by S. L. Naeole
My head started pounding at the question, but answering it wasn’t something I wanted to do. I just…
“Hey, let’s open some presents,” Brenda shouted as we approached the tables covered with what looked like someone’s trash. Old newspapers and bags, even an old coffee can held our birthday presents. Only one present on my table had actual wrapping paper around it; it didn’t take much to know who it was from, and I frowned when I saw the same paper on Audrey’s table.
“Presents!” some of my friends whooped. Everyone gathered around as I stood behind the one tagged as mine, while Audrey wheeled herself in front of hers.
“I’m going first, since I’m the pretty one,” Audrey laughed. Her friends, distracted by the idea of seeing Audrey open their gifts, forgot about Fallon and crowded in beside her. For a moment, she looked like she belonged. No one looking in would think any different…until they smelled her.
“Ooh, this one is from my dad. He told me this morning to open his first.”
She tore at the newspaper and let out a shriek. She showed everyone the box and we all hooted in response; Dad had shelled out some serious dough to get her a brand new MP3 player. She’d been begging for one for years, but Dad had never had the money.
“I am so gonna cook him a good dinner tonight,” Audrey said with a laugh as she put the box aside and reached for my gift to her. It was wrapped in a black trash bag, but she didn’t care. She pulled out two huge hubcaps that I’d modified to fit her wheelchair. I’d even painted them her favorite color.
“Okay, this totally kicks tail,” she said to me with a laugh, forgetting her anger at me for a brief moment. “I’ll have the sickest looking ride on the rock. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Aud,” I said with a smile, glad that I’d done something right at least.
She continued to open present after present, until finally the only one left was Fallon’s. Audrey carefully peeled apart the taped edges of the wrapping paper, the box so large it took up most of her lap. The box was plain, but it was taped, too, and Audrey took her time getting it open. When she pulled back the cardboard flaps, she looked in and then looked at Fallon, obviously confused.
“What it is?” I heard Lola ask.
Audrey pulled out a helmet. I knew right away it was an old motorcycle helmet. Or, at least, it was meant to look old. “What’s it for?” she asked, looking at Fallon.
“My dad and I’ve been working on a tandem car for one of his bikes. As soon as it’s completed, I’m going to take you for a ride in it and you’re gonna need your own helmet, so I got one for you.”
I watched as Audrey’s eyes sparkled. “You’re gonna take me on a motorcycle ride?”
Fallon’s head bobbed up and down, her smile reaching from ear to ear. “Just ‘cause you can’t walk, that doesn’t mean you can’t ride.”
Audrey wheeled herself to Fallon and wrapped her arms around her. Fallon returned the hug, and immediately I could feel the discomfort in the room. I was the only one who felt, different, almost…jealous.
Brenda must have noticed. “Okay, okay, enough with the sappy crap. It’s time for my baby’s presents!” She handed me her present first. “Happy birthday, baby.”
The magazine wrapping was easy to remove from the small package. “Hey, a wallet!”
“Open it.”
The wallet was light tan, and opened up to reveal a photo of Brenda and me taken a few months ago at prom. “Thanks, baby,” I said, kissing her lightly on the corner of her mouth.
I opened Dad’s gift next and saw that he’d also gotten me an MP3 player, even though I hadn’t asked for one or even hinted at it. Jameson snorted. “Now you can listen to all your girl band songs without us seeing the hot pink CDs.”
I laughed. “That reminds me, I’ve gotta return your ultimate boy band compilation CDs.”
Jameson’s face turned an awesome shade of red, but he laughed, too. It felt good. The discomfort was gone again, and everyone was just interested in presents. We all whooped when Jameson’s gift turned out to be the wine coolers that no one else had brought. Eventually, the last present had to be opened and even though I hadn’t planned it that way, just like it had been for Audrey, Fallon’s present was last.
“Uh, so yeah, I don’t know why you got me one, but thanks,” I said, putting it aside. “I’ll open it later.”
“No, you’re gonna open it now,” Audrey and Brenda both insisted.
With a grunt, I tore apart the paper and opened the heavy box. Now I understood how Audrey felt when she’d opened her gift and learned why Fallon had chosen it. But I didn’t need to hear Fallon explain her gift. I knew why she’d bought it.
“What is it?”
“What’s in the box?”
Shoulders and bodies pushed up against me to get a better look. Sighing, I pulled out Fallon’s gift and laid it on the table.
“It’s a carburetor.”
“A what?”
Brenda looked at it, then at me, and finally at Fallon. “You bought him something for his engine?”
“No, I rebuilt it,” she said matter-of-factly, as if the idea of buying a new part alone was enough to require a tetanus shot.
“This is, like, the worst present ever. What kind of girl gives a guy an engine part? Do you think it’s going to make him like you? Like, he’s gonna be all impressed with you knowing how to pick up a wrench or something? You probably don’t know jack about rebuilding a carburetor. Look at you. What kind of girl that rebuilds carburetors wears clothes like that, huh? Go put on some overalls, you dyke.”
“What the hell, Brenda?” Audrey cursed.
Just as everyone else did, I looked at Fallon, noticing for the first time that she was wearing something that kinda looked like a metallic green dress over a pair of tight, black leather pants. She had belted the dress at her waist with what looked like silver chains, and I tried to look away but I couldn’t.
She looked like a girl...a delicious girl.
Fallon’s head tilted up, her shoulders pulling back as she eyed Brenda defiantly. “Wow, you really dug deep for that one, didn’t you? Just reached into your little insult pocket and pulled out a winner, like I’ve never been called a dyke before. Do you really think calling me a dyke’s gonna hurt my feelings? Well, just so you know, for future reference, I’d rather be called a beaver-eating, carpet-diving, pink taco-loving lesbian every damned day of my life than be called, oh, I don’t know, ‘Brenda’, even once.”
I could hear the rage boiling within Brenda, feel the vibrations of it in her skin. She was trying very hard to contain herself, and I knew that if Fallon didn’t stop talking, Brenda would stop her instead.
But Fallon couldn’t hear what I could, so she continued, her face never flinching, her voice firm. “And just in case you were wondering, my parents taught me how to rebuild engines. I built my bike from the ground up and it runs better than almost anything that’s got wheels on this island.
“If Liam doesn’t trust me or my skills enough to use the carburetor, that’s fine. He doesn’t have to use it. Trash it, give it away; I don’t care.”
Audrey spoke up angrily. “I trust you, Fallon. That should be enough. That should be more than enough for you, Brenda.”
Brenda’s body was growing hot, and I could see the hair on her arms thickening. “Well it’s not, okay? And what the hell is wrong with you, anyway? You barely know her and you’re all ready to trust her with your only brother? Look around, Audrey. No one wants her here except you. You’re the only person here who thinks she has a place here, and I’m sorry but you know you’ve got pretty bad judgment.”
“Hey!” I shouted, but Audrey cut me off.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Brenda’s eyes flicked over to Jameson. “Do you really want me to say it out loud?”
I saw Audrey’s face, saw her eyes widen at the hint of betrayal and I was done; I’d had enough. “Dammit, Brenda, just shut up, okay? Just shut up
about the whole damn thing.”
“No! No, I won’t shut up. I want to know why the hell she gave this to you. What the hell is she trying to prove here? What does she want?” Brenda yelled, the fire in her eyes leaping out with each word as she turned to look at Fallon. “What do you want?”
“It’s just a goddamn carburetor, not a freaking engagement ring. Jeez. Look, I’ll take it back, okay?” Fallon grumbled, stepping forward and reaching for the part just as I grabbed it off the table.
This was the last straw; Brenda growled before her hand lashed out like a snake striking. I reached for her, grabbing her arm and dropping the carburetor in the process. I heard a metallic clang, and then a gasp. Brenda had already stopped her lunge, her hands falling dead at her sides, my arms wrapped around her just in case. We stood there, staring at the ground. The carburetor had struck a rock stabilizing the table leg but surprisingly, the carburetor looked undamaged.
Fallon looked at her gift on the ground and then at me. Her face was flat, expressionless as her eyes darted back and forth between Audrey’s and mine. I wanted to apologize – I was going to apologize – but then she left. She mumbled a quick “I’m out of here” and then left.
Audrey called out after her. I almost did, too, but I realized before it was too late that I was still holding onto Brenda. I might not understand what the hell was going on with Fallon, but I knew better than anything that if I’d said her name, if I even breathed it, Brenda would eat me for dinner. Slowly.
But, I guess it really didn’t matter what I did at that point. The party was over. Audrey would blame me and Brenda; everyone else would blame Fallon. There was no going back.
Instead, I bent down to pick up the carburetor. The minute my fingers touched the cool metal I felt…almost possessed. A lot of work had gone into rebuilding this stupid part and Fallon had done it for me…and I wanted to know why.
“If you don’t want it, I’ll take it. Maybe I can sell it online or something,” Jameson said as he came up to look at the part in my hand.
“What are you gonna say in the description, huh?” Brenda laughed. “Lovingly rebuilt by a girl for a cat?”
“What the hell are you talking about? She hates me,” I argued, but Brenda shook it off.
“Yeah, right. Don’t tell me you didn’t smell it. The way she became nervous only around you? The way her blood heated up when she looked at you? Human or not, she’s in heat. The smell of it is so damn strong, she’s dripping with it.”
Was that it? Did she look at me the way she did because she was…because she…
“I didn’t smell anything,” Jameson said with a huff, breaking up my thoughts before extending his hand out to me. “So? You gonna let me have it or what?”
Heavy. That’s what it felt like. The part in my hand, Brenda’s observation, the way the knowledge that Fallon had spent hours to make something just for me…it all felt heavy. A ton of just…stuff sitting right on top of my chest and it wouldn’t move. It just got heavier the more I thought.
“Yo. Liam. Can I have the carburetor?”
Slowly, I took in a breath. It was like sucking in mud through one of those damn coffee straws at Grans’ place. My hands grabbed the box that the part had come in and I put the carburetor inside. I folded the lid down and tucked the flaps back into place. Everything was done carefully before I looked at Jameson and shook my head. “No, man. I’m keeping it.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
FALLON
Stupid.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Stupid, dumb, brain-dead idiot.
I couldn’t stop thinking it or even shouting it out loud into the wind as I rode my bike home. It was stupid to go to the party. It was stupid to spend so much time on Liam’s gift. It was a stupid gift.
“Gah! I’m such a bonehead!”
Why didn’t I realize he’d hate my gift? I thought I was being smart. I thought if I gave him the carburetor he’d see I wasn’t just some girl pretending to like cars. Instead, he looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. He looked at me as if I was wearing some kind of “I hate penises” sign on my forehead.
“So what?” I shouted to no one. “So what if I did? What does it matter what he thinks about me?”
Because I like him.
“I do not!”
Yes…I do.
“No, I don’t!”
I shouted this as I pulled into the shop behind our house.
“Don’t what?”
I cut the engine and looked at Dad as he squatted beside the Triumph, the sidecar’s braces positioned against the bike’s frame, ready to be attached. “What?”
“Don’t what? You come in here screaming at the top of your lungs that you don’t…what?”
Dad’s puzzled expression was mixed with amusement, and he waited until I’d climbed off my bike and pulled my helmet off my head before handing me a socket wrench. I took it and grunted as I squatted beside him. “Nothing.”
I didn’t like lying to him. I tried not to, but the growing reality was that I sometimes had no choice. I couldn’t understand any of the thoughts in my head so how could I explain them to him? How could I tell him that I’d just had an argument with myself over something so stupid?
Dad’s sigh was long and exasperated. “You know, when your mom talks to herself, it’s only when things are really bad that she starts answering back. I’m not going to ask what happened because you’re just like her and, let’s face it, she scares me. So, I’m going to go inside and have some lunch. If you’re not done hitching this sidecar up by dinner, you’ll leave me no choice but to disown you completely because your ability to put things together is the only thing I can take any credit for.”
I frowned at him, shaking my head in disagreement. “You know that’s not true. Mom taught me how to do that, too.”
He threw his hands up, laughing. “I give up!”
He ruffled my hair before leaving, and I grasped the wrench in my hand tightly, feeling the weight of it, loving the feel of the cool metal against my palm. It was automatic; the minute my fingers curled around the wrench, I calmed down. It was like I was in a trance.
Quietly, I began to work around the bike and sidecar. The assembly was pretty cut and dry, with several u-shaped clamps that attached the struts to the bike’s frame already in place and waiting for the struts. Dad had already positioned and adjusted everything so all I needed to do was insert a few bolts, adjust the angles of the struts, and insure proper torque when tightening everything. It was as easy as baking a cake.
Or, at least it would be if I baked.
Dad didn’t come back from lunch, not that I expected him to. He always left me to finish a project. It was the only way I’d learn, he said. It was the only way any of us learned anything. He had told me before what needed to be done, and told me how I had to do it. It was up to me to remember and know exactly what he was talking about. Sometimes…I didn’t know.
“A machine is just like life, kitten,” he said once when I was ten, lying beneath the old truck as he showed me how to change the oil. “It takes a lot of little parts and experiences to make up someone, and then you’ve gotta take care of those parts. When something’s gone all wrong inside you, you’ve gotta take care of it. I take care of real engines, but I know that it takes a lot more care to fix a person on the inside.
“There’s gonna come a time when you’ll need that kind of fixing-”
“Oh, I already had that talk with Mom. I’ll just use a pad until I’m old enough to use a tampon.”
My response had silenced him faster than anything I’d ever been able to do before. Even falling out of a tree and breaking my ankle at six hadn’t made him fall so quiet so fast. But that was what I’d wanted. I knew he was going to start rambling like he always did, and he’d end up forgetting what it was he’d starting talking about and then before we knew it, the truck would be in pieces. Again.
So I did what I’d seen Mom do a thousand times before. And it w
orked.
But right now, hearing him go on and on about philosophical-type things would be better than what was going on in my head now that there was nothing else to do.
“Idle hands are the devil’s playthings,” Mom would probably say; it was her favorite random quote.
“Who said that?” I had asked once.
“Dr. Seuss,” she replied with a straight face.
I learned later where the saying came from, but Mom always insisted that everything she ever quoted came from him, and for us, it worked. So, I decided to put old Dr. Seuss’ advice to work and began finding things to do. Things that wouldn’t leave me with any time to think about the party, or the look on Liam’s face when he saw my-
“Oh, screw him. Screw him and his truck and his carburetor. Screw his mildew-eyed girlfriend. Screw his eyes, and his…muscles. Screw him for throwing my gift on the ground. Screw him for making me never want to see him again.”
I threw the socket wrench in my hand at the wall. The old wood was no match against the heavy tool and a hole appeared where the wrench flew through it. I saw the light stream through, and then an eye appeared, golden and wide with surprise.
“Remodeling?”
Mom.
She walked around and stood at the entrance to the shop, looking at me with a knowing smile and a plate of food in her hand. “Dad said you were having a little one-on-one with yourself but he didn’t say it had turned into a fistfight.”
“You think I’m crazy, right?” I asked as I took the plate of food. Fried chicken and mashed potatoes covered the surface, a cob of corn resting on top of it all, glistening with melted butter.
She shook her head. “Crazy? No. Not really. Not a lot. Okay, maybe just a tiny bit.”
“Mom!”
She laughed and tugged at my earlobe. “Does any of this have to do with the party?”
“What makes you say that?” I asked before taking a bite out of a drumstick, the sharp crunch of the skin sounding a lot better than her question had.
“Well, let’s see. You left less than two hours ago but you’ve been in here almost an hour, you haven’t changed out of your favorite pants or top and now they’re covered in grease, and you’ve got Dad telling me to come and talk to you.
