Kimiko sat silent, feeling as though a knife were slicing into her.
“It makes me ashamed to look at you. Take your food to your room.”
Kimiko stood and put her cap back on. She carried her plate to the kitchen and left it there. She wasn’t hungry. In her room, she turned some music on, curled onto the carpet, buried her head between her knees, and wiped her nose as she phoned Sergio.
“I told you she was going to kill me.”
“Oh my god! Are you calling from the afterlife?”
Kimiko sniffled. “She said she’s ashamed to look at me.”
“And that’s supposed to be a bad thing?” Sergio asked.
No matter how much Kimiko tried to feel sorry for herself, Sergio’s comebacks were relentless. By the time she hung up, her mom’s cuts no longer felt as devastating as before.
On Saturday afternoon, as Kimiko got ready to go to Allie’s for dinner and math help, she stared at herself in the mirror, wondering if Allie would like the eyebrow ring.
“I love it!” Allie said the moment she saw Kimiko on the porch. “Here, let me take your backpack.” She slung the pack onto her shoulder. “Come meet Mom and Dad.”
In the kitchen, Allie’s parents were preparing dinner while her little brother watched from a high chair. Both her dad and mom were as tall as Allie.
“You must be the famous Kimiko,” Mr. MacBryde said, glancing up from the salad he was making.
“Am I famous?” Kimiko asked Allie, giving her a playful grin.
“Great to meet you,” Mrs. MacBryde called over from the oven. “I hope Allie hasn’t worn you out asking about Japan.”
“No, I don’t mind.” Kimiko shrugged. “I like it.”
“And this is Josh,” Allie said, kissing her brother’s forehead while he held a carrot out for Kimiko.
“Thanks, dude.” Kimiko took the carrot, admiring his brilliant blue-green eyes, just like Allie’s.
The girls prepared everyone’s beverages, set the table, and talked about favorite foods until everything was ready.
“I like your hair,” Allie said when Kimiko took her cap off at the dinner table.
“It’s too stiff,” Kimiko complained. “Zero body.”
“No, I like it,” Allie said, gently flicking her fingertips through it. Her touch made Kimiko recall Sergio’s kooky theory about body language.
“So, is baseball still the big sport in Japan?” Mr. MacBryde asked, passing Kimiko a plate of salmon with dill sauce.
“Yeah,” Kimiko said. “Also soccer and golf.”
“What about those huge sumo wrestlers?” Mrs. MacBryde asked, handing her the buttered broccoli.
“Sometimes when we’re in Tokyo,” Kimiko replied, “my dad, my little brother, and I go to watch them.”
“I’d love to see that,” Allie said and proudly announced, “Kimiko does karate. She’s a brown belt—that’s almost like ninja level. And she’s a poet. She writes wicked-amazing poems.”
“Wow,” Mrs. MacBryde said. “You’re very talented.”
Kimiko glanced down at her plate, feeling a little overwhelmed by all the praise and attention. “The salmon is delicious.”
“Mom makes it really hard to stay thin,” Allie said, grinning at Kimiko. “So you’d better not buy me any doughnuts!”
Kimiko immediately got the allusion to Girl Panic. “Oh, I brought you the third book.”
“Awesome,” Allie said and explained to her parents, “Kimiko turned me on to this really cool manga series.”
Kimiko liked Allie’s parents. They seemed as nice and pleasant as Allie. She felt comfortable with them. After finishing dinner, she put her cap back on.
“Oh, but you can see your eyes better without it,” Allie said, pouting a little.
Kimiko thought for a moment and decided to pull the cap back off, wedging it into her pocket.
After they’d helped to load the dishwasher, Kimiko followed Allie to her room. A queen-size canopy bed was piled with ruffled pillows. The scent of potpourri lingered in the air. Plush little unicorns peered out from every corner. And on the bulletin board was Kimiko’s kanji lettering.
“You still have it?” Kimiko said.
“Of course!” Allie set Kimiko’s backpack on the love-seat. “What would you like to listen to? Do you like Alicia Keys?”
“Dude, I love Alicia Keys.”
While Allie put the music on, Kimiko gazed around the room. On the nightstand was a photo of Allie and Chip. On a shelf alongside various Barbies were several books, including The Complete Collected Poems of Maya Angelou.
“Her poems are great, aren’t they?” Kimiko said, flipping through the book.
“I adore her,” Allie replied. “Who are your fave poets?”
“Wow, so many.” Kimiko put the book back on the shelf. “Langston Hughes . . . Audre Lorde . . . Billy Collins . . . Edna Saint Vincent Millay . . . Walt Whitman . . .”
“Have a seat.” Allie gestured to the loveseat. “So, was Whitman really gay?”
“Yeah,” Kimiko said, sitting down. “A lot of poets are gay or bi.”
“Edna Saint Vincent Millay?” Allie asked, taking a seat beside Kimiko.
“Yeah, she liked to be called Vincent.”
“No way!” Allie pulled her lip gloss out of her jeans pocket. “That’s funny.”
“She was bi and had an open marriage,” Kimiko explained, trying not to stare as Allie rolled the lip gloss across her shimmering lips. “She wrote these lines:
My candle burns at both ends
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—
It gives a lovely light!”
“I like that,” Allie said, sliding her lip gloss back into her pocket. “Do you think it’s about being bi?”
“It could be,” Kimiko said. “Good poetry can have lots of meanings. It’s all about metaphors.”
“So do all bi people have open relationships?” Allie asked.
“I guess some do,” Kimiko hadn’t meant to get into the whole bi thing again. “Sergio doesn’t. By the way, he said he’d be happy to talk to you.”
“About what?” Allie asked.
“About being bi.”
“Do you think I’m bi?” Allie asked, misunderstanding Kimiko’s answer.
Kimiko realized her mistake. “I meant about his being bi. I told you that you should ask him about it, remember?”
“Oh, right.” Nonetheless Allie’s curiosity remained. “But do you think I might be bi?”
Kimiko tugged at her collar, growing warm. “I think only you can know that.” She pulled the Girl Panic out of her backpack and handed it to Allie, eager to switch topics. “Here’s Book Three.”
“Wow, thanks!”
While Allie flipped through the manga, Kimiko gazed at her curly blond hair, wishing she could flick her fingers through it like Allie had done with hers.
“So, we’re on chapter ten,” Kimiko said, pulling out her algebra book. “Polynomials. I don’t get it at all.”
“Don’t worry,” Allie said, patting Kimiko’s arm. “I know it can be confusing but we’ll go slowly. Let me get my glasses.”
While Allie walked to the desk, Kimiko’s mind flashed back to Sergio’s goofy theory again and what he’d said about touching someone’s arm: Did Allie want to be more than friends?
She liked how Allie looked with glasses—they made her seem less perfect, a little flawed, kind of vulnerable, and even sexier. It took every brain cell of concentration for Kimiko to focus on math. It helped that Allie went back to some algebra basics like integers, variables, and radicals—stuff that Kimiko had never completely gotten. Allie patiently answered her questions and before Kimiko knew it, they were finishing the last problem in the chapter.
“Thank you so much!” Kimiko said, closing up her books.
“Anytime,” Allie replied. “It makes me feel like I know something.” She smiled at Kimiko. “So, when did you get the eyebro
w ring? Did it hurt?”
“Only a little. It was sore for about an hour.”
“Can I touch it?” Allie asked.
“Huh? Sure.”
Allie lifted her fingertips and brushed them lightly across Kimiko’s eyebrow. “Very cool.”
“My mom didn’t think so,” Kimiko said. “She nearly killed me when she saw it, started yelling at me about how it’s bad enough I wear guys’ clothes, and why do I want to make myself uglier.”
“Uglier?” Allie echoed. “You’re not ugly.” She let her fingertips drift from Kimiko’s eyebrow down along her cheek. “You’ve got beautiful eyes, great skin, an adorable nose”—she playfully tapped the tip of it with her forefinger—“and all without makeup!” She brought her hand down. “It’s sad she doesn’t see that.”
“She is who she is,” Kimiko said and then grinned. “Sergio calls her Dragon Lady. She’s usually nice but sometimes she practically breathes fire.”
“Does she know you’re lesbian?” Allie asked.
“How can she not know? She’s not brainless. But when it comes to anything personal, she’s like: Don’t ask, don’t tell, don’t want to know! That’s like a house rule.”
“Here it’s the opposite,” Allie said. “My parents want to be involved in like everything.”
“You’re lucky,” Kimiko said. “Sometimes I want to shout, ‘You know I’m gay! Why can’t you just accept that?’”
“How do you think she’d react?” Allie said.
“She’d probably say I’m a bad daughter, bringing shame upon the family. In my culture that’s the worst thing you can do: make them lose face. It’s all about the family. To do what you want is to like betray the family.”
“And your dad?” Allie asked.
“I think if I were my brother, he’d get upset. But with me he doesn’t get very involved. I’m just a silly girl who likes to dress like a boy.”
“Hmm,” Allie said, thinking aloud. “I wonder how my folks would react if I told them I was bi or something. I don’t think my mom would be angry. She’d probably just think it was a phase. I know she wants grandkids, but I could still have kids, right? And my dad just wants me to be happy. That’s what he always says. He totally spoils me.”
“My dad mostly just leaves me alone,” Kimiko said.
“I wish things were better for you,” Allie said, patting Kimiko’s arm. “You deserve better.”
“Thanks,” Kimiko said and thought how one day when she had a girlfriend, she hoped it would be someone as caring and joy-inducing as Allie.
“That’s a nice picture of you two.” She gestured to the photo of Allie and Chip she’d noticed earlier.
“Thanks. I’m still trying to figure out our relationship.”
“Anything new?” Kimiko asked.
“No, it’s still on hold. Thanks again for helping me to sort it out.” For an instant she tapped Kimiko’s thigh, just above the kneecap. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” Kimiko squeaked, her mind flashing back once again to Sergio’s goofy theory and what touching her leg meant. No way could it really be true. “It’s getting late. I’d better go home.”
Allie took her to say good night to her parents in the den, and afterward she walked Kimiko outside onto the porch. “Thanks for coming over.”
“Thank you for your help, dude.” Kimiko stared up at her and thought about the movies in which the couple kissed good night on the porch. But this wasn’t a date, she reminded herself, and she’d never be interested in kissing me.
“It was fun,” Allie replied. She gazed down at Kimiko and an unexpected thought popped into her mind: What would it feel like to kiss her? Would it feel any different from a boy? Would it feel as tingly as in her girl dream?
“Good night, dude,” Kimiko said and stepped down onto the walkway, putting her cap on. Allie waved from the porch and watched her drive away.
Before Kimiko had gone even a block, she was on the phone with Sergio.
“Dude, where did you get that stuff about body language?”
“From one of my sister’s magazines. Why?” Sergio put down the neck chain he was beading. “How far did Allie go?”
Kimiko tried to keep her concentration on the road. “First my arm—well, actually first my hair, then my face, then my arm, then . . . my thigh.”
“Girl, she wants you!”
“Shush!” Kimiko fidgeted with her cap. “She helped me with math; that’s all.”
“And you helped her with . . . her sexuality?”
“She asked me if I think she’s bi,” Kimiko admitted.
“And did you say yes?”
“I don’t know if she is!”
“There’s one way to find out,” Sergio said and started his singsong tease, “Kimiko is going to get laid, Kimiko is going to get—”
“I’m hanging up now,” Kimiko interrupted him.
“Sweet Allie dreams,” he said and returned to beading his necklace.
When Kimiko got home and undressed for bed, she pulled her baggy boy jeans off and gazed down at the spot just above the knee where Allie had tapped her. Kimiko pressed her fingertips against the skin, reliving the touch . . . and wished she’d had the nerve to touch her in return.
To Allie’s surprise, that night she once again had a girl-on-girl dream—except this time the girl was Kimiko.
In the dream, Allie brushed her fingertips across Kimiko’s face, down her cheeks to her lips. Then she leaned forward and kissed her—a kiss both tender and passionate . . . And her fingers slid gently beneath Kimiko’s Harley jacket . . .
Then the dream changed. They were naked together. Allie’s heart pounded with excitement. Her hands moved across Kimiko’s skin. Her fingertips traced Kimiko’s breasts and thighs. And she let Kimiko touch her, too; she wanted Kimiko to touch her everywhere.
Allie’s heart beat so hard that it woke her. She lay in bed, catching her breath, her body pulsing, her thighs damp, half-expecting to see Kimiko beside her. The dream had seemed so real. In the darkness, she pushed the covers off and ran her hands across her moist body, feeling exhilarated, unsettled, and newly confused. For a long time she lay thinking about the dream, until at last she settled back to sleep.
“See, you’re gay!” Lance exclaimed the next morning when Allie told him the dream. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“Babe?” She gave him a stern look as they drove toward church. “Could you please not joke?”
“Sorry.” He reached across the car seat and squeezed her hand. “So, um, what do you think the dream is about?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m bi. Like yesterday, when Kimiko was leaving and we were on the porch, I thought: What would it feel like to kiss her?”
“Really?” Lance asked, turning into the church parking lot. “Would you actually do that?”
“I don’t know. What if I didn’t like it? Once we crossed that line, it would be hard to go back. I like her a lot, but I don’t want to screw up our friendship.”
Lance pulled into a parking space and turned the engine off, wishing he knew what to say to her. But he was having a hard enough time trying to navigate his relationship with Sergio.
Each day Lance looked forward to exchanging texts, IMs, or calls with Sergio, and he was thrilled when they did. But if he didn’t hear from him or get a response, his insecurities crept back. Was Sergio dating somebody else? If so, who?
Then, just when Lance had become convinced that he’d been dumped for someone else, Sergio phoned.
“Hey, man,” he told Lance on Tuesday. “Do you want to go to my school’s homecoming dance with me?”
“What?” Lance fell back onto his bed, a little stunned. He’d never expected that question.
“A couple of guys went to the prom together last spring,” Sergio said, “and it was no big deal. So, do you want to go? The dance is this Saturday.”
“Um, yeah, sure,” Lance said, trying to contain his excitement. Of course he wa
nted to go, but what did it mean?
“I’m so confused,” he told Allie over the phone as soon as he’d hung up with Sergio. “He won’t commit to being a couple but he invites me to homecoming? I don’t get it.”
“Well, just because you go with someone to homecoming doesn’t necessarily mean you’re a couple,” Allie argued.
“Yeah, but this will be our third date. Doesn’t that mean something?”
“Maybe . . . or maybe not. Why don’t you just go with the flow and have fun?”
“I would if I knew what part to play: serious or just casual date.”
All that night and into the next morning he tried to sort out his conflicting feelings.
“I’ve been thinking and thinking,” he told Allie as they walked to their school GSA meeting at lunchtime. “Maybe I should take things to the next level with him. You know: move beyond making out.”
“Why the switch?” Allie asked.
“Well . . . maybe if we went further, he’d be more willing to become a couple.”
Allie turned and stared at him, pushing a stray curl behind her ear. “And what if he isn’t more willing? Would you still want to move it to the next level?”
“I think so.” Lance gave a bashful nod and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I keep thinking about him putting my hand on his zipper and what if—you know—I hadn’t pulled away.”
“Uh-huh . . .” Allie giggled. “I figured that was part of this.”
“Maybe because he didn’t jump my bones,” Lance explained, “it makes me want to go further with him. Am I being flaky?”
“Makes sense to me,” Allie said. “He respected you, so you trust him.”
“Exactly!”
“Even if he’s not ready to become a couple?” Allie asked as they got to the GSA meeting room.
“Yeah . . .” Lance sighed wistfully. “This sucks. It’s like he wants one foot in and one foot out. Why can’t he just commit?”
“I can drive this time,” Lance offered the next time he talked with Sergio on the phone. He was curious to meet Sergio’s family, and if he were going to take things to the next level, he’d rather do it in his own car.
“Great,” Sergio said. At dinner he told his parents he was going to the homecoming dance with Lance.