Robin, Boy Virgin: Original Series

After school, I hustled out of the Geography room, just in case weirdo Amanda had plans to ambush me again. I got my homework from my locker and speed walked to Harold’s locker. He was putting his binder away. I think he just had English.

“Hey,” I greeted him shortly.

“Hi… are you ok?” He asked to my twitchy behaviour.

“Amanda was gaping at me Geography. I want to get out of here in case she finds me and tries to talk to me,” I said. Harold tucked a different binder under his arm and closed his locker.

“And that would just be terrible,” He mocked me very gently, giving me a grin. I glared at him.

“It would. You don’t understand, ok? She’s got some sort of scheme going on,” I said, sounding paranoid. Harold rolled his eyes but let me go on thinking Amanda was up to no good.

“Come on,” He said.

Harold and I walked to the bus stop. His nice house is a fair ways away from the school, so he takes the bus to and from school. His parents could probably afford to give him a nice new car, but Harold doesn’t believe in material possessions that spew environment-killing toxins and his parents don’t believe in spoiling him too much. They are a good match. Although the bus (I once pointed out to him) spews toxins as well, it would be spewing toxins on the way to his house regardless if he was on it or not. And he does need to get home in some fashion (his crushing, logical reply to my objection).

We got off the bus and walked the short distance from the bus stop to Harold’s house. His parents weren’t home. His grandma, his dad’s mom, was home. She was in the kitchen (she is always in the kitchen. She’s about as traditional as you can imagine in that sense), cooking food. It smelled incredible. And I hadn’t had any lunch so I was starving to death.

Harold greeted him grandma in quiet Chinese and she patted his cheek. Grandma Song is very proud of Harold, even if he is an atheist and she’s all old-school Buddhist.

“Hello Robin,” She said to me. She can speak a little English.

“Hello Mrs. Song,” I said. My stomach growled loudly, demanding I get in on the food that was being prepared.

“Boys sit. Eat,” She commanded. We did as we were told and we were greatly rewarded. I sucked back rice and chicken and didn’t need to drown it in soy sauce since Grandma Song actually knows how to prepare Asian food so it doesn’t taste like paper. Glenn should really take freaking lessons.

When we were finished, Harold and I put our dishes in the dishwasher and went upstairs to his room. I felt better, now that my stomach was pleasantly full of food and flopped down on Harold’s big ol’ bed. Harold went over to his stereo and turned on his music, an album by this band/one-man project Extra Life. A word about boy/boy friendships: ordinarily when guys hang out they:

1.) Watch TV.

2.) Eat.

3.) Go on the computer.

4.) Play video games.

And yeah we talk while we do those things, but the main focus is not on each other. I don’t know how it is with girls; I just know how it is with guys. Sometimes, you know, we go to the gym together or something like that, but we always, always disguise the fact that we’re talking about issues in our lives by keeping ourselves busy on the seemingly main task. It’s a myth that guys don’t talk and share their feelings with each other. We do, like all the time, it’s just we mask it well and then pretend we don’t. Why do we do that? Don’t ask me, ask society.

With Harold, the main tasks we do are different, but the underlying principle is the same. So, like, ordinarily, heterosexual guys don’t lie right next to each other on a bed, listening to music, and staring up at a ceiling instead of at a TV. But with Harold, meh, it’s what we do. And obviously those things are things I enjoy too, so it works out.

“Your shiner is almost gone,” Harold began. I touched my eye.

“Does it look tough?” I asked, knowing I’d get an honest answer out of him.

“Kind of,” He said, his voice light and assuring. I made a satisfied face.

“I’m really proud to be friends with Cora. Her action of violence I actually support,” Harold said. I could hear him smiling. I chuckled.

“Yeah I’m proud of her too. Brandon’s just a jealous douche bag cuz Cora picked me over him,” I said.

“What do you mean?” Harold asked.

“Cora likes me and not him. So he can suck on it, cuz I’m making out with her and he’s not,” I cackled to myself. Harold got up on his elbows and broke the strict guy code and looked right at my face.

“What are you talking about??” He demanded. I froze. Oh, yeah, that’s right. Harold, um, doesn’t know about any of that.

“Cora and I have kind of been making out in secret,” I told him, as though it wasn’t the most important thing in my life.

“… what?? Since when?” Harold demanded, lying back down.

“Um, well we’ve been making out since last Thursday. I finally kissed her last Wednesday,” I filled him in.

“I knew you liked her! For so long you have,” Harold accused, sounding a little like Yoda from Star Wars. I rolled my eyes at his being right all the time.

“So are you two, like, going to be a couple in the near future then?” Harold asked. I pursed my lips.

“Ummmm. I don’t… know,” I said with great difficulty.

“Well, you’re in love with her right?” Harold checked, but seemed to somehow already know, the bastard!

“I-” I tried to deny it. But really, come on. “Yeah,” I admitted darkly.

“How does she feel about you? Obviously she likes you. Anyone could see that. But how does she say she feels?” Harold asked.

“She says she cares about me. And she said she loved me when we got drunk… but I haven’t asked her to clarify what she meant yet,” I said.

“She said ‘I love you’, though?” Harold asked, letting the mention of an unfamiliar drunken encounter slide.

“Yeah. But I dunno if she meant she loves me like a friend, or if she loves me, loves me like how I love her. Because, the implication, right, when a straight girl tells a straight guy that she loves him, she means she loves him, loves him,” I began.

“Mhm,” Harold assured me, inviting me to continue.

“But I dunno if she does! Cora is completely, like, mind fucking with me. And I don’t think she means to do it, because she says we’re like best friends and stuff. But she’s still being really, really confusing. I mean, ok, she said that she can’t do relationships. That’s one of the reasons why she broke up with douche puppy. And she says that she doesn’t want to get into a relationship with me because she thinks that relationships always end and she doesn’t want to hurt me. But the not being with her is the part that hurts like a bitch, you know?? And I’m just so freaking in love with her, man, and I want to be her boyfriend, isn’t that pathetic? But I want Cora so bad and more than that, I want Cora to want me as a boyfriend too! Which is actually asking for a lot, since she’s already kissing me and holding my hand in private and spending practically all her free time with me. Do you think I’m expecting too much?”

“… I think you think so much about Cora, you can’t see the obvious clues about how she really feels. I bet when you’re with her, Robin, all you do is either put your tongue in her mouth or fret about how she might take you putting your tongue in her mouth, right?” He said. I frowned. Where does he get his accurate knowledge of everything?

“You should just turn your brain off and watch her objectively,” Harold advised. Hmm. That sounds good, but I wondered if I was capable of doing it. I blinked and suddenly remembered that Harold had asked me over so he could talk about his problems. Jeez, I’m messed up, fack.

“So, um, what’s up with you?” I asked lamely.

“I have a hard time being around Minnie. Because when I’m around her, I want to kiss her. But, obviously, one can never be sure of how they’ll be received and I don’t want to kiss her when she isn’t ready for that step. I think what I will do is just wait a little longer. Maybe ask her out on a date even, if I can get up the courage. On Thursday, I’ll ask her. If nothing else just to hang out and see how it goes,” Harold said. And, easy as pie, had solved his problem. Damn him!

“Yeah, that, um, sounds good,” I assured him, even though he didn’t need my assurance. We lay there and listened to the rest of the album, mulling over our individual women problems.