Boys & Things

Finding a bathroom isn’t difficult; there’s one at the park. But getting there is harder. With my hair acting like it’s eating my head and my face half raging red with peeling aloe vera, I look like something that lives under a three-year-old’s bed. And trust me, people have taken notice. When I was crossing the street, Henry trotting by my side, a car nearly swerved into a tree. And it wasn’t because I was in the middle of the road.

I walk a few more blocks, winding my way through the neighborhood until I can hear the screams of children playing on the jungle gym, the thwack of a tennis ball meeting a racket, and the cheers of parents at a Little League came. The park comes into view and I beeline for the bathroom, running into a little girl as she’s leaving. Her eyes bug from her head and she gives a shrill cry before running off. It really does wonders for your self-esteem, let me tell you. I can hear her yelling to her mother about a bathroom monster. Stupid kids. I’m never having them.

The bathroom reeks, like someone came in, took a big shit and then just forgot to flush; leaving it to steam and stink up the whole thing. Henry is tied up just outside since I don’t want the next person to see me naked be my dog. A girl has to have standards. I pull on shorts and one of Colin’s old shirts. It says ‘All-Star Beer Pong’ on it even though I know that Colin has never played beer pong a day in his life. Colin hates alcohol. He says weed gets the job done without the hangover. I don’t ever know what to say when he starts talking about drugs. He refers to me as his straightedge whore of a sister. The only thing I indulge in is sex and I don’t even get that anymore.

I run my brush through my hair but it’s all frizzy so I end up just putting it into a messy bun. I lather on the sunscreen, put my flip flops back on, and go outside. But Henry isn’t there. His ghetto leash isn’t attached to where I tied him up which means that he was taken; if he’d broken the leash, part of it would have been left behind.

I look around for a fat pug but he’s not anywhere in sight. I’m beginning to get nervous so I start my trek around the park. Maybe whoever nabbed him took him to the dog part of the park. I’m halfway there, about to cross the basketball court, when I see Henry panting by a picnic table. He barks at me and wags his curly tail.

“Henry, what is your issue?” I ask him, relieved that he’s okay. “I told you to stay by the bathroom!” I squat down and begin to undo the complicated knot that keeps him firmly attached to the table. I’ve just stood up, leash in hand, when I see someone striding across the field from the water fountain. He has a freshly filled water bottle and a few beads of water dripping from his chin. Like before, he’s sans shirt. I openly stare even though it’s rude. Tate Armstrong probably doesn’t even notice it when girls stare at his hot bod. He probably expects it.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that stealing is illegal?” I ask.

Tate grins at me. “I didn’t steal him; I borrowed him,” he says. “He looked lonely all by himself. Besides, I knew you’d find him.”

I cross my arms over my chest. Tate glances downwards for a moment and then back up to my eyes. I’m not sure whether to be flattered that he’d check out my nonexistent boobs or embarrassed that they’re not as good as anything he’s already seen. I settle for dramatically walking around to the other side of him and looking at his butt, which is, unfortunately, very nice. I can feel my cheeks redden and I’m actually glad that my sunburn – which is beginning to throb under the scorching sun – is there to cover up any blushing I might be doing. Tate turns around and raises an eyebrow. I stare back.

“You are something else, EJ,” he tells me.

“So they say.”

“Is it true that you can turn a man gay?” He walks over to the table, sets his water bottle down, and picks up his shirt. I’m sort of disappointed that he’s covering up but of course, I can’t say anything about it. It’s nice to watch his muscles ripple as he pulls it over his head, though.

I cock my hip. “Are you looking to experiment?” It’s a joke. Everyone knows that Tate Armstrong is 100% straight. His sexual prowess known throughout the town amongst the girls. Every girl wants to brag about when they have sex with Tate Armstrong. I’ve heard that he make a girl orgasm in less than five minutes. That the foreplay is amazing. Apparently Tate can do godlike things with his tongue. And not just in a girl’s mouth. But that’s just something I’ve heard.

“Maybe I am. Are you offering?” The look he gives me is equal parts serious and joking, mixed in with a little bit of charm. It’s a look many girls have fallen for.

I’m not good at flirting. Ben was the one who instigated everything. He wooed me. He flirted with me. I mean, once we dated, I was all for girl power and jumping his bones whenever we were alone, but I never really flirted. We were never really that sort of couple. We didn’t go around giving each other lovey-dovey looks and we weren’t the couple that’s always you hang up first no you no you. I’m not even sure if this is flirting. Tate could just be bored. But Tate doesn’t do things half-assed.

He takes a step towards to me. We’re really close now. I can feel the heat radiating off his body. I’m thinking that maybe it would be okay to kiss Tate. There are certainly worse people to kiss. And at the rate I’m going, I’ll probably never kiss anyone again, not now that I’m known as the girl who makes people gay. Maybe I’ll move to a reservation and make that my Indian name. “You know,” he says, “your face isn’t that bad.”

I step back. “Um,” I say, “excuse me?” What a mood kill. And here I was about to let him kiss me. Maybe Tate isn’t so great at everything.

His green eyes widen. He looks just like Ricky, the whole deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says.

“Oh? And how’d you mean it?” I demand. But then I wave my hand around. “You know what? I don’t even care. I’ll see you later, Tate. Actually, I hope I don’t.” I start off but Henry has other ideas and my dramatic exit fails horribly. I yank on the leash and it breaks at the knot.

“Do you need–” Tate begins.

“No!” I snap at him. I stomp back over to Henry and scoop him up. I shoot him one last glare before stalking off to find somewhere else to hide.