Getting It (11 page)

On the trip to the supermarket, Raúl and Carlos mostly talked about cars. But on the drive home, Raúl told Carlos, “You know, I think your ma is a very special lady”

Carlos glanced across the seat at him, wondering why Raúl was telling him that. Were he and his ma planning to get married or something? If they were, why hadn't she told him?

Carlos kept expecting Raúl to say more, but Raúl simply smiled out the truck window. And Carlos felt too awkward to ask more.

As soon as Raú left after lunch, Carlos confronted his ma. “Are you going to marry him?”

His ma thought a moment before replying, “I'm not sure. We've talked about it, but I don't know yet.”

Carlos sputtered, annoyed. He wanted a simple yes or no, not some wussy “I don't know yet.” How much longer would she keep squeaking the bedsprings before she made up her mind? And if she did marry Raú, would they
stay
married?

Carlos retreated to his bedroom and slammed the door. Taking a seat at his computer, he noticed from his buddy list that Playboy, Pulga, and Toro were online. He waited for one of them to IM him. But they didn't. And he was still too angry to IM them.

Instead, he went to Hot-or-Snot and discovered that Roxy had made the day's “Top Picks.” Probably every guy in America was e-mailing her. Carlos let out a sigh, wishing
he
had the nerve.

After giving her a ten for the day, he searched for Playboy's profile and gave him a ten too. After all, even though his friends were homophobic
pendejos,
they were still his buds.

M
ONDAY MORNING,
C
ARLOS
sat in the back row of the bus as usual, but his buds barely said more to him than “'S'up?”

It wasn't till biology class that Toro whispered, “Look, man, I don't care if you
are
gay, we're still friends, okay?”

He tried to shake hands, but Carlos exploded in a whisper, “I'm not gay!”

He refused to let his friends' comments get to him. Besides, he was too busy worrying. Would Roxy notice his hair? Would she like it? If she did, he'd planned exactly what to say: “Thanks. By the way, I saw you on Hot-or-Snot. I gave you a ten.”

At lunch, he spotted her and her friends getting ketchup. His heart pounded furiously as he broke into a sweat. Hands trembling, he carried his tray toward her, arriving just as she finished squirting her hot dog.

She turned in his direction. An endless moment passed while she looked at his hair. Then she broke into a smile. “Hey, your hair looks cute.” Picking up her tray, she stepped away with her friends, leaving Carlos speechless once again.

And yet a wave of joy flooded through him. True, he hadn't said what he'd planned, but
she
had said more than he'd dared imagine.

He floated toward his table, barely aware of his friends leaning toward him, their eyes wide with curiosity. “What did she say?”

Carlos fell into his chair, still in a daze. “She likes my hair.”

“She wants you, dude!” Pulga raised his palm and high-fived him. “So you're really not gay?”

Not that again. “Shut up!”

Pulga responded with a huge smile. “Well, you had me worried,
pendejo”

“So are you going to e-mail her?” Toro asked.

Only Playboy failed to share their enthusiasm. “Don't waste your time,” he told Carlos. “She's a nine-point-eight—out of your league.”

“Lay off!” Toro punched Playboy in the shoulder. “That's a crappy thing to say.”

Playboy shrugged. “Well, it's true.” He turned to Carlos. “You really think Roxy is going to give it up to you just because your queer little boyfriend gives you a fag haircut?”

Pulga rested a hand on Playboy's shoulder. “Hey, ease up, man.”

But Carlos wasn't fazed. Sal's encouragement and Roxy's words had fortified his determination. Calmly, he looked Playboy in the eye. “Well … at least I'm not snot.”

Toro and Pulga gaped at Carlos in astonished admiration. Had he really stood up to Playboy? Then they burst out laughing.

Playboy's eyes narrowed at the three of them. “Screw you, losers!”

But Carlos no longer felt like a loser. He chomped happily on his chicken nuggets, feeling like the luckiest boy at Lone Star High. After lunch he grabbed Sal and told him about Roxy's compliment.

“Cool!” Sal clapped him on the back. “Hey, have you been cleansing your face? It's already looking better.”

“No lie?” Carlos rubbed a hand across his chin. “Hey, can you and Javier come over again Saturday?”

“Sure.” Sal nodded. “I can. But Javi works on Saturdays. He only took the day off ‘cause I asked him to help you.”

Carlos hadn't realized that.

“Got to go,” Sal said as the bell rang. He started to walk away, then whirled around. “Crap, I forgot to tell you: Harris approved the GSA—thanks to your little ACLU speech. You are
The Man!”

Carlos beamed. Not only did he no longer feel like a loser, he almost felt like a champion.

S
ATURDAY APPROACHED, AND
Carlos debated what to do about visiting his pa. He hadn't really missed seeing him the previous weekend, and he didn't much feel like seeing him the coming weekend. But he'd feel like a creep to tell him that. Instead, he put off saying anything till his pa phoned Friday evening.

“Mi'jo,
are you coming over this weekend?”

“Um …” Carlos gripped the phone, his palms damp. “I'm land of busy.”

“Look …” His pa's voice became stern. “I'm not going through this each weekend. You call me when you decide you want to come over again. Okay?
Adios.”

The line cut off. And as Carlos had predicted, he felt like a creep.

Saturday morning when Sal showed up, Carlos asked him, “Can you, um, help me write Roxy an e-mail?”

Even though she surely got a million e-mails a day and would never answer, he'd decided to give it a shot. But in order to send e-mails, the Hot-or-Snot website required a user to first post his or her own profile and photo.

Carlos and Sal worked on his description. It started out easy:
Six feet tall, brown hair, brown eyes …
But then he got stuck. “What else?”

“‘Nice smile,'” Sal suggested.

“You don't think it's too yellow and dingy?”

Actually, it did seem a little brighter since he'd cut out cola drinks like Sal had recommended and started brushing twice a day like he was supposed to.

“Type it,” Sal ordered, and Carlos did. Then Sal suggested, “‘Hot bod.'”

“No way!” Carlos protested. “I don't have a hot bod.”

“Javi and I think so. And we're gay. We should know.”

“Shut up.” Carlos squirmed in his chair, feeling weird about his friends checking out his body. “I can't put ‘hot bod.' It sounds conceited.”

Sal gave a sigh. “Then list some personality stuff—things you like about yourself.”

Carlos thought for moment, but it was easier for him to think about the things he
didn't
like about himself. “Um … I don't know. Like what?”

Sal rolled his eyes. “You're honest …”

“Not always,” Carlos mumbled.

“Dude!” Sal scolded. “What's with your self-image issues? You've got to learn to like yourself. Nobody's perfect. You're
mostly
honest, aren't you?”

“Yeah.” Carlos shrugged. “I guess.”

“Then type it.”

As Carlos typed, Sal dictated: “You're down-to-earth … easygoing … sweet, nice … shy, funny … good sense of humor … intelligent …”

“I can't put all that,” Carlos protested. But Sal ordered: “Type!”

Carlos's
LIKES
list came easier:
Hanging out with friends, video (especially car racing) games, music (Tejano, pop, Latin pop, Los Lonely Boys), working out (just starting).

His
DISLIKES
were even more fun:
Fakes, phonies, jerks, cabbage, loud motorcycles, cold weather …
Suddenly Carlos thought of one other major dislike:
Bigoted homophobes (and no, I'm not gay, but some of my friends are).

Sal gently leaned into him. “Hey, thanks, man.”

“No problem.” Carlos avoided glancing at him, afraid Sal would give him that annoying tender look again.

“By the way,” Sal said. “We're putting up flyers next week about the GSA. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Carlos replied, not paying much attention. “Now, can you take a picture of me?” He handed Sal his camera. “Where should I stand?”

Sal scanned the room. “Next to the praying mantis.”

They moved the bed aside and Carlos stood beside the shiny green insect in its clear frame. Sal peered at the camera screen. “Now, lift up your shirt.”

“You crazy?” Carlos clutched his shirt. “I can't do that. No way. I don't want everybody on the planet to see my stomach.”

“Stop saying ‘I can't!' Just say ‘Yes!' Tell the world, ‘I'm hot, damn it!'”

Carlos shook his head. “Yeah, right.”

“I'm waaaiting …” Sal held the camera steady.

Carlos moaned a sigh, forced a big smile, and yanked his shirt up for a split second. In that instant, the flash went off.

Carlos hurried over to view the image. He usually hated photos of himself, but surprisingly, he didn't totally hate this one. “You think it's okay?”

“It's hot!” Sal assured him as they uploaded the pic onto Hot-or-Snot.

The next step was to wait for the site moderator𔃺s approval. In the meantime, Carlos asked Sal's help to compose the message to Roxy. “Okay, so what should I say?”

“Well, what do you want to say?”

“I don't know. Every time I see her I lose my voice and break into a sweat. She probably thinks I'm a mute with a perspiration problem. Not to mention, my mind goes straight to her boobs.”

Sal grimaced. “Why are straight guys so obsessed with breasts?”

“Well …” Carlos thought for a moment. “Because boobs are cool.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Sal returned to the task at hand. “Okay, let's start with ‘Dear Roxy … You probably think of me as Ketchup Guy …'”

Carlos's fingers hovered over the keyboard. “Isn't that kind of a geeky thing to say?”

“Nah. It's self-deprecating humor. Girls love that.”

It never stopped amazing Carlos how much Sal knew about girls. Maybe that's why gay guys existed: to help straight guys figure out women. While pondering that, he received an e-mail notifying him that his profile was approved. It made him nervously want to scrap the whole idea, but Sal continued dictating. “How about saying' I like you and I'd like to get to know you better'?”

“Are you nuts?” Carlos shook his head. “I can't tell her I like her!”

“Why not? You do, don't you?”

“Yeah, but I can't tell her that. What if she thinks I'm gross?”

“Why would she think you're gross?”

“Because …” Carlos's voice trailed off. He was too embarrassed to admit that sometimes
he
thought he was gross.

“Look,” Sal said, “did you ever stop to consider that maybe
she
likes
you,
too?”

Carlos turned silent, catapulted by the idea into boob-land.

“Okay,” Sal told him. “How about if, instead, you write ‘I think you're cute'?”

“But she's not just cute,” Carlos griped. “She's beautiful.”

“All right,” Sal amended. “Then tell her: ‘I think you're beautiful.'”

“Nah.” Carlos resumed typing. “Let's stick with ‘I think you're cute,' but let's skip that ‘know you better' stuff. It sounds weird. How about ‘I'd like to chat with you sometime … I mean, if you'd like to. My screen name is LonelyBoy78703.'” He turned to Sal. “Does that sound all right?”

“It sounds great, Casanova.”

But Carlos wasn't convinced. “I'm not going to send this.” He moved the cursor to the delete button.

“Don't you dare!” Sal grabbed his hand, shooting him a piercing look. “Just send it!”

“Okay, okay!” Carlos scowled back at him. “Let go of me!” He shook off Sal's hand and clicked send, even though he was sure Roxy would never answer.

And yet, a secret thrill coursed through him. What if she did?

A
FTER SENDING
R
OXY
the e-mail, Carlos and Sal surfed the web till Carlos began getting hungry. His ma was busy tending to sewing clients, so he asked Sal, “You hungry? Why don't you teach me to make something for lunch?”

That seemed like the next logical step in his makeover.

Sal shook his head. “I don't know how to cook.”

Carlos blinked in surprise. “The
Queer Eye
guys do.”

“So? Get over it. There are five of them and only one of me. I'm not Super Gay.”

Carlos felt a little let down—and still hungry. “Well, do you like grilled cheese? That's the only thing I know how to make. Besides cereal.”

“Grilled cheese is fine. You can teach
me
something for a change.”

“All right.” Carlos nodded proudly.

In the kitchen, he proceeded to explain: “First, you butter the bread. That gives it the good flavor. Then you set the stove burner on low, so the cheese will melt slow and the bread won't burn. I cook it open-face and cover the skillet with a lid to help the cheese melt. Then you put the other slice of bread on top and flip it over.”

As Carlos demonstrated his technique, Raúl arrived for his Saturday visit. “What are you guys making? It smells great.”

“Grilled cheese. You want one?”

“Sure!” Raúl replied as Sal nudged Carlos to introduce them.