From Butt to Booty (25 page)

“He’s such an ass.” Adam throws his history book against the wall.

“Whoa.” I duck yet another projectile.

“I’m sorry.” Adam looks contrite when he focuses on my face. But his eyes have the glassy glaze of rage and pain. Like a wild animal.

“What happened?” I ask.

Adam roars. “That’s perfect. Just great. You’re taking his side.”

A Sharpie almost blinds me as it javelins into the pile of dirty clothes.

“I’m not taking anyone’s side. You called me, remember?” I walk a little farther into the room.

“I know.” Adam punches a pillow.

“What—you know, why am I here?” I’m tentative about my word choice. So far I’ve escaped bloodletting, but just barely.

“He’s an ass.”

What “he” are we talking about? Must be the only he with the power to make Adam this upset—Tim. “Tim?”

“Who else?”

“Uh-huh.” I wait for the coming avalanche.

“He thinks we should go to GAGD as a couple.” Adam slouches down on his bed, laying his head in his hands.

“Aren’t you?” I step around the mess and slide down next to him.

“Not at school. Not like that.”

I put my hand on his knee. I don’t need to say anything.

He continues. “He wants to get tuxes with, like, the same colors and matching flowers or something.”

I can see the problem. The matching outfits would undo anyone’s fashion sense. “I thought gays were supposed to be aware of fashion faux pas? Matching outfits?”

Adam rolls his eyes. “Dude, it’s not the outfit.”

Oh. How to proceed? Hmmm. I think it’s too late to leave and pretend I never got his message. “You don’t want to be a couple anymore?”

“It’s not that. I think I’m falling for him.”

“That’s big.”
And the rest of us knew this months ago. Why are you only now getting the news?

“Yeah.” He doesn’t sound pleased.

There has to be more. “And?”

“I’m scared.”

“About falling for him?”

“Yes and no.”

I roll my eyes. He’s being all girly. It’s annoying. “Help me out here.”

He wipes his eyes. “A pack of hyenas cornered me in the locker room the other day.”

“Jocks cornered you and did what?” My heart speeds up.

“They didn’t touch me, but they got in my face.”

I swallow back the urge to go kick jock ass. “They threatened you? Why?”

“The obvious. They’d seen Tim lean in and kiss my neck—it was a quick, thoughtless bit of affection between classes.”

“Oh.” That’s all?

“We’re so careful. I’m so careful and I let my guard down for a second and those goons, they said things.” Tears roll down his cheeks. “I shouldn’t have to be careful, Gertie, I shouldn’t have to watch where I kiss.”

I hug him toward me and hold him.

“It’s not fair.” He cries into my shoulder.

“No. No, it’s not.” My own tears streak my face. “You deserve to go anywhere you want with anyone you love.”

“That’s a joke.” He stumbles over the words, trying to speak, breathe and cry all at the same time.

“Did you tell Tim?”

“Tell him what? His boyfriend is scared of some jocks?” He chokes out a snorty laugh.

I shrug. “For starters. Personally, I think it proves your intelligence that you’re scared.”

“Right.” He’s not convinced.

“Adam, those goons are dangerous in large groups. Their already minuscule”—I pause for effect—“brains shrink in proximity to each other.”

We sit on his bed with our arms around each other until the tears slow. “You have to tell him the truth.”

“I know.”

“And you have to decide if you want to take on the idiots.”

“It’s not fair. I don’t want to be a hero. I just want to go to a dance with my boyfriend.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” And I am. So very sorry. What’s my excuse, huh? Hearing a boy say no? That’s not much of an argument, is it?

I work and work and work up the nerve to ask Lucas. If Adam has to decide whether or not going to the Saint Patrick’s Day GAGD is worth getting the crap kicked out of him, then I really have no excuse not to ask a guy, right? I mean, it’s not like anyone is going to beat me; Lucas will just say no and how bad can that be?

I know he’ll say he can’t go because he already has a date. Which is exactly like asking your long-term boyfriend to go because you know he’ll say yes. Hear me? So asking a guy who you know will say no is almost like asking a guy who will say yes. (That sounded much better in my head. Sounds kinda pathetic now.) So I’m going to ask Lucas knowing he’s taking Aubrey, Amanda, Wellesey or Laura. It’s all good.

Clarice and Maggie think I’m insane. They don’t follow my splendiferous logic. But when I see him, my mouth goes from wet and wild to dry and desolate in a tenth of a second. My palms itch
and my feet freeze up, so walking forward is like walking on two clubs. Weird and highly unattractive.

Twenty feet and closer. Look at that hair. Those lips.

A leggy brunette walks up to him and wraps herself around him. My steps falter. She plants a kiss and walks away doing that highly Giggle wave of several fingers. I can read her lips: “Ta-ta for now.”

I push the toxic carbon dioxide from my lungs in a huff. I can hear the clock ticking down. I have only about a minute or so before the class bell rings. I force my legs forward.

Ten feet and closer.

Five feet.

“Hi,” I say, from about four feet away, because I don’t want to sneak up on him. He’s the lion in the grasslands and I’m the antelope. He would eat me using that analogy and I really don’t think we’re going to be getting oral at this point in our relationship. He’s either ignoring me, or he didn’t hear me.

Could be because the hello came out in a croak. Very unattractive.

“Hi,” I say a little louder and right behind him.

He jumps. I think my voice was more in the decibel range of “Fire!” than in the close-promixity-conversation place.

“Oh. Gert. Hey.” Lucas slams his locker door and turns around.

“Hi,” I say, but I can’t quite get the words out of my mouth. They’re stuck there like Mom’s meat loaf. All scratchy and looming and breath-stopping.

“Hi,” he repeats. He’s expecting me to say something else and I’m trying. Really trying, but I just can’t.

The bell rings.

“See you round?” He takes off without a backward glance.

“Right,” I say to his back. Maybe I’m not supposed to ask Lucas to GAGD. I think the Goddess wants me to start smaller than a definite no. The mystery is good, right?

Clarice and Maggie grab me after our next class.

“I’m telling you, you have to start with guys who are sure to say yes and work your way up.” Clarice is in instructor mode.

“Really.” I’m dubious.

“I’m serious. You have to start on the training wheels before you get to off-road in the Hummer.”

Bad, bad word picture. “So I shouldn’t ask Lucas. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Well, yeah. What’s the point?”

Maggie jumps in. “It’s not like you don’t know he has a date. And he’s so not dumping her for you. No offense, but she’s so, so …”

“I know I’m not
sooo
.” I try to not be offended by my friends’ assessment of my lack of sooo-ness. But I get it. “Who should I start with? If you were me.” I put that caveat in there because I’m not after the same type of guy as Clarice.

“Ryan,” Maggie says with a nod.

“Sean,” Clarice says. “Or David. Or even Bob.”

“You’re kidding, right? Bob?” Maggie asks.

I’m not sure if Maggie thinks I’m out of Bob’s league or he’s out of mine. “Should I be insulted?”

“The kid wears Star Wars pajama bottoms to school.” Maggie shrugs. “And he’s not a challenged kid, either.”

As if it would be much more believable for me to ask out a guy who is special ed and wears Star Wars pajamas. Not that I wouldn’t ask out a special ed guy if he was—Oh, forget it.

“Okay, so not Bob.”

They can’t come to a consensus. My mind wanders and I try to make my own decision.

I decide to ask Lance. Lance is a total geek, but he’s about my height and very nice.

“No way does he already have a date,” Clarice confirms.

“Good choice.” Maggie approves.

“Who are you asking?” I’m sure that my friends are going to be inspired by my example.

“You’re kidding, right?” Maggie turns red at the thought.

“Oh.” I turn to Clarice. “Spenser coming?”

“I think so.” Clarice doesn’t look very enthusiastic. I’m going to have to plumb those depths later and see what she’s not telling.

“Here goes.” I spot Lance across the cafeteria and all but run up to him. I must really look scary because the expression on his face is utter terror; he kinda scuttles like a rodent. I’m not sure if that’s a trait I could come to like. It’s a little creepy. But I must go through with my plan. To stop now would be silly and, well, wussy.

“Hi,” I say.

He gulps.

I have to wonder if I have food on my mouth or a stray boob hanging out.

“Want to go to GAGD with me?” I ask.

“What?” His face turns a purple shade I didn’t think possible in nature.

“Do you want to go to the dance?” I have a really bad feeling in my stomach. I think I’ll have to puke if he doesn’t answer soon. This is terrible. This is awful. How do guys do this on a regular basis? I really think our species should have died out ages ago if it all comes down to asking the other sex out.

“No,” he blurts.

I blanch. “No?”

“No.” He scrambles away without even saying thank you or coming up with a lame excuse to make me feel better.

I close my mouth and swallow.

Clarice and Maggie can clearly understand the outcome of the exchange because even from across the room they’re all sympatheticy and suitably upset.

I really need to crawl into a hole.

“Hey, Gert, did you want something earlier?” Lucas taps me on the shoulder. “Sorry I had to run on you, but I had a big test. Did Lance turn you down?”

“Oh. No.” I try to smile through the tears threatening to humiliate me further. I can’t bring myself to say anything else. Obviously, Lucas witnessed that debacle.

“Okay.” He shrugs and moves by me. “Later.”

I lift my hand and limp-wristedly wave at him.

I can die now.

Really. Anytime.

A lightning bolt would be lovely.

Right. Now.

I have a zit the general size and shape of Ohio on my chin. That’s right, there’s very little of my chin showing around the pimple. I’m trying not to pick it. I really am trying. But it’s throbbing like Ms. Whoptommy’s mole and frankly, I don’t want to have skin anomalies in common with that horrid woman. I’d rather not even use the same type of toilet paper she does. Of course, I don’t know what brand she uses, but you get the idea.

Why does concealer always match in the store and never at home? I now have a patch the shape of Ohio a shade or two darker than my cheeks. I don’t know what the point is of concealer. So people can guess at the enormity of disgustingness lurking below the surface? I could sell tickets to how much pus we could get out. Put myself through college selling tickets to the grand-prize pimple exhibition.

I try really hard not to pick it. I try.

I can’t. The temptation is overwhelming.

I’m only human.