Of All the Stupid Things (26 page)

David goes back to digging the hole, alternating between his heels and toes. Already it’s about eight inches deep. Suddenly he jumps to his feet, but then immediately grabs the post as if he’s going to faint. “Holy crap!”

I’m at his side in an instant. “What is it? What happened? Are you hurt? Do you need to see a doctor?”

He gasps a couple times before he finally manages to choke out a few words. “I’m fine.”

But he doesn’t look fine. He’s in horrified shock. His eyes are wide open, but I can tell he’s not looking at anything. I stay at his side and put an arm around him. This time I don’t keep my prying questions to myself.

“Please, David, tell me what’s going on.”

Slowly he shakes his head no.

I want to insist, but I don’t. I tighten my arm around him. “Well, I’m here if you want to talk about it. You just look like you’ve done something horrendously wrong and the worst thing possible has happened as a result.”

David pales and gasps a few more times. “Oh God, I hope not.”

Whitney Blaire

I HAVE THE MOST HORRIBLE CRAMPS. I TELL PINK WHEN she calls to see if I’m feeling better. I know she doesn’t believe me, but for once it’s really true. My gut is killing me, there’s a horrible pain in my lower back, I’m sweating like a pig even though I’m freezing, and I barely slept all night because of it.

At first I was glad to get it. I’ve been having this nasty thought going through the back of my head that maybe I was pregnant. I knew I wasn’t. I remember we used something, but there was still that worst-case scenario of “what if.” And it didn’t help that I was about three days late.

It’s Carmen’s fault really. The whole day while we cleaned the house, she kept telling me that there was no protection against pregnancy. She went on to say that some cousin’s niece’s neighbor’s ex-girlfriend once got pregnant even though she was on the pill and they used a condom. Someone else while her tubes were tied. Another even though the man had had a vasectomy. And then the last story was a sixty-five-year-old woman who had been through menopause fifteen years before. That was gross. No one wants to think about nearly seventy-year-old ladies getting lucky at anything other than bingo.

So when I couldn’t sleep last night because my stomach was hurting and went to the bathroom just for something to do, it was great to see the blood. Not that I believed all of Carmen’s stupid talk, but still, it was good to know for sure that I wasn’t. And good to stay home from school another day.

I almost did have to go to school, though. Father’s home now and even being on my deathbed isn’t good enough to make me miss school. He had wanted me to go when I had chicken pox back in third grade, but Mother reminded him that if I infected the other kids it could end up in a lawsuit. In that case, I stayed home until the doctor signed a form to guarantee I was no longer contagious.

Thankfully, both of my parents left ten minutes before Pink normally comes, so I’m in the clear. It’s a big effort considering I want to die, but I called the school as I had done all week pretending to be my mother (I must say, darling, I can do her voice perfectly). The school secretary reassured “Dr. Blaire” once again that “her daughter” was excused. Now there is no way for Father to know that I’m staying home.

I eat some chips left over in the bag by my bed. Fifteen minutes later I’m praying to the porcelain god. Sometime after that, I hear Carmen let herself in and then fuss with the alarm to see why it wasn’t on. She finds me a bit later still hugging the toilet.

Instead of being angry, she strokes my head. “
Ay, niña, pobrecita
. You see? I tell you you get pregnant.”

I close my eyes and lower my head onto my arms. “No, I’m not.”

Carmen puts her hands on her hips. “No? Then you are drunk?”

Even with my head in my arms, the world isn’t very stable. “No, really. It’s just cramps. The worst cramps ever.”

I see her look at the counter where I left the wrapper. Suddenly she crosses herself and says, “
Gracias a dios santo
. We get you to bed, okay? I bring you hot water bag to put on your stomach and you sleep. Later, when you feel better, I bring you some soup, yes?”

She helps me get up. For a second I think I’m going to throw up again, but I don’t. Carmen fluffs up the pillows and then tucks me into bed. She’s almost at the door when I call her.

“Carmen?”

She turns around. “Yes?”

“
Gracias
.”

She nods and shuts the door behind her.

I wake up when the doorbell rings. I hear Carmen answer it. I can tell it’s not Pink or Tara because Carmen doesn’t say hello to them. It’s a male voice, but I can’t tell who it is and what he’s saying. Carmen doesn’t let him in. I hear the words “sick” and “sleeping.” I listen closely but can’t make out anything else. The boy says something and the door shuts. Carmen comes up the stairs. She knocks softly on my door and then opens it. I sit up. She enters holding a bouquet of flowers. As she gets closer I see they’re roses. Four red ones, one pink, one white, surrounded by those silly little white flowers they put in bouquets.

The card says,
To Whitney
.

David.

I take them and set the vase on my lap. “Thanks, Carmen.”

She stands there looking half curious, half surprised, and half upset that a boy brought me flowers. I stare at her. Finally, she takes the hint and leaves the room. I open up the envelope.

Dear Whitney, I’m sorry if I did something wrong. Give me chance to make things right. If I got you into trouble, any trouble, I’m here for you no matter what. Yours always, David.

I read the note again, and again. I swallow, but it doesn’t help. Tears roll down my cheeks. The vase tips over on the bed. Everything is wet. The pink rose falls to the carpet and I keep crying.

Tara

I NOW EAT LUNCH WITH A NEW CROWD AT SCHOOL: Susan (who I think is really a boy trapped in a girl’s body) is a bodybuilder; TJ (whose gender I still haven’t figured out and am too embarrassed to ask) is a swimmer; and Morris, whose biggest muscle is his tongue. Riley says we should call ourselves the Gay Athletes Society. I still have a problem calling myself gay. I’m not ashamed of the relationship I have with Riley. Every day I’m with her, I’m happier and more in love than I would have thought possible, but somehow that doesn’t justify gayness in my mind. I still notice the good-looking guys, but I’m starting to notice the pretty girls a bit now too. I won’t say I’m attracted to them; I just notice them. I notice everyone, but Riley is the only one I picture naked.

As Mom predicted, I have gotten a few weird looks and snide remarks (especially in the bathroom or locker room), some from people I don’t even know. On the other hand, there have also been a couple people who’ve come up to me privately and complimented me on “coming out.” I don’t know how I feel about that term either. I haven’t done anything to justify it. I just don’t deny I have a girlfriend.

Riley, my girlfriend. I do like the sound of that. And I guess if that makes me part of the Gay Athletes Society, so be it.

But today there’s a new jock invading our table without permission. Chris Sanchez.

What can I say? I don’t like Sanchez. Even before the rumor of him and Brent, I found Sanchez vulgar and obnoxious with a tendency to say things just for the shock value. He’s not much for morals and doesn’t think twice about who he gets off with.

I ignore Sanchez and notice Brent sitting a few tables away. I see him with his new girl all the time now: a dark-haired tennis player I’ve heard of but have never talked to. I shouldn’t be surprised; Brent’s not the kind to stay single for long. But it’s weird that I haven’t seen him with Whitney Blaire. Not even a quick chat. Maybe what they had was just a quick fling. Or maybe it’s one of those secret high school romances that no one is supposed to know about.

I’m halfway through my hummus, tabbouleh, and veggie pita sandwich when I hear Sanchez say something to Morris about Brent. Riley, with her hand resting on my leg under the table, is talking to TJ and doesn’t notice a thing.

I chew the bite in my mouth slowly. Sanchez keeps on talking to Morris in a hushed voice. “Don’t like this new girl of Staple’s. She’s such a leech. Thank God she’s away this weekend. It’s been ages.”

I stop chewing altogether. The mush stays in my mouth. He’s lying. He’s showing off. He has to be.

Morris’s eyes widen. “Wait. You mean you and…?”

Sanchez makes a shushing motion toward Morris and says in an exaggerated whisper, “Oh, yes, Morris baby. Thought that Andre was going to bust us a while back, but Staple took care of it. Don’t go telling anyone, though.”

Sanchez dramatically looks around to see if anyone heard him. His eyes land on me with mush still in my mouth. He gasps.

“Oh, no, don’t worry, Tara baby,” he says, over-apologetic, his face extremely red. “It was like weeks, no, more like months after you two had finished. Really.”

I don’t say anything. Riley stops talking to TJ and looks from Sanchez to me.

Sanchez keeps on rambling. “Really, I’d never do that. Not to you, Tara baby.”

I finally swallow the mush. It feels very solid as it goes down. At one point I think I’m going to choke, but I just keep swallowing.

I put the rest of my lunch away. Riley takes one more bite and crumples her brown bag. I leave the table and Riley follows right behind me.

As I’m walking away, I hear Sanchez frantically telling the table: “Really, you know there was never nothing between me and Staple. Really, I swear. Nothing, never. Because I was just kidding, you know? Staple and me, I just made it up.”

I walk by Whitney Blaire. She’s back at school after being gone all last week. I glance her way, but she doesn’t even notice me. I look at Pinkie. She stares at me for a second, tries to smile, and then sighs before turning away. I keep walking out of the cafeteria.

Riley takes my hand in the near-empty hall. “Tara, I—” I swallow again as I turn to look down at my girlfriend. There’s only one thing I want to say to her right now. “Did you actually see Whitney Blaire with Brent?”

Riley licks her lips. “No, I didn’t. I told you, I just saw her sneaking around the gym.”

I can still feel bits of food in my mouth. I keep swallowing to try to get rid of them. “Did you know it was Sanchez?”

Riley shakes her head, her shoulders dropping a bit. “I didn’t know anything for sure. Technically, we still don’t know.”

No, Sanchez didn’t actually come out and say he was with Brent that particular day at the gym. But I saw and heard how Sanchez tried to cover up. It’s enough to confirm that as much as Brent likes girls, and in his own way maybe even loves the girls he’s with, he also likes Sanchez on the side.

Brent with Sanchez, Sanchez with Brent. The images that haunted me suddenly make sense. I see now they didn’t bother me because they were about Brent and a guy. I mean, in a way, I’m doing the same thing now. They bothered me because in some subconscious part of my mind, I knew they were real. And it meant that my whole relationship with Brent, my first real relationship, had been fake.