by Kara Bietz
“Powder Puff? Like girls playing football?” I ask.
“Yep. Girls playing football.” Camille laughs. “More specifically, it’s cheerleaders and drill team girls playing football.”
“It’s another fundraiser, really,” Julian says. “The cheerleaders form their own team and the drill team girls form their own team, and tomorrow afternoon they play against each other to get everyone excited about our first game of the season. Just flag football, of course. No tackling involved. I’m supposed to be coaching the drill team.”
“Sometimes I wish it were tackle football,” Camille says. “There are some cheerleader bitches I’d like to mow down. And if Jannah Sykes happened to get in my way, I might plow through her, too.”
Julian throws his head back and laughs. “If you do, you’ll get kicked out of the game. But that might just be something I’d pay to see.”
“That sounds like a lot of fun,” I say.
Julian shrugs again. “It is fun. It’s good hype for our first game, and the girls get really into it.”
“Hey, why don’t you come and help Julian out with the coaching?” Camille bumps me with her elbow. “I think the girls would be happy to have both of you.”
I notice Julian’s jaw flex as he throws a look at Camille.
“I’d like that,” I say. Camille’s been really friendly, and it does sound like something that would be fun. And maybe spending a little extra time with Julian won’t be such a bad thing.
“See? Powder Puff is a tradition you don’t hate!” Camille chides Julian.
“Powder Puff isn’t something that’s going to put a black mark on my permanent record if I screw it up,” Julian says as we step onto the sidewalk and start toward Rudy Street.
“Ooh, the dreaded permanent record.” Camille waves her hands in front of her, and I can’t help but laugh. “Hey, speaking of cheerleaders…”
“Were we talking about cheerleaders?” Julian says.
“Keep up, Julian.” Camille deadpans. “I should totally not be gossiping, but guess which cheerleader is about to have a few extra pounds to carry around?” Camille raises her eyebrows and makes a sad face. “Dani Patrick.” She pats her stomach.
“No way. She’s pregnant?” Julian’s eyebrows rise all the way up to his hairline. “Man. So irresponsible.”
My stomach sinks to my knees.
“Hey there, Mr. Judgmental. Take it easy,” Camille says, giving him a dirty look.
“What? You’re the one gossiping about her,” Julian says.
“I’m just relaying information,” Camille says with a slightly guilty look. “But I feel bad for her.… She’s probably going to have to quit cheer for the year, and that was kind of her whole life, you know? I’m sad for her.”
“She’s probably going to have to quit more than that. She’s basically ending her life before it even starts.” Julian snuffles and shakes his head, too.
Camille rolls her eyes. “She’s not ending her life. For Pete’s sake, Juls. Maybe it’s not the ideal way to start a family or whatever, but jeez, it’s not like she’s dying. Back me up here, Elijah.”
I search my head for something to say. Is that how Julian really thinks? Is that what he would think of Frankie? Even my own parents had Frankie when they were still in high school. Does he think that way about my mother?
“I don’t think she’s ruining her life,” I finally say quietly.
“Well, whatever,” Julian says, waving my comment away. “Maybe ruining is too strong a word. But now she’s got to put everything on hold while she takes care of a baby? She was really smart, too. She always talked about going to Baylor and being a doctor and stuff. Man, that’s disappointing.”
“She can still do all that stuff.” Camille sighs. “Maybe she’ll give the baby up for adoption or not even go through with the whole pregnancy. But even if she didn’t do either of those things, who says she can’t be a mom and go to Baylor and be a doctor? Jeez, Juls.”
Julian just shakes his head. “Maybe. I don’t know. It just seems like she could have made a better choice.”
My stomach is in knots. On the one hand, I’m really glad I decided to keep my mouth shut and not say anything about Frankie and Coley to Julian. On the other hand, I can almost see where Julian is coming from. I may have even had the same beliefs as him before Coley came along, even though my own parents were still in high school when they had Frankie. But I can’t imagine what my life would look like right now if Coley wasn’t in it. And I can’t imagine Frankie not being a mother. It just fits her, you know? And she still managed to finish high school, and she’s going to start college classes once she gets back here to Meridien.
And maybe my father wasn’t exactly the best example of teen parenthood, but my mother does just fine for herself. She finished high school and college and managed to do a decent job raising Frankie and me. Julian’s got it all wrong. I hate that he’s so vocal about all his opinions, though. It makes him sound like an insensitive ass, and I don’t really think that’s the case. I think maybe he just talks without thinking sometimes.
We walk down Main in silence for a few minutes. Outside of Ron Redd’s Rapid Repair, there’s a giant poster with COUNTDOWN TO THE TAYLOR TITANS written in bright red marker. Underneath is a great big 32, counting down the days to homecoming.
“This is the kind of thing that makes me nuts.” Julian points to the sign in the dusty window. “Does anyone even remember that we have three other games before the Taylor game?” Julian sighs.
“Are you still thinking about your permanent record there, cranky pants?” Camille elbows Julian.
“Maybe you think it’s a joke, but football and grades are my ticket out of here,” he answers without a smile. “I’m not willing to sacrifice my chances of going to college or whatever over some dumb tradition everyone thinks I should be in charge of. All it would take is one screwup, and I can kiss a scholarship goodbye.”
“I think you’ve been taking Officer Kapinski’s first day of school speeches way too seriously,” Camille says.
We walk Camille all the way home before doubling back and going toward Ms. Birdie’s. Julian’s. My temporary home. Whatever I should call it.
Once we drop Camille off, Julian and I don’t have much to say to each other. He seems lost in his own thoughts, but I can’t find anything to say, either.
Not only am I reeling from what he said about the cheerleader, but I haven’t been able to find a way to put Reece out of my head since Camille spilled that little gem at Burger Barn. The thought of someone else touching Julian and knowing him the way I wish I did makes my gut ache.
I should have been the one to make Julian his first homecoming garter. I thought about our kiss so often while I was away, and it hurts to think that Julian has someone else’s kisses, and who knows what else, to daydream about.
· eleven ·
JULIAN
I pull my polo shirt over my head this morning with just a quick glance at my ribs. The bruise is yellowing, and even though it’s still a little sore to the touch, it’s barely noticeable. I decide not to tape it up today and just pop a couple of ibuprofen before heading to the kitchen.
“Hi,” Elijah says, eating a granola bar at the counter with Birdie.
“Hey,” I say without looking at him. I bend down and kiss Birdie on the cheek.
“We’ve got the Powder Puff game today after school, Birdie,” I remind her. “Elijah’s going to help out, too.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. I’m so glad you’re getting involved.” She reaches across the counter and squeezes Elijah’s hand. “I’ll be at the church this morning getting ready for the senior citizens’ potluck and the consignment sale, and then at a meeting with Pastor Ernie over on Main Street this evening. You boys are on your own for dinner tonight, okay? There are plenty of leftovers,” she tells me.
“You’re meeting with Pastor Ernie on Main Street? How come?” I ask her, peering into the fridge looking for some
thing I can eat on the way to school.
“Oh, Pastor’s looking into doing something with that empty storefront next to Ron Redd’s.” She waves her hand dismissively.
“The empty storefront where Daddy was going to—”
“So, you’re sure you can make your own dinner tonight, then?” she interrupts, way louder than necessary. Her eyes are talking again. Right now, they’re saying, Don’t ask any questions; I’m not going to answer them yet anyway.
I look at her a second longer than is comfortable. I think about trying to ask again. Birdie stares back. We’re having an entire disagreement just with our eyes, neither one of us willing to give in and look away.
I finally cave. “We’ll manage dinner,” I tell her, downing the last swig of orange juice and grabbing a cold breakfast burrito.
“You okay?” Elijah asks me.
“Never better. We need to get moving,” I say, squeezing Birdie’s shoulder. “Have a good day, Birdie. Love you.”
“Aren’t you going to heat that up?” Birdie follows us toward the front door in her bathrobe.
“No time!” I tell her, heaving my bag over my shoulder. It whacks me in the ribs, and I wince.
“Love you both!” she calls as we shuffle down the driveway.
Elijah waits until we turn onto Main Street before he asks, “What’s the empty storefront next to Ron Redd’s?”
I chew on the inside of my lip. Years ago, when I was little, Birdie and my father bought the space on Main Street next to Ron Redd’s Rapid Repair. It had been a pawn shop that went out of business before they bought it. The plan was to turn it into a youth center or an after-school program for middle and high school kids. Sports, homework help, music, and maybe dance classes; my dad had all kinds of plans. We spent a couple of weekends there painting the walls and doing some cleanup. It’s one of those clear-as-day memories I have of my father: him handing me a spongy paintbrush while he climbed up the ladder, his favorite music blaring through a portable stereo. I probably got more paint on the floor and on my clothes than on the wall, but I remember that I felt very important. What we were doing felt important.
I wish I could remember his words to me while we painted and cleaned. After he passed away, Birdie struggled with what to do with the space. Just this past spring, she mentioned selling it, but I may have had a reaction to that news that Birdie wasn’t expecting.
Maybe.
“You can’t!” I remember yelling at her. The first time I had ever yelled at her.
“Julian, we can’t just keep it empty,” she said, holding her arms open and trying to give me a hug.
I stepped away from her. “That was Daddy’s place. You told me he wanted to turn this town around, give back to the community.”
“Of course he did, but things have changed, and I don’t have the means to run a place like your father dreamed about all by myself.”
“If you sell it, someone’s just going to turn it into another junk shop or a nail salon or something. It was Daddy’s,” I said, all the fight draining out of me.
“I won’t make any rash decisions, Julian. I can promise you that,” Birdie said, finally gathering me in a hug.
Late spring eventually became late summer, and I assumed Birdie had abandoned her plans to maybe sell the place. Her admission otherwise makes my stomach sick again.
“It belonged to my father and Birdie,” I tell Elijah. “He was going to turn it into an after-school spot, like a community center for kids, but when he died that plan kind of died, too.”
“Oh,” he says. “That storefront sat empty for so many years, I didn’t realize anyone owned it.”
It’s only seven thirty in the morning and already I’ve had enough of today. Everything feels so heavy and exhausting. I just want to take a nap.
Elijah stares at his shoes as we turn the corner onto Main Street, and I try not to look at the brown-paper-covered windows in the storefront next to Ron Redd’s. “So, can I ask you something?” he says.
I let out a ragged breath. Can I say no? Can I say, Please just be quiet and let’s walk to school without acknowledging each other? What about, You make my head spin when you’ve only been here a day and a half, Elijah, acting like you don’t owe me an explanation about how you disappeared three years ago. Can I say that?
“Yeah, you can ask me something,” I answer through gritted teeth.
He takes a few breaths and adjusts his backpack and then his shirt and then the waistband of his shorts before he finally talks. “Tell me more about Reece,” he says to the ground. “I didn’t know you… I didn’t know there was a Reece.”
Of course you didn’t know there was a Reece. The only way you would have known there was a Reece is if you actually tried to call me or text me or even write me a freaking letter and put it in the mailbox.
“There’s not much to tell,” I say. “We met online, and then he came to see me, and we just… we just kinda started from there.”
This is the most boring version of my relationship with Reece that I could possibly relate to Elijah. When we met online, I was still pretty shaken by my experience with Elijah, and while I really did want to meet someone, I was convinced that everyone was out to hurt me.
One afternoon, after a few weeks of talking, a nice little SUV pulled up in front of our house, and out stepped Reece, his plaid shirt buttoned all the way up his neck and tucked into belted shorts. Sleeves rolled just so to show off his toned arms.
I saw him coming and ran outside. “What are you doing here?”
He tried to hug me, but I pulled away and looked toward the house. “My grandma doesn’t really… she’s not… she’s…” I fumbled.
“She doesn’t know you’re gay?” Reece asked, eyebrows raised.
I shook my head.
“Then I’m just your friend Reece, okay?” he said, smiling at me. “Introduce me.” He nodded toward the house.
The memory of Reece’s smile the day that I met him makes my chest ache, but not because I miss Reece, really.
Beside me, Elijah clears his throat and the memory evaporates. “Did you… were you really close?” he asks, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“I think so,” I say. Damn Elijah for bringing it up.
Birdie was so impressed with how polite and clean-cut he was, I don’t think it really dawned on her at first what was going on. That first time he came over, Reece whispered in my ear while Birdie was mixing up some sweet tea. “Show me your room.”
A new feeling formed in my gut and started to crawl up my neck and down my thighs when his warm breath hit my ear. I showed Reece my room. We kissed for the first time, and that was when I started to forget about Elijah just a little bit. I was scared at first, worried that he might do the same thing Elijah did after we kissed and just disappear, but that didn’t happen. He called me that night when he got home and wanted to see me again the next weekend.
“Were you together for a long time? Like boyfriends for a long time?” Elijah stumbles over his words, and I wonder if there’s more he wants to ask but doesn’t know how.
“A couple of months,” I say, feeling a pang of sadness remembering those few months.
I met him during the July before tenth grade, and shortly after homecoming that year, we just kind of fizzled out. He came over less and less until one day we just weren’t in each other’s orbit anymore. Here and there one of us wouldn’t respond to a text or a DM. He’d call, and I’d let it go to voice mail. I’d FaceTime and he wouldn’t answer. I don’t think anything really went wrong; maybe he just outgrew me. Maybe we outgrew each other. Even though our relationship kind of died on the vine, I never really felt as heartbroken about Reece as I did about Elijah.
One afternoon after he stopped coming by, Birdie asked about him. “Where’s Reece been?”
“Busy with school, maybe,” I said, but I could feel the heat creeping up my neck.
“Oh,” she said. But she put her hand on my back and gave my shoulder a li
ttle squeeze. “You gonna be okay?” she asked.
I turned and looked at her. She smiled at me and winked a little bit. We never had one of those conversations like you see on TV where the gay kid comes out to his parents. There was never any Birdie, I’m gay on my part or any I’m so proud of you, Julian. Let’s go get some ice cream on her part. But when she put her hand on my shoulder and asked if I was okay that day, I want to think that was her way of saying, I know and it’s okay. After that day, Pastor Ernie and Figg were weekly fixtures at our dining room table.
“Do you ever miss him?” Elijah says, finally turning his head and looking at me. He squints in the sun.
I meet his eye. “Maybe a little bit.”
Elijah nods like he knows what I’m talking about. Crenshaw comes into view around the bend on Main Street, and I look at my watch. I don’t miss Reece as much as I miss that unspeakable thing that happens when you have someone. That opposite-of-lonely feeling.
I catch sight of Elijah out of the corner of my eye, and his face looks thoughtful but sad. “I understand missing someone,” he says.
· twelve ·
ELIJAH
I have a hard time getting Reece out of my head on my way to first period. And the image of the way Julian’s face softened when he mentioned his name. It makes me wonder if he ever thought of me like that. I was such an ass before we left that I doubt it.
I’m thinking about Julian’s father, too, as I make my way to English class. I never knew that the empty business on Main Street belonged to Ms. Birdie and Julian’s dad. It’s obvious he misses his dad even though he’s been gone for ten years now. My father has been gone for a little over six years, and I don’t exactly miss him. Not like Julian does, anyway.
Camille shows up about halfway through my English class in her bright pink Powder Puff jersey with PIROUETTE QUEEN on the back in sparkly silver letters. She hands a yellow slip from her guidance counselor to Ms. Parliament and plops down at the desk next to mine in the back row. “Schedule changed, and now I’ve got dance at the end of the day instead of the morning. I guess it was lucky for both of us,” she says, smiling.
