Cut Both Ways Page 8

  “Hey,” she calls to him while opening an invisible cupboard in the brick and pulling out these bright orange plates. I wonder who she is. She’s wearing normal clothes, but I can see her swimsuit underneath. When Roy gets out of the pool, she hands him a towel and they talk with their heads close together. She laughs and swats at him and then Roy tells us all to come and eat.

  DeKalb and me are giving each other the eye about this chick the whole time we’re all eating. She gets us all Cokes from inside, except for Roy, who just drinks water. Then she takes off her stuff and goes to lie on one of the lounge chairs in her swimsuit. And she’s pretty fucking hot. I try not to look, but she’s kind of right in my line of sight. She’s reading a book. Roy doesn’t seem to even notice. He and Angus are talking about music, and I join in for a minute, just to say they all should see Angus’s garage, and then DeKalb asks about the band and I tune out. Stare at the water, which is flat and blue and calm. At the match Roy leaves on his orange plate after he lights his cigarette. At the curls of hair on my arms, drying in the heat.

  I’m feeling light-headed. I feel like I’m maybe coming apart. Splintering into all these versions of Will that aren’t quite the right thing. Like I’m unable to be all of them. Be at all of the places. The Will who’s a prep cook. The Will who can’t answer for his dad. The Will who avoids his mom. The Will who takes Taylor and Kinney to Walgreens to pick up nail-polish remover and Q-tips for his mom and ends up buying his half sisters glittery jump ropes with the extra cash. The Will who kisses Angus. Touches Angus. The Will who spends money on root beer and food with Brandy. The Will who is Brandy’s boyfriend.

  “Help me clean this shit up, you guys,” Roy says, putting out his cigarette and standing up to clear off the plates. We end up putting them in another hidden cabinet that’s really a goddamn dishwasher. I look at DeKalb again, who shakes his head.

  We swim some more and then it’s time to head back to my house so DeKalb’s dad can come collect him. The girl who fed us gets up and ties her towel around her waist and stands by Roy as we get ready to go. She looks pinkish from the sun and she’s holding this book against her hip called Ways of Seeing. Roy asks her how it’s coming along and she shrugs, “It’s fine,” she says. “Kind of abstract.”

  Roy looks bummed that she’s not liking the book. As if he wrote it or something. They go back and forth about it and Angus asks what it’s about.

  Me and DeKalb don’t say anything. Maybe it’s weird that she’s talking around us and none of us have asked her name. Or maybe because her boobs are unreasonable. I feel like they are everywhere. She also is kind of touchy with Roy, but he doesn’t seem like he’s that into her.

  The whole way to my dad’s, Angus is flipping through music, and he and Roy are debating that, with DeKalb popping in from the backseat to disagree or agree. I’m tired but in the best way. It’s the same way after a shift of work. Just bone-ass tired. Worn. All my muscles jangly. I guess my feet don’t hurt now, like they usually do after a shift at Time to Eat, but the rest of me is amped up and lazy, both at once. Maybe that’s why I say, “Sure” when Angus suggests we all go out to his house and jam a little.

  “Unless Tom’s back,” Roy says. Which is kind of buzz killing but true.

  So when we pull up to my house, it’s the worst-case scenario, really. Brandy, talking to my dad. Fuck.

  Roy’s all who’s that, and DeKalb’s like, what the hell’s the yearbook girl doing here, and then Angus kind of raises his eyebrows at me like he knows something’s up.

  “Hi,” Brandy says to me. “Rory threw up so Mr. Vance came home from work early.”

  “They pay you extra for sick duty?” My dad. Hilarious. Brandy laughs, though.

  “Nothing worse than a yakking kid,” DeKalb says. “My little sister’s always barfing when she’s nervous. You can’t even predict it. Just gotta get out of the way before she blows.”

  Angus laughs. Roy’s looking at my dad.

  “So, Tom? We gonna rough in that kitchen or what? Because these guys want to go do some band-practice thing.” He gestures toward DeKalb and Angus and me.

  My dad scratches his beard, squints back at the house. He starts making a bunch of excuses—getting late and need to do some wire work and shit like that. Roy nods along, as if he’s agreeing. But I know he’s got to think my dad’s full of bullshit.

  Brandy, meanwhile, has her arms crossed over her chest. I catch her staring at me, looking confused, but she smiles the second she sees me.

  “I should get going,” she says.

  “Well, but . . .”

  “It’s okay,” she says. “We can hang out later.”

  “You sure?” I don’t know what to say. I feel like the world’s biggest asshole.

  She shakes her head, smiles, and then next thing I know, my dad and Roy have moved closer to the front of the house to talk. DeKalb’s texting on his phone. Angus is looking at Brandy and me in this weird way. Like he’s happy for us. Or he’s hiding something. I can’t stand having them be right here together. Everything I’m thinking feels so close to the surface. Like it’s going to pop out of my chest like an alien baby.

  Brandy bites her lip and then she kind of whispers at me, as she steps backward toward the yard, “Call me later?”

  I nod, trying to look as enthusiastic as you can when nodding, and she dashes back through the alley. I feel like the biggest dick alive. For spending my whole day having fun and not thinking about her. But I can’t imagine telling any of them about what’s going on with me, because it’s too weird. Not just the Angus part; the Brandy part too. How I think of her as my girlfriend, as being her boyfriend. Like how we have dinner. Dates. Everything’s different and not just because she gave me head. Though that’s the part of it I can’t stop thinking about.

  SEVEN

  “YOU NEVER SAID he was a fucking gay guy, man.”

  DeKalb, in my car later that night, as I’m driving us back to Minneapolis.

  “I didn’t think it mattered.”

  “It doesn’t.”

  “Then why are we talking about it?”

  DeKalb makes this little pffft noise, all pissy.

  “It’s kind of something you might mention. Like, you know. I’d like to know.”

  “I didn’t tell him you were black.”

  He rolls his eyes at me.

  “That’s different,” he says.

  “Not really.”

  “I ain’t gonna surprise him by suddenly turning black,” he says.

  I sigh, stop at a light. “What? He hit on you?”

  “No.”

  “Then what’s the deal? You guys played all fucking night. It sounded good to me.”

  He shrugs. He can’t argue; it did sound good. Even me and my nonmusical self could tell they were “in the groove,” or whatever Angus likes to call it.

  “It’s just a thing,” he says. “You want to know that kind of thing, all right? Like, what if I’d called him a fag or something?”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “But I coulda.”

  “I don’t think he’d care.”

  “What in the hell, Will?” he says. “You’re outta your mind. People care about that shit.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Whatever, man,” he says. “You just shoulda said.”

  “You don’t want to be in a band with him because he’s gay?”

  “No,” he says, looking out the window. “I didn’t say that. I wasn’t ever gonna say that.”

  He’s quiet for a minute and then he brings up Brandy again. Which he did at Angus’s house too. Angus didn’t say anything; I just told them we hung out at the Laundromat, Brandy and me. Like it wasn’t any big deal. But DeKalb kept giving me shit.

  “Yeah, I like her,” I say. “She’s nice.”

  “She a baby,” he says. “But you gotta start somewhere. Do what you gotta do.”

  I don’t know what I gotta do. Or say. Because even though I was kind of distra
cted all night by the idea that Brandy was pissed at me blowing her off, it had been a decent time. Had been, before talking about Angus being gay. DeKalb got to smoke a little weed and play some music, and I just sat there and absorbed and sat still for a little while, which I didn’t realize I needed to do. It felt good to hang out and do nothing for a change. So I’m surprised he got all hacked off that Angus is gay.

  And I can’t remember that ever coming up, anyway. It’s like he just sensed it. Guessed it.

  Which makes me nervous. Did he sense something about me and Angus? Or was it something Angus did?

  When I drop him off, I’m glad his mom is the one at home and not his dad, because she’s way friendlier than DeKalb’s dad. Officer Ruston kind of looks at me like he thinks I’m this big fuck-up or whatever. And Mrs. Ruston doesn’t kick up a fuss or come out to the car or anything like Officer Ruston does. You have to be really careful with DeKalb’s dad.

  It’s almost midnight but I don’t want to go home. The hot attic bedroom. Nobody there. Or my dad, drunk, probably.

  It’s automatic; I do it without even making a choice about it. Like I have no choice, I drive to Brandy’s house. I haven’t texted her and it’s pretty late, but I just drive there anyway. Park and go knock on the door. Then, when no one answers, I text her. I know her nana’s deaf, but I don’t know if that’s real actual deafness or old-people deafness where they just can’t hear good.

  The doorbell’s broken. I knock a couple more times. Look at my phone.

  I’m about to get all stalkery and Romeo and Juliet, toss pebbles at her window, when the door opens and it’s her, Brandy. Good thing; I’ve never been inside Brandy’s house and I have no idea what window might be her bedroom.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” she says back.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You want to hang out?”

  She closes the door a little, looks behind her.

  “My nana’s here,” she says. “She’s asleep. You can come in, though.”

  “What about your aunt?”

  “She’s got night shift for the next few weeks.”

  She opens the door and I come in and she’s very quiet. The floor’s got this long blue runner rug but she doesn’t tell me to take off my shoes and right away I feel like I shouldn’t. Even though she’s barefoot herself. The house is kind of old and dark, with lots of fern-y plants and furniture that’s kind of seen a lot of miles on it, but you can see little bits of Brandy here and there: a bright pink backpack, her jean jacket on a coatrack, a bowl full of colored elastic hair-tie things, a big school picture of her hanging on the wall.

  She points to a staircase, and with her finger to her lips, motions for me to go up. So I do, as quiet as I can. The stairs are covered with the same blue runner rug, at least. I get to the top of the stairs and there’s a bathroom and two rooms. One’s really small, with a sewing machine and some dark green file cabinets in it. The other has to be her room; the door is covered in pictures and stickers, some of them so old the color’s faded and you can’t tell what they were originally. I open the door and go in. Her bed’s half made; there are clothes on the floor, and an iPod plugged into her clock is playing something low and murmury that sounds like depression music. Everything smells like flowers, though. She’s got all these lit yellow candles everywhere, on the shelf and her dresser and nightstand.

  I don’t want to sit on the bed, so I sit at her desk, which is mainly a place for makeup and jewelry. Little white dishes full of earrings and stuff. The wall above it has a mirror with pictures tucked into the sides and necklaces hanging off the corners. Like instead of studying your homework, you’re working on yourself. I can barely look in the mirror; it seems to magnify everything, including the zits brewing on my forehead.

  I take off my glasses and wipe them down on my shirt. Then look back in the mirror. Do I look gay? Once I heard a kid looking through the yearbook say that some guy had “total gayface.” I always wondered what that meant; how could you see it? It had to be an expression on your face, because how you looked couldn’t make you gay. How you looked at other people, maybe?

  “We have to be quiet,” she says. Her voice startles me, but I nod. She shuts the door. She’s wearing this weird outfit. It’s like, something sloppy but something girly: a dress that looks like a long sweatshirt. Like a sweatshirt that just kept on going until it was a skirt. Part of it hangs off her shoulder and there’s no bra strap.

  She comes over and stands in front of me. I automatically slip my hands around her hips. It feels like there’s nothing underneath the sweatshirt thing.

  “You said you didn’t care that I’m younger,” she says. She puts her hands on my shoulders. Her face is very serious; her eyes seem very plain with no makeup on them. But she’s got lip gloss on, I can tell. Her mouth’s shiny and I can smell watermelon.

  “I don’t,” I say. Though I know what’s coming.

  “Then how come you didn’t tell your friends about me?” she asks. Her voice is very low. “I felt like such a dumbass.”

  “Did you want me to tell everyone? Brandy,” I say. “Come on. Guys don’t . . . they’re not like that.”

  “Oh really?” she says, sounding pissed. “Is that how all those rumors get started, then? About what girls will do what, with who? Because guys aren’t like that?”

  “Okay, but I’m not like that,” I say.

  “How are they your friends, then?” she asks. “Because Shania knows everything about you. I mean, I could lie and say she doesn’t, but she’s my best friend. I’ve told her all about this.” She puts her hands on my hands, which are still around her hips. I wonder if that means the sex stuff. Or just the in-general hanging-out stuff. Maybe both?

  “I don’t like to tell people stuff like that,” I say. “I just . . . don’t. It’s not because I don’t like you. It’s not because you’re younger.”

  “Really?”

  We’re looking at each other and I swear, I can’t blink. My eyes are wide open, hers even wider.

  “I mean, Angus doesn’t even go to our school. It’s not like he cares.”

  I don’t like saying his name. Angus. Not while I’m touching her.

  “And DeKalb? Well, he’s kind of, I don’t know.” I squeeze her hips a little. “I guess I wasn’t thinking about it. I’m sorry you felt dumb. I am. I just didn’t think about it.”

  I swear, I feel her body relax toward me. I’m holding her hips in my hands and everything just feels like it tilts toward me.

  “Maybe you should, though,” she says. “In the future. Think about it.”

  “Okay.”

  “School starts soon,” she says. “I’d rather you just tell me now than get to school and have you totally ignore me.”

  She’s closer now. Warm against me. I’m thinking about nothing but how close I am to her panties underneath the sweatshirt thing. I’m thinking about how she’s still talking like she’s mad but it doesn’t really sound that mad.

  “I’m not going to ignore you, Brandy.”

  “But what if . . .”

  “I’m not, okay?” I grip her a little harder. “I like you. I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have blown you off. I’m sorry, okay? I am. I mean it. I won’t ever do it again.”

  “Shhh!” she says. “My nana.”

  “Sorry,” I say, lower. “I’ll tell Angus. DeKalb already kinda knows.”

  I turn, take off my glasses, set them on her vanity-desk. I pull her closer. She sinks onto me. Onto the chair, which creaks, and she startles. But then she melts back onto me, her arms around my neck. We kiss and I feel around her waist, up her ribs. She’s not wearing a bra. It’s just nothing but softness. Boobs. Tits. I hate that her nana’s downstairs.

  “Who did you tell DeKalb I was?” she asks.

  “I said you’re my girlfriend,” I lie, my hands underneath the little skirt thing, going all the way up, finding the edge of her panties.
<
br />   “Oh,” she says. I get my hand in between her legs and start rubbing. Her head kind of falls back. I can tell it’s okay now, that she’s forgiven me.

  She stands up, takes the dress off. She’s standing there in her panties, and nothing else.

  I know that this is not the time. That I don’t want to have sex with Brandy with her deaf grandmother sleeping one floor below us, but I know it’s going to happen. It’s going to. I know this. Just like I know my name. It’s the reason this wasn’t a choice. It’s like I made this happen, just driving here. Funny how I didn’t see it, but now I know. It’s like I’m psychic.

  I know, when I take off my shirt and my shorts, unlacing my boots and not tossing them off so they’ll make a big noise, that we’re going to lie on her bed. And we do, as slowly and quietly as we can. I know, when I lick her nipples, that that is a good thing to do to her. To a girl. Brandy. I know that it’s going to happen and I can’t think about her grandmother coming in, or the door being unlocked or anything like that, because Brandy is rubbing my dick and I’m ready. I’ve waited my whole life to see a girl naked, to touch a girl naked. I know nothing will get in the way of wanting that. Not a deaf grandmother. Not what I did with Angus. Nothing.

  I know, when I pull her panties down, that I’m going to kiss her down there. And that she’s okay with it. That it’s what adults do, before sex. That when she twists around, and gets up, holding her arm over her boobs as she goes, that she’s getting condoms from the nightstand drawer. The candle on the nightstand shakes and flickers when she shuts the drawer. It’s a miracle she has condoms, I think. A miracle, but one that I expect. I am so lucky—I know this—as she opens the packet and hands me the little circle thing. I realize that I will need my own next time; it’s like me at the restaurant, not getting out my wallet first. I unroll the condom on; it kind of feels cold. Then I get on top of her. Her knees open on either side of me.

  When I’m right where I need to be, we stare at each other. I can see her up close at least, just inches from my face. We’re both still, just seeing each other. Then her hand slides down to my ass and pushes and then we’re having sex and I’m done thinking.