familiar. I myself had behaved exactly the same way on numerous dates; I’d just never stopped to consider what it might be like on the receiving end.