by A J Walkley
“I, uh,” I jumped when I felt my pocket vibrate. It was my mom.
“Hi, hello?” I gave Rebecca a close-lipped smile while I waited for my mom to speak.
“Greer? Where are you?”
“I left you a note, Mom. I’m at a friend’s house.”
“Whose house? I didn’t see a note.”
“On the kitchen table.” I heard her pushing papers around.
“How did you expect me to find this under the mail? Anyway, I need you to come home. I have a spinning class in thirty minutes and I need you to watch your sister.”
I was suddenly relieved, which surprised me. I looked at Becca and gave her a sad face, which she returned.
“Oh, okay. I’m on my way.” Fortunately, we only lived a few streets away from one another. I flipped my phone shut. “I gotta go home. Baby-sitting.”
“Oh yeah? For who?”
“My little sister. My mom still thinks she needs chaperoning when most of the time she acts more mature than I do,” I laughed. I got up and walked back into the kitchen for my bag.
“Okay, well maybe we can make this a Monday thing? What do you think?” she offered.
“Word.”
Becca walked me to the door.
“See you tomorrow, Rebecca,” I said, trying her name on my tongue.
“You bet. But, please,” she rolled her eyes, “call me Becca.”
***
When I thought about my mom, I didn’t see her as a bad person. She’s always been driven; always striving to move up in her career. She claimed to be doing so for her family; making up for what Dad wasn’t bringing home every week. But that was just her. My dad told me she was the same way when they met in college.
“You have to get out of your mother’s way or fly on her coattails to catch up!” he said to me once. It’s a good thing this worked out the way it did, my mother eager to be the bread winner, my father happy to let her do her thing while he did his.
The schedule she chose was in Emmy’s and my benefit initially when we were younger and still living in South Carolina. She’d be at home with us all day after Dad went to work (he was a guidance counselor then, with a steady pay), going to the hospital to begin her nightly nurse duties when he came home. Once we grew and were able to take care of ourselves pretty well, however, she found plenty of other ways to fill up her time instead of becoming a day nurse.
First, she joined the nearest gym and began taking advantage of a slew of classes they offered:
Spin Class on Tuesday and Thursday mornings from 8-9 followed by Yoga from 10-11:30; Water Aerobics on Monday, Wednesday and Friday from 8:30-10, followed by Weight Training with a professional trainer from 10-12.
The sudden exercise influx in Mom’s life had a variety of consequences. First, she became the so-called MILF in our town, which was not exactly ego-boosting for my sister and I. She also gained an energy that caused her to cook more often – possibly because she allowed herself to eat more with all the calories she was always burning. Her health-consciousness exploded as well, leading to blatant comments made about my sister’s and my diets on a daily basis. Finally, all of these changes led to a renewed sex life with Dad that I couldn’t help but be privy to nearly every night my father was home.
Needless to say, she wasn’t around much. Even the dinners she put so much time into were frozen and eaten after she was already at work. This being the case, she did not know about much in my life. I gave her my tests and report cards when they came and she took me to my morning swim practices; other than that, we didn’t have too much of a relationship.
This meant I couldn’t talk to her, especially about something like thinking about a girl in a different way, I guess.
When Becca began to flirt with me, I saw it as a budding friendship, her trying to get closer to me. When I got a tingly feeling in my palms in her vicinity, I thought it was because she was so pretty, and that maybe I wanted to look like her.
Just because I had never been in a relationship with anyone didn’t mean I was completely naïve about these things. Sure, I was assumed straight by the rest of the world and, in turn, myself as well. But there was always James, lingering at the back of my mind.
I decided that the one person I could turn to, to get things off my chest was Nick. Getting home from Becca’s around six-thirty, I figured he’d be eating and his mother never let anyone answer the phone at dinner. E-mail was my best bet.
Nicky,
You will never believe what happened today. Remember Rebecca, the girl on my team I told you about? I went over to her house today after school! Don’t roll your eyes at my excitement. She’s becoming a real friend, like, the first one I’ve found here so be happy for me.
The thing is though, I’m getting a vibe from her. Nick, I am pretty sure she likes me. Like-likes me. Get what I’m saying? WTF? I don’t know what to do. Obviously you need to call me as soon as you read this. ASAP!
Greer
***
“Dude, you have one friend at school and you think she’s a rug-muncher?” Nick asked, not even bothering to say ‘Hello’ when I answered my phone.
“A what?”
“A rug-muncher. Think about it. But, hey, that’s cool. Just as long as she doesn’t send out her gaydar to rope you onto her side!” he joked.
I laughed nervously. “I know, right? But, maybe I’m wrong. I don’t know any lesbians.”
“Does she have short hair?” he asked.
“No.” I glanced at my mirror, noting my own – not as long as Becca’s, but not too short, either.
“Does she play softball or hockey?”
“She swims, I told you that.”
“Hmm, okay. Does she… Oh, I know! Does she sit with her legs crossed?”
“What? I don’t know! What does that have to do with anything?” The Inquisition began to make me uncomfortable. I was at my desk in my bedroom. I looked down to see my own legs folded beneath me.
What does that mean? I thought.
“Find out. From what I know, dykes don’t cross their legs. They sit like guys.”
“Ha! Who the heck told you that?” Nick and I had never so much as talked about crushes we had before, let alone potential same-sex love affairs. It made me squirm, so I got up to pace the floor.
“I dunno. Whatever. Nobody’s a homo in Bumblefuck, Arizona, Greer. I wouldn’t worry about it,” he advised.
Who said I was worried? I thought.
“Well, I wanted to run it by you,” I told him instead. “I’ll call you later, I gotta go.”
“Peace, G.”
Flipping my cell phone closed, I went to my bed and picked up the book my dad had just sent from California. He was there on business and found Anthem by Ayn Rand at a bookstore sidewalk sale.
“G-bee ~” he had written inside the front cover. “For my daughter. One of my personal favorites for you to devour. Enjoy. I’ll see you as soon as I can. Love, Dad.”
The month before he had given me Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut, postmarked from Tijuana. June was The Great Gatsby from Mexico City. He had read me great novels for as long as I could remember, always the one to tell me a bedtime story.
“I can read anything I want to my baby,” he had said to my mother once when she had suggested a Maurice Sendak or Dr. Seuss book for once. “When you’re home for bedtime, you can read what you want.”
Mom had stormed off and Dad had picked up where we’d left off in Salinger’s Franny and Zooey. I was nine.
I loved my dad’s voice when he spoke more than I understood what he was reading. But something must’ve stuck, because anything but the classics seemed boring and beneath me at the age of 17.
With a sigh, I lay back on my pillows, wondering where Dad was at that moment. I opened up Anthem and began his latest gift. It wouldn’t be long until reading for fun would be replaced with book reports, research and essays.
“It is a sin to write this,” Rand wrote, the first line instantly dr
awing me in. “It is a sin to think words no others think and to put them down upon a paper no others are to see.”
Damn, I thought. That could apply to so many things.
***
On Tuesday, sign-ups for fall intramurals were posted in the gym. Even though I was still swimming three days a week, I had room for something else. Plus, intramurals are a lot less competitive and more fun. I went to check out what was open:
Soccer
Field Hockey
Flag Football
Basketball
There were a lot of people around the board, mostly guys, stereotypically enough. I realized that you had to come up with your own team of five for each sport. Before I got discouraged by the impossibility of finding four other people, a boy tapped me on the shoulder.
“Hey, you going out for intramurals?” He was tall, at least six inches taller than me. He had sandy brown hair that came over his ears and green eyes. I wondered instantly if he played ice hockey because he reminded me of Nick in many ways. He was cute.
“Uh, yeah, I mean, I was thinking about it.” He smiled at me – perfect white teeth that didn’t need braces.
“Well, my buddies and I are putting together a football team. There’s four of us now, three guys and one girl. I guess there are new rules about being co-ed, so we need another girl. Interested?” I was thinking soccer, but this could be fun, too.
“Yeah, awesome. Thanks!” I cringed. I wondered if I was acting too grateful.
“What’s your name?”
“Greer,” I said, extending my hand. “MacManus. What’s yours?”
“Cameron Keeting. Nice to meet you. Got a cell?”
We exchanged numbers. Cameron said he’d take care of the sign-up stuff and asked if I could practice Wednesday afternoon as soon as school got out. Since swim practices didn’t start until the following week and they were always in the mornings, I assured him I’d be there.
“Great. See ya then!”
Turns out I’d see him before we both knew it.
***
Tuesdays and Thursdays I had study hall in the library. It was overseen by a Physics teacher named Ms. Hatherly. Most upperclassmen skipped out on it, choosing to go to Starbucks or smoke a cigarette instead, so there were only a handful of us there. It didn’t take long for Cameron and me to recognize each other once he strolled in for the last ten minutes of the period. I smiled from a table across the room, and he promptly picked up his books and came to sit next to me.
“Well, well, well, we meet again,” he said. “Pretty lame class, huh?”
“Yeah, when you don’t have work to do, I guess.” Day two of junior year wasn’t yielding as many papers, quizzes and projects as I had expected.
“True that, man. So, what’s your deal?” he asked me.
“Deal? What do you mean?”
“Like, what do you do? For fun, I mean.” He sounded like he was struggling for conversation.
“I suppose I go to the movies, I swim, I hang with my sister.” I sounded pathetic, even to myself.
“Do you swim for the school?” He leaned forward to hear me better. “I haven’t seen you before, but I don’t really keep up with the swim team either.”
“Yeah, well I just moved here. I tried out for the team last week. I’m not really sure what stroke I’ll be competing in yet.”
“You moved? From where?”
“Uh, South Carolina. My mom got a new job at a hospital here,” I said, not telling him the real reason we moved, for my dad’s recent career change.
“Sweet, and you have a sister?”
What was this? The Inquisition, Take Two? I thought.
“Yup. She’s in middle school but she’s super smart.”
“Yeah, I’ve got a younger brother. He’s still in elementary school though.”
“Oh yeah? What’s his name?”
“Kyle. He’s got ADD like no one else, I swear.”
“Oh.” I had no idea what to say to that.
“Anyway, movies are awesome. Have you seen anything good lately?”
I racked my brain realizing I hadn’t been to the movies in awhile. “No, not really, but I really want to see that new Jake Gyllenhaal one. Have you seen the previews?”
“Yeah! I watched the trailer yesterday! It looks awesome.”
“Yeah totally. He’s a good actor,” I said, though I didn’t know much about him, preferring books and oldies to anything else.
“Would you want to see it this weekend?”
“Yeah, I might do that,” I said, not picking up on his invitation. He looked back at me, confused.
“No, I mean, would you want to see it with me?” I couldn’t help it – my cheeks burned. I wiped the shocked expression off my face and replaced it with the sweetest smile I could muster.
“Yeah, that sounds good.” I hoped I sounded nonchalant enough.
“Well, I got your number. I’ll give you a call. See you tomorrow.”
Luckily, the bell rang to end the period just then, otherwise we probably would have sat there awkwardly, not knowing what to say to each other, until he changed his mind and called the whole thing off.
***
Walking home from school, past the cacti in everyone’s front yard, I thought about Rebecca. I had noticed that she had squeezed my arm, just the slightest bit, when she was writing her address on me. Her eyes had been suggestive in the look she gave me before leaving, too.
But, suggestive of what? I wondered.
I passed the cemetery just a block from my house with its cracked headstones and consistently ignored historical significance and decided to turn into the gates. I found a spot by a grave so old the engravings were worn over, sat down with my back against it and took my journal out.
I don’t know if I’m feeling what I think I’m feeling. This really never occurred to me as a possibility. But, maybe I just look up to her, like a role model.
Even in my own journal I couldn’t write the word.
I mean, she’s an amazing swimmer, she has great style, and she’s gorgeous. I’ve been trying to place her all day, comparing her to her closest celebrity look-alike. I’d have to say she’s a mix between Kirsten Dunst and, hmm, maybe Piper Perabo. She’s confident, but sweet. And, most impressive from what I’ve seen, she doesn’t let the rumors bother her.
Although she hadn’t announced it, at least to me, people at school seemed to know Rebecca was into girls. I had heard whispers in the locker room with the swim team. If she had been straight, I think all of the girls would have had more of a problem with her; she was so striking, she would have been a threat to any of their boyfriends.
Moreover, because of her looks, the guys in school most likely fantasized about being in a threesome with her and whomever her significant other might be. She was not the cliché that would have drawn a more negative reaction. If Rebecca was into wearing oversized sweats and chopped her hair off it would have been a different story.
I continued to write.
Aren’t girls like that usually, I don’t know, more boyish though?
It’s hard for me to picture Becca as a… you know. Sure she’s athletic, but she’s feminine, too.
But what about me? popped into my head. I couldn’t write it down though.
When I got home, I ran to my room, shut the door and stood in front of my mirror in my underwear.
I pulled on a piece of my auburn hair, hitting my shoulders after the haircut the week before. Not bad, but nothing special.
I turned my head from side to side. My nose wasn’t too big; if anything my ears were a little small; and though I wouldn’t call my lips luscious, they weren’t too thin either. I had plain brown eyes, a smattering of freckles across my nose that I had inherited from my mom; I had rosy cheeks, dimples and a strong chin; I was 5’5” with tiny hips that flowed into athletic-looking legs, and I barely wore an A-cup. I turned to the side and sucked in my stomach.
I just wasn’t as striking as Becca. I
f I could choose who I resembled, I’d say a mixture of Natalie Merchant from 10,000 Maniacs and, maybe, Lily Taylor. In other words, I blended in.
What makes you think she’d even be into you? The question arose, leading me to respond with a thought in kind.
Why would you want her to be?
Then, I thought of Cameron.
I wanted to understand why Cameron had asked me out. We had just met that morning and by the afternoon he wanted a date with me. It certainly wasn’t because he liked my personality. But I didn’t think there was much about me to attract someone like him.
Usually, I would dim the lights in my room and stand to the side of my dresser, avoiding looking into the mirror until absolutely necessary. Once I lotioned up, put on deodorant and got dressed, I would allow myself to face my reflection. The lack of light shielded me from the mirror’s unwavering honesty – or so I thought. I put on my eyeliner, mascara and colored lip-gloss quickly, not wanting to see my face again until coming home at the end of the day.
There was a knock on my door and before I could say anything, Emmy burst in.
“Emmy!” I reached quickly for my bathrobe that hung in my closet.
“What are you doing, Greer?”
“Nothing! What do you want?” I tied the sash and sat down on my bed, looking at my sister expectantly. For an almost fourteen year-old, she dressed very well. Today she wore brown corduroys with an off-white sweater, her hair twisted up and held in place by two chopsticks. She definitely stole those from my room.
“Well, I wanted you to look over my assignment. It’s for History.” She passed me a paper – short answers to questions about the early American settlers. That happened to be one of my favorite subjects.
“Sure, I’ll look at it. Give me a few minutes though, will ya?” She shrugged her shoulders and walked out of the room.
“Thanks, Sis!” For once, she closed the door behind her.
I stood up and went back to my closet. It was never too early to pick out an outfit for my first date. My first date. Even the thought sounded strange inside my head. I wondered if I should tell my mom about this. I decided not to. Knowing her, she would probably have thought of an excuse to keep me home, watching Emmy, vowing not to let me out of the house until college.
