M or F? (20 page)

Marcus's narrow nostrils flared in fury. “Maybe I actually
like
Jeffrey,” he growled. His face was contorted in anger—for a moment, I didn't recognize him. “Because I actually
know
Jeffrey, because I actually
talk to
Jeffrey.”

“Right, you talk to him—behind my back!” I spat. “Only you aren't really talking to him, are you, Marcus? Someone who doesn't exist is talking to him!” I let out a little barking laugh. “You're so desperate, you're trying to seduce my boyfriend, but you don't even have the guts to do it for real.”

The minute the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to call them back. I felt them reach out and claw Marcus across the face—he looked like I'd slapped him.

“He's not your boyfriend, Frannie,” Marcus said finally. His voice was low and dangerous. “You can't talk to each other. He's never once tried to kiss you.” Marcus's hazel eyes narrowed as he hissed, “Face it—he doesn't want you. Even with me at your back, you managed to blow it. As usual.”

In the next moment, his face blurred. All I knew was that I had to get out of there. I was practically blinded by tears, but I managed to find my way out of his room. I stumbled down the hall and out the front door and didn't even break stride when I heard Marcus calling my name. He was supposed to be my best friend. How could he have hurt me like that?

I don't even remember fumbling for my keys or turning the ignition. All I remember is finding myself peeling down the street, wiping the hot tears from my cheeks as they streamed down my face. I turned on the radio and pumped the volume all the way up as I merged onto the highway. I had no idea where I was going. All I wanted to do was drive.

 

 

An hour later, I finally had to admit that I wasn't really going anywhere—I was just avoiding going home. I just couldn't face it. For one thing, I was totally afraid that Marcus would call, and then I'd have to figure out what to say to him. And for another thing, I was even more terrified that he might
not
call. Then I'd have to decide whether or not I wanted to do the reaching out.

Screw that, I decided as I hit the turn signal and headed toward my house. I can't just drive forever. I've got to go home. But I'm
not
calling Marcus. He's the one who owes me an apology, not the other way around.

“Hi, sweetie,” Mom called from the living room as I walked in the back door.

Taking a deep breath, I managed to shout, “Hi.” But that was about all I could handle. I had to resist the urge to go into the living room, put my head on my mom's shoulder, and cry until her sleeve was soaked through. I just didn't see how I could explain the whole situation to her when I didn't even really understand it myself. So I snuck up the back stairs and skulked into my room.

What happened?

That was the question that had been screaming in my brain the entire drive. I shoved a pile of books to the floor and sat heavily on the edge of my bed. Okay, so Marcus had a point. It wasn't like Jeffrey and I exactly had flow . . . . and maybe I'd been asking too much by having Marcus be my conversational crutch for so long. But that didn't give him the right to just start pretending to be me. Especially when I'd asked him not to. I mean, who knew what he'd been telling Jeffrey all this time? Besides, I'd only asked for Marcus's help because it was just so much easier for
him
to talk to Jeffrey.

God, why
is
that? I wondered. I guessed it was because he wasn't nervous, for one thing. I was always just so paranoid that I'd mess up and look stupid or say the wrong thing. It was easy for Marcus to be himself around Jeffrey. Okay, I didn't think Marcus had any idea about Eritrea, either, but for whatever reason, that wouldn't have made him feel like a moron. . . . He could just talk to Jeffrey about something else.

But that wasn't really the million-dollar question. No—the big question was, how could Marcus do this to me?

Looking down, I realized that my hand was hovering over the phone. Tears welled up in my eyes. Usually, whenever I had a problem, Marcus was the first person I called. But I'm not calling him on this one, I thought bitterly. He
is
the problem.

Okay, and Jeffrey was out, obviously, because that would require way too much explanation of stuff I wasn't sure I wanted explained to him . . .
ever
.

So I punched in Belina's number and pressed talk. “Come on,” I murmured into the receiver as the phone rang four times.

“Hey, it's Belina. I'm not here, but my voice mail is. Talk to it.”

I hung up before the beep. I couldn't leave a message. I needed to talk to a real person. I decided to try Jenn.

“Hello?” Jenn's voice sounded breathy.

“Hey,” I said, “it's me.”

“Oh, hey!”

The mere fact that she sounded so happy to hear from me made me feel a little better.

“I was just thinking about you,” Jenn said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah—I'm watching this movie about King Arthur, and everyone is dressed in armor, and it reminded me of you at the carnival. I know the movie is supposed to be romantic, but I just can't stop laughing!” Then, as if to prove her point, Jenn burst into hysterical giggles. “Ooh, they're attacking the castle!” I could hear the clash of sword on armor in the background.

I took a deep breath, wondering why in the world I'd ever thought it was a good idea to call Jenn. “Okay,” I told her, “I guess I'll just let you watch your movie.”

“No—wait a minute.” The movie noise went silent. I guess Jenn had clicked it off. “Is everything okay?”

Her tone was really gentle. I couldn't help it; my eyes got hot and teary again. “No,” I admitted.

“I didn't think so.”

I gave a weak little sniffle-laugh. “What gave it away?”

“You sound really sad,” Jenn said simply.

For some reason, that broke my heart.

“Tell me,” she urged.

So I did. I told her the whole story about how Marcus had been helping me get to know Jeffrey—and how Marcus had started talking to Jeffrey behind my back, and how those two seemed to get along better than Jeffrey and I ever had. I told the whole thing really badly, because thoughts were whirling around in my brain the whole time like evil flying monkeys, so Jenn had to interrupt me a few times and ask me to clarify what had happened. I explained everything as well as I could, but I realized that I really had about as many questions as she did. At the end, we were both quiet for a long time.

It was Jenn who broke the silence. “Wow.”

Sighing, I leaned back against my bed pillows. “Yeah,” I agreed. “Wow.”

“Why would Marcus do that?” she asked.

“I don't know.” I picked up Molasses, a stuffed animal in the shape of a cat that I'd had since I was four, and hugged him to my chest. None of the answers I'd come up with seemed to fit: Marcus was jealous of me, he was afraid that he was losing me to Jeffrey and he had to put a stop to it, he was desperate enough to throw away our friendship for some weird vicarious action, he didn't care about me. . . .

“Do you think he's in love with Jeffrey?”

My body went cold at the suggestion. No, I thought. No, of course not. Marcus couldn't be in love with someone and not tell me about it. But then again, that was the only answer that really fit. And now that Jenn had said it, I discovered just how obvious it was. Marcus loved Jeffrey. That was why he could talk to him for hours. That was why he lit up whenever I mentioned Jeffrey's name. That was why he couldn't stop himself from talking to Jeffrey, even when he'd promised not to. . . .

“Yes,” I whispered. A hot tear snaked down the side of my face and dripped onto my neck. Suddenly, an image of how much Marcus must have been hurting every time I talked about Jeffrey stabbed through my mind. I felt my breathing grow shallow. For the first time, Marcus's words made sense. Actually, he was right—this really
wasn't
all about me. He'd done what he'd done because he had all of these secret feelings . . . feelings he couldn't tell anyone about—not even me.

No wonder Marcus and I had been fighting so much lately. I mean, for the past few weeks, it had seemed like everything I did annoyed him. It had been worrying me a lot, hovering around the corners of my consciousness. Marcus was important to me. He was my brain twin. When we didn't get along, everything seemed . . . off. And now he thought things were sketchy between us? Just how sketchy were we?

Suddenly, it dawned on me. Marcus wasn't afraid that he was losing me to Jeffrey. I was losing Marcus to Jeffrey. He thought we were growing apart . . . and we were. I flopped sideways on my bed, knocking my head against a history book. Another tear flowed up my temple, into my scalp.

“And how do you think Jeffrey feels?” Jenn asked.

I stared at the receiver. I'd almost forgotten I'd been talking to someone. “Jeffrey doesn't know about all of this,” I explained.

“Well . . . I know,” Jenn admitted. “But—I mean . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“What do you mean?” I prompted, squeezing Molasses's neck.

“You know . . . it was stupid. Forget it.”

“No. Tell me.”

Jenn cleared her throat. “I meant—you said that you and Jeffrey don't exactly have flow. And that Jeffrey and Marcus have all these conversations . . .” Her voice trailed off again, as though she couldn't quite finish the thought.

What is she trying to say? screamed an evil flying monkey in my brain.

You have to struggle to talk to Jeffrey! screeched another monkey.

Another monkey shrieked, Marcus can talk to Jeffrey for hours!

Wait a minute.

Have you ever seen an old fluorescent light come on? It takes a really long time, and then it flickers, flickers, flickers, until finally it's on, casting its sickly glow.

Here is my fluorescent-lightbulb moment:

Jeffrey and I have no flow.

Marcus and Jeffrey have flow.

Jeffrey has been pursuing me. . . .

Then again, he's never even tried to kiss me. . . .

Marcus is clearly falling for Jeffrey. . . .

And Jeffrey is falling for whoever it is he's been talking to online. . . .

Ho.

Ly.

Crap.

Could Jeffrey be . . .

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

“Oh, good,” Jenn said with a relieved sigh. “You got it.”

“This is crazy,” I told her, sitting bolt upright on my bed.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Maybe. I don't know; I'm just throwing it out there. I mean, how well do you really know Jeffrey?”

“Well enough to know that he isn't gay!” I cried.

“Mmmm . . .” Jenn sounded like she didn't want to say anything more.

“Even though he's never kissed me,” I admitted.

“I didn't want to point that out.” I could hear the wince in her voice.

“Okay, wait,” I babbled. “I mean, he's well groomed.”

“His shirts are always ironed,” Jenn agreed. “Look at Keith—he's a slob.”

“Jeffrey's sensitive,” I went on.

“He reads poetry,” she added.

“He's friends with European women,” I ticked off on my fingers. “He's polite and arrives on time. He has never, ever mentioned sports in any context. . . .”

“Yeah,” Jenn said slowly.

We were both silent.

“I'm so sorry,” Jenn added finally.

Oh. My. God. How could I have been so blind? I think it's bizarre when people don't realize that
Marcus
is gay . . . and here I was, worse than they are! Was it really possible that I was so clued out that I had no idea that my best friend and my boyfriend were really in love?

Impossible.

Right?

Then again—don't people have that problem all the time?

“But wait a minute. . . .” My mind was reeling. “Wait—STF. That's pretty un-queer.”

“True,” Jenn admitted.

“And he's best friends with Glenn,” I added.

“That guy's as straight as they come,” Jenn agreed.

“And he always seemed to want to spend time with me alone.” I bit my lip, trying to remember whether the one-on-one dates had been his idea or mine.

“Not that he ever acted on that,” Jenn said helpfully.

“How am I ever going to figure this out?” I wailed. I yanked on my hair in frustration.

“Hmmm . . .” Jenn thought for a moment. “Maybe you could test him. . . .”

“Test him?” This weird mental image of Jeffrey taking a lie detector test flashed into my brain. “With what—a polygraph?”

“Well, you said yourself that you never really gave Jeffrey a chance to go for it with you,” Jenn pointed out. “Maybe you should.”

“You mean, like, seduce him?” I stared at Molasses—his one-eyed, torn-eared, smiling face. Is she crazy? he seemed to be asking.

Jenn giggled. “Or whatever.”

“I think . . .” I said slowly. “I think I've got to go.”

“Okay,” Jenn said. “I'll be here all night, if you need me.”

I had to swallow to clear my throat. “Thanks,” I managed to choke out.

“Love you,” Jenn said. Then she clicked off.

Slowly, I put the phone back into place on my night-stand. Then I leaned back, staring up at my white ceiling. The blankness felt good for some reason—uncomplicated. I tried to let it wash over me.

“Knock, knock,” Laura said as she opened the door and walked into my room. “Are you okay?”