I’ve got plans for you later.
Her words are sinking in, seeking meaning, when
Syrah, who’s still splayed on the court, complains, Hey, what about me?
Sorry, I got no plans for you, jokes Monica, letting go of my hands so she can pull Syrah off the hardwood, too.
Coach Booker tells us to hit the locker room, and as I limp from the gym, I try not to think too much about what Monica’s got in mind.
I Also Do My Damn Best
Not to gawk at her in the shower, hot water coursing through her waist-length dark hair and down
over her suede skin.
She wouldn’t care, of course. But, while most of the girls must suspect the gravitational pull between Monica and me, I’d rather keep them guessing, at least until I’ve eliminated all personal doubt.
The temptation to stare has become harder and harder, however, and now she turns to face me, a soft soap lather barely disguising the sinews of her breasts and black curls beneath her belly button, and I have to close my eyes, pretending shampoo is what I’m worried about getting inside them.
Something Shifts
Inside me, something elemental, as if
the earth has tilted, barely perceptibly, on its axis, bringing it right again.
Don’t know what this means, but the motion tips me
slightly
off-kilter.
I inhale boldly, exhale slowly, then, just as I regain balance she brushes by and the cartwheeling inside is like
dropping
from a high dive.
Thrilling. Electrifying.
Borderline terrifying.
Not sure
I’ll ever be vertical again.
The Whole Time
We get dressed, I keep my eyes
turned away from her. I don’t want to tumble off that cliff again, despite enjoying the strange, precipitous fall.
Clean panties and bra on, I take
a few seconds to brush through
my tangled hair before buttoning
into an oversize plaid flannel shirt.
I manage to catch a glimpse of Syrah, sliding into her jeans. “Whoa. Tell me my butt doesn’t look like that! Yours looks like grape jelly. The color, that is.”
She snorts. Thanks for clarifying.
Anyway, whose fault is that? She shuts her locker. I’ll meet you guys outside.
Most of the other girls have gone, and the couple remaining are not close by, something Monica notes before coming over. Turn around. Let me see. When I do, her hand slithers down my thigh. Feo.
“Hey. Who’re you calling ugly?” I force my voice light, hoping she doesn’t notice the way I’m trembling at her touch.
But when I turn to face her, her smile tells me she’s seen it. Now I’m staring at her lips, and it’s all I can do not to kiss them. No. Not here. This is not the time. This is not the place.
I clear my throat. “Syrah’s waiting.
We’d better go or we’ll lose our ride.”
She nods, but is reluctant to move, and I dare to whisper, “Later.”
Her eyes widen, and her smile
deepens. Sí, novia. Más tarde.
At the far end of the row, Darla
slams her locker door shut,
a reminder that we’ve almost
completely blown our cover.
Monica goes to put on her shoes
and I finish dressing, too.
I believe I just gave her a promise, wrapped in a single five-letter
word. I hope it’s not more
than I’m truly willing to deliver.
On Our Way
To the parking lot, we walk so close to each other
her jeans whisper
against mine, promising much more to come
más tarde.
The obvious energy
exchange makes me dizzy with anticipation.
I’m so focused
on imagining what that
might mean I barely notice the knot of people
standing on the sidewalk.
As we start past them
Garrett steps in front
of us, blocking our path.
Why don’t you girls give us a little show?
I’ve always wanted to watch lezzie action up close and personal.
Cállate, idiota, responds Monica. Shut up, idiot.
And move the hell out of our way.
Or what, bitch? He draws himself tall and wide
and puffs out his chest.
Most of the group shrinks back against the wall,
but Keith moves into place at Garrett’s right elbow.
“What’s the problem, Garrett?
We weren’t bothering you.”
I pretend courage
I’m really not feeling.
The problem is I don’t like gays. It ain’t natural.
Besides . . . He dares to run his hand down over my left breast. It’s a waste of pussy.
Monica steps in between
Garrett and me. Don’t you touch her. And what would you know about pussy?
I’ve never seen you with a girl. Only with your friend there. She points to Keith.
The Other Kids Laugh
At the implication.
Keith hurls an expletive.
Garrett’s face ignites and he starts to lift his right hand, but
thinks better of striking a girl—lesbian or not— in front of so many people.
Monica stays in place, as if willing to jump one-on-one with this arrogant prick, but
I won’t let it go that far.
“Come on. Syrah’s waiting.