“Ew!” Sal exclaimed. “No way!”
But Javier said, “I actually did once.”
“Oh, God!” Sal rolled his eyes. “Do we have to talk about this over lunch?”
“Cover your ears!” Javier retorted and turned to Carlos. “It was sophomore year, with my best friend Sheila … She knew I liked guys, but we both decided I should try it with a girl first. So we did.”
Sal stuck his finger down his throat as if to make himself puke.
“And what happened?” Carlos asked.
“It felt, like, unnatural,” Javier replied. “Outside, the plumbing worked, but inside it felt all wrong. Its just not who I am.”
“Hel-lo!” Sal exclaimed. “I could’ve told you that.”
Javier grinned at Sal. In spite of their teasing, it was plain how much they liked each other.
That’s what I want with a girl, Carlos thought.
When the check came, he said, “My treat,” and pulled out the money his ma had given him.
“Thanks,” the boys said. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Sal glanced in the backseat at Carlos. “Hey, you want to come work out with us at the rec center?”
“Um, sure.” He didn’t have anything else planned, and working out seemed like the next logical step in his makeover. Besides, he was enjoying Sal and Javier. It even stopped troubling him when they held hands.
Twenty-Six
THE BOYS STOPPED to get Carlos’s gym clothes before driving to the rec center. Carlos’s pa used to take him to soccer games there when Carlos was little. But, in recent years, Carlos had visited the gym only a couple of times with Toro, who practically lived there. So it wasn’t a total surprise when Carlos walked into the weight room and spotted him.
Toro clasped his hand. “Hey, cool hair job.”
Carlos glanced in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. “You think it looks okay?”
“Yeah, it looks good. Where’d you get it done?”
“Um, they did it.” Carlos nodded toward Sal and Javier as they emerged from the locker room.
Sal spotted Toro and waved cheerily. “Wha’s up?”
Toro replied with a nod and whispered to Carlos, “Who’s that with him?”
Carlos hesitated. “His, urn, boyfriend.”
Toro stared at Carlos and lowered his voice. “So he really is … gay?”
“Yeah. So what? He doesn’t mess with me, so whys it such a big deal?”
Toro peered at him, curious-like, as if trying to figure him out.
Carlos quickly changed the subject, knowing Toro loved to show off his knowledge of gym stuff. “What should I work on today?”
Toro led Carlos through a workout, explaining each exercise and spotting for him. But in between sets, he kept darting curious glances at Sal and Javier.
“What’s the matter?” Carlos finally asked.
“Nothing,” Toro mumbled, but he kept peering over at the guys.
On the ride home from the rec center, Sal glanced over the seat at Carlos and announced, “Javier and I think your friend is gay.”
“Huh?” Carlos sat up straight. “Toro? No way! What makes you think that?”
“Gaydar,” Javier said matter-of-factly, and Sal elaborated: “It’s like a sixth sense. Remember ‘I see dead people’? Well, we see gay people.”
Carlos shook his head. “You’re crazy!” But as they drove home, he thought about how Toro was always looking at muscle mags and hanging out at the rec center. And yet he didn’t look or act gay like Sal, or Javier, or the Queer Eye guys. And hadn’t he had sex with that girl, Leticia? Toro couldn’t be gay. No way.
Twenty-Seven
WHEN JAVIER PULLED his car up in front of Carlos’s apartment building, Carlos kind of didn’t want to say good-bye. “You guys want to hang out for a while?”
Javier and Sal glanced at each other, then Sal turned to Carlos. “Thanks, but … Saturday is our date night.”
“Oh.” Carlos noticed they were holding hands again. “Well …um … I guess I’ll see you later, then.”
As he climbed out, Sal rolled down the window. “Remember to cleanse your face before bed!” Javier leaned across Sal and said, “Nice meeting you!”
“Same here.” Carlos waved back and watched them drive off, feeling sort of left behind.
In the apartment, Raúl lay on the sofa watching TV. “Hey, new hairstyle, huh? Looks nice.”
“Thanks. Can you check my friend’s axle if he brings his car to your garage?”
“Sure. No problem. Want to watch the game?”
“What’s the score?” Carlos dropped his gym bag and plopped down in the big chair where his pa used to sit.
While they watched the game, Raúl occasionally commented on some play or asked Carlos about school. Carlos liked that Raúl never tried to interfere in his life, unlike his ma’s two previous boyfriends.
After the game, Raúl invited Carlos and his ma out to a Chinese restaurant. Apparently, the place was where Raúl took Carlos’s ma every Saturday evening, when Carlos was with his pa. All the staff seemed to know them. Across from him in the booth, the two of them sat close together. Once again, Carlos felt left out. He stared down at his shrimp fried rice and wished he had someone special too. He wished he had Roxy.
After dinner, they drove back to the apartment building. As they pulled into the parking lot, his ma asked Carlos, “Did you invite your friends over?”
“No. Why?” He looked out the window. Playboy, Pulga, and Toro were sitting on the steps.
Carlos’s ma and Raúl said hi to the boys and went inside, leaving Carlos with them. “’S’up?” Carlos asked.
Playboy stared at Carlos’s hair. “Dude, we need to talk to you.”
“We heard about you and Sal,” Pulga explained. “And his boyfriend.”
Carlos shot a look at Toro, who lowered his gaze.
“Come on, man,” Playboy ordered Carlos. “What’s going on?”
Carlos crossed his arms, debating what to do. Obviously, his friends were growing more aggravated. And he was getting tired of hiding. If he told them the truth, they’d probably laugh their asses off. But at least he could stop hiding.
“Okay.” Carlos drew a deep breath. “You know that TV show, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy? Well, I thought …” He wiped his brow and realized he was sweating. “I thought that Sal could help me, so, um, Roxy would notice me.”
Playboy’s forehead furrowed. Pulga’s jaw dropped. Toro gave Carlos a puzzled look. “So you’re not gay?” He almost sounded let down.
“No!” Carlos narrowed his eyes at him. “Are you?”
Toro’s face paled so fast that Carlos wondered if maybe Sal and Javier had been right. Was Toro gay?
“Look!” Playboy snapped at Carlos. “We want to know—are you?” Carlos felt his collar tighten. Were his friends listening? Why had he bothered to hide his whole makeover plan, since they weren’t going to believe him anyway?
“Yeah!” Carlos said sarcastically “I’m gay. Don’t tell anyone.”
“Dude, don’t joke like that,” Pulga warned him. “Are you?”
“Oh, screw you! Screw all of you.” Carlos left them on the steps and went inside, slamming the door behind him.
Twenty-Eight
CARLOS FELT BAD about blowing up at his buds. But hadn’t they deserved it?
He tossed his jean jacket onto his dresser and glanced at the photo taped beside his mirror. It was of the four of them, taken at a theme park on Carlos’s thirteenth birthday They’d posed beside a roller coaster, each boy with his fingers raised into “horns” behind another boy’s head. Upon seeing the photo, Playboy had dubbed them “Los Horny Boys.”
At the time, Carlos’s arrival into teenage-hood and the prospect of sex had seemed jam-packed with the promise of thrills and excitement. Now, two and a half years later, it felt like an overrated dud ride, thanks in no small part to his unsupportive pain-in-the-butt friends.
For the rest of the evening, Carlos
practiced how to cleanse his face and rub wax into his hair so it spiked like the guys’ on TV. The more he looked at his shiny blond highlights, the more he liked them.
Sunday morning he gazed in the mirror, flexing his arms, and thinking his chest might’ve gotten a little bigger from his workout the previous day. He considered going back to the gym, but his muscles were kind of sore. Besides, he didn’t feel like seeing Toro.
Instead, he hung out at home till his ma asked Raúl to go get tortillas, so she could make enchiladas for lunch. Raúl kissed her on the cheek and asked Carlos, “You want to come with me?”
On the trip to the supermarket, Raúl and Carlos mostly talked about cars. But on the drive home, Raúl told Carlos, “You know, I think your ma is a very special lady”
Carlos glanced across the seat at him, wondering why Raúl was telling him that. Were he and his ma planning to get married or something? If they were, why hadn’t she told him?
Carlos kept expecting Raúl to say more, but Raúl simply smiled out the truck window. And Carlos felt too awkward to ask more.
As soon as Raú left after lunch, Carlos confronted his ma. “Are you going to marry him?”
His ma thought a moment before replying, “I’m not sure. We’ve talked about it, but I don’t know yet.”
Carlos sputtered, annoyed. He wanted a simple yes or no, not some wussy “I don’t know yet.” How much longer would she keep squeaking the bedsprings before she made up her mind? And if she did marry Raú, would they stay married?
Carlos retreated to his bedroom and slammed the door. Taking a seat at his computer, he noticed from his buddy list that Playboy, Pulga, and Toro were online. He waited for one of them to IM him. But they didn’t. And he was still too angry to IM them.
Instead, he went to Hot-or-Snot and discovered that Roxy had made the day’s “Top Picks.” Probably every guy in America was e-mailing her. Carlos let out a sigh, wishing he had the nerve.
After giving her a ten for the day, he searched for Playboy’s profile and gave him a ten too. After all, even though his friends were homophobic pendejos, they were still his buds.
Twenty-Nine
MONDAY MORNING, CARLOS sat in the back row of the bus as usual, but his buds barely said more to him than “’S’up?”
It wasn’t till biology class that Toro whispered, “Look, man, I don’t care if you are gay, we’re still friends, okay?”
He tried to shake hands, but Carlos exploded in a whisper, “I’m not gay!”
He refused to let his friends’ comments get to him. Besides, he was too busy worrying. Would Roxy notice his hair? Would she like it? If she did, he’d planned exactly what to say: “Thanks. By the way, I saw you on Hot-or-Snot. I gave you a ten.”
At lunch, he spotted her and her friends getting ketchup. His heart pounded furiously as he broke into a sweat. Hands trembling, he carried his tray toward her, arriving just as she finished squirting her hot dog.
She turned in his direction. An endless moment passed while she looked at his hair. Then she broke into a smile. “Hey, your hair looks cute.” Picking up her tray, she stepped away with her friends, leaving Carlos speechless once again.
And yet a wave of joy flooded through him. True, he hadn’t said what he’d planned, but she had said more than he’d dared imagine.
He floated toward his table, barely aware of his friends leaning toward him, their eyes wide with curiosity. “What did she say?”
Carlos fell into his chair, still in a daze. “She likes my hair.”
“She wants you, dude!” Pulga raised his palm and high-fived him. “So you’re really not gay?”
Not that again. “Shut up!”
Pulga responded with a huge smile. “Well, you had me worried, pendejo”
“So are you going to e-mail her?” Toro asked.
Only Playboy failed to share their enthusiasm. “Don’t waste your time,” he told Carlos. “She’s a nine-point-eight—out of your league.”
“Lay off!” Toro punched Playboy in the shoulder. “That’s a crappy thing to say.”
Playboy shrugged. “Well, it’s true.” He turned to Carlos. “You really think Roxy is going to give it up to you just because your queer little boyfriend gives you a fag haircut?”
Pulga rested a hand on Playboy’s shoulder. “Hey, ease up, man.”
But Carlos wasn’t fazed. Sal’s encouragement and Roxy’s words had fortified his determination. Calmly, he looked Playboy in the eye. “Well … at least I’m not snot.”
Toro and Pulga gaped at Carlos in astonished admiration. Had he really stood up to Playboy? Then they burst out laughing.
Playboy’s eyes narrowed at the three of them. “Screw you, losers!”
But Carlos no longer felt like a loser. He chomped happily on his chicken nuggets, feeling like the luckiest boy at Lone Star High. After lunch he grabbed Sal and told him about Roxy’s compliment.
“Cool!” Sal clapped him on the back. “Hey, have you been cleansing your face? It’s already looking better.”
“No lie?” Carlos rubbed a hand across his chin. “Hey, can you and Javier come over again Saturday?”
“Sure.” Sal nodded. “I can. But Javi works on Saturdays. He only took the day off ‘cause I asked him to help you.”
Carlos hadn’t realized that.
“Got to go,” Sal said as the bell rang. He started to walk away, then whirled around. “Crap, I forgot to tell you: Harris approved the GSA—thanks to your little ACLU speech. You are The Man!”
Carlos beamed. Not only did he no longer feel like a loser, he almost felt like a champion.
Thirty
SATURDAY APPROACHED, AND Carlos debated what to do about visiting his pa. He hadn’t really missed seeing him the previous weekend, and he didn’t much feel like seeing him the coming weekend. But he’d feel like a creep to tell him that. Instead, he put off saying anything till his pa phoned Friday evening.
“Mi’jo, are you coming over this weekend?”
“Um …” Carlos gripped the phone, his palms damp. “I’m land of busy.”
“Look …” His pa’s voice became stern. “I’m not going through this each weekend. You call me when you decide you want to come over again. Okay? Adios.”
The line cut off. And as Carlos had predicted, he felt like a creep.
Saturday morning when Sal showed up, Carlos asked him, “Can you, um, help me write Roxy an e-mail?”
Even though she surely got a million e-mails a day and would never answer, he’d decided to give it a shot. But in order to send e-mails, the Hot-or-Snot website required a user to first post his or her own profile and photo.
Carlos and Sal worked on his description. It started out easy: Six feet tall, brown hair, brown eyes … But then he got stuck. “What else?”
“‘Nice smile,’” Sal suggested.
“You don’t think it’s too yellow and dingy?”
Actually, it did seem a little brighter since he’d cut out cola drinks like Sal had recommended and started brushing twice a day like he was supposed to.
“Type it,” Sal ordered, and Carlos did. Then Sal suggested, “‘Hot bod.’”
“No way!” Carlos protested. “I don’t have a hot bod.”
“Javi and I think so. And we’re gay. We should know.”
“Shut up.” Carlos squirmed in his chair, feeling weird about his friends checking out his body. “I can’t put ‘hot bod.’ It sounds conceited.”
Sal gave a sigh. “Then list some personality stuff—things you like about yourself.”
Carlos thought for moment, but it was easier for him to think about the things he didn’t like about himself. “Um … I don’t know. Like what?”
Sal rolled his eyes. “You’re honest …”
“Not always,” Carlos mumbled.
“Dude!” Sal scolded. “What’s with your self-image issues? You’ve got to learn to like yourself. Nobody’s perfect. You’re mostly honest, aren’t you?”
?
??Yeah.” Carlos shrugged. “I guess.”
“Then type it.”
As Carlos typed, Sal dictated: “You’re down-to-earth … easygoing … sweet, nice … shy, funny … good sense of humor … intelligent …”
“I can’t put all that,” Carlos protested. But Sal ordered: “Type!”
Carlos’s LIKES list came easier: Hanging out with friends, video (especially car racing) games, music (Tejano, pop, Latin pop, Los Lonely Boys), working out (just starting).
His DISLIKES were even more fun: Fakes, phonies, jerks, cabbage, loud motorcycles, cold weather … Suddenly Carlos thought of one other major dislike: Bigoted homophobes (and no, I’m not gay, but some of my friends are).
Sal gently leaned into him. “Hey, thanks, man.”
“No problem.” Carlos avoided glancing at him, afraid Sal would give him that annoying tender look again.
“By the way,” Sal said. “We’re putting up flyers next week about the GSA. Okay?”
“Yeah,” Carlos replied, not paying much attention. “Now, can you take a picture of me?” He handed Sal his camera. “Where should I stand?”
Sal scanned the room. “Next to the praying mantis.”
They moved the bed aside and Carlos stood beside the shiny green insect in its clear frame. Sal peered at the camera screen. “Now, lift up your shirt.”
“You crazy?” Carlos clutched his shirt. “I can’t do that. No way. I don’t want everybody on the planet to see my stomach.”
“Stop saying ‘I can’t!’ Just say ‘Yes!’ Tell the world, ‘I’m hot, damn it!’”
Carlos shook his head. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m waaaiting …” Sal held the camera steady.
Carlos moaned a sigh, forced a big smile, and yanked his shirt up for a split second. In that instant, the flash went off.
Carlos hurried over to view the image. He usually hated photos of himself, but surprisingly, he didn’t totally hate this one. “You think it’s okay?”
“It’s hot!” Sal assured him as they uploaded the pic onto Hot-or-Snot.