“Do you think he’s in love with Jeffrey?”
My body went cold at the suggestion. No, I thought. No, of course not. Marcus couldn’t be in love with someone and not tell me about it. But then again, that was the only answer that really fit. And now that Jenn had said it, I discovered just how obvious it was. Marcus loved Jeffrey. That was why he could talk to him for hours. That was why he lit up whenever I mentioned Jeffrey’s name. That was why he couldn’t stop himself from talking to Jeffrey, even when he’d promised not to. . . .
“Yes,” I whispered. A hot tear snaked down the side of my face and dripped onto my neck. Suddenly, an image of how much Marcus must have been hurting every time I talked about Jeffrey stabbed through my mind. I felt my breathing grow shallow. For the first time, Marcus’s words made sense. Actually, he was right—this really wasn’t all about me. He’d done what he’d done because he had all of these secret feelings . . . feelings he couldn’t tell anyone about—not even me.
No wonder Marcus and I had been fighting so much lately. I mean, for the past few weeks, it had seemed like everything I did annoyed him. It had been worrying me a lot, hovering around the corners of my consciousness. Marcus was important to me. He was my brain twin. When we didn’t get along, everything seemed . . . off. And now he thought things were sketchy between us? Just how sketchy were we?
Suddenly, it dawned on me. Marcus wasn’t afraid that he was losing me to Jeffrey. I was losing Marcus to Jeffrey. He thought we were growing apart . . . and we were. I flopped sideways on my bed, knocking my head against a history book. Another tear flowed up my temple, into my scalp.
“And how do you think Jeffrey feels?” Jenn asked.
I stared at the receiver. I’d almost forgotten I’d been talking to someone. “Jeffrey doesn’t know about all of this,” I explained.
“Well . . . I know,” Jenn admitted. “But—I mean . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“What do you mean?” I prompted, squeezing Molasses’s neck.
“You know . . . it was stupid. Forget it.”
“No. Tell me.”
Jenn cleared her throat. “I meant—you said that you and Jeffrey don’t exactly have flow. And that Jeffrey and Marcus have all these conversations . . .” Her voice trailed off again, as though she couldn’t quite finish the thought.
What is she trying to say? screamed an evil flying monkey in my brain.
You have to struggle to talk to Jeffrey! screeched another monkey.
Another monkey shrieked, Marcus can talk to Jeffrey for hours!
Wait a minute.
Have you ever seen an old fluorescent light come on? It takes a really long time, and then it flickers, flickers, flickers, until finally it’s on, casting its sickly glow.
Here is my fluorescent-lightbulb moment:
Jeffrey and I have no flow.
Marcus and Jeffrey have flow.
Jeffrey has been pursuing me. . . .
Then again, he’s never even tried to kiss me. . . .
Marcus is clearly falling for Jeffrey. . . .
And Jeffrey is falling for whoever it is he’s been talking to online. . . .
Ho.
Ly.
Crap.
Could Jeffrey be . . .
Gay?
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
“Oh, good,” Jenn said with a relieved sigh. “You got it.”
“This is crazy,” I told her, sitting bolt upright on my bed.
“Yeah,” she admitted. “Maybe. I don’t know; I’m just throwing it out there. I mean, how well do you really know Jeffrey?”
“Well enough to know that he isn’t gay!” I cried.
“Mmmm . . .” Jenn sounded like she didn’t want to say anything more.
“Even though he’s never kissed me,” I admitted.
“I didn’t want to point that out.” I could hear the wince in her voice.
“Okay, wait,” I babbled. “I mean, he’s well groomed.”
“His shirts are always ironed,” Jenn agreed. “Look at Keith—he’s a slob.”
“Jeffrey’s sensitive,” I went on.
“He reads poetry,” she added.
“He’s friends with European women,” I ticked off on my fingers. “He’s polite and arrives on time. He has never, ever mentioned sports in any context. . . .”
“Yeah,” Jenn said slowly.
We were both silent.
“I’m so sorry,” Jenn added finally.
Oh. My. God. How could I have been so blind? I think it’s bizarre when people don’t realize that Marcus is gay . . . and here I was, worse than they are! Was it really possible that I was so clued out that I had no idea that my best friend and my boyfriend were really in love?
Impossible.
Right?
Then again—don’t people have that problem all the time?
“But wait a minute. . . .” My mind was reeling. “Wait—STF. That’s pretty un-queer.”
“True,” Jenn admitted.
“And he’s best friends with Glenn,” I added.
“That guy’s as straight as they come,” Jenn agreed.
“And he always seemed to want to spend time with me alone.” I bit my lip, trying to remember whether the one-on-one dates had been his idea or mine.
“Not that he ever acted on that,” Jenn said helpfully.
“How am I ever going to figure this out?” I wailed. I yanked on my hair in frustration.
“Hmmm . . .” Jenn thought for a moment. “Maybe you could test him. . . .”
“Test him?” This weird mental image of Jeffrey taking a lie detector test flashed into my brain. “With what—a polygraph?”
“Well, you said yourself that you never really gave Jeffrey a chance to go for it with you,” Jenn pointed out. “Maybe you should.”
“You mean, like, seduce him?” I stared at Molasses—his one-eyed, torn-eared, smiling face. Is she crazy? he seemed to be asking.
Jenn giggled. “Or whatever.”
“I think . . .” I said slowly. “I think I’ve got to go.”
“Okay,” Jenn said. “I’ll be here all night, if you need me.”
I had to swallow to clear my throat. “Thanks,” I managed to choke out.
“Love you,” Jenn said. Then she clicked off.
Slowly, I put the phone back into place on my night-stand. Then I leaned back, staring up at my white ceiling. The blankness felt good for some reason—uncomplicated. I tried to let it wash over me.
“Knock, knock,” Laura said as she opened the door and walked into my room. “Are you okay?”
I looked up at her. My sister’s hair was pulled back into a tidy blond ponytail. I, on the other hand, was a disheveled mess and was lying on my bed hugging an ancient stuffed animal. “Do I look okay?”
Laura stepped into my room. She was holding a red shopping bag. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
“No,” I snapped.
“Okay. Jeez,” she huffed.
I heaved a sigh. “It’s not because . . .” I somehow couldn’t bring myself to tell her that it wasn’t because I didn’t want to talk about it with her. Because I really didn’t want to talk about it with her. Little Miss Perfect Love, I thought bitterly. What’s she going to say when I tell her that I think my boyfriend might be queer?
“It’s just complicated,” I finished weakly. “And I’m kind of all talked out right now.” This part, at least, was true.
Laura’s blue eyes softened. “Okay,” she said awkwardly. “Well—I’m here if you need me. You can knock on my door anytime.”
I pressed my lips together, surprised at how touched I was by the offer. “Thanks.”
Laura smiled and then held up a bag. “Could you do me a favor?” she asked. “Mom needs to exchange this for the next size down before the end of the week. Neither one of us is going anywhere near the mall for the next few days, and I know you’re always dropping by to see Marcus. . . .”
“No problem,�
�� I said quickly, not wanting to explain that I wasn’t going to be visiting Marcus anytime soon.
“Thanks.” Laura flashed her super-white smile and dropped the bag by my door. That was when I read what was written on the side of it. INTIMATE PLEASURES. My stomach lurched. “Oh no,” I said quickly. I had to return Mom’s negligee or whatever it was in that bag? Icky McBarf Bag—no way.
Laura had been halfway out the door, but now she turned in her tracks. “Frannie,” she snapped, “it’s not a big deal.”
“It’s gross!” I complained. “I don’t want to think about Mom and Dad’s sex life!”
“Then don’t look in the bag,” Laura said in that annoyingly reasonable way she has. “Just ask the saleslady to do an even exchange.”
“It’s still gross,” I grumbled.
“Look, it’s important that we all support Mom and Dad on their journey to re-energize their marriage—” Laura began.
Okay, that was clearly a quote from The Romance Handbook. I didn’t feel like arguing with a self-help book, so I decided that it was easiest to just give in. “Fine,” I snapped. “Leave it there by the door. But I’m never discussing this again.”
With a heavy sigh and an eyeball roll, Laura walked out the door.
Hopping off the bed, I kicked the bag halfway behind my dresser. Then I walked into my bathroom and stared at myself in my vanity mirror. I looked horrible. All of that crying had left my eyes and nose red, and my mascara had dripped dark tracks across my cheeks. I went to the bathroom sink and splashed my face, then repaired my makeup as well as I could.
I walked back into my room and looked at the phone. I really wanted to call Marcus, but I fought the urge. I wasn’t ready to talk to him yet. I had to figure out what I wanted to say.
I sat down at my desk, drumming my fingers on the surface for a moment. Almost without realizing it, my eyes drifted toward the bag near my door.
Thump-thump.
It was almost like I could hear it beating, like the heart in that Edgar Allen Poe story we’d read last year. I hauled myself out of the chair, picked up the bag, and threw it into my closet. But it was no good. I still knew it was there.
I have to get out of here, I decided finally.
All of this noise—Jeffrey, Marcus, Mom and Dad and the negligee—it was just too much. I knew it was getting late, but I just really needed to be alone.
Alone with the evil flying monkeys in my brain.
I walked into Smoothie King and immediately stumbled backward. There was a guy in the corner, reading a novel and sipping a pink drink from a clear plastic cup. For a moment, I couldn’t place how I knew him. He had dark eyes and long legs. . . . Something about him was ringing a bell, but he wasn’t from school. He was wearing a green polo shirt and dark jeans. . . .
Then my eyes shifted down to his shoes. He was wearing black cowboy boots.
Suddenly, it all came back to me.
Sundance.
Oh, crap.
Just what I needed—a confrontation with a guy who’d seen me whooping it up to “Cotton-Eyed Joe.” My nerves can’t take it, I decided. I’ve got to get out of here. I reached for the door handle—
Too late.
“Frannie!” Sundance called. He had put down his book and was waving at me with a huge megawatt grin.
“Hi!” I said, running my hand through my hair instead of yanking open the door. Crap! Crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap!
Sundance gestured to the chair beside his, and I managed a wavery smile. Oh, crap, I thought as I made my way over to join him. What is his name? I was blanking . . . but it was kind of too late to ask him now without looking like an insensitive jerk. Oh well. What did I really need to know his name for, anyway? I was getting out of there as soon as possible. “Hey, good to see you,” I said, thinking quickly as I slid into the chair. “I just want to warn you that I’m in a rush, though. I’ve got to meet my boyfriend down the street in ten minutes.”
“Marcus?” Sundance asked.
“No.” My face felt hot and I had to focus on breathing to keep the tears from coming. “Not him.” My voice sounded strained, even to me.
Sundance was silent for a moment. His face was sympathetic, and for a moment he looked like he might ask me what was wrong.
Please don’t, I thought.
I don’t know if he got the mental message or what, but Sundance seemed to change his mind. “Well, then,” he said, stretching out his long, lean legs as a smile crept up half of his face. “Ten minutes, hm? That still leaves nine minutes to talk to me.”
Trapped. I giggled nervously. Stupid Frannie—why didn’t you say five minutes?
Sundance picked up his smoothie. “These are mighty good,” he said. “Want one?”
“Oh, no thanks.” Actually, I was sitting right in front of the cooler, so I reached in and pulled out a Jones Cola. Don’t think about how Marcus always teases you for drinking these, I commanded myself, and my brain was instantly flooded with images of Marcus teasing me for drinking Jones Cola. The cap bit into the skin of my palm as I twisted off the top.
Sundance took another sip of his smoothie and shook his head. “Right refreshing,” he said. “I’ve been tryin’ ’em all this week—kiwi strawberry, raspberry, mixed berry. . . . I even tried one with the extra protein powder in it. That didn’t taste too good, though.”
His expression was so serious that it cracked me up. “That stuff’s like chalk dust.” I had a weird out-of-body moment. Am I really talking about protein powder while my life is falling apart?
“Hm,” Sundance drawled, nodding thoughtfully. “Reminded me of the prairie dust I slap out of my jeans sometimes.”
I cocked an eyebrow. Something about the übercowboyness of that statement made me wonder if he was just trying to get me to laugh. Then again, I thought, maybe he’s serious. After all, he likes line dancing. I decided to play it safe. “When do you slap prairie dust out of your jeans?”
Sundance grinned. “Didn’t I tell you I was from Oklahoma?”
“Yeah—but you said Tulsa, not the windswept plains.”
“Busted.” Sundance laughed, and his drawl went down about two notches. “Most people out here seem to think that Tulsa is the windswept plains.”
I let out a giggle-snort. I usually hate it when I do that, but Sundance just smiled a little wider, so I let it go. “So, you’ve been coming here all week?” I asked, looking around the place. It seemed kind of weird—Smoothie King isn’t exactly known for its ambience. I mean, it’s clean, but it’s kind of like any chain. Bright lights, Formica tables—it didn’t really seem like Sundance’s kind of place.
He shrugged, then smiled shyly. “Well, I heard you liked the place, so . . .”
For a minute, I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. Was he saying that he had been coming here looking for me? That was so sweet.
Then again, maybe that wasn’t what he meant. Maybe he just really liked smoothies and wanted to find a good place in the area. I didn’t want to read too much into anything. Besides, I so did not need some random hick crushin’ on me right now. I had enough guy problems. “So,” I said awkwardly, “what are you reading?”
He showed it to me. Einstein’s Dreams. I’d read it last year—it was really good. Beautiful, in fact. Not exactly what I’d expected a cowboy to be reading. “How are you liking it?” I asked.
Sundance studied the cover, like he was really thinking over my question. “I like it a lot,” he said slowly. “It’s kind of melancholy, though.”
“Ooh . . . melancholy,” I teased. “Nice fifty-cent word.”
“You seem like a woman who appreciates a big word,” Sundance said. He took another sip of smoothie.
I laughed. “I do?”
“Sure.” Sundance leaned across the table. His shirt smelled clean, like Tide. “Do you know what else I bet you appreciate?” he asked in a low voice.
“What?” I asked dubiously. Ooh, I hope this conversation isn’t about to take a turn for th
e weird. . . .
“A cheesy carnival.” His dark eyes twinkled as he leaned back in his chair.
I relaxed against my chair. “I love a cheesy carnival,” I admitted. “What gave it away?”
Sundance shrugged, but he couldn’t stop smiling. “I’m not sure—maybe it was the way you entered that open-mike yodeling contest.”
Oh, yikes. I’d actually managed to block that part of the Line ’Em Up experience out of my brain until that very moment. I felt myself flush a little. “I guess you can tell a lot about someone by the way they yodel.”
“I guess you can.” Sundance fiddled with his straw wrapper, and the muscles in his forearm danced and rippled. “So,” he said finally, “how about it?”
“How about what?”
“Going with me to a cheesy carnival? There’s a real old-school one here for the week down at the old ball fields in Chestertown.”
Chestertown—that was only one town over. “I don’t know. . . .”
“They have cotton candy,” Sundance said temptingly. “And a shooting gallery.”
“I’ll bet you’re good at that,” I joked. “Being such a cowboy and all.”
“I cannot tell a lie,” he said with over-the-top sincerity. “Oklahoma state law—you’ve got to learn to shoot.”
“Is that why you left Oklahoma?”
“Yeah—it’s way too dangerous. Bullets flying every which way.”
I laughed. “No, seriously. What brought you to Illinois?”
“College of the Midwest gave me a free ride,” he said. “They’ve got a great animal husbandry program.” He told me all about what he was studying. It was a pretty amazing course load—I had no idea how much you had to know in order to be a rancher. You practically had to be a veterinarian, it seemed like. I finished my soda and started another one.
Sundance cocked an eyebrow. “You sure you got time for that?”
“Why not?”
M or F? Page 15
