Babe in Boyland

by Jody Gehrman

  “No kidding.” Chloe fans her face with her hands. “Mama mia, get a room!”

  I squeal with delight in spite of myself. Remembering the fragile perfection of that moment obliterates any worries about Mr. Pratt or his suspicions. Somehow, hearing my friends say out loud what I know in my bones gives me hope. It’s the best sort of validation. Emilio and I have chemistry. We have spine-tingling, toe-curling je ne sais quoi. Everyone in this whole theater felt it; does it get any more real than that? We became friends as guys, yes, but can’t soul mates overcome even that? Doesn’t a kiss that perfect deserve an encore?

  “Don’t look now,” Darcy breathes, “Algernon incoming.”

  Of course I jerk around like a spaz and find myself nose to nose with Emilio. Heat spreads across my cheeks. Chloe and Darcy giggle and stumble away from us, holding each other up like a couple of drunks.

  “Hey,” Emilio says.

  “Hey,” I echo. Brilliant, Natalie. Such a scintillating conversationalist.

  “Good work out there. You put the rest of us to shame.”

  I shake my head. “No! You were fantastic.”

  “I, um . . .” He looks at his shoes, looks up at me, looks at his shoes again. “I really loved working with you. It was so fun.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. It’s a total rush being a girl with him! I can’t believe I’m finally allowed to flirt. At the same time, it feels so weird starting over as strangers when I already know him so well. I’m afraid if I open my mouth, something Nat knows but Natalie doesn’t will fly out, incriminating me, like with Mr. Pratt.

  Emilio shrugs. “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you what a great job you did.”

  “Thanks.” I ransack the contents inside my head, searching for some way to prolong this conversation, but come up empty-handed. This could be my last chance to be a girl with him! Yet here I am, struck with a deeply inconvenient case of brain-freeze.

  “You going to Josh’s party?”

  I frown. “Wish I could . . .”

  “Oh, man! You’ve got to go. You’re the guest of honor.”

  “I really can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Because I’ve got a date with your sister.

  “Previous obligations,” I say vaguely.

  It’s both gratifying and heartbreaking to see how disappointed he looks. “Okay. Well, I guess I’ll see you around. Thanks for saving the day.”

  Before I can think up a response he’s turned and slipped into the crowd. I watch him go, feeling elated and crushed and confused all at once—a swirl of contradictory emotions so intense it takes my breath away.

  Chloe and Darcy materialize once again at my side.

  “He didn’t recognize you, did he?” Darcy cranes her neck to catch a glimpse of him through the throng. Parents and friends from the audience have streamed into the greenroom, adding to the chaos with flashing cameras, exuberant hugs, and cellophane-wrapped bouquets.

  “No,” I say, “nothing like that.”

  Chloe blows her hair out of her eyes, annoyed. “Well, what did he say?”

  “Nothing much.” I flash a brave smile, trying to shake the melancholy threatening to kill my post-show buzz. “Come on. Let’s turn me into Nat one last time. After tonight, I’m going to be all girl all the time.”

  Getting back into Nat mode feels like putting on a sopping wet, too-tight pair of pants. Everything about it chafes and irritates.

  Before Underwood I’d always assumed guys enjoyed more liberties than I did. They can get away with so much more, like walking alone late at night, sitting with their knees splayed wide, hocking up a loogie in public. So many of the issues girls agonize over don’t seem to register with them—gaining five pounds or being called a slut or waking up with disastrous hair. I assumed being Nat would be a mini-vacation from all those worries and restrictions. I had vague notions that being a guy would mean stretching out in first class when I’m used to suffering through the cramped indignities of coach.

  The reality? Going from being a girl to being a guy means amputating huge parts of myself. I’ve had to tamp down my instincts over and over again: Don’t squeal, cry, or emote in any way; don’t touch people or express interest in their welfare; do not, under any circumstances, be vulnerable. Of course, any time you’re trying to act like someone you’re not it’s bound to be awkward, so I doubt being male feels this claustrophobic to actual guys. Knowing that does nothing to assuage my reluctance about jamming myself into the Nat Rodgers personae one last time.

  “Are you sure you did the stoppelpaste right?” I sound peevish, even to myself, but I can’t help it. “My jaw itches.”

  Chloe’s makeup brush freezes in midair. She gives me a hard look. “I’ve spent all afternoon fixing your face, okay? I believe ‘thank you God for saving my ass’ is the correct response.”

  “Sorry. I’m just a little depressed.”

  Darcy is perched on the bathroom counter, flossing her teeth. “Depressed? That’s crazy. You should be stoked.”

  “I guess.” My voice is flat, listless.

  “You did it, Natalie!” Darcy insists. “You did everything you set out to do and more.”

  I sigh. “What did I really accomplish? I have no real answers for my article. I’m not sure I understand guys any more than I did before all this. In the meantime, though, I’ve totally fallen for Emilio, who’ll be pissed if he finds out I lied to him. And now Erica’s involved—what will she say when she learns she’s been crushing on a girl? What will Tyler, Max, and Earl think when they realize they’ve been had?” I fold my arms across my chest. “All I really did is tangle myself in lies. I’m hurting people I care about, for what? An article I probably won’t even write.”

  Chloe puts her makeup brush down and fixes me with an inscrutable stare.

  “What?” I challenge. “It’s true.”

  She looks at the ceiling a moment, gathering her thoughts. “I’m only going to say this once, okay, so listen up. In the past week you’ve done more walking the walk than anyone I know. Yes, maybe this whole stunt’s been crazy and misguided—so was doing this show with only a couple hours of rehearsal—but you tackled both, and you pulled it all off. Darcy and I look up to you, okay? You’ve totally proven just how bad-ass you can be.”

  Darcy jumps off the counter and hugs me. “She’s right. You’re amazing. We love you.”

  I start to cry. I can’t help it. “Thanks, you guys.”

  “Now, can we stop stroking your ego and go to Josh’s already?” Chloe looks at her watch. “Even the chips and salsa will be gone if we wait much longer.”

  I wipe my tears away and stand up. My gaze lands on Nat in the mirror. He’s a part of me, I guess, just like every role I’ve ever played is a part of me. He’s not a lie—not really. I still feel kind of sad and mixed up, but Chloe’s right. We’ve got to get to Josh’s. Erica’s probably there already, and I can’t risk disappointing her and Emilio both by standing her up.

  I raise a fist. “Let’s get this party started.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Josh’s party is huge and completely out of control. His parents own a massive house on Strawberry Point overlooking Richardson Bay. I’ve heard the sisters are both in college and the parents are vacationing in Venice, so the house is empty—well, empty aside from the hundred-plus intoxicated teenagers pouring in like a swarm of locusts.

  As we walk into the living room, the bass beat is so loud it thrums inside my chest. There are kids dancing on the couches, on the chairs and ottomans and tabletops; a tall skinny guy I don’t recognize dangles precariously from the spiral staircase. Bottles, plastic cups, cans, and mostly devoured hors d’oeuvres already sprawl across every surface. Man, I’d hate to be the one cleaning this place tomorrow. Then again, a house like this probably comes with an army of domestic servants ready to swoop in and restore it to its original luster before Josh has even finished his first cup of coffee.

 
Right away, I notice there are lots of people from Mountain View High here—too many for comfort. Someone could easily recognize me. I guess if I manage to finish this article and publish it, everyone who reads our school paper will know about Nat Rodgers. Still, I’m not prepared to be outed here in front of my Underwood posse. Maybe I should give up my Story of the Year aspirations and let Nat die a quick, anonymous death after tonight. That might soothe my guilt about lying to Emilio and everyone else at Underwood. I could wait a couple months, let my hair grow, then figure out a way to meet up with Emilio as Natalie. Would he recognize me as his old roommate if I wasn’t in a wig and heavy makeup? Could I level with him if he did?

  I resolve to work all of that out later. The immediate danger is being recognized here by someone in the Mountain View High cohort; that would limit my options severely. The scene is so chaotic and bacchanal I might escape notice, but I don’t want to count on that. Darcy’s wearing a hound’s-tooth fedora, so I snatch that and put it on, pulling it down low so it practically covers my eyes.

  “Hey!” Darcy complains. “What are you doing?”

  “Too many Mountain View High kids.” I lean close to her ear to be heard over the din. “Don’t want to be recognized.”

  She looks miffed, but apparently sees the necessity. Finger-fluffing her hot pink hair, she doesn’t bother with a response. Chloe leads us through the drunken throngs into a spacious and slightly less crowded kitchen, where Josh is pouring tequila shots for a bevy of scantily clad girls, none of whom look familiar. One of them downs a shot and Josh places a slice of lime between her glossy lips. This might not be too incriminating, except that he does it with his teeth.

  Darcy and I exchange a quick look before gauging Chloe’s reaction. She spins on her heel and walks back out.

  “Guess you called that,” Darcy says in a low voice.

  “I’m not going to tell her ‘I told you so.’”

  “Good thinking.”

  We catch up with Chloe in a room upstairs that might be someone’s office. There are bookshelves on one wall and a desk in the corner. It’s quieter than the living room. French doors lead to a high deck overlooking the bay. I spot Erica and Emilio outside, leaning against the railing. Just seeing them stirs up a dust storm of nerves inside me. They’re the whole reason I’m here, though. Obviously I’ve got to go out there.

  I look at Chloe. She’s chewing on her lip and staring at the ceiling with intense concentration, as if the answers to all of life’s burning questions are about to be answered up there.

  “You okay?” I ask quietly.

  She nods, but goes on looking at the ceiling. Her teeth bite down on her lip so hard that the skin there turns white.

  I turn to Darcy, who gives me the I’ll handle this look. I flash her a grateful half smile and indicate Emilio out on the porch. She nods in understanding. It’s amazing how much information can pass between us without a single word.

  Dismissed, though still a little worried about Chloe, I head outside onto the deck. I tell myself the Erica-Emilio situation is more pressing; besides, I’m the last person Chloe wants witnessing her distress, since she blatantly ignored my Josh-alarms. Outside, the air is cool on my face; there’s a thin layer of fog hovering over the water, and the air smells like seaweed. Emilio spots me first, and then Erica follows his gaze, a radiant smile lighting up her face when she recognizes me. The smile throws me. After my rude escape last night, I should think she’d be scowling. It would be just my luck if ditching her added to my Nat personae an alluring air of mystery. What a tangled web I weave! Another sharp pang of guilt shoots through me, but I ignore it.

  “What’s going on, bro?” Emilio reaches out a hand.

  “Nothing much.” As our palms slide against each other briefly, I remember the kiss tonight onstage and how electric it was, how right it felt. I force myself to focus on Erica. “How are you?”

  “I’m all right.” She leans back against the railing, her expression slightly guarded. “You sure did disappear in a hurry last night.”

  “Yeah, I’m so sorry about that. I meant to call you.”

  “That’s okay. Emilio told me about your condition.”

  I raise my eyebrows, glance at Emilio. “Did he really?”

  She nods. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. A lot of people have irritable bowel syndrome. I’m taking a nutrition class online right now, and we learned all about it. You should alter your diet, though. Definitely cut out the coffee.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Good idea.”

  Emilio’s fighting a smile. “Nat, looks like you could use a drink. What can I get you?”

  “Something that won’t exacerbate my condition,” I say pointedly.

  “Nothing alcoholic, carbonated, or caffeinated,” Erica advises.

  “Well then. I guess I’ll have water.”

  “Erica? You ready for a refill?” he asks.

  She looks at her red plastic cup, hands it to him. “I’ll have another beer, I guess.”

  As Emilio makes his way across the porch and into the house, I watch him, filled with longing. I’m so going to miss him. God, this is hopeless. There’s no way I’ll get a chance to say good-bye—not tonight, not ever.

  I turn my attention back to Erica. “Did you see the show?”

  “Yeah. I went with my mom. She’s in town for the night.”

  “Right, that’s what Emilio said. Did you like it?”

  She laughs. “Uh-huh. I couldn’t believe how that girl stepped in at the last second. She was really good!”

  I look at my shoes, hoping my face doesn’t show how much this pleases me. “I heard about that. You thought she did okay?”

  “She did great! Emilio said she’s your cousin.”

  “Yep. Natalie.”

  She studies me intently for a moment. “You two kind of look alike.”

  “You think?”

  “Except she’s a lot prettier.” She punches my arm lightly.

  “Do you think, um, Emilio liked her?”

  Erica’s eyes light up. “We should fix them up!”

  I pretend to consider this. “That’s not a bad idea, actually.”

  “I don’t really like that girl Summer.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “She’s stuck-up. Plus she has a boyfriend. He can do way better.”

  “The four of us should go out sometime.” She flashes a quick, flirty grin.

  “Mmm . . . that’s an idea.” That’s never going to happen.

  Without any warning, she tugs my hand, pulling me closer. I look around in alarm. Then I feel her fingers running up and down my arm. “I really like you, Nat.”

  “Uh, I like you too.”

  “You’re so easy to talk to. I feel a connection with you . . .” When I don’t say anything she adds, “You know what I mean?”

  “Sure.” Think, Natalie, think! You have to stop this before it goes any further. “Listen, it’s only fair to tell you that I’m not really looking for a relationship. I mean, you’re very sweet, and you deserve someone as cool as you . . .”

  “But you’re not that guy, right?” she asks, her tone suddenly bitter.

  “No, I’m not.” In more ways than you can possibly imagine. “But I’m sure he’s out there.”

  Tears sparkle on her lashes as she searches my face. “You’re not even going to give me a chance?”

  God, how did this get so intense so quickly? Suddenly I understand the freak-and-flee instinct I’ve always found despicable in guys. I look into her eyes, willing her to understand, though of course the situation is so convoluted that’s patently impossible. “Please, Erica, just—”

  Suddenly she snakes her arms around my neck, pulls me to her, and kisses me. This isn’t a gentle I-understand-and-we’ll-always-be-friends peck on the cheek, either. This is a look-out-sugar-’cause-I’m-going-to-rock-your-world kiss. I taste lipstick and beer and tongue and start to pull away in a panic, but she has her hands clamped to the back of my neck. She’s surpr
isingly strong, and it’s clear I’m not going anywhere until she’s had her way with me.

  After what seems like forever, I hear somebody clearing his throat. “Sorry to interrupt.”

  Erica lets go and we both jerk around to see Emilio smirking at us, carrying two plastic cups.

  “You’re not interrupting.” I wipe my mouth as casually as I can.

  “No, I definitely am.” Emilio winks as he hands me my water and Erica her beer. “I’ll leave you alone in a minute so you can pick up where you left off.”

  Ew! I now officially want to die.

  Erica slaps his arm playfully. “Shut up!”

  He grins. “You won’t believe who just showed.”

  “Who?” I’m eager to change the subject.

  Instead of answering, he turns and peers through the French doors. “She was right behind me. Stopped to talk with Darcy and Chloe for a second.”

  My stomach feels like it just stepped onto an elevator and plummeted thirty floors. It’s okay, I tell myself. Summer’s in LA. It can’t possibly be her.

  “Who?” I repeat, only this time through clenched teeth.

  “I told her all about your cousin, what a great job she did. It’s such a drag Natalie couldn’t come to—”

  “Who?” I practically scream.

  He gives me an odd look. “Summer. She finished her audition and came back early. She didn’t get the part, and she’s pissed. First thing she did when she got here was down three shots of vodka. Better not ask about—”

  “I’ve got to go.” I pull the fedora lower and start for the French doors.

  “Hold on!” He grabs my arm. “When I told her about your cousin she said she really wanted to meet you.”

  “Sorry. Can’t.”

  Erica looks hurt. “Where are you going?”

  I don’t bother to respond. Enough with the lies already. It’s better just to shut up and bolt. I look from Erica back to Emilio. I stare for a moment into his eyes, tortured by everything I can’t say. Then I turn to go.

  I force my way through the French doors and navigate the office, which has gotten more crowded. Someone’s smoking a clove cigarette, and the cloying scent makes me cough. I push on, using my arms to part the crowd, shoving gently when needed, barely seeing where I’m going. All I know is, I can’t let Summer spot me. She’ll figure out what happened and tell everyone. God, why did I even come to this stupid party at all? I can’t believe Erica kissed me!