Getting It (15 page)

“Besides …” Pulga nodded. “You want to date a girl who hooks up?”

The question stumped Carlos. His secret fantasies were never this complicated.

“At least wait till after you've had sex with her before you decide if you want to date her,” Playboy advised.

Carlos shook his head, his thoughts a jumble. How could his friends be so detached about all this? He turned to Toro, who'd become surprisingly silent, as though he didn't get it either. But hadn't he had sex with a girl once?

Compounding Carlos's woes, after lunch he saw that the GSA posters from the day before had been torn down or defaced. One now read:

NOT GAY IS ˆ OKAY! DON'T ˆ COME OUT FOR THE GSA

While another read:

SEXUALS TIRED OF HOMOPHOBIA? THEM HELP US FIGHT IT

Carlos didn't know whether to take the signs down or leave them. For the rest of the school day, he struggled to sort out his mixed-up thoughts about the last twenty-four hours. And it wasn't over yet. He still had to face his ma.

E
VEN THOUGH
R
OXY
had practically dissed Carlos at school, as soon as he got home, he raced to see if she was online. Upon spotting her name active on his buddy list, his fingers scurried across the keyboard.
Hey,
he IM-ed her.
Sup?

He held his breath, awaiting her response. As each second passed, he felt more frantic. What if she kept pretending nothing had happened between them
—forever?

To his relief, an IM from her popped up:
Nothin. Sup with u?

Carlos's breath exploded from his lungs. He wanted to tell her
everything
that was up with him: about how pissed his ma had been last night; about how grown-up he'd felt to admit he'd been with a girl; about how Raúl had asked if she was his girlfriend; about how confused he felt by her ignoring him at school; about how his buds had tried to convince him his time with her had been just a hookup … And yet, he was unable to say any of that. He didn't want to sound like a mixed-up kid. And what if she told him his friends were right: It had been only a hookup?

Nothing much up here,
he typed.
Gotta do homework.

He hit send and slouched down in his chair, feeling like a total wuss.

Yeah, me too,
Roxy replied.
Homework sucks. L8terz.

Laterz,
Carlos typed back, and stared at the computer, wondering: Was he the only one in the world who felt all the sorts of stuff going on inside him?

He picked up the phone and dialed Sal. “Hey, why'd you call me last night?”

“Because
you
phoned
me.
My caller ID showed your call, so I phoned you back.”

Carlos now remembered his attempted call. Feeling foolish, he slumped farther off his chair and onto the floor.

“Your mom sounded really pissed,” Sal continued. “Where were you? What happened?”

Carlos laid down on the carpet, phone pressed to his ear, and told Sal about Roxy inviting him over, about making out, and about her showing him her—

“TMI!” Sal interrupted.

Carlos grinned at the irony. The one person whom he felt comfortable telling everything to was a gay guy who complained it was too much information.

“I can't believe how fast it all happened.” Carlos stared at the framed praying mantis on the wall. “And at school she kind of ignored me. Why'd she do that?”

“I don't know. Maybe it was fast for her, too.”

Carlos pondered that but didn't get it. If it was too fast for Roxy, why had she done it? “My friends say those are the rules.”

“The rules for what?” Sal asked.

“For hooking up.”

“So, was Roxy a hookup?”

“I don't know.” Carlos was starting to feel mixed-up again. “What if that's all she wants?”

“Well, you've got to decide what
you
want. Have you told her you like her?”

“No.” Carlos ran his fingers back and forth across the carpet
weave, a little exasperated. “What if she doesn't like me?”

“Then you move on.”

Carlos tugged at the carpet strands. “Maybe she's afraid people will think she's a hookup slut.”

“Or maybe she is,” Sal suggested.

Carlos sat up. “Hey I don't like you talking about her like that.”

“Oh, sorry.” Sal's voice hinted sarcasm. “I forgot she's your girlfriend—except she's ignoring you.”

Carlos gripped the phone tighter. “She's not my girlfriend yet.”

“Right.” Sal sighed. “I mean your hookup buddy—or what, exactly, is she?”

“Just drop it!” Carlos snapped. It seemed clear that Sal didn't like Roxy. He'd
never
liked her. So why had he continued to help Carlos even after Carlos couldn't pay him anymore?

“Dude …” Sal exhaled a long breath. “I'm sorry. I just don't want to see you get hurt.”

“I'm not going to get hurt,” Carlos mumbled.

Sal remained quiet and Carlos stood up. “Can you come over again Saturday?”

“Sorry, not this week. Javi and I are ushering at his cousin's wedding. Anyway, I think your makeover is done.”

Carlos didn't feel done. He felt like he was still just starting. Why didn't the
Queer Eye
show cover this part: What happened
after
the makeover?

“Can we change topics?” Sal asked. “We set a date for the GSA meeting: next Wednesday after school. Okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Carlos grumbled, not really giving much thought to it. “Talk to you later.”

He hung up and tried doing some homework, but his thoughts stayed too jumbled—not just because Sal had
practically called Roxy a slut, but because he hadn't helped Carlos figure out what to do, other than to tell Roxy he liked her.

As if it was that simple,
Carlos thought. His mood didn't improve much when his ma got home. She continued giving him the silent treatment, until they sat down to dinner.

“Did Raúl talk with you?” she asked, slicing her steak.

“Yeah.”

“Do you have any questions about what he said?”

“No.”

His ma stared across the table at him, her mean look softening a little. “Carlitos, I don't want this to happen again. Understand?” Her tone became stern once more. “You still have the same curfew: school nights, home by eleven, weekends by twelve.”

Carlos stared at his steak and potatoes, losing his appetite. “No one else has to be home that early. Playboy doesn't even have a curfew.”

“You're not Playboy.” His ma laid down her fork. “You're living in my house and you abide by my rules. If you go to a girl's, I want to know about it.”

“You're being ridiculous,” Carlos muttered.

“I don't care,” his ma replied. “I don't want any problems. And I don't want you lying to me again. For the next two weeks you're grounded.”

Carlos slammed back in his chair. He was furious at his ma, even though he felt wrong for having lied.

After dinner he went online and told his friends about being grounded. They all agreed it sucked big-time, which made Carlos feel better. Then he went to Hot-or-Snot to give Roxy her daily “10.” To his surprise, her rank had slipped a little.
Meanwhile, Playboy had taken down his profile altogether, now that he'd found BadAssGirl.

Carlos checked his own profile and saw his own rank slipping: down to an eight-point-three. He decided he'd better remove his profile too, before he joined Playboy as snot.

O
N THE BUS
the following morning, Carlos and the guys listened to Playboy gripe about his hookup with BadAssGirl: “She turned out to be a poser. Although she'd made it sound like she was into no-strings sex, afterward she got all clingy, asking if I had a girlfriend and not wanting to let me go. She really did turn into my worst nightmare.”

“Maybe she likes you,” Toro suggested.

Carlos felt sorry for the girl. It seemed obvious she liked Playboy.

“That's her problem.” Playboy gazed out the window. “I never told her I liked her.”

Between classes at school, Carlos hoped to glimpse Roxy, though he no longer knew whether to wave hello or ignore her. It felt so weird to pretend as if nothing had happened between them. He now understood why Playboy only went out with girls from other schools.

Later that day at lunch, Pulga made his own announcement: “Carlotta just told me that since I won't date her, she's going to find someone else. No more after-school specials.”

“She dumped you?” Toro asked.

Pulga frowned. “She didn't dump me. I'm the one who said I didn't want to date.”

“Yeah,” Playboy argued, “but
she's
the one who cut you off. Dude, you are
so
dumped.”

Carlos wished he could offer Pulga some advice. But he was clueless enough with his own non-dating situation. So, he simply told Playboy, “Lay off him, man.”

S
ATURDAY MORNING,
C
ARLOS
woke up early, even though Sal wasn't coming over. As he cleansed, toned, and moisturized his face, he thought how much better he liked how he looked. Even his nose and ears no longer seemed freakishly huge. And when he ran some wax through his hair, he couldn't imagine how he had put up with his unruly mop.

After preparing a yogurt-and-granola breakfast, he cleaned up his room. And despite his annoying last phone conversation with Sal, Carlos nonetheless missed him.

He imagined Sal and Javier wearing tuxedoes at the wedding, and was glad they'd found each other. They seemed really good and happy together. Why couldn't Sal wish the same for Roxy and him?

In the afternoon, Carlos did the laundry—both his ma's and his. He had a lot more time to do things on weekends since no longer going to his pa's. But sometimes he missed his pa—a lot. And he even missed Lupita and Henry a little. But he didn't like to think about it too much. His life was confusing enough already.

He was surfing the web when Raúl tapped on the doorway.

“Here's a present for you.” He tossed Carlos a small paper bag.

The color rose into Carlos's cheeks as he peered inside—at a box of condoms.

“This doesn't mean I'm telling you to have sex,” Raúl clarified. “You should wait till you're married.”

Carlos rolled his eyes. Wasn't that a bit hypocritical for a guy boning his ma to say?

“Or at least older,” Raúl continued. “But I know how a guy thinks. So if you do have sex, protect yourself.”

Whatever,
Carlos thought, tossing the bag of condoms aside. But secretly, he felt a little excited. Might he actually get a chance to use them?

That evening, since he was grounded, he invited his friends over. They played computer games, listened to music, and tried to help Toro come up with a science project topic.

“Heh-heh-heh,” Pulga chuckled. “Why don't you write about the deadly gases surrounding Uranus?”

“Or I'll help you explain how to make a hormone.” Playboy smacked Toro on the shoulder. “Get it?”

Toro shook his head. “You guys are worthless.”

Playboy leaned into the mirror scrutinizing a zit, and glanced at Carlos. “Hey, how did you get your skin to clear up?”

“First of all, by not eating crap.” The comment was in retaliation for Playboy's complaint earlier in the evening that Carlos didn't have any chips or pretzels for the guys, only granola bars and fruit.

“What kind of pansy-ass shit is that?” Playboy had protested.

Carlos now proceeded to explain his twice daily regimen of cleanser, toner, and moisturizer. “And you need to drink eight to ten glasses of water a day—not soda or coffee, but
water—
to keep your skin hydrated.”

“Who taught you all that?” Playboy smirked. “Your girly-boy?”

Carlos ignored him. “Also, I do a mud face mask once a week.”

“You put mud on your face?” Playboy scrunched his nose. “You'd better stop jacking off. It's starting to rot your brain.”

“It's not
real
mud.” Carlos showed them the jar. “It's fun and it feels great. Watch …”

While his buds observed, Carlos unscrewed the cap, scooped out a dab of paste, and spread it on his face.

Playboy poked his finger in the jar and smeared some on Pulga's nose.

“Cut it out!” Pulga socked him.

“It smells like mint,” Toro said, sniffing the jar. “Can I try it?”

“Yeah, me too!” Pulga said. A moment later, he and Toro were laughing like frolicking monkeys as they coated their faces. But Playboy wanted nothing to do with it.

The following evening, at a little past seven, Carlos's IM bell chimed. He glanced at his computer and his heart skipped a beat.

The message was from Roxy:
Sup? What r u doing?

Carlos's fingers raced to the keyboard.
Nothin. How bout u?

Bored,
Roxy replied.
My mom went out with my lit bro. Wanna come over?

As Carlos read Roxy's words, the image of her boobs virtually smashed through the computer screen. Trying to calm down, he typed:
I'm kinda grounded. Can't go out tonight.

Roxy answered:
U been a bad boy?