Getting It (22 page)

“Sure!” Espie beamed, her smile more beautiful than he'd remembered. In fact, the whole rest of her—even in the baggie orange hoodie—looked cuter too.

“Are we going to make posters again?” she asked.

Carlos hadn't thought that far ahead. “Um, I guess so.”

Even though their previous posters had gotten defaced and torn down, the group still needed some way to get the word out.

“Okay,” Espie said merrily. “I'm there! Got to get to class. See you later!”

And with that, she vanished from sight, but not from Carlos's mind. All afternoon, he thought of her, even forgetting what had happened at lunch—Toro coming out and Playboy ditching the group's table—until it came time to ride home.

Carlos had completed his after-school detention sentence and was back to riding his regular bus. But when he boarded, he found that Playboy had invited some other guys into the last row. Pulga and Toro had switched to those guys' seats halfway toward the front.

“They were already back there when Toro and I got on,” Pulga whispered to Carlos.

“What should we do?” Toro asked.

“Nothing,” Carlos said thoughtfully. In a way, it seemed like a pretty fair tradeoff: Playboy got the back row of the bus, while Carlos, Pulga, and Toro kept their regular lunch table. In another way, it sucked, reminding him of his parents' divorce.

Arriving home, Carlos gazed at the mirror photo of “Los Horny Boys” standing beside the roller coaster on his thirteenth birthday. Apart from his family, the guys had been the people closest to him for nearly half his life. Their ringleader, Playboy, had been one of their best friends.

Why couldn't Playboy now accept how Pulga, Toro, and Carlos had changed—and change along with them?

Yet, Carlos realized that, for whatever reason, Playboy wouldn't. Turning away from the photo, his chest felt empty with grief, as he slowly let out a breath.

That evening at dinner, his ma passed him a serving dish full of green beans. “I want to discuss something,” she announced. “Raúl and I have been talking. How would you feel about him and me getting married?”

The question shouldn't have surprised Carlos: he'd asked her about it before. But this time
she'd
brought it up. It took a moment for him to sort his feelings. What would it feel like to have Raúl as his stepdad? He'd have to ask his ma to get a quieter bed. But, apart from that, there wasn't anything that majorly annoyed Carlos about the guy—and he wanted his ma to be happy.

Raising his glass of water, he told her, “It's about time!”

Later that week, Carlos, Pulga, Toro, and Carlotta met in the library during lunch to make the GSA posters, together with Vicky and Espie.

“This time,” Espie suggested, “why don't we try targeting straight students? Maybe that way, the signs won't get torn down so fast.”

“Good idea,” everyone agreed, and Vicky came up with a poster that read:

STRAIGHT BUT NOT NARROW?

JOIN THE GAY
-STRAIGHT
ALLIANCE

Carlotta wrote another:

IT'S
NOT
A GAY CLUB,

IT'S A PLACE FOR
ALL
STUDENTS

And Carlos thought up one that said:

HOMOPHOBIA HURTS STRAIGHT PEOPLE TOO

FIND OUT WHAT YOU CAN DO

When the group split up to post the signs, Pulga naturally went with Carlotta, and Toro volunteered to go with Vicky. That left Espie with Carlos.

His legs wobbled nervously as they walked down the quiet hallway Sweat burst from his pores, prickling his skin. He racked his brain for something to say, but he came up blank. When they stopped to put up their first poster, Carlos lifted the sign while Espie handed him the tape, smiling at him from beneath her sweatshirt hood.

“You're really cute,” he blurted without thinking. “You shouldn't hide beneath your hoodie.”

The color sprang into his cheeks and Espie gave a nervous giggle. “Thanks. My mom is always telling me that. But without it, I feel sort of—you know—naked?”

Carlos wished she hadn't said “naked.” The word set off a pair of
boobs dancing through his brain. “Here.” He pulled off his denim jacket. “Wear this instead.”

“Your jacket?”

“Yeah.” He held it out to her, hardly believing his boldness. But he also felt weirdly like he didn't need the jacket anymore.

Espie gave him a curious grin. Then she pulled off her sweatshirt, handed it to him, and slipped into the jacket. “How's it look?”

“Good.” Even though the jacket was a little big, Carlos liked seeing her in it.

They resumed walking down the hall, and he realized he was no longer sweating or forgetting how to speak. He found himself telling her about his bug collection, music, and anything else that popped into his mind. Espie listened as though truly interested. At this rate, who knew what could happen in the future? At some point he might actually work up the nerve to ask her out—not for a hookup, but for a
real
date. And maybe, he'd even someday, finally, have a girlfriend.

Later that week at lunch, Carlos got the uneasy feeling that someone was staring at him. He gazed across the cafeteria toward the table where Roxy sat—just in time to see her glance away.

It was the first time in days she'd looked anywhere near his direction. And Carlos noticed, too, that Senior Dude was missing from her group.

What had happened? Had Roxy chewed up the dude and spit him out like she had Carlos? Or had the guy dumped her? And in spite of everything, a little voice in Carlos asked.
Does that mean I stand another chance with her?

The response came that evening, when an IM arrived from GlitterGirl:
U wanna hook up? I promise my mom won't be home till late???.
Wanna?

Carlos sat up in his chair. Did Roxy's message mean she still liked him—or whatever it was she'd felt toward him?

His mind flashed to images of making out on her sofa. Inside his pants, he stirred with excitement, ready to bolt out the door. And yet he stopped himself. Did he really want to hook up again with a girl who had crushed his heart and pretty much totaled him?

His fingers sprang onto the keyboard and typed,
Yes.

But when he moved to hit send, he hesitated. Was the chance of getting laid worth the risk of Roxy's hurting him again? Besides, what about the possibility of dating someone who seemed a lot more genuine, like Espie? Wasn't that what he really wanted?

He drew a measured breath and hit the backspace key, slowly erasing the
s …
the
e …
and the
y.
In their place he wrote,
Can't. Sorry.
He politely added
Thanks,
like Sal had taught him. And then:
Goodbye.

After sending the message, he deleted Roxy from his buddy list. Then he collapsed onto his bed, exhausted—and strangely at peace.

A
T SCHOOL IN
the following days, each time Carlos walked down the hallway, he expected to see the GSA posters once again marked up or torn down. But they weren't. Apparently, Espie's idea of messages directed to and for straight people had worked. Or maybe people had simply lost interest.

“The real test,” Carlotta said at lunch, “will be if any new people actually show up.”

In addition to new faces, Carlos wondered about somebody else, but Vicky dampened his hopes. “I tried convincing Sal he should come, but he's still too mad at us. I told him he's being a drama queen.”

Carlos nodded, masking his disappointment. But secretly, he still hoped.

The morning of the meeting, he awoke well before his alarm, his arteries pumping with anticipation—and anxiety. Since resurrecting the GSA had been his idea, the group had elected him to lead it.

When the lunch bell rang, he headed directly toward the library; too nervous to grab anything to eat. He paused only to duck into the boys' rest room. Peering into the scratched-up mirror, he once again took a long, hard look at himself. The image staring back surprised him: neither a hopeless loser nor a phony, made-over stud. He was simply Carlos Amoroso, a
pendejo
at times, but mostly just a typical teenage boy trying to become a man.

He drew himself up and stepped outside. In the hall he caught up with Espie, who was wearing his jean jacket.

“Hi!” She grinned. “Are you nervous?”

“Um, a little.” His voice quavered.

She took hold of his hand, giving it a squeeze. And to his amazement, it didn't send him into a breathless, stammering panic. Instead, it reassured him—at least somewhat.

“Hi, vanguards,” Mr. Quiñones greeted them as they entered the library. Carlos didn't know what he meant, but he was too nervous to ask.

Pulga, Carlotta, Toro, and Vicky were already there, helping to set up refreshments.

“How about if you guys gather chairs into a circle?” Mr. Quñones suggested to Carlos and Espie.

“How many do you think we'll need?” Espie asked.

“Um, I don't know,” Carlos replied. “Maybe a dozen?”

While they slid chairs across the carpet, Principal Harris strode in, barking something into his walkie-talkie. He positioned himself like an Army MP, poised to shut the meeting down if anybody mentioned the forbidden word:
S-E-X.

The door squeaked open and two girls slunk in, giggling. One of them, wearing a T-shirt with a sequin heart, whispered to Espie, “Is this the you-know-what group?”

“Yeah, hi. Help yourself to some cookies.”

The girls shuffled over to the soft drinks and snacks, looking ready to sneak out if no one else showed up.

“Do you want a cookie?” Espie asked Carlos.

“Um, no thanks.” His stomach was still too much a knot.

Another two girls strode in. They were followed by a girl with a jocky-looking boy who mumbled hi to Toro. Two more boys wandered in and nervously veered toward the refreshments. One of them accidentally spilled a Coke, but Mr. Quiñones calmly cleaned it up.

Every time the door squeaked open, Carlos glanced over, hoping it might be Sal. Each time, he was disappointed.

Meanwhile, Pulga and Carlotta pulled more chairs over, widening the circle. Six more students came in. Carlos wiped the sweat from his forehead. Although he was glad that new faces were showing up, he'd never imagined having to speak in front of so many people.

Toro and Vicky scrambled for more chairs, while the new guys pulled tables back to make more room for the growing circle. Soon there were twenty students, then thirty. With each new addition, people seemed to grow more at ease—whereas Carlos was starting to panic.

Espie must've sensed it, because she patted his arm and whispered, “You'll do great.”

To his relief, only a few more people came, making the total thirty-three.

“You'd better get started,” Mr. Quiñones said.

Carlos glanced at the clock, his heart sinking. If Sal was coming, wouldn't he have gotten here by now?

He took a deep breath and called out, “Everyone? 'S'up? We need to start.” He figured the group would ignore him, but, miraculously, everybody turned quiet.

“Um …” He blanked for a minute, his thoughts spinning. But then he looked at Pulga and Toro, their eyes brimming with admiration, while Carlotta, Vicky, and Espie smiled encouragement.

Carlos swallowed hard and continued. “The, um, purpose of this group is to … raise awareness about homophobia and, um, build understanding …”

As he spoke, the door squeaked open again. One last student entered, wearing a bright pink shirt, shiny hoop earrings, and a pair of jeans Carlos recalled once having worn himself.

The boy gazed around, joined the circle, and, for the first time in
weeks, smiled forgivingly at Carlos. And with that gesture, all the tension seemed to leave Carlos's body.

“Whether you're gay, straight, or bi,” he told the group, “we're glad you're here.”

Although he said it to include everyone, most of all he was saying it to Sal.

adios:

good-bye

caca:

poop or doo-doo

calma:

calm

gracias:

thank you or thanks

mi amor:

my love

mi'jo:

my son (contraction)

nada:

nothing

numero uno:

number one

¿jpor què?:

why?

pulga:

flea

¿què pasó?:

what happened?

te quiero:

I love you/I care about you

Originally from Mexico,
Alex Sanchez
received his masters in guidance and counseling from Old Dominion University. For many years he worked as a youth and family counselor. He is the author of the teen novels
Rainbow Boys, Rainbow High,
and
Rainbow Road,
as well as the Lambda Award-winning middle-grade novel
So Hard to Say.
When not writing, Alex tours the country talking with teens, librarians, and educators about the importance of teaching tolerance and self-acceptance. He divides his time between Hollywood, Florida, and Bangkok, Thailand. For more information visit
www.AlexSanchez.com
.