Girl Mans Up (9 page)

FRIDAY NIGHT, JOHNNY AND I HEAD TO THE PIZZA
place for the special on the garlic pizza. On the way, we stop at Walmart to get more Halloween stuff for when we decorate the front of the house. October doesn't even start until tomorrow but we have to take control of the decorating before Mom tries to beat us to it with her pumpkin cutouts and fake spider webs for the porch railing.

At the store, we pick up a couple severed hands and a foot,
six foam tombstones for the lawn, and a cheap Michael Myers costume. We're going to stuff the costume with blankets and make a dummy to sit on the porch, with the bowl of candy in his lap.

When we get to the truck, I stuff the plastic bags on the bunk behind my seat.

Johnny keeps burping at the wheel, which is stinking up the truck, and we haven't even gotten to the pizza place yet.

“That smells like it came out of your butt.” I roll down the window.

“What—sorry, man. It's that damn fish.”

Johnny hits the brakes when a couple of kids start shuffling across the street randomly, like they're taunting the cars to come close. “Man, what is it with these kids? That's just what I need, to run over a couple of dumb idiots and have to deal with their crying mothers. You better not jaywalk, Pen.”

“I don't.” Not in front of cars, at least. “Hey, so do your friends ever get pissed off at you for having a girlfriend?”

“Not unless I start acting like a douche bag.” Johnny glances my way.

“How do you know you're acting like one?”

“You don't know at first, but your friends do. It's like you change.”

“Change how?”

“I don't know,” he says, with a sigh like thinking of an answer is too much work. “Like . . . ditching your buddies. Letting the girl run your life. Getting all moody. Spending all
your money on dumb stuff. Letting all kinds of drama follow you everywhere. That kind of thing. But that usually comes with dating a girl who's a douche bag.”

“But what if you change for the better?”

“If you have douche bag friends, that won't matter,” he says. “You just gotta be cool and ask yourself if what's going down feels all right, or if it makes you feel worse. Then you do what you gotta do.”

We pull into the pizza place, and Johnny squeezes his big truck into the only free spot left.

“Think you could drive me to this thing tomorrow?” I ask, before we open our doors to get out.

“What kind of thing?”

“Blake invited me to this rehearsal thing for a gig her band has.”

“Whoa, she's in a band? That's pretty hot. Does she have an older sister?” He wags his eyebrows. “What does she play? Is it an all-girl band?”

“She sings. And no, it's just her and a bunch of dudes. Tall dudes with beards.”

“They all got beards? Like long, metal beards? Not those dumb hipster beards, please.”

I shrug, because I don't feel like explaining what I meant.

“I'm gonna have to get a taxi license soon. You put too much mileage on my truck.” He asks me what time it's at and then says he can drive me there on his way to meet the guys but that I'll have to figure out how to get home. “Maybe one of the beards can drop you off.”

INSIDE, WE ORDER A
large. It comes with too much cheese all bubbly on top of lots of layers of meat smothered in garlic sauce—totally perfect. I get garlic dip, because I won't be kissing anyone tonight, and Johnny gets barbecue sauce.

It takes a while before I clue in to the laughing going on next to me. It's not regular laughter, just these clipped little chuckles of dudes egging each other on. I sneak a glance to my right. There's a table of guys and most of them are looking right at me. Great.

“I'm getting a grille for the front of my truck,” Johnny says.

He gets all into it, and I'm almost listening, going “Oh yeah?” here and there, to keep his attention on the conversation, and not on the idiots next to us. They probably thought I was a dude, and now they realize I'm not. It would be nice if there were a few other girls in this damn town who looked more like me.

“. . . working for this contractor. Who doesn't wanna make more money, right?”

“Oh yeah?”

Johnny gives me a funny look. “What's your problem?”

“Nothing. I'm kind of full. Can we go?”

“I'm gonna hit the can first.” He snorts at the look I give him. “I gotta take a leak.”

While Johnny's gone, I pack up the rest of the pizza. No one but those guys seems to be staring at me; they're all busy enjoying their pizza night. My ears get so sharp when stuff like this goes down; I can tell when those guys are saying stuff
about me. I think one of them might be one of the jerks from the movie theater Colby and Garrett took on last spring.

A bunch of
F
words, including the word “fag,” drift over to my ears.

I get up.

“That's nasty, bro. Isn't she a girl?”

“No idea. They'd still be fags, though.”

“No, wait. That's a girl. Remember?”

Johnny's not back from the bathroom. What if he heard that stuff? When I'm by myself, I can take that crap because soon, it fades away and it's like it never happened. But when there are people with me—well, that's when it goes from being annoying to being embarrassing. It goes from me rolling my eyes to me wishing I'd never stepped out of my house at all.

Screw those guys.

“He's my brother, idiots,” I say, before turning. I throw over my shoulder, “Don't ever talk shit about my brother.”

They laugh louder.

“Are you packing?” one of the guys asks. Haven't heard that one in a while. At least one of them is definitely from the movie theater last spring.

I walk away, meeting Johnny as he comes out of the bathroom. He reminds me of Dad, the way he rubs his chest to soothe the indigestion.

“Are you packing?” those guys keep calling out.

“Let's go,” I tell Johnny.

“What's going on?” he says.

“Nothing. I'm going to the car.”

Johnny stays put. The door is just to the right, and I have my fingers on the handle. Johnny's spotted the guys. He looks back at me.

“Just forget it,” I say. “Let's leave.”

“What is that, packing? Packing heat? They think you're carrying a gun?”

I shrug. No way am I going to be the one to tell him it can also mean a girl who goes out wearing a strap-on rubber thing just for the hell of it. When those guys said that to me last spring, I went home and Googled it like crazy until I found what they were talking about. It's not like I have any interest in putting anything in my pants that wasn't already there to begin with, but I guess girls who look like guys are also supposed to want the proper equipment.

Johnny storms out ahead of me, and I let out a giant sigh, following after him.

But then he slams the truck door and meets me on his way back over. He throws me the keys. “Go to the truck.”

“Don't go back in there,” I say, but he's already flying inside the pizza place.

He heads for the douche table. Back in the truck, I can see everything unfold through the window. I'm full of dread and guilt. Johnny should know better by now. But mostly, I'm the one who should know better than getting him stuck in situations like this.

Johnny pounds over to the guys with his shoulders straight out. It's his badass walk. He stops at the table and then his mouth moves. The guys are just sitting there with dumbass
smiles on their faces, but they fade when Johnny leans over and pulls open his jacket a bit. Then it's all over. The guys don't look over my way, even as Johnny walks out.

I breathe a sigh of relief as he hops into the driver seat and fires up the engine.

“What'd you tell them?” I ask.

“I told 'em I was packing.” He pulls his jacket open, and in the inner pocket sticks out the handle and part of the blade of a massive butcher knife. The big plastic knife with fake blood we just bought for Michael Myers. Johnny revs the truck and peels the tires out of there.

“Maybe you shouldn't do stuff like that,” I say when we're cruising down Wilson Avenue past all the department stores.

“Stuff like what?”

“You know—stepping in to defend me or whatever.”

“I'm the older brother,” he says, looking over at me while we wait at a red light. “It's my job.”

“Yeah, but I'm not a kid anymore.” I don't look at him. “I can take care of myself.”

My eyes are on the road flying by through the passenger window, and Johnny says nothing more.

LATER FRIDAY NIGHT, I HEAD TO COLBY'S. I PUSH
the gate to the backyard to find Garrett there, too. I suck it up and head over to join them, sitting in the empty chair between the two. Colby gives Garrett his joint, then he pulls out a cigarette.

“What's up, Penelope?” Garrett asks. “Oh, my mistake. I mean Steve.”

“Ha ha,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Garrett was just going on about this chick he banged yesterday,” Colby says. “I don't believe any of it. Who'd wanna get with that face?”

“You talk all you want, Colby. I've got quite the skills.” Garrett wags his eyebrows and does some nasty thing with his tongue. “So we went back to her place but her parents were home, so we hid inside her parents' trailer. This big thing parked on the driveway. It was like our own hotel room. Anyway, we had some drinks,” Garrett says. “So, we're in the tiny bed, and I'm right about to score and she gets all freaked out.”

“Figures,” Colby says.

“Why'd she get freaked? Were you being your usual self?” I say.

Garrett flashes me a dopey grin and continues, “I sorta forgot to bring a condom. So, I was right about to . . . you know, and she goes ‘Stop!' and gets all worried about getting pregnant. I told her I'd pull out before, but she was paranoid, saying it doesn't work.”

Colby's eyes are on me, and mine are on him. It can't last long because I feel the truth starting to change my face.

“It doesn't,” I say to Garrett. “It doesn't work.”

He shrugs and brings the joint up to his lips. “It's worked for me enough times.”

“Well, you've probably just been lucky. Luck runs out,” I say.

“So, then what'd you do?” Colby asks.

Garrett says, “I put my jeans on and ran to the corner store. Got a box of rubbers and ran back. A man's gotta do what he's gotta do—am I right?”

Colby smacks Garrett's hand, then takes another toke before passing it to me.

“You like that, Steve? You like living vicariously through our guy stories?” Garrett asks. I'm pretty sure I like Penelope better than Steve.

“I don't need to live vicariously through your made-up stories,” I say. “I got my own stories.”

“Oh, yeah?” Garrett leans forward. “What are you waiting for? Spill it! This is the whole point of being friends with a dyke.”

Colby tokes and watches me through the smoke.

“As if I'd tell you,” I say.

Garrett laughs this lazy, stoned sound. “You save it all for your diary?
Dear Diary, today I touched a boob. It made me feel gooey inside. Love, Steve.
Ha! I think you're full of it. You've got nothing to tell, do you, Steve?”

“I've got nothing to tell
you
,” I say. “Think what you want.”

A couple tokes and my mind goes a little hazy. Garrett takes a few more shots at me, calling me Steve, and then Colby starts a story about the girl Avery from the mall. I lean back in the chair and let my head fall to stare at the sky.

AN HOUR LATER, SO
much weed has gone around that I wonder how the cops weren't called here by smoke signal. I haven't smoked any more but I still feel weird. It must be getting to me by secondhand.

“Ike and them are meeting up soon,” Garrett says. “We going?”

Colby shrugs. “Maybe later.”

Garrett sighs and pretends to be super bored. I check my phone a couple times. Nothing. Not that I'm expecting anything.

“Hey, hey, Pen, I got an idea,” Garrett says. “Show us your boobs.”

“Oh, give me a break.”

“If I had some, I'd show you.”

“You
do
have some,” Colby says.

Garrett pulls his shirt up to show his slightly flabby man-boobs. “These aren't real. It's just from all the McDonald's I've been eating. Come on, Steve. You're not even using them.”

“The Steve thing is getting old,” Colby says.

“It's genius,” Garrett says.

“Right. I look like a guy so you call me a guy's name. That's so genius,” I say.

“You're a guy with real girly boobs,” Garrett says. “Come on. Let me see.”

“Just because she cuts her hair doesn't make her any less of a girl,” Colby says. I look over at him, not sure if what he said is a compliment or an insult. Maybe it's nothing at all.

“I just wanna see some boobs!” Garrett says.

“Dude, screw off. Why don't you show us your junk, huh?” I say.

He looks interested. “What, you wanna see it? I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“You're nasty. What's wrong with you?” I sit up straight, ready to take off. “Your mom definitely dropped you on your head when you were a baby.”

“That's why his face is like that,” Colby says.

“Hey!” Garrett crosses his arms. “You guys are so mean! My feelings are hurt. I think the only way I'll cheer up is if I see some boobs.”

Colby gets a text, so the conversation stops. Garrett pulls out his Baggie of weed and starts squeezing tobacco from a couple of cigarettes and pulls off the filters, probably because he ran out of papers. He mixes a couple flakes of weed with tobacco and stuffs some back into one of the cigarettes, twisting it into a tight joint.

“You're being pretty damn stingy with those,” I say.

“They're for that little creep in grade nine. He can't tell the
difference,” Garrett says. “My brother used to do that to me all the time, sell me fake stuff. We all have to learn those harsh lessons, am I right?”

He does the same to the second cigarette and then puts them back into his pack. He hands me a regular cigarette. I take it.

“That was a peace offering,” Garrett says.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Colby puts his phone down and reaches for the cigarette between my fingers. He lights it, takes a couple drags, then places it back between my fingers.

“All right, guys. Are we meeting up with Ike, or what?” Garrett says.

Colby and I ignore him. Colby's definitely distracted, and he keeps shooting me weird looks.

“This is boring. How can we make this interesting . . . ? Oh—I know! With one very important question,” Garrett says. “This is serious business. I'm doing research.”

“What?” Colby asks.

“Okay, so would it be gay if Pen screwed a guy? Think about it for a minute.
Would
it be gay? It's confusing, am I right?” Garrett says.

All I know how to do is sit here and clench my teeth. But I'm not going to run away. I say, “I don't know how it works either.”

“Garrett, man, you're so pathetic,” Colby says.

“This is legit,” Garrett says. “It's research!”

“Research for who?” I say.

“For me. It's a personal project.”

“Why don't you go meet up with Ike and them?” Colby says.
He gets up from the table and points to the side gate. “I'll text you later and let you know if I'm coming.”

“Finally! I'm out of here!” Garrett says. To me, he says, “For real, though. Would it be gay? I think it would be. Especially if the guy were to call you Steve while it was going down.”

Garrett sticks his tongue out at me and wiggles it between his index and middle finger. I give him the finger and head for Colby's room.

I SIT ON THE
couch at the foot of Colby's bed, staring at the TV even though it's not on. Colby throws his cigarettes on the bed, then peels his jacket off before taking a seat next to me.

“I love this movie,” he says, then laughs. When I don't respond, he rolls off the couch to go flip on the stereo. Rap music starts playing low. He stands there for a minute before saying, “Damn, I'm baked. Wanna play
Street Fighter
?”

“Okay.”

“Why don't you stay over tonight?”

“I can't.”

Colby turns and slides his hands into his jeans pockets. His eyes are on mine like he knows it'll mess me up. Being stared at always messes me up. I don't like the feeling spreading through me. It's nasty.

“Stay,” he says. “Come on. I kicked Garrett out. It's just us.”

Oh, man. Not again.

“I was thinking of trying something,” he says. “Maybe mess around.”

This is that night happening all over.