Getting It (12 page)

After lunch, the two boys returned to Carlos's room, and Sal commented, “Your ma's boyfriend seems nice.”

“He's okay. I guess.” Carlos sat down at his computer, not wanting to talk about Raúl.

“Hey.” Sal spun Carlos's chair around. “What's going on? I can always tell when there's something you're not telling me. You get that constipated look on your face.”

Carlos clenched his jaw, trying to keep from telling Sal about how he could hear his ma and Ra'. He'd never talked about that to anyone, not even his buds. But now the words suddenly seemed to jab at his throat, wanting to come out.

“It's just …” Carlos said in a low voice, glancing toward the open doorway. “He stays over and … I can hear them.”

“Hear
them?” Sal whispered. “Hear them
what?”

“You know …” Carlos scowled.
“Hear.
Them.”

“You mean sex?” Sal leaned in closer. “You listen to your mom having sex?”

“Hey, shut up!” Carlos ran to close his bedroom door, mortified his ma or Raúl might've heard. “I don't
listen
to her. I can just hear them through the wall.”

“Dude, that's gross!” Sal made a face. “Have you told her?”

Carlos plunked into the desk chair and crossed his arms. “I can't tell her that.”

“Why not? Do you enjoy hearing her?”

“You're sick!” Carlos snapped, wishing he hadn't told Sal anything.

“Dude …” Sal said more softly. “If you want people to change, you've got to change first. It's like that Gandhi quote in the library: ‘Be the change you wish to see in the world.' If you keep bottling stuff up inside, one of these days you're going to explode.”

Carlos did feel ready to explode. At least by telling Sal about his ma, Carlos felt relieved of hiding the secret. But now he had a new
worry. “Promise you won't tell anyone about this?”

“Yeah, right. Who am I going to tell? You're the one who needs to tell
—your mom!”

No
way,
Carlos thought. Telling Sal had been hard enough. Not wanting to think about it, he spun his chair around to the computer to check if maybe, by some remote chance, he could possibly have gotten an e-mail from Roxy.

But his mailbox was empty. He'd known she wouldn't write back. He crossed his arms and slumped down in his chair.

Sal must've sensed his disappointment. “Give her a chance, for God's sake!”

Carlos stared at his empty mailbox till Sal asked, “You want to go work out?”

Better than waiting for mail that's never going to come,
Carlos thought.

When the two boys got to the rec center, Toro was there again. At first he appeared noticeably uneasy, averting his eyes and popping his knuckles.

But as Sal asked for help with exercises, Toro seemed to relax … until Sal asked, “Will you help us start our GSA?”

“Um …” Toro paled as if about to pass out—and it wasn't from the exercise. “I'm not gay.” He left Carlos and Sal to work out on their own after that.

Later, as they were heading home, Sal whispered to Carlos, “He is
definitely
gay.”

“Shut up,” Carlos told him, although he wondered why Toro had gotten so flustered.

Later that afternoon, Sal left for his weekly date with Javier, and Carlos spent another boring Saturday night eating Chinese food with his ma and Raúl.

Once they returned home, he put on his headphones and cranked
up the music while checking to see if there was any message from GlitterGirl Roxy. There still wasn't. But to Carlos' amazement, his own profile rating remained well above “snot” level. Delighted, he surfed the web, singing to his music.

He was downloading a new song when, abruptly, an IM popped onto his screen. He glanced at the name and nearly sprang out of his chair. It was from GlitterGirl.

A
S
C
ARLOS STARED
at Roxy's IM, a torrent of sweat accumulated on his face. Was he seeing things? The message had to be a hoax. Maybe it was from Sal, teasing him. Hand trembling, Carlos clicked on the message.

GlitterGirl: Wassup? So, ur Ketchup Guy?

Carlos swallowed hard, trying to quench his suddenly parched throat. Out of all the e-mails Roxy received, why had she responded to his? More to the point, now what was he supposed to say? He mustered all his brainpower and replied,
Yeah. Hi.

He hit send and stared at the screen, unblinking, as his mind uncontrollably conjured boobs.

After what seemed like centuries, a new GlitterGirl IM appeared:
I'm soooo bored. What ru up 2?

Now Carlos was convinced this had to be a hoax. How could the finest babe at Lone Star High possibly be bored? Just having those boobs ruled out any chance of boredom. And why was she asking him so many questions?

Nothing,
he typed back shakily.
Bored too.

He hit send and waited, staring at the computer, wishing he'd asked her a question so she'd respond. And yet, she replied anyway:
Ur bored too? Guess that makes 2 of us. Hmm …

Carlos carefully studied the text, tracing his finger across the screen, trying to decipher its meaning. What did she mean by “Hmm?” And what did her wink mean?

Carlos yanked off his headphones and sprang from his chair, unable to sit still. He needed to reply, but what should he say? He paced the room, trying to think, but his mind had turned to boobmush.

Another IM popped onto the computer screen:
U still there? Got2go. L8erz.

Carlos leaned over the monitor as his heart slid down his chest and into his feet.
Laterz,
he quickly typed, adding,
Thanks.
He wasn't sure why he added that, except Sal was always harping on him to.

After waiting at the computer an hour, just in case Roxy sent another IM, Carlos finally got up from the desk. As he got ready for bed, his legs felt a little wobbly. With her message, Roxy had rocked his world. How could he possibly have told her he was bored? He'd never felt more excited in his entire life.

M
ONDAY MORNING,
C
ARLOS
boarded his bus and stared Playboy directly in the eye. “Guess who IM-ed me? Roxy”

“Yeah, right,” Playboy scoffed. “In your dreams.”

“Your
wet
dreams.” Pulga grinned.

“Don't believe me.” Carlos gave a shrug. “I don't care.”

“Did she really?” Toro asked. “You going to hook up with her?”

“I haven't decided.” Carlos glanced out the window, trying to play it cool.

But, as if not to be outdone, Playboy hijacked the conversation. “You guys won't believe the new chick who messaged me last night.”

“Is she under thirty?” Pulga asked.

“Check this out, smart ass.” Playboy showed the guys her photo on his cell phone. “Her user name is BadAssGirl.”

The multi-earringed girl leaned toward the camera, her tongue licking her blood-red lips. A swath of black hair hung over one eye as her hand pulled up her ripped T-shirt. Her flat, tiny stomach revealed a gleaming belly-button ring and a tattooed heart etched with the word DANGGER.

“That's not how you spell ‘danger',” Carlos observed.

“I'm not asking her to a spelling bee.” Playboy gazed at the miniscreen. “Her profile says, “I'm the girl you love to hate. Your best dream and worst nightmare. Hot as fire but sweet as rain. Try me … if you dare.' Doesn't she sound crazy?”

To Carlos, she did sound crazy—kind of psycho, to be precise. But he didn't want to rain on Playboy's parade. Besides, his thoughts remained preoccupied with another girl: the one who had messaged him over a thousand other guys.

All that morning, Carlos's heart pounded with the anticipation of seeing her. When he finally spotted Roxy at lunchtime, a smile exploded across his face. He lifted a trembling hand, excitedly waving.

Roxy glanced over and sort of waved back with her fork, but she continued talking to her friends.

“Dude, don't act so desperate!” Playboy brought Carlos's hand down. “Chill out.”

Carlos dropped his hand to the table and his heart crashed back to earth. He hadn't meant to act desperate; he was just so excited. How could he hide that?

He twirled his spaghetti, continuing to steal glances at Roxy, wondering if he'd ruined his chances of dating her because of his overly exuberant wave. He only half listened to Pulga bemoan his latest frustration with Carlotta:

“She's pissed because I didn't get her a birthday present. So I told her, ‘Look, we're not dating! Why can't we just have fun?' She's a lot of fun till she starts the dating crap.”

“Then why don't you just date her?” Toro asked, sipping his juice.

“No way! It's too embarrassing. We'd look ridiculous together—little me and tall her. At least this way she doesn't go around blabbing that we're hooking up.”

Carlos gazed across the lunchroom, wondering if Roxy were embarrassed by
him.
Was that why she'd barely waved to him?

During the next couple of days, each time he glimpsed Roxy he nearly burst through his skin from excitement. But he fought to control his exuberance, coolly nodding, “'S'up?”

Yet, when he got home, alone in his room, he stared at his computer screen for hours, wishing another IM from Roxy would appear.

W
HEN
C
ARLOS PHONED
Sal the news of Roxy's IM, the response was way different from Carlos' buds: “Who loves you, baby? I told you, you're hot.”

Carlos squirmed at the comment, and yet for the first time he wondered,
Could it possibly be true?
Was he hot? But then, why did Roxy barely give him a fork-wave at lunch?

“Hey, listen up!” Sal continued. “On Wednesday we're putting up GSA posters after school, okay?”

“Huh?” Carlos asked, his mind still glued to thoughts of Roxy.

“GSA posters! Wednesday After school. Don't forget.
Okay?”

Fortunately, he reminded Carlos during lunch on Wednesday. “We're meeting in the library. Mr. Quiñones agreed to be our advisor.”

“Advisor? For what?”

“The GSA!” He tapped Carlos's head.
“Remember?”

When the last bell rang, Carlos headed to the meeting. He'd stopped making excuses to his buds; he merely didn't show up for his bus.

In the library, Mr. Quiñones, the school's head librarian, was at the front counter, sorting books. Everyone heard rumors that he was gay, for no clear reason. He was a soft-spoken, easygoing guy—tall, thin, and kind of quirky. He'd posted signs with quotations from famous dead guys all around the library. Some were serious, like:

This above all: To thine own self be true

—William Shakespeare

Other quotes were sort of funny, like:

To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance

—Oscar Wilde

“Oh, hi, Carlos.” Mr. Quiñones smiled from the checkout counter. “I was glad to hear from Sal you'll be in the GSA.”

“But I'm not gay,” Carlos blurted out.

Mr. Quiñones's smile grew even wider. “I never imagined you were.”

Yeah, right,
Carlos thought.

From a table near the window Sal called to Carlos, “We're back here!”

Freaky Vicky sat beside him. Today she looked as though she'd stepped out of
That '70s Show,
wearing a psychedelic tie-dyed T-shirt, cloth headband, and flowers painted on her cheeks. Apparently, she'd also brought Day-Glo poster paper to make the GSA signs.

Espie showed up wearing her orange hoodie and smiled at Carlos. “Hi. I like your highlights.”

“Um, thanks.” Little beads of sweat erupted on Carlos's forehead. At least Espie's zipped-up hoodie helped keep his mind off what her boobs might be like. He tried convincing himself that beneath her baggy sweatshirt, she was probably flat as a pancake.

“Sal and his boyfriend did them.”

“Really?” Espie gazed at him from beneath her hood. “Maybe I should ask them to do my hair.”

“Um, yeah, you should.” Carlos immediately worried that sounded wrong. “I mean, not that your hair looks bad now—at least from what I can see.”

But that sounded wrong too. “I mean, you've probably got nice hair I can't see, too.”

Great, now he sounded like a perv. “I don't mean—you know—down
there.
I mean on your head. I just can't see it.”

By some miracle, Espie didn't seem to take offense at his blithering. Instead, she pulled her hood down to her shoulders, revealing her silky brown hair. “You don't think it's too frizzy? I've never liked it.”

“Um, it's pretty,” Carlos uttered before being struck numb again.

Espie unzipped her hoodie, revealing that she wasn't flat as a pancake. Her boobs weren't Roxy spectacular, but they were definitely nice.