Beautiful Music for Ugly Children (16 page)

“That was MONTHS ago! And I tried to tell you in eighth grade. Remember?”

“Of course I remember. But being the target of violence isn’t something that happens in your average friendship. And what if it happens again?”

All the fire goes out of me.

I go inside the Hag and get a glass of water. Then I carry it down the block to my car, because I don’t know where else to go. But I don’t get in—I walk around the block, still carrying the glass, which I almost put down so I can text Heather. But I don’t. Before I take the glass back in, I remember to drink the water. When I come out to the patio, Paige is still sitting there, looking miserable.

I sit down and take a deep breath. “We’ve been friends since kindergarten. Through everything. You can’t stop now.”

If I lose her, I will die.

She’s sniffling. “I know. Oreos, Harry Potter marathons, stupid dance and piano lessons. When I liked Sam Wilson and you’d hang up on him all the time for me. Tenth grade geometry when we got caught cheating on that test. Last year when you got food poisoning—so gross. And all over my car, too.” Her mouth twists. “And now you’re Gabe, with a whole new life, so there’s no need for me. You’ll find a whole new set of friends when you move away.”

“We’re both moving to the Cities!”

“But you’re still going away.” The tears are washing off what little makeup she had left after the crying fit at McSwingy’s.

I hand her a napkin from the table. “How am I going away if you’re going to be there, too?”

She wipes her nose, then her eyes. “You’re not Liz anymore.” Then she throws the napkin back at me. There’s something else she’s not saying. I can’t figure it out, but I can see it behind the last few tears.

“How am I not the person you know, aside from my name? Did I ever, in the time you’ve known me, behave like a person named Liz might behave? Not to be stereotypical, but did I ever seem comfortable with makeup or dolls or dresses or my breasts or boyfriends or the idea of being a mom or talking forever on the phone or emotions?”

“No.”

“Since I’ve made Gabe public, have I stopped liking music or Elvis or you? Have we stopped doing stuff together, or talking to each other almost every day?”

“No.”

“So what’s different about me?”

“Well … you have a Mango.” There’s still something more, but she’s not saying it.

“Yes, I do, and it’s right here on the patio with us. But I’m not going to stop being your friend because I have a Mango.”

“What if you decide you only want trans friends?”

“Why would that happen? I’d love to have trans friends, but like I said, we’ve been friends since KINDERGARTEN, and I always assumed, silly me, that we’d be friends for a long time, like maybe forever.”

She gives me a tiny smile. “Remember when we were in fourth grade and in different classrooms?”

“When we’d leave notes in the bathroom, and we’d run out of class every ten minutes to see if there was a new one?” In my mind I see a blonde girl with ribbons on her jeans racing down a school hallway. “I love you—way too much to give up on us.”

Paige chokes on her frappuccino.

“Not like that!” Now I’m blushing. “As my best friend.” My heart is doing flippy-flops.

Once she’s recovered, she doesn’t look me in the face. “You really just said that.”

“Yeah, but … ”

“Too bad. You’re my slave for life.”

“Whatever.” For some reason, this feels way more serious than what happened on my bed.

She’s still not looking at me. “I don’t have your stamina.”

“What stamina?”

“To do what you’re doing.”

“Sitting in a chair?”

“It takes so much to be Gabe. I’d fall apart in under a day.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

More silence. I need to break it. “Thank you.”

She shifts in her chair but finally looks at me. “For what?”

“For telling me all this. I’m just … incredibly sorry.”

I have no idea if we’re still friends. It could go either way.

“There’s no way I could give you up.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Nobody else lets me dress them.”

The door to the patio slams, and two girls come out, looking around for a table. Even in the growing darkness, I can tell that one is Mara, and she can tell it’s me. She moves around to the other side of her friend, so she’s farther away, and she whispers to her friend over the top of her iced mocha glass.

I lean across the table. “See that girl in the orange dress? That’s Mara.”

“Mara from the date?” Paige cranes around to look.

“Thanks for being subtle.”

She turns back to me with a light in her eyes that’s deeper than mischief. “Let’s mess with her.”

The electricity is humming, and she looks at me, really looks at me like she’s never seen me before. If I’m imagining it right, the word on her forehead is YES. Then she half stands up, leans across the table, and plants the softest, sweetest kiss on my lips. It’s like butterflies. Sunshine.

Heaven.

Then I hear a glass shatter and a door slam. When I open my eyes, Mara’s friend is standing there, alone, with a bewildered look on her face. The iced mocha is on the ground.

Paige laughs, loud and hard. “Perfect!” She sits back down and we fist bump. But then she realizes what happened in the last thirty seconds and the electricity goes up 150 percent. “Do not expect me to do that ever again! That was just for Mara’s sake!”

“We’re still friends, right? Or are we friends with benefits now?” I can’t resist.

She kicks me so hard my shin gets a goose egg.

I’ll think about that kiss for a long, long time.

Friday midnight. This week’s radio show is for Paige. John’s in the corner, flipping my Zippo open and closed.

“Welcome, my friends, to Beautiful Music for Ugly Children on 90.3, KZUK. I’m Gabe, and today’s show is for someone who’s definitely not ugly, though she’s part of the Ugly Children Brigade. Paige, this hour’s for you and your ability to read all seven Harry Potter books in seventy-two hours.”

She loves Stevie Wonder too, so I start with “Superstition” in the tricky CD player and say a little prayer over it. It hasn’t jackknifed lately, so I hope the trend continues. Once the song starts, it stays steady.

The phone rings. John’s ears perk up. “Maybe it’s a girl!”

“Hello, KZUK, the Z that sucks.”

Paige is pleased. I think. “Why is this show for me?”

“For helping me completely piss Mara off.”

“That was a one-time deal.”

“We can’t add kissing to our list of things to do together?”

She ignores me. “Can I make a request?”

“If I have it.”

“What’s my all-time favorite song?” She thinks I won’t know.

“Decent music or silly-ass?”

“Silly-ass.”

“It’s sitting right next to me. Dumbest song in the universe.” It’s a museum-quality example of dorky seventies music.

“My mom used to sing it at bedtime. Not like you care.”

“Go read your textbook, brainiac.”

“Whatever.” She hangs up.

“Was it a girl?” John wants to know.

“Just Paige.”

“She’s still a girl. I’m going out to smoke.” He takes my Zippo with him.

The songs keep flowing: Modest Mouse, trashy David Lee Roth Van Halen. Her tastes are almost as strange as mine.

“So, Ugly Children, I bet you have a friend or two that you lean on. Friends who are like cozy warm blankets on Minnesota winter nights. Or thick wool socks—we need those in this state. Music is my cozy warm blanket, but my friend Paige is my best pair of wool socks. Sorry, Paige, it’s a strange analogy, but it’s the only thing I can think of.”

She’s gonna kill me. I put on a song so I don’t have to talk.

The phone rings again. John’s back, and he’s leaned his head against the wall, eyes closed. “You really are the chick magnet tonight, aren’t you?”

I glare at him as I pick it up. “KZUK, the Z that sucks.”

“You’re so disgusting. You know you need to die, right?” The sounds hiss into my ear. “Let’s settle it, huh? Tomorrow night.”

I’m going to puke all over the phone. “You’re challenging me to a duel?”

“How about your house, since we know where you live? Maybe your brother can help you. Or your parents?”

I try to keep my voice steady. “You do not get to fuck with my family, but come by around seven and I’ll have Popsicles.”

Click.

John can see my face. “Who the hell was that?”

“They threatened Pete and my folks.”

“Cop shop after the show. You got it?” He points at me to make sure I hear him.

“Yeah.”

Now I’m so jumpy I can’t think. I call Paige back, just to feel a little more normal, even though I have nothing to say. “Hey, uh … hi.”

“I’m reading, dude. What do you want? I can’t believe you said I was like wool socks.”

“Uh … you know how the UCB asked me to hang with them next week?” Of course she knows. She’s mentioned it every day since the photo went up.

“You’re not chickening out, aren’t you? I told everybody you were coming!”

“You’re going too, right?”

“Isn’t your song almost over?”

I hang up and get my act together.

“All right, Ugly Children, where have your lips been tonight? Kissing friends? Kissing lovers? Kissing the statue of Merriweather Maxfield? Show me your lip prints—how many can you make? Let’s see kiss prints all over town.” Last week’s challenge, to decorate with condoms, got exercised on the
WELCOME TO MAXFIELD
sign, complete with twisted dog balloons that weren’t really balloons all over the grass in front of the sign. “To end today’s show, here’s a request from Paige herself. It’s cheese wiener, total seventies easy listening music, but she wanted to hear it. This is community radio 90.3, KZUK, and you’re listening to Beautiful Music for Ugly Children. Here’s England Dan and John Ford Coley, ‘Love is the Answer.’ ”

If love is the answer, what’s the question?

Maybe it just matters that you know the answer. And believe it. Believe
in
it.

John and I go to the police station and tell them about the threat. They tell me they’ll have someone come by my house tomorrow, and not to worry. I ask them to park a block down so my mom won’t notice them. We’ll see if they show. At least the cop who sneered wasn’t there.

At this point, I’m just tired. Bring it on. Let’s get it over with.

By two a.m., the UCB has posted their kissing pictures. Merriweather Maxfield is covered in lip prints—red—while a huge pair of purple lips has been drawn in the parking lot of Food Pride, and the sign for our mall is covered in Xs and Os of pink chalk. There are also photos of faces covered in smooches—Jenna Hitchcock, with red lips and bright pink lip prints all over her cheeks, laughing with Brad Espenson, who’s got bright pink lips and red lip prints all over him. In all my life, I never guessed I’d be one degree of separation away from Jenna Hitchcock and Brad Espenson. Those two wouldn’t call 911 if Liz was lying bloody on the sidewalk. But Gabe? Evidently he’s okay.

I drift off, imagining Paige. We’re holding hands and kissing, and nobody’s embarrassed or weird.

Maybe it’s too outrageous.

Maybe it’s possible.

Maybe I’ll grow two more heads tomorrow.

That’s what bites about the future—there’s no way to predict it. You just have to show up and see what happens.

Rush Limbaugh Can’t be the New Elvis;
He’s Too Mean

Saturday night. I get a phone call telling me that there will be an unmarked cop car half a block east of my house at six p.m., which surprises me. I’m even more surprised when they show up. At 6:45 I go outside and sit on my step.

When I was in eighth grade, I wanted to die.

I move fast, so Paige has to run.

“Liz, hold on!”

I don’t slow down, and Paige is panting. The snow feels good on my face, but I ignore that fact and keep moving. It’s cold, it’s January, it’s late at night.

Suddenly, it seems, we’re on the bridge over the highway. The cars whiz by underneath us, headlights making the snow dance in bright circles. I put one leg over so I’m straddling the guardrail.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Paige doesn’t use that word, let alone scream it at top volume. My mom probably heard her since my house is only six blocks away.

“I wanted you to come because I want to say goodbye in person. No note this way. You can tell people.”

“Move your leg!” Paige screams again and pulls on my shoulder.

“Back off, Paige! This is my suicide!” She moves about ten feet away.

“Why?” She is actually wringing her hands. I thought only people on TV did that.

“Why do you think?”

“I have no idea!” She’s crying, and the tears are freezing on her face as fast as she cries them.

“What happened two months ago?” I slowly move my other leg over the top, so I’m sitting on the rail facing away from Paige. The rail is maybe a foot wide, and the ledge below me is maybe six inches wide. A boot would slip right off if I stood up. I lean back, not wanting to rush the situation. Cars are whizzing by under me. It might be seventy feet between me and them.

Paige’s voice is a sobby shriek. “What the hell do you mean?”

“What life-changing event happened to you two months ago?”

I can hear her sniffle. “I don’t know … I got my period. So what?”

“And then what happened to me, since we’re BFFs and we do everything together?”

“You got yours, too. What the fuck does that have to do with jumping off a bridge?” She wipes her nose with the back of her glove. “Get your ass over here! You’re not doing this.”

“Oh yes I am. What happened today?”

“We went to the Wow Zone!” She’s sobbing again.

“What happened at the Wow Zone?”

“You played laser tag, you bowled, you played video games. So what? You … ” Her voice trails off. Then she screams, “You got your period. So what?”

“Ugly, huge blood spots, all over the crotch of my jeans.”

Sh
e’s so confused. “It’s just your period! Nobody saw but me!”

“What did they tell us in fifth grade health class—what does it mean to have your period?” I look down again as I ask the question. Those cars are really fast. There’s no ice on the roads.

“You dumbass, it means you’re a woman. What are you DOING?”

“Do you like being a woman?”

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT!” Paige’s voice tells me how high her panic level is.

I turn to look behind me. I can see she wants to come near me again, but she doesn’t know how I’ll take it. I turn back and look under my feet. Still lots of fast cars. “My body is lying, and it’s so fucking gross.” I keep staring down. “I’m not a woman.” It wouldn’t hurt, once I hit. I don’t think.

She takes a deep, deep breath, and she doesn’t yell. “Okay. You’re not a woman. Can you come over here so we can talk about it?”

I turn around to look at Paige again. “Not at the moment.”

“How long will you be on the ledge?”

“Until I decide whether I want to live or die.”

“What if I help you fix it?”

“Fix what?”

“It’s the twenty-first century. People can fix anything. There’s got to be a way. But nobody can help you if you jump.” She puts her hands on her hips and cocks her head at me.

She has a point.

I turn back around and look down at the cars again, then I wiggle my leg a tiny bit, pushing my boot out over the ledge below me. Gravity works. It would be easy.

“You’d help me?”

“Yes.” She sounds more like herself.

“We’re thirteen.”

“We won’t be thirteen forever.”

Another good point.

I pull one leg back to the bridge side so I’m straddling the guardrail. “How can you help me?”

I hear Paige exhale and sob at the same time. “I don’t know! I’ll figure it out. Just come over here by me.”

I pull the other leg over, stand up, and walk to Paige. She collapses into me, hugging me with all her might.
“Liz, oh god, holy shit … ” She can’t say any more.

I don’t shed a tear. I just hold her.

Finally she looks at me. “Please don’t do that again, or I will kick your ass.”

“You’re just a skinny girl. What can you do?”

“I can take you.” She probably can.

We walk back to my house, very slowly, because I ache all over. The snow is falling fast, and the tracks we made on the way to the bridge are gone.

“Liz … ?” Paige hesitates. “What do you mean, you’re not a woman?”

“I don’t know how to explain it.”

She puts her hand on my arm. “What if I can’t find a way to fix it?”

I move faster. “Then it can’t be fixed.”

“We can Google it.”

“Not tonight.”

We walk a little more.

“I really will help you.”

I glare at her. “You can start by shutting up.”

“I wasn’t going to tell anyone.”

We get home, and no one’s even noticed we were gone. Mom and Dad are watching a movie and throwing popcorn at each other, and Pete is in bed. We take off our winter gear and go upstairs. When we finally shut off the light, Paige tosses and turns in her sleep, and I shiver all night long, like I’m still on the bridge.

I never brought it up after that night, and neither did Paige. We just tried to pretend it didn’t happen.

John joins me at seven o’clock with a box of Popsicles. We eat two Popsicles apiece and have a music argument about the Sex Pistols—who was better, Johnny Rotten or Sid Vicious? We decide Vicious was cooler, but Rotten had more talent.

No sign of Jason and Scream by nine p.m., so we go inside after the cops drive away.

I hope they don’t kill me. Things are just getting good.

Tuesday afternoon. Paige wants to go shopping. When I get in her car, she looks out the window, not at me. “Did you bring money?”

“No. Why?”

“We’re dressing you up too. Where’s your ATM card?”

“Lost in my room.”

Paige sighs. “I’ll spot you. You’ll want to look good for the Vibe, plus the UCB when you meet them.” She still hasn’t glanced my way.

“Okay, but I refuse to go to Hollister, just so you know. And why aren’t you looking at me?”

She turns to me so I’ll lay off, but her eyes focus on my hair, not on my face. Then she turns back to watch the road. “No reason.”

Her voice is cool as a cucumber, but her fingers are tapping the steering wheel. Paige has never been good at hiding her anxiety.

“Are you going to stop being my friend again? If that’s true, shopping is out.”

“I’m driving here. Stop talking.” Tap tap tap on the steering wheel.

“Whatever you say.”

Paige wants accessories today—scarves, bracelets, earrings—so we head to the mall, where you can still see pink Xs and Os on the sign. We start at Target, of course. I browse in the men’s section and decide on a T-shirt with a Ramones logo on it. It’s not too tight, and that’s key, because it means my binder won’t show. But can I really meet the UCB wearing a T-shirt everyone will know is from Target? Don’t I need to look cooler than that?

I meet Paige up front and we pay for our stuff—she loans me ten for the shirt. Then we walk for what seems like miles to the other end of the mall so we can hit Victoria’s Secret. I sit on a bench outside, facing away from the window displays. Too much information. Then we’re all over the place, including American Eagle, Hot Topic, and Claire’s. My skin almost crawls from all the estrogen in Claire’s, but Paige is in her element, and of course there are a zillion accessories that capture her attention.

She’s still not looking at me. She looked at my new shirt, the shoes I tried on in Payless—very manly loafers—and a wallet I showed her in Hot Topic. But she hasn’t met my eyes once.

Finally we’re in the food court to grab a soda. She’s still buying, since I have no money.

“Mountain Dew or Pepsi?” No eye contact.

“Pepsi. And if you don’t look me in the face, I’m going to throw it at you.”

This gets her attention. “Don’t you dare. I just bought this scarf.” She stalks by me. “Let’s go home.”

Once we’re in her car, I grab the keys just as she’s going for the ignition. “What the hell is your issue?”

“Nothing.” Paige is rummaging in her purse, looking for a spare set of keys. Finally she stops and looks at me. “We kissed.”

“I know that.” I try not to look too pleased.

“You are my BFF, not my boy FF.”

“Couldn’t they be one and the same?” When the words are out, I wish I could suck them back into my mouth, because the imaginary word on her forehead is NO, followed by a hundred exclamations points. “Okay, never mind, just kidding.”

“You’d better be.” More silence. She stares at an older lady crossing in front of the car. “It’s just not … part of who we are.”

She has no idea how sad that statement is, but I make sure not to show it. “Okay. Fine. Now will you quit being so bitchy?”

“Yes. Can I have my keys back?” She holds out her hand, still looking at me, which is a good sign.

“Here.”

“Let’s go to the Cities. I really want you to have something nice for the UCB. Let them think you have a turntable, all that. You do have a Mango.”

I have to be at work at four, and it’s already eleven. “It’s gotta be quick.”

“I’ll speed.” She puts the car in gear. “I know a great boutique in Uptown. Not too trendy, not too spendy.” Her perky self is back, and that’s good. The tense Paige is just too awful.

We spend an hour in Rampage, and she makes me try on shirt after shirt. Finally we find a nice button-up one in a very cool purple color—“dusky plum,” she says, like I would have any idea—and a very cool pair of jeans. It costs a heap, but McSwingy’s has helped the savings account. And it’s worth it to look good for the big stuff. Paige is generous enough to share her credit card with me, but she makes me swear I’ll pay her tomorrow.

She drops me at McSwingy’s. “Have a good shift.”

I’d better make sure, once and for all. “No boyfriend/girlfriend?”

“End of story.” But she doesn’t look me in the eye. So it’s not really the end. Good. It’s her turn to be confused.

“Call my mom and tell her to pick me up at nine, will you? I forgot my phone, too.”

Paige rolls her eyes. “Loser.” Then she drives away, taking my dreams with her.

Paige must have called, because someone’s parked and waiting for me after work. But it’s not my mom—it’s my dad. “How was your shift?”

“Decent.” He’s putting himself out there, so I’ll reciprocate. “I sold three Eric Clapton vinyl reprints.”

He’s surprised. “There’s Clapton vinyl?”

“Just reissued.”

“Put me down for one. I’ll have to find my turntable.”

“We have a turntable?” I had no idea.

“Somewhere in the attic.” He chuckles. “Surprised you haven’t found it by now.”

Then it hits me. “I forgot a Father’s Day gift, didn’t I? That’s pretty crappy. The album’s on me.”

He doesn’t look at me. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

He lets it go. “When I was in college, they used to have classic rock laser light shows on Friday nights at the campus planetarium. At the Clapton one there was a stoned guy in the back who yelled ‘Sunshine of Your Love’! in between the songs until they played it, then he started yelling for ‘Freebird.’ Some other dude yelled ‘That’s not Clapton!’ and he yelled back ‘So what?’ ” He chuckles.

“Did they play ‘Freebird’?”

“I don’t remember. Hey, want to stop and get a Blizzard?” We’re driving by the Dairy Queen, so my dad slows down and actually engages my eyes with his.

“Sure.” I think he was expecting me to say no.

We order and take our Blizzards outside to sit with the crowd at the picnic tables. Dad sees some people he works with and wanders over to talk to them. I’m perfectly content to sit and observe. Some guy bought his girlfriend an ice cream cone, but before he gives it to her he tries to stuff it in her bikini top. Then it drips on her breast and he licks it off.