Keating
Chapter Six
“I– what? Sorry.”
Clutch regarded me patiently. “Cupcake. You want? They’re organic! We’ve eaten a ton, because that’s secretly really easy when you’re only eating them a third at a time, but we’ve still got chocolate-marshmallow, strawberry– ooh, strawberry!– chai latte, red velvet, irish chocolate (originally seasonal, permanent by demand), vanilla milk chocolate, peanut butter chip, and peanut butter frosting. We got two of each flavor, for sharing purposes. Also we charged it to Yugo’s credit card, because they’re $3.25 apiece. Which means we spent…umm… fifty-two dollars exactly on cupcakes today. Wow, that’s a lot, these’re expensive! Anyway, sooo many flavors.” She shook the box at me a little, shifting the contents.
I blinked, a little overwhelmed. “Duhh–, umm, what’s the difference between those last two?”
“Peanut butter chip is peanut butter cake with choccy chips and peanut butter frosting– wow, that sounds delicious. And rich…so much food!– and peanut butter chocolate is the same cake’n’chips, but with fudgy-ass chocolate cream cheese frosting. Holy moly, chocolate cream cheese frosting? That is not right. And we had to get the two peanybutter ones made specially just for me ‘cause they know me an’ they don’t usually sell them today, but I made my saddest, tragicest face and they relented.”
“Uh, I’ll try a chocolate marshmallow, if it’s not too much trouble. And a red velvet.”
She dug a plastic knife out of the box and cut up the cupcakes. “You want milk with that?”
“Sure, why not?”
Mordecai reached under the bed and pulled out a carton of milk and a red plastic Solo cup with a paper plate, which he passed to Clutch. She took it, and I thought I saw her hand shake as she plunked my pieces of cupcake onto the plate, which was then passed to me.
“Hmm. Non sequitur. Know what I love?”
“Me?” Ghost offered from above her on the pillows, smiling slightly.
“Duh, stupid. Know what else?”
“Jesse Eisenberg? The way word processors do not allow that one word at the end of the sentence drift all by itself on the next page and they move the whole line above it down to it as well? How crows are smarter than they need to be to survive? Sneakers? Cupcakes? Riddles? The way everyone thinks you’re oh-so-quiet? Men’s clothing or the way people in movie theaters always thought you were a boy after you cut your hair?”
“Damn you, Ghost-face. I was referring to the word processor thing. You’re a killjoy. You killed my joy, and you feel no guilt. Clearly, that means my joy is nothing like a mockingbird. That makes no sense…I’m tired. Anyway, you suck.” She lay back again on Mordecai’s chest and I wondered vaguely what it felt like, her hair brushing against the skin through his unbuttoned collar. She sprang up, eyes wide, a moment later. “Guess what? Well, it’s not really a guessing thing. Wanna hear a hilarious story of my math class being a bunch of painfully immature 12-year-olds?”
Ghost raised his eyebrows. “Is this the time…?”
“I dunno, why don’t you let me tell the story so you can find out? So we were in math, right, just mathin’ it, and we’re putting data in our calculators or whatever, and he goes ‘and when you get it all in there…’ and the entire class is like ‘SEX! Durr hurr hurr hurr!’ It was pretty rad, until he called us all perverts. And I was just like ‘what a DICK!’ But yeah, we’re all 12. Eat your fucking cake.”
Mordecai ran his fingers over her lips, just lightly, as if to shush her. She nipped at his fingers, grinning lazily. I tried to eat my cupcakes as unobtrusively as possible, but I will just tell you right now: they were and still are AMAZING.
“Haaaaadyyyyyynnn, I have a queeeestiooooonnnn!!”
“Y-yeah?”
“What was it like, when you decided you were trans?”
Tough question. Also usually a question that takes a while with most people.
“Hmm…Lemme think…” Day one with these people and I’d already learned Rule No. 1: God forbid they should ever feel ignored. “It’s a pretty complex question. I guess you could say I always felt ‘different’ and I didn’t know why. Just not feminine enough, you know? Like, I wasn’t a real girl. The label always felt a little off to me, but I figured I had a vagina, so therefore, logically, I must be a girl. For a long time, I tried to be really feminine, forcing myself to wear low-cut shirts and stuff, but it always made me feel really miserable. I didn’t really know there was such a thing as transgender until I was browsing the web and stumbled on it. It sort of scared me, because it wasn’t a part of myself I wanted to acknowledge, but I did a bit of digging and eventually just realized that I am, in fact, a dude. I've always known that I am a boy. I just didn't know how to say it or explain it. I knew something was different-something was wrong. My body and my mind didn't match. But how do you explain to people that your body is lying to you? Not only to them but to yourself? I know who I am inside. I've always known who I am inside.”
Clutch stared at me for a minute before looking away. “Well , that’s, uhh, that’s very deep, Hadyn. Also a little weird, the way you said it. Mostly, though, it’s very sad. Very sad that you had to live that way, being denied by your body.”
It was very awkward. Very awkward. I looked at my cupcakes. I ate my cupcakes. Ghost looked at Clutch and Clutch looked at the wall. Mordecai, between them, watched us all. It didn’t surprise me in the least, therefore, that he was the first to speak again. “What are you looking at?” Clutch clenched her jaw and didn’t answer him. He looked at Clutch, dyed-black hair the color of the night sky falling down out of its elaborate, teased style. No, it wasn’t the color of the sky, it was too flat for that, too monochromatic. It wasn’t dull, though, his hair. It was really sort of a vibrant black, a “see, I’m not at all natural, that’s kind of cool” black. Clutch clenched her jaw and didn’t answer him. The lipstick had rubbed off his lips, leaving them ringed in smudged grey-black. Glancing at the nightstand, I saw his cup had black lipstick on the rim. Mordecai cleared his throat and asked again, “What are you looking at?”
Clutch shook herself a little, as if to clear her head. “I’m looking at the universe in miniature. I am examining the spirit world, observing the land of gods.”
Ghost made a face. “Dude, what?”
“I’m looking at the goddamn lights in the goddamn dark and wishing we weren’t here. Ooh, now you’re thinking, ‘but Clutch, where else would we go?’ Answer: middle of buttfuck East-Jesus nowheresville. We would go somewhere anonymous. I am not happy. I want sushi. Except sushi is cold, and will make my teeth hurt. Hey, are we going to Pride this year?” She turned back, then, and looked at her brother.
“Yeah, if you want. Might be shit, though, with the crowds.”
“Oh, yeah. That. Fuck crowds, man. Whatever.” And she turned away again, just for a moment, before turning back. “Oh, dudes. Sleeping: where?”
They all looked at me. I, ehm, quelled a bit under the astonishing intensity of their executive power. “Where would you like me to sleep?”
Clutch shrugged. “Wherever, dude, I’ll end up snuggling with Ghost no matter where I choose to sleep, so it really makes no difference to me. You’ll sleep in our room– though not in our beds, sorry– and Mordecai and Ghost can stay in the upstairs guest room and we’ll be across from each other. Badabing– solution!”
We all sort of nodded and mumbled our assent. Moredecai sat up slowly, like a zombie rising from the grave, hands at his sides. “What’s the time?”
The twins and I fumbled in our pockets for our phones. “10.37. Think we should sleep?”
“Refuse! Sleep is for pussies! We must persevere!! We are mighty Armenian sonnet warriors, analyzing poetry 12 hours a day, naked, in the snow, uphill. BOTH WAYS!” Both twins cracked up, rolling on the bed and giggling hysterically. I had no idea what they were talking about and, to my surprise, neither did Mordecai.
“Sorry kids, you’ll have to explain that one.”
Clutch nodded, but it took her a minute to regain enough self-control to actually speak without giggling. “Otsuka, she– she’s Armenian and she teaches us to– analyze poetry like Rocky Balboa trained to fight Ivan Drago– it was Ivan Drago, yes? In harsh conditions so we might kick some ass on the AP. We train under duress.” We looked at her, and she looked at us. “Well, shit, I guess it was funnier in person, alright? Anyway,” she shook herself and staggered up, “it’s time to prepare for sleep. Come along.”
And, one by one, we filed out.
Clutch regarded me patiently. “Cupcake. You want? They’re organic! We’ve eaten a ton, because that’s secretly really easy when you’re only eating them a third at a time, but we’ve still got chocolate-marshmallow, strawberry– ooh, strawberry!– chai latte, red velvet, irish chocolate (originally seasonal, permanent by demand), vanilla milk chocolate, peanut butter chip, and peanut butter frosting. We got two of each flavor, for sharing purposes. Also we charged it to Yugo’s credit card, because they’re $3.25 apiece. Which means we spent…umm… fifty-two dollars exactly on cupcakes today. Wow, that’s a lot, these’re expensive! Anyway, sooo many flavors.” She shook the box at me a little, shifting the contents.
I blinked, a little overwhelmed. “Duhh–, umm, what’s the difference between those last two?”
“Peanut butter chip is peanut butter cake with choccy chips and peanut butter frosting– wow, that sounds delicious. And rich…so much food!– and peanut butter chocolate is the same cake’n’chips, but with fudgy-ass chocolate cream cheese frosting. Holy moly, chocolate cream cheese frosting? That is not right. And we had to get the two peanybutter ones made specially just for me ‘cause they know me an’ they don’t usually sell them today, but I made my saddest, tragicest face and they relented.”
“Uh, I’ll try a chocolate marshmallow, if it’s not too much trouble. And a red velvet.”
She dug a plastic knife out of the box and cut up the cupcakes. “You want milk with that?”
“Sure, why not?”
Mordecai reached under the bed and pulled out a carton of milk and a red plastic Solo cup with a paper plate, which he passed to Clutch. She took it, and I thought I saw her hand shake as she plunked my pieces of cupcake onto the plate, which was then passed to me.
“Hmm. Non sequitur. Know what I love?”
“Me?” Ghost offered from above her on the pillows, smiling slightly.
“Duh, stupid. Know what else?”
“Jesse Eisenberg? The way word processors do not allow that one word at the end of the sentence drift all by itself on the next page and they move the whole line above it down to it as well? How crows are smarter than they need to be to survive? Sneakers? Cupcakes? Riddles? The way everyone thinks you’re oh-so-quiet? Men’s clothing or the way people in movie theaters always thought you were a boy after you cut your hair?”
“Damn you, Ghost-face. I was referring to the word processor thing. You’re a killjoy. You killed my joy, and you feel no guilt. Clearly, that means my joy is nothing like a mockingbird. That makes no sense…I’m tired. Anyway, you suck.” She lay back again on Mordecai’s chest and I wondered vaguely what it felt like, her hair brushing against the skin through his unbuttoned collar. She sprang up, eyes wide, a moment later. “Guess what? Well, it’s not really a guessing thing. Wanna hear a hilarious story of my math class being a bunch of painfully immature 12-year-olds?”
Ghost raised his eyebrows. “Is this the time…?”
“I dunno, why don’t you let me tell the story so you can find out? So we were in math, right, just mathin’ it, and we’re putting data in our calculators or whatever, and he goes ‘and when you get it all in there…’ and the entire class is like ‘SEX! Durr hurr hurr hurr!’ It was pretty rad, until he called us all perverts. And I was just like ‘what a DICK!’ But yeah, we’re all 12. Eat your fucking cake.”
Mordecai ran his fingers over her lips, just lightly, as if to shush her. She nipped at his fingers, grinning lazily. I tried to eat my cupcakes as unobtrusively as possible, but I will just tell you right now: they were and still are AMAZING.
“Haaaaadyyyyyynnn, I have a queeeestiooooonnnn!!”
“Y-yeah?”
“What was it like, when you decided you were trans?”
Tough question. Also usually a question that takes a while with most people.
“Hmm…Lemme think…” Day one with these people and I’d already learned Rule No. 1: God forbid they should ever feel ignored. “It’s a pretty complex question. I guess you could say I always felt ‘different’ and I didn’t know why. Just not feminine enough, you know? Like, I wasn’t a real girl. The label always felt a little off to me, but I figured I had a vagina, so therefore, logically, I must be a girl. For a long time, I tried to be really feminine, forcing myself to wear low-cut shirts and stuff, but it always made me feel really miserable. I didn’t really know there was such a thing as transgender until I was browsing the web and stumbled on it. It sort of scared me, because it wasn’t a part of myself I wanted to acknowledge, but I did a bit of digging and eventually just realized that I am, in fact, a dude. I've always known that I am a boy. I just didn't know how to say it or explain it. I knew something was different-something was wrong. My body and my mind didn't match. But how do you explain to people that your body is lying to you? Not only to them but to yourself? I know who I am inside. I've always known who I am inside.”
Clutch stared at me for a minute before looking away. “Well , that’s, uhh, that’s very deep, Hadyn. Also a little weird, the way you said it. Mostly, though, it’s very sad. Very sad that you had to live that way, being denied by your body.”
It was very awkward. Very awkward. I looked at my cupcakes. I ate my cupcakes. Ghost looked at Clutch and Clutch looked at the wall. Mordecai, between them, watched us all. It didn’t surprise me in the least, therefore, that he was the first to speak again. “What are you looking at?” Clutch clenched her jaw and didn’t answer him. He looked at Clutch, dyed-black hair the color of the night sky falling down out of its elaborate, teased style. No, it wasn’t the color of the sky, it was too flat for that, too monochromatic. It wasn’t dull, though, his hair. It was really sort of a vibrant black, a “see, I’m not at all natural, that’s kind of cool” black. Clutch clenched her jaw and didn’t answer him. The lipstick had rubbed off his lips, leaving them ringed in smudged grey-black. Glancing at the nightstand, I saw his cup had black lipstick on the rim. Mordecai cleared his throat and asked again, “What are you looking at?”
Clutch shook herself a little, as if to clear her head. “I’m looking at the universe in miniature. I am examining the spirit world, observing the land of gods.”
Ghost made a face. “Dude, what?”
“I’m looking at the goddamn lights in the goddamn dark and wishing we weren’t here. Ooh, now you’re thinking, ‘but Clutch, where else would we go?’ Answer: middle of buttfuck East-Jesus nowheresville. We would go somewhere anonymous. I am not happy. I want sushi. Except sushi is cold, and will make my teeth hurt. Hey, are we going to Pride this year?” She turned back, then, and looked at her brother.
“Yeah, if you want. Might be shit, though, with the crowds.”
“Oh, yeah. That. Fuck crowds, man. Whatever.” And she turned away again, just for a moment, before turning back. “Oh, dudes. Sleeping: where?”
They all looked at me. I, ehm, quelled a bit under the astonishing intensity of their executive power. “Where would you like me to sleep?”
Clutch shrugged. “Wherever, dude, I’ll end up snuggling with Ghost no matter where I choose to sleep, so it really makes no difference to me. You’ll sleep in our room– though not in our beds, sorry– and Mordecai and Ghost can stay in the upstairs guest room and we’ll be across from each other. Badabing– solution!”
We all sort of nodded and mumbled our assent. Moredecai sat up slowly, like a zombie rising from the grave, hands at his sides. “What’s the time?”
The twins and I fumbled in our pockets for our phones. “10.37. Think we should sleep?”
“Refuse! Sleep is for pussies! We must persevere!! We are mighty Armenian sonnet warriors, analyzing poetry 12 hours a day, naked, in the snow, uphill. BOTH WAYS!” Both twins cracked up, rolling on the bed and giggling hysterically. I had no idea what they were talking about and, to my surprise, neither did Mordecai.
“Sorry kids, you’ll have to explain that one.”
Clutch nodded, but it took her a minute to regain enough self-control to actually speak without giggling. “Otsuka, she– she’s Armenian and she teaches us to– analyze poetry like Rocky Balboa trained to fight Ivan Drago– it was Ivan Drago, yes? In harsh conditions so we might kick some ass on the AP. We train under duress.” We looked at her, and she looked at us. “Well, shit, I guess it was funnier in person, alright? Anyway,” she shook herself and staggered up, “it’s time to prepare for sleep. Come along.”
And, one by one, we filed out.