by Sarah Miller
Cullen stretches out on Madison's bed, his head in her lap. Nicholas, whose sole purpose in life seems to be to prove that man is indeed an island, lies on the floor. He refuses offers of wine and stares at the ceiling.
"I can't believe you guys get out of your room by leaping off a fire escape and grabbing a tree branch," Madison says. "I would be so scared." Gid wants to tell her how, when they were jumping, he pretended he was in The Matrix, that he said to himself, "There is no branch, there is no tree." Instead, he says, as Madison goes to pour him some more wine, "You have the shiniest hair I have ever seen."
"Holy crap," says Cullen.
"You see?" Nicholas sits up. "This is what I mean. June, and not a minute sooner."
Now Cullen gives Nicholas a cautioning look. Gid feels a little flattered. The bet might embarrass him, but it's a big, powerful secret, a bond.
Erica, in the true spirit of a competitive athlete, is under-whelmed by the boys' escape tactics. "I went on NOLS last summer," she says. "We had to jump off stuff a lot higher than that." Well, good for you, little Heidi scholar athlete.
"What's NOLS?" Gid asks.
Mija smiles at him cautiously. "It's National Outdoor Leadership School," she says. "It teaches you how to survive the wilderness." Gid can't imagine why any one of them would need this skill. But he smiles politely.
Madison flips onto her stomach, pokes underneath her bed, and comes up with another bottle of wine.
"I'm wasted," Cullen says.
"Good," Madison says. "That's the whole point." Then she turns to Gideon: "Did you know that Cullen and I are cousins?"
"No," Gideon says, "I had no idea." He looks to Cullen for confirmation. Cullen nods.
"Her mother is my dad's cousin," Cullen says.
Gid immediately launches into a fantasy that he is older, twenty-five or so, and he is tall, taller than Madison, and that the two of them and Cullen are standing on a dock drinking champagne and laughing into the pink light of a setting sun. But he wonders, Is Madison too fashiony, too indoorsy, to enjoy the sunset? He emerges from this to see Mija watching him. He wonders, Is this some kind of setup? She is the least pretty of the three, and he concludes, with no real gloom but a calm understanding of his limitations, that she has been set aside for him.
Mija gets off her bed and settles herself next to Erica, who, following an unspoken directive, begins to braid Mija's blonde hair. "They're in their little cuddly pseudo-lesbian phase," Cullen observes.
"They're like blonde Care Bears," Madison agrees.
Teenage girls are always grooming each other, like sexy little monkeys.
"Why don't you tell us about your summer?" Cullen says to Nicholas.
Nicholas says nothing.
Madison gestures at Nicholas with the wine. "This should make you ease up a little bit," she says.
"Fat chance," says Cullen. "He still doesn't drink." So he wasn't just not drinking earlier. He doesn't drink at all. I'd say it was an affectation, but let's see if he sticks to it.
"More for us," Cullen says, producing a Swiss army knife and uncorking the wine. He takes a sip from the bottle and passes it to Madison, who then passes it to Gid, who, while staring at Madison's mouth, takes a sip.
"That's good," he exclaims.
"It should be," says Madison. "Considering what I went through to get it."
Mija takes a sip. "It's very good," she says formally. She puts the bottle to Erica's mouth.
"I have double sessions tomorrow," Erica says, shaking her stubborn little blonde head. "No drinking."
"Oh, but you'll smoke pot!" Cullen laughs.
"Pot's natural," Erica insists. "Wine has all sorts of chemicals in it, and we only get organic pot."
"You sound just like Nicholas," Gideon says to Erica. "You two are made for each other."
"You're not the only one who thinks so," Madison says.
Nicholas twitches and frowns. Suddenly, Erica's face reddens. Cullen and Mija look slightly embarrassed.
Madison, however, has a watchful smirk on her face and seems to be having the time of her life. Gideon tries to glance furtively at her, but she proves too captivating for such self-control. She catches him looking and stares right back. He can tell that even though she thinks he's kind of a dork, she doesn't have disdain for him, which, for a girl like her, is a huge compliment.
"Madison," Erica says, jumping up, abruptly dropping Mija's half-braided hair. "I need to talk to you for a second."
Madison checks the peephole, then she and Erica step outside.
"Jesus," Nicholas groans at the ceiling.
"Jesus is right," Cullen says.
"What's going on?" Gideon demands. "Did I say something wrong?"
Cullen leaps up, an unlit joint between his teeth. "You said something stupid, but it wasn't your fault. Madison said something mean."
"What a surprise," Nicholas says. He rolls over onto his stomach and starts to do push-ups. "All that rock star attention is making Madison a little too C-U-next-Tuesday-ish—even for my tastes."
Cullen places his hands on his knees and bends over, putting his face right next to Nicholas's. "And whose fault is all this, anyway?"
Nicholas is still doing pushups when Erica and Madison come back into the room. Erica appears to have been crying but also appears to have washed her face.
"We're going to go smoke this organic joint," Cullen says, wrapping his arms around Madison's shoulders. She squeals.
Gid loved the squeal. I thought it was a little unnecessary. But in order to ignore a squealing, pretty girl, especially wearing a belt that says Ride Me, Gid would have to be so sophisticated that I'm not sure I would like him as much.
"I'm coming too," Gid says.
"Nah, nah," Cullen says, ushering Nicholas and Erica and Madison out the door. "You stay here and keep Mija company." With a wink, Cullen disappears.
Mija smiles shyly at Gid. The room, empty and quiet now, smells overpoweringly of girls, of scents both complex and strong and completely beyond Gid's power of description. In fact, what he's smelling is wine, Chanel 19, and Tide. Gid sits next to Mija on the bed.
"So, where are you from?" he asks.
"Where am I from, where are my parents from, or what do I consider my home?"
Gideon's going to be hearing that a lot from now on. At this point, he doesn't know enough to find it annoying.
"Where were you born?"
"Kuala Lumpur," she says. "It's in Malay—"
"I know where it is," Gid says. "I used to read atlases as a kid."
"But my parents are Dutch," she says, unimpressed with Gid's hint that he was a gifted child. "Well, my father is Dutch, and my mother is sort of Dutch. It's a long story."
Gid moves a few inches away from her. He's unsure what information to offer next. Should he tell her he has a girlfriend? He decides at this point that he's never, ever going to say more than he has to, and to always remember that the more other people talk and the less you tell them, the better.
I think he has a lot better chance of not eating chicken until he gets laid than he does of sticking to this rule. He's just a born confider.
"Is this your second year?"
"Oh no," says Mija, "it's my fifth. Another long story."
"I see," Gideon says, wondering why one of these long stories doesn't get told so he can stop trying to think of what to say.
"What was the deal with that thing with Nicholas and Erica? Did I say something wrong?"
"Oh, that." Mija waves her little hand dismissively, and one of her eyelids flutters. "That wasn't your fault. I mean, you would have no way of knowing, and I am sure they didn't tell you, because it's a giant secret, but Erica is in love with Nicholas. And apparently, they've had sex. But the thing is, Nicholas gets all close to her, and then she thinks he actually likes her, but once he's had sex with her, he's mean. But I'm not supposed to tell anyone." She frowns. "Last year, Erica didn't live with me and Madison. She lived with Marcy Proctor and Edie
Bell, but then she became friends with Madison...so...she mostly just hangs out with her now. Erica is one of those people who was sort of popular. But when Madison started to like her, she became really popular." She blushes a little. She has huge green eyes, and her blonde bangs are so neat it looks like they were cut with a ruler. Gideon stares back but very pointedly does not stare at the waistband of her blue thong underwear, which protrudes rather aggressively from the top of her pajama shorts. "They left us together because they want us to hook up, you know," Mija says. "And we can, if you want." She moves toward him, almost imperceptibly. A symbolic gesture.
God, Gid thinks, I could win the bet right now. Or start winning. So why doesn't he feel victorious?
"Do you think we should try kissing?" she asks. "As long as we're here?"
"Sure," Gid says, glad to have a focus. They tilt their heads, and as they lean in toward each other, Gid realizes he's thinking not about the kiss but about what he's going to eat tomorrow now that he's sort of a vegetarian. His lips are on hers, and her mouth is opening slightly. He opens his eyes. Mija's looking right at him.
"I have a girlfriend," he says.
"Oh!" She jumps up, putting her little hands to her mouth. “I’m sorry!"
"No, no," Gid says, his mind still catching up to what he just said. "I...Don't be sorry."
He's freaked out by how relieved he is that they're not making out. Don't guys constantly want to make out with everyone? But Gid doesn't. He isn't sure about that concept, although he does find Mija attractive. He just thought that if a pretty girl was around, then you must want her. He thinks it's strange that he doesn't.
I think this is cute. Mind-blowingly cute. A teenage boy with real taste. I mean, not that Mija's gross. But she's not for him. And he's not trying to just hit it because he can. My heart is beating really, really fast.
Mija sits back down on the bed, pulling some of her blanket up over her feet. She seems totally over Gid's rejection. "Do you miss her?" she asks.
The phrase "not really" pops into his head so quickly that it's a wonder he manages to say, "Oh, yes. A lot." Mija nods sympathetically, her blonde pageboy swings next to her head in a smooth sheet. Gid realizes that he isn't attracted to girls who are too neat. But telling her he has a girlfriend—now other girls are going to think he's off-limits. And shouldn't he have just tried to have sex with her? And win? But he couldn't. He thinks back to that moment, where he was trying to move his lips against hers and physically couldn't will himself to do it, because he just didn't feel anything for her.
Wait a minute. That's a pretty unusual feeling for a guy to have. Does Gid—dare I say this about him, about any sixteen-year-old sex-crazed boy—have a soul?
He's wondering that himself right now, but the words in his head take a different form; Why didn't I just jump her? What is my problem? Do I have a problem?
"This has been a really weird day," he says.
"Tell me about it," Mija ten Eyck replies. "This morning, I was in Amsterdam."
She doesn't seem at all upset that they didn't hook up. Gid wonders, fleetingly, if she feels as indifferent to him as he is to her. He does think she's a nice girl, though. She reaches into her nightstand and takes out some acne medicine. She puts a little on her chin, then dabs a little on Gid's chin. "You need to take better care of your skin," she says. "I have a lot of products that would help you."
They share a sincere moment of looking into the mirror, considering each other's faces. Gid has made a
friend.
The grass is wet, and the sky is just starting to turn pink over the hills as the boys walk home. Gid confesses to Cullen and Nicholas that he told Mija he had a girlfriend. "It just popped out," he says. "So now all the girls are going to think I'm already taken."
Cullen slaps him on the back. "You are the man," he says. "That's the best thing you could have said. Also, it's
very good to reject girls. It makes you much more desirable. Wow, saying you had a girlfriend. What a stroke of genius."
Gid wants to say that it was just an accident, but I'm glad he doesn't. He should take credit for it, and besides, strokes of genius are almost always accidents.
Like this one. End up in some pretty weird kid's head and the more you see his weird thoughts, the more you...well... After tonight, I am mostdefinitely somewhere very close to being in love. Now definitely no one can know who I am. Whatever kind of confidence I might project to the outside world, my heart is very tender. Strange considering just a little while ago, I was afraid he could read my mind. Now that I know he can't, I almost wish that he could.
skinny fat
For the second time in eight hours, Gideon Rayburn is awakened. This time, the agent of rudeness is Nicholas, and he has actually reached under the covers, scooped his hands beneath Gideon's underarms, and is now, causing not inconsiderable pain, pulling him out of bed-Gideon moans. "I think you're digging into one of my glands."
Nicholas, strong despite his wiry frame, is dressed in a pair of navy nylon shorts and a T-shirt tight enough to say, I have a nice body, but loose enough to pretend that's not its goal. "We're going running," Nicholas says. "Come on."
"Running?" Gid has barely ever thought of the concept of running and certainly never in relationship to himself. He clearly remembers that whole working-out conversation but thought it was just theoretical. I knew it wasn't. Guys with posture like Nicholas don't usually bullshit. "Why?"
"Because you're skinny fat." Nicholas pinches a bit of flesh hanging from Gid's arm.
"Ow." It hurts more than it should.
"That hurts because it's skin, not muscle. You're not overweight, but you have no muscle whatsoever. Skinny fat," he repeats.
Gid falls back onto his bed. Nicholas goes to his bureau and removes a pair of shorts and a faded yellow T-shirt advertising a corporate 5k race in Central Park. He throws them onto Gid's (sunken, skinny-fat) chest.
"Get up," he says, "or I will pull you up again."
"No, no," Gid protests, suddenly all obedient. "That hurt."
"It hurt because you're sk—"
"I know, I'm skinny fat. I heard you."
Five minutes later, they're running around the track. Or rather Nicholas is running and Gideon's propelling himself forward on desperate exhalations and sheer force of will.
Passing the reflective windows of a spanking-new field house, he gets a glimpse of himself. Sure enough, a pale lip of flesh dangles from his arm, like turkey wattle. He is skinny fat!
"I know I'm not supposed to talk, but I gotta know," he says. "Do girls really care if you're out of shape?"
"Girls," Nicholas says, "are even worse than guys about that stuff."
I'm not sure that's true. I feel like a guy would go out with a girl with no brain and, like, a totally ugly face if she had a nice body. Or even a nice body part. But Gid would do well to believe him. Because the whole skinny-fat thing—it's real.
Gid's lungs feel like two charred steaks. "It's incredible how much legs weigh," he says. A commuter train whistles from somewhere off beyond a wall of trees. He wonders if he could sneak off and get on it and find his way back home. Or maybe he could just fall down in a heap of girlish tears and simply refuse to go on.
"Your fight-or-flight mechanism is probably kicking in about now," says Nicholas, not even panting. "I'd bet you've chosen to fixate on escape."
Gideon wants to say that he's doing fine, but he can't breathe well enough to speak. He stifles the urge to vomit. He tries to turn off his mind. It doesn't work. So he tries to imagine that he's watching himself from outer space, that he weighs nothing, and finally, that he is in a movie about someone who has to run two miles. He finally concludes that there's no substitute for willpower. Each step of the last four laps is a distinct and memorable slice of hell. But he makes it. The moment he's done, he collapses into the grass.
"You're in horrible shape," Nicholas says casually. "I have you running to build confidence. In three weeks, it's going
to be a whole different feeling. You'll have less fat, more muscle. You'll have a lot more respect for yourself."
I don't think that's fair. Just because Gideon is scared sometimes, or unsure, or even ashamed of himself doesn't mean he doesn't respect himself. But I guess it just depends on what kind of beast you're trying to build.
And, more important, what kind of beast does Gid want to become? As miserable as running was, Gid knows he will do it every day. Yesterday, he looked at Nicholas and Cullen and felt nothing but hopeless envy. He still feels envy, but it is a distinctly hopeful envy. He is not powerless over his own hotness. He has a destiny. One of those girls on the quad will be a part of it. Skinny fat will not.
Per Nicholas's instructions, Gideon is to do fifty push-ups—he can manage twenty, done naked on the cold tile—then shower for approximately seven minutes in a hot, hard spray and two minutes in a cold, soft one. During the hot part, he thinks about Madison and her perverted belt buckle and wide upper lip, like Julia Roberts. Gid imagines his body with large lats and biceps, and Madison lacing her fingers around them admiringly.
I don't like Gid thinking of her. Because no matter how pretty I am, I could never be pretty exactly like her. And itmakes me a little sad that he thinks she is the apex of what he could achieve in life. I don't think he even noticed how she had so much base on, and that the iPod on her dresser was pink. Any girl who buys a pink iPod is, well, the kind of girl who probably gets a lot of attention and doesn't care how gay she is.
