Getting It (13 page)

“Thanks.” She extended a bag of gummy bears in her hand. “You want one?”

Apparently, she thought Carlos was staring down at her candy. “I brought them for everyone.”

“Um, thanks.” Carlos stuffed a handful of gummies into his mouth, hoping they would help him calm down and shut up.

“Hi!” Carlotta greeted everyone, carrying masking tape and magic markers. With her arrival, the group set to work, making a dozen posters with slogans like:

TIRED OF HOMOHOBIA?

HELP US FIGHT IT

And:

GAY IS OKAY!

COME OUT FOR THE GSA

When they were done, Sal divided them up to post the signs. “I'll do the cafeteria. Espie and Vicky, you do the north hall. Carlos and Carlotta, you do the east hall.”

Carlos kind of wished he could've gone with Espie, but it was probably best that he didn't, so he wouldn't blather all sorts of stupidness again.

“I tried to get Pulga to help us,” Carlotta informed Carlos as they walked down the empty hallway, “but he said, ‘No way'” She handed Carlos the tape while she put up a poster. “Can I ask you something? What does he say about me?”

Carlos fumbled with the tape, dropping it. “Um, what do you mean?”

“I mean …” Carlotta picked up the tape and handed it to him again. “Sometimes I think he just wants me for my body.”

She definitely had quite a length of body—even taller than Carlos, her boobs currently just below his nose. Carlos forced himself to look up from the breasts to her face—a pretty face, with big, brown giraffe-like eyes, long lashes, and a warm, friendly smile.

“Tell me the truth.” Carlotta pushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. “Does he really like me?”

Carlos watched her eyes puddle up. “Um, yeah, he likes you.”

“Then why won't he date me?” She wiped her cheek.

“I don't know,” Carlos said softly. He'd always thought she was nice. Now he felt bad for her—and helpless that he didn't know how to comfort her.

As they finished putting up posters, he thought that Sal's GSA was turning out to be more than he'd bargained for.

C
ARLOS BROODED ALL
afternoon. That evening, Raúl came over for his midweek visit. As usual, after dinner and TV, Carlos's ma and Raúl went to bed. And Carlos went to his computer, put his headphones on, and cranked the music full blast so he wouldn't hear them.

Ever since he'd told Sal about all that, he'd felt a sense of relief. But he'd also started to feel angry—not only with his ma and Raú, but at himself for not speaking up about it. Maybe Sal was right: He should talk to his ma. But how?

He tried to take his mind off the whole thing by playing his Master Kick Butt computer game, punching and kicking his adversaries. Just as he faced a new opponent, an IM popped onto the screen. Startled, Carlos lost control of his player, who got hit, kicked down, and tossed off a cliff.

But Carlos didn't care. The IM was from GlitterGirl Roxy, asking,
Wassup?

C
ARLOS STARED AT
Roxy's IM, wide-eyed and unblinking, as a million questions jammed his brain. Why had she suddenly written him again? Especially after practically ignoring him at school? Was she interested in him after all?

His heart pumped optimism and his mind ballooned with boobs. Roxy had thought of him, totally without his prompting. He yanked his headphones off and leaped up from his chair as he tried to figure out: What should he respond?

Abruptly, he sat down again.
Nothing's up here. Sup with u?

He hit send and awaited her response, wiping the sudden waterfall of sweat pouring off his forehead.

Nothing at all,
Roxy IM-ed back.
Bored … bored … booored!!! My mom's working late and my little bro's in bed so I can't go out. What about u?

Carlos scratched his leg, considering how to interpret her question. Was she asking if he could go out? No, that couldn't possibly be it. She must be asking about his ma.

My ma's gone to bed,
Carlos explained, but left out mentioning Raúl.
I don't have any bros or sis's.

Lucky u,
Roxy answered back.
What about ur dad?

Carlos typed:
My folks split up.

Roxy:
Mine too.

Sorry.

No big deal.

Carlos stared at her message, trying to figure out what to say next. Ideally he'd keep things rolling with something clever and funny But nothing came to mind. Their conversation had screeched to a dismal halt. Carlos slumped in his chair, disappointed yet also amazed that he'd written as much as he had. Sal would be proud of him.

Suddenly Roxy IM-ed again:
So what ru up to tonite?

Carlos sat up with renewed confusion. Hadn't he already told her he wasn't doing anything?

Not much,
he reiterated, wondering how many times they could cover the same territory. He never expected what Roxy sent next:
Ur cute. U wanna come over?

Carlos read the message three times. It had to be a joke. Could the girl of his dreams truly be inviting him to her house? Fantasies collided inside his brain, exploding in images of boobs, lips, kisses, and hands …

Another IM appeared on his screen:
Hellooooo!!! R U THERE???

Carlos stared at the message, thinking
I can't do this.

But wasn't this what he'd always wished for? A voice in his mind sneered,
Loser!
as he brought his fists to his forehead, pounding it. But then a new encouraging voice gently whispered inside his brain:
Stop saying, ‘I can't!' Just say ‘Yes!'

The words rang so clearly that Carlos whirled around, half expecting to see Sal. But no one was there. He turned back to the computer, his hands nearly shaking off the keyboard as he typed:
U want me 2 come over?

He hit send and waited breathless for Roxy's answer.

It came back fast:
Yeah. U wanna?

One by one, Carlos typed what seemed like the most important three letters of his entire life:
Yes.

Then he drew an enormous breath and hit send.

A
N INSTANT LATER,
Roxy IM-ed Carlos her street address, adding:
Hurry! I'm not supposed to have guys over. My mom gets home @ 12.

Carlos remained in his chair, trying to make his heart slow down. What if Roxy's mom came home early? But it was barely ten o'clock. Besides, the vision of Roxy's boobs quickly pushed aside fear of her mom. His bigger concern was, what if Roxy actually wanted to make out? Would she realize he was the only fifteen-year-old who'd never French-kissed?

The image of her lips beckoned just beyond reach. Carlos desperately needed to bolster his courage. But how?

He grabbed the phone and called Sal. But Sal didn't answer. Carlos was on his own.

His legs wobbled as he got up and walked to the mirror. At least his crater face had cleared some—quite a bit, actually. His teeth were a little whiter. And hadn't Roxy said his hair looked cute? Maybe Sal was right: Maybe he wasn't as gross-looking as he'd thought.

His hands trembled as he carefully sprayed fresh deodorant and changed into the black shirt he'd bought with Sal. He tucked it into his patchwork jeans and SEXY belt buckle. Then he pulled on his denim jacket and glanced in the mirror again, taking a good, hard look at himself.

He started to say something, but stopped. Then he forced himself. Even though barely a whisper, he said it aloud: “I'm hot, damn it.”

Flushing bright red, he quickly left the room.

As Carlos padded down the carpeted hallway, he debated telling his ma he was going out. Behind her bedroom door, it was quiet. Why wake her just to have her ask a bunch of questions? Besides, Raúl was with her. And what if she told Carlos he couldn't go out? What would he tell Roxy? He didn't want her to think he was a baby.

Better to leave a note. That way, in the unlikely event his ma did notice he was gone, at least she wouldn't worry to death. But did he really want to tell her he was going to a girl's house? He decided to say he was going to Sal's.

After placing the note on the kitchen table, Carlos tiptoed across the darkened living room and slipped out the front door into the cool, dark night. Upon reaching the sidewalk, he stepped quickly toward Roxy's. Although he didn't want to arrive sweaty and stinky, it took all his willpower to keep himself from sprinting.

R
OXY LIVED ON
the third floor of a Spanish-style pink stucco building only six blocks from Carlos, even though they took different buses. His hand shook as he tapped her apartment door knocker, half expecting Sal or Playboy to jump out, yelling, “Fooled you!”

But when the door opened, Carlos blinked in disbelief. There stood Roxy, live and in person.

She gave Carlos a friendly little greeting smile while talking into her cell phone: “Uh-huh … yeah … I know what you mean.”

Carlos's gaze moved to her necklace, from which a tiny gold heart dangled into the cleavage of her scoop-neck T-shirt.

“He told you he wanted
what?”
She continued talking into the phone. “You're kidding … I say dump him.” She motioned Carlos in toward the living room sofa. The TV was on, broadcasting a tampon commercial.

“Sorry about that,” Roxy said, hanging up her phone. “Sit down. You want a Diet Sprite?”

“Um, sure,” Carlos replied, his throat parched from nervousness. He watched her glide barefoot toward the kitchen, her teeny, tight black nylon shorts showing off her long, smooth legs. When she'd disappeared, he sat down and caught his breath.

The place seemed messier than he would've expected.
Teen People
and
telenovela
magazines lay open on the coffee table, and little kids' toys were scattered around the worn carpet. Prior to Sal, Carlos never would've noticed messiness. Now, he neatly arranged the magazines on the table to help calm his nerves.

When Roxy came back and handed him his drink, he remembered to tell her, “Thanks.”

“You're welcome.” She slid onto the sofa next to him as the TV program resumed:
Queer Eye.

Carlos nearly choked on his drink. The coincidence was way too freaky. Playboy and Pulga had to be spying from the next room, laughing their butts off.

“Are you okay?” Roxy patted Carlos's back to soothe his coughing.

“I'm fine,” he wheezed, gulping his drink.

Roxy extended the remote control to turn the volume up. “I think fags are so funny. Did you hear they're starting a homo club at school?”

Carlos winced. “Um, it's actually a Gay-Straight Alliance.”

“Oh.” Roxy peered silently at him, her gaze moving to his blond highlights. “You're not gay, are you?”

“No! No, no.”

“I mean, tell me if you are.”

“No!” Carlos gave his head a vigorous shake. “I'm not.”

Roxy's brow relaxed as the corner of her lips curved into a little smile. “That's good.”

She turned to the TV, where the gays were teaching the straight guy to make spiced nuts in a skillet, with brown sugar, cinnamon, cloves, and allspice.

A mix of emotions stirred in Carlos. He'd never expected the girl of his dreams to use terms like “fag” and “homo.” Granted, in his fantasies she barely spoke as she tore away his pants and threw herself at him.

Now, she lifted her bare legs onto the coffee table and crossed her ankles. In the glow of the TV, she radiated a vision of beauty, from her sparkling pink toenails to the shimmering gold heart dangling between her breasts.

“Why are you staring at me?” she asked out of the corner of her mouth.

Carlos's face flared so hot he could've fried an egg on it. “Um …your eyes are really nice.”

“Thanks. But my eyes are up here.”

“Um, yeah. Sorry.” But as Carlos forced his gaze to the TV, the image of Roxy's legs and cleavage stayed emblazoned in his mind.

The show reached the point where the gay guys revealed to the straight dude his redecorated apartment. Roxy excitedly uncrossed her ankles, and in the process laid her hand beside Carlos. “I love this part!”

Carlos's attention remained focused on her hand. Did she expect him to take hold of it? What if she yanked it away, shouting, “Dude! What the hell do you think you're doing? I only invited you to hang out. Get out of here! Now!”

Then again, what if she thought he was a lug for not making a move? He sat stiffly, sweat streaming down his back. What to do? He didn't want to make the wrong move. But what was the right move?

On TV, the gay guys prepared to unveil the new, improved straight guy to his girlfriend. Without warning, Roxy grabbed hold of Carlos's hand. He jumped. And Roxy giggled. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat and gripped her hand in return, a little fearful she might pull it away again. But was he clutching it too tight? Quickly, he loosened his grip, and realized how clammy his palm was. Would she be grossed out?

If she was, she didn't show it. Without turning from the TV, Carlos stole a glance at her lips. Now that she'd taken hold of his hand, firmly establishing they were more than friends, the next logical step was to kiss. But how? Was he supposed to simply lean over and plop his tongue into her mouth? Good thing that Sal had made him start to brush and floss regularly.

On TV the girlfriend thanked the gay guys for making over her boyfriend. It made Carlos wonder what advice Sal would give him, kissing-wise. They'd never talked about stuff like that, nor did the guys on TV. But, knowing Sal, he'd probably say something like, “Ask first.”

And yet, in movies the guy never asked the girl. He simply looked meaningfully into her eyes.