“My back is killing me,” I say after we stand for the “Star Spangled Banner.”
“Yeah, you got worked, Crutch.” Garrett digs in her gym bag and pulls out a tube of Ultra Strength Bengay, but her tube has the n scratched off so it says Be gay instead. She tosses it over to me. “Here, you’ll definitely need this tonight.”
“Thanks, G.” I apply some to my lower back and slip the tube in my backpack for later.
Then Garrett and I get out our Spanish worksheets and put them next to us on the bleachers. And that’s where they stay for about two minutes until Tai makes a three-pointer and Garrett and I jump up from our seats to cheer. My worksheet floats down between the bleacher slots to the gym floor, and Garrett’s lands in a puddle of spilled soda. We quickly forget about them and instead watch our girls work up a sweat on the court.
“Hey, Abbey,” Garrett says during a time-out, “see number thirty-two?” She motions with her head at Saguaro’s varsity center player.
“Yeah, what about her?”
“She was Keeta’s first,” Garrett says with a laugh. “Weird, huh?”
It feels like Garrett has just punched me in the stomach. I guess I never really thought of anyone except Stef as a girlfriend of Keeta’s. I guess I thought I was more special than that.
“And number twenty-four?” Garrett points at another tall blonde sitting on Saguaro’s bench.
“Yeah?”
“Keeta’s second.”
Both the girls Garrett points out are tall and blond like me, but both are much, much prettier. They have boobs, great calves, and their ponytails are high on their heads, dispelling my previous theory that only girls who have low ponytails are lezzies. If only it were that easy to tell them apart from the straight girls.
“So, exactly how many of Keeta exes are out there on the court?” I ask meekly.
But Garrett ignores my question. “See number two?” She points at the girl bringing the ball downcourt.
I sink further in my seat. “Don’t tell me. Keeta’s third.”
“Nope, mine.” Garrett giggles into her hands. “Nice, huh? And your good friend, The Fridge, was Tai’s third, no first, wait…I dunno, I lost track.”
“Seriously? God, does every gay girl in Tucson play high school basketball or something? Is it like a lesbian law?”
She shrugs. “It’s not just basketball, Abs. We’ve always been everywhere. There are a whole lot more of us than you realize. You just never noticed before. You will now, though. Guarantee it.” She continues to watch the game like everything is normal, which it’s not.
“G?”
“Yeah, Abbey?”
I want to tell her I feel like I’m on the wrong road and everyone around me seems to know exactly what direction to drive, but I’m totally lost. I’m too embarrassed to admit it, though. “Never mind.”
“Oh, come on, Abbey, don’t get all sad. I’m not telling you about these girls to make you feel bad or inadequate or whatever it is you’re sulking about, but you should know something about Keeta.”
“Yeah, what’s that?” I say, hoping my irritation doesn’t show, but at the same time wondering why everyone feels they have the right to get in my business. Maybe I’m lost, but I know exactly where I want to go: Keetaland, USA.
“Look, the only reason I’m keeping your damn secret is because I know what it feels like to have everything in your life turn upside down because some girl makes you feel like you’re the queen of the universe. So don’t start getting bitchy with me.”
“Sorry.” I grab the end of my ponytail to twirl. “But what about Stef? You guys are like best friends.”
She scrunches up her nose as if what I just said was doubtful. “Yeah, but we have a history.” Before I have a chance to ask her more about it, she continues. “It’s a long story and I don’t want to get into it. Anyway, all I’m saying is have your fun, just make sure you don’t get too carried away. Keeta’s weird about love. Like, every time she gets close to someone, she screws it up on purpose. It’s some sort of abandonment issue she has because of her mom or something like that. I’d avoid asking her about her mom, though. From the little bit I know, it’s like Stef and her mom, only a thousand times worse. Anyway, just thought you should know that Keeta isn’t exactly a one-chick girl. I mean, I’d hate to see your little freshie heart get blown to pieces.”
I hear her but can’t quite compute what she’s saying because I’m distracted by Keeta’s glistening skin and tense muscles as she dribbles in for a layup. She makes her shot and then looks over at us and smiles. I turn to goo like nacho cheese sauce.
“Are you listening to me, Abbey?”
“Yeah, I know, Garrett. Don’t worry. I won’t get too carried away.”
Garrett shakes her head. “Sure, Abbey. Whatever.”
Tai fouls for the fourth time and Garrett yells at the ref to get a clue. Meanwhile, back in my twisted head, I’m having a realization. “Wait a minute,” I say to Garrett. “I thought Tai was the only girl you’ve been with.”
“Nah. We started dating when I was a freshman, but we broke up for a few months, and during that time she started messing around with some slut from Palo Verde, so I had my own fun.”
“Really? God, I’m so far behind everyone else.”
“It’s not about quantity, Abbey. It’s all about quality. And you, my dear, have started with a quality girl.”
We both watch Keeta at the free-throw line. She sinks both, of course, and her teammates slap her butt as she runs by to set up for defense. I guess that’s about when I finally notice the way Keeta seems to attract everyone’s attention; even Garrett’s green eyes are tracking Keeta’s smooth moves on the court.
“So, why did you guys get back together? I guess you really love each other,” I say to help remind Garrett that she’s dating Tai, not Keeta.
“Well, that’s another long story. The short of it is Tai said she couldn’t live without me and I liked how that felt, so we got back together.”
“Do you love her as much as she loves you?”
She shrugs her shoulders and opens a bag of Skittles. “Who knows, Abbey? I mean, I’m only sixteen. As far as I’m concerned, high school relationships are just a series of going out, making out, breaking up, and making up. I’m just seeing where it takes me and trying not to get too serious about anything. You should think about doing the same.”
She pours a few Skittles in my hand. I munch on them and think about what she said. It seems like a dangerous way to live, but it also seems a lot better than being freaked out by every little thing. Maybe she’s right. I mean, except for all the lies I’ve been telling and the things I’ve been doing with Keeta behind Stef’s back, I’m having fun. Why shouldn’t I just enjoy it?
Before I embrace my new rebellious attitude, there’s one more question I have to ask Garrett. “But G, how did you know?”
She pops some more Skittles in her mouth. “Know what?”
“About me?”
“You mean that you’re family?” My familiar look of confusion must be amusing because she laughs and tosses a green Skittle at me. “You’re so cute when you don’t know what’s going on.”
I brush the candy off my lap and put my head in my hands. “Thanks.”
“Oh, come on. I’m sorry.” She scoots over on the bleacher and puts her arm around me. “Okay, family is like, you know, you’re my sister because we’re similar. We share a big dark secret. We’re both into girls.”
“Oh,” I say. “So, what was it? Is there like a secret sign? Was it the way I wore my ponytail?” I ask, still hoping there may be some validity to my theory.
“Hmm…well, I don’t know, you can just tell. It’s called gaydar, but just because you’re gay doesn’t mean you have it. Look at Stef. She never got it. She obviously hasn’t picked up on you, but I knew you were one the minute we met in the hall that first day.”
“But how?”
“I don’t know. I just have really good
—”
“Gaydar?” I interject. “Are you making this up, G?”
“Come on, would I lie to you, Abbey?”
I’m pretty sure she isn’t lying right now, but I’m not sure she never would. She’s lying to Stef, and she’s known her a lot longer than me. And, let’s face it, I used to be someone I would trust, but now I’m a big liar, too. Yep, Garrett probably would lie to me, but I don’t tell her that.
Chapter Eighteen
So my dad and I are on a Princess Cruise ship heading toward Canada in search of some rare rock that can only be found in an underground cave on an island off the coast of Vancouver. My mom is at home because she said she had to take care of my twin little brothers, which I don’t have, but that’s how these dreams always go. After we have dinner on the deck of the ship, my dad says that he’s going to go for a swim. Now, I’m thinking he means in the palm-tree-shaped pool, but he’s got a different idea. He dives off the boat and disappears into the black water. I freak out and pull an alarm that is conveniently next to our table. The boat stops. I’m screaming, “Help him! He’s in the water! Help!” but everyone keeps on saying, “He’s gone, Abbey. We need to get going or we’ll miss the Northern Lights,” which also makes no sense. I see something in the water; I think it’s him so I throw a life ring overboard and wait for tension to hit the rope. Nothing. The engines start up and we slowly pick up speed again. I never stop screaming for him. I’m crying and screaming, but no one seems to care.
I finally wake up from this dead-dad nightmare when “Here comes the sun” blares out of my alarm clock. My hand smacks the snooze and I flip over my tear-soaked pillow. That’s when I remember it’s November 16th. “Happy Birthday to me,” I say to myself.
I attempt to make the day extra special by dressing in a new outfit my mom bought for me last week, but so far, fifteen feels like torture. Not old enough to drive, too old to cry from bad dreams, and too tall to fit in most backseats. But before heading out to the kitchen for breakfast, I rub some perfume on my neck from the Victoria’s Secret catalog that I got when my mom bought me my first lacy push-up bra, despite her voiced concerns and hesitation.
Since I was five, my big birthday breakfast has always included toast with a heart-shaped blob of raspberry jam in the middle, a book as my first present of the day (the big gift comes at dinnertime), and my choice of sugary cereal. This year I chose Froot Loops because Garrett said since they’re rainbow, they’re the gay Cheerios.
“Happy Birthday, Abbey Road,” my mom sings as I sit down. She places the bowl of Froot Loops in front of me and pours me a glass of orange juice. “How did you sleep?”
“Good. Thanks.” I crunch on a big bite of rainbow Os and smile at her so maybe this morning she won’t get teared up like she has on every one of my birthdays since Dad’s been gone. I pick up the book to try and distract her. “This looks good.”
“Well, it’s no Dean Koontz, but I think you need to stop with those horror books anyway. Kate Chopin is an amazing writer. It’s a love story, which I thought you might like.”
I don’t get freaked out when she says this because I’m pretty sure she’s implying something about my supposed crush on Jake. “Scandalous,” I say and laugh. “My mom’s buying me smutty novels.”
She puts the decorated toast on the table. “Oh stop. It’s classic literature, Abbey.”
“Something I’ll probably have to read in college, huh?” At the mention of college, she starts to tear up. What a stupid thing to say.
“Sorry,” she says and goes to the fridge to look for nothing.
“It’s okay, Mom,” is what I say because it’s what I always say when this happens. I munch on another spoonful of Froot Loops and think of a new topic. “So, Golden Buddha tonight? Mmm, I can’t wait to devour that garlic chicken. What time are we picking Kate up again?”
Mom recovers, shuts the fridge door, and joins me again at the table. “Seven.”
“Okay, I’ll tell her during PE.” Then Jenn honks outside. “I gotta go, Mom.” I grab the toast, kiss her good-bye, and head out to Jenn’s car.
As soon as I slam the car door, I receive fifteen quick, but painful, punches to my arm. “Happy birthday, Punkass.”
I’d hoped she’d forgotten, but no such luck.
*
I know from watching other girls on campus walk around with bouquets of flowers, balloons, and giant stuffed animals on their birthdays, that having a boyfriend (or whatever) makes birthdays a bazillion times better. Although, considering we have to act like casual acquaintances in the hall due to the secret nature of our relationship, I wouldn’t be able to carry even a single rose around anyway. Still, I’m excited to see if she got me something.
“Keeta?” I call, peeking my head through the music room curtains, but she’s not at the chalkboard like usual. She’s not in the instrument room either, so I sit on the edge of the stage, look down at the dusty floor, and think the worst: she’s rekindled an old flame with one of those ex-girlfriends she saw last night. Or, worse, she and Stef have run away together to get married in California, or wherever gay marriage is legal this month.
“Dios mío! That is the saddest birthday face I have ever seen,” Keeta says from the hallway. “Who died?”
I hate that expression, but I forgive her immediately. “Hi.”
“Sorry, I thought I might be able to get here before you, but Tai picked me up late. Mensa! Anyway,”—she unloads her cargo on a desk and walks over to me—“hi, Amara.” Then she kisses me, easily making today my best birthday ever. Who needs balloons and flowers? “Okay, close your eyes.”
I do as I’m told and stand there smiling foolishly like I’m in line at Ben & Jerry’s with a free-scoop certificate because I finally feel like the girl who gets the boy of her dreams in those mushy teen movies, except my boy is a girl.
She’s rushing around me, and the breeze from her movements makes goose bumps hit my arms and I shiver. “What are you doing?”
“Just wait. Sé paciente, Amara.”
My knees nearly buckle. Everything she says in Spanish sounds romantic. Maybe Garrett’s right; I shouldn’t get in too deep.
“Bueno,” she says, “open your eyes.”
On the desk in front of me is a small cake decorated with pink roses and fifteen lit candles. Feliz cumpleaños, Amara is written across the top. Next to it is a rectangular jewelry box wrapped in silver paper with a tiny red bow on top.
She puts her arms around me from behind and whispers in my ear. “Pide un deseo, Amara.”
I lean back into her and close my eyes to think of a good wish. For the first time in a long time, I wish for things to stay just as they are. I take a deep breath and blow out every candle.
“I hope it comes true.”
I hug and kiss her. “Me, too.”
Next, she puts the small box in my hand. “I hope you like it.”
I know some words are supposed to come out of my mouth at this point, but all I can do is stare at the pretty shiny wrapping and smile.
“Come on, you’re killing me,” Keeta says with an unexpected girly excitement.
Careful not to tear the silver paper, I peel off the tape very slowly. Once the box is free from its wrapping, I open it up. Inside, nestled in red tissue paper, is a dainty silver chain with an A pendant dangling from it.
“It’s for Amara, not Abbey. But only we need to know that, huh?” She walks behind me, reaches over my shoulder for the necklace, and moves my hair aside so she can put it on me.
“Thank you, Keeta,” I finally say, after it’s latched and resting against my chest. I like how it feels against my bare skin. “I totally didn’t expect any of this. You really didn’t have to.”
“Oh, I’m not done with you yet. It’s time for the grand finale.” She directs me to a chair that’s facing the stage. I sit down and tuck my legs underneath to make them seem less obscenely long. “I’m going to play you a little birthday song,” she says. “I just wrote it,
and it’s not perfect, but it’s from the heart, okay? So no laughing.”
“Okay,” I say. “I promise.”
She strums a couple of notes and tunes her guitar. Then she clears her throat. “This song’s called ‘A Girl Named Amara.’”
She starts to sing, and I’m in just as much awe as I was that first night in the guitar store. I can’t believe how she makes the music so strong, how she sings each note with such clarity, or how she manages to do it all while staring right at me.
Here comes the chorus again:
And this girl named Amara
She has blue eyes like pools of sky,
And they sparkle and shine
More than any jewel you can buy.
It takes me two times hearing it to realize where I’d heard some of those words before. They were in that letter that Stef wasn’t supposed to see, the one Stef shredded in the locker room during one of their fights.
“And what this girl called Amara doesn’t know,” Keeta continues to sing, “is that I feel the same. Yeah, baby girl, I—”
Ding, ding, ding, goes the bell, and my real-life fantasy comes to an end.
“Pinches campanas,” she says, and we hurry to clean up our birthday party.
*
I manage to make it to my PE locker to hide the little cake before Kate comes over to say hi. Even though she knows about me and Keeta, it’s pretty obvious we still feel very uncomfortable talking about it from the way she never asks about Keeta and I never bring her up.
I’ve already changed into my gym clothes and am putting on my running shoes when Kate sits down on the cold cement bench next to me. “Hey,” I say. “What’s up?”
She fiddles with the zipper of her Gila High hoodie. “Abbey, I have some bad news about tonight.”
I have a sinking feeling that my birthday dinner is about to become a party of two. “What?” I say, shoving my backpack, clothes, and special birthday bra into my locker.
She waits a second and then gives me her lame excuse. “Derrick needs me to go with him to Phoenix tonight. He has to pick up his uncle from the airport.”
Freshman Year Page 17
