Boyfriends With Girlfriends

From the sidewalk outside the mall, Kimiko watched Allie and Lance drive away, wishing they could’ve hung out longer too.

  “Way to go, dude!” She turned to Sergio and fist-bumped him. “I overheard you ask him out.”

  Sergio bumped her fist in return. “So, what do you think of him?”

  “I think he’s the most perfecto guy in the world for you. He’s your age, cute, gentle, nice. . . . What do youthink of him?”

  “I like him. I’m just not sure he gets the bi thing.”

  Kimiko’s mouth drooped into a pout. “But you two seem good together.”

  “Yeah . . . Let’s see if he calls. If not, I’ll call him . . . in a couple of days.”

  “What are you afraid of?” Kimiko asked.

  “I’m not afraid. That’s just the rule with guys. Wait two days. . . . Otherwise I’ll seem too easy.”

  Kimiko rolled her eyes; she’d heard his goofy theories and rules before.

  “Now, as for you, girl—” he rested his arm on her shoulder “—you should phone Allie ASAP. I could feel the mojo between you two all the way across the table.”

  “Dude, she’s got a boyfriend.”

  “So?” Sergio persisted. “Maybe she’s bi-curious.”

  “Even if she were . . .” Kimiko let out wistful breath. “She’s out of my league.”

  “What’re you afraid of?” Sergio asked, mimicking her.

  “Shush!” Kimiko said and play-punched his arm.

  When Kimiko had first seen Allie at the mall, she’d kind of stopped in her tracks, surprised by the über-girl with curly blond hair, a knockout figure, and an angel’s face.

  “’Sup?” Kimiko had said and boyishly fist-bumped her.

  “Hi, I’m Allie—that’s short for Alegría,” she explained as they walked to the smoothie stand. “It’s the Spanish word for ‘joy.’”

  “Sweet,” Kimiko said. She immediately liked Allie’s voice: breathy and femme. “My name is Japanese for ‘noble child.’ As if!”

  “You are Japanese!” Allie’s face lit up. “Oh my gosh! I’m an absolute Japan-geek—you wouldn’t believe! My life dream is to go there. Have you been?”

  “Yeah, like every summer. We go to visit my obaasan—that’s my grandma.”

  “Can you write Japanese?” Allie asked when they got to a table. “Would you write something for me, please? Or is that too annoying?”

  “No, it’s okay.” For the first time in her life, Kimiko actually felt grateful to her mom for the hours she’d made her spend learning Japanese. From her leather jacket, Kimiko pulled out the Sharpie pen and notepad she always carried to jot down notes for poems. “What would you like me to write?”

  “Oh, anything. You decide.”

  Allie sipped her smoothie and Kimiko thought for a moment before writing.

  “This is the word for ‘joy,’” she said, tearing out the page and handing it to Allie. “Yorokobi.”

  “Awesome, thanks so much!” Allie exclaimed and held it out at arm’s length, explaining, “I’m a little farsighted.” She turned to Lance and Sergio. “Look! That’s my name: Yorokobi.”

  “Cool,” Lance said, admiring the kanji characters.

  Kimiko already had a good feeling about him. He seemed easygoing, sweet, and good-natured.

  Allie asked Kimiko her thoughts and opinions about all sorts of Japanese stuff: Naruto, J-pop, sushi, Hello Kitty, Dragon Ball. . . .

  Kimiko had never met anybody her own age so interested in Japanese culture. She kind of liked being elevated to authority status. And she loved Allie’s soft giggle.

  “My fave manga are shonen-ai,” Allie said. “You know: boy-boy love stories? Stuff like Gravitation. What kind do you like?”

  “Shojo-ai, girls’ love,” Kimiko replied, hoping her reply might prompt Allie to reveal whether she was gay.

  Allie had already assumed from Kimiko’s guy clothes and square-shoulder stance that she was probably lesbian—maybeeven transgender. “I’ve never read any girls’ love,” she told Kimiko. “You’ll have to tell me your fave titles.”

  “I’d be glad to,” Kimiko said, trying to figure Allie out—sexual orientation–wise.

  As they continued to talk, Allie pulled out her cell phone and showed Kimiko her photos. “This is Lance and me in Guys and Dolls last year. . . . And this is my ‘surprise’ brother, Josh. . . .”

  Kimiko tried to keep her attention on the pictures as Allie leaned closer, feeling comfortable, her shoulder unintentionally touching Kimiko’s. She puckered her lips into a kiss at Josh’s photo. . . . “This is my mom and dad . . . I’m a total Daddy’s girl . . . and this is my boyfriend, Chip. . . .”

  An unexpected sense of relief enveloped Kimiko: Allie was not only not lesbian; she was also taken—placing her safely out of bounds from the remotest possibility of their dating.

  The boyfriend in the photos was WASPy all-American . . . tall . . . sandy-color hair . . . a ski-slope nose . . . everything the opposite of Kimiko.

  “I’ve got to go meet him,” Allie said, looking at the time. “Saturday is our date night.” But she seemed like she didn’t want to go, and neither did Kimiko. She was enjoying hanging out.

  “How about you?” Allie asked. “Are you dating anyone?”

  “Me?” Kimiko fidgeted with her cap, thinking: My mom would never approve. Besides, who would I date? Who would want to date me?

  “No,” she told Allie. “No one.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” Allie said with a smile, and Kimiko watched her eyes glisten—blue at first, then green, like the ocean.

  “Would you like to hang out again sometime?” Allie asked.

  “Huh? Sure,” Kimiko said. She wasn’t quite certain what to make of Allie. By all appearances she seemed like one of the cool kids—smart, good-looking, confident, no doubt popular—the type who usually brushed past Kimiko in the school hallway as if she didn’t even exist. And yet she was asking Kimiko for her number and screen name.

  While the girls exchanged info, Sergio gave Kimiko a suggestive grin—as if exchanging numbers meant something beyond becoming friends. She ignored him and put her phone away.

  When the four of them finally wandered toward the exit, Allie kept stopping to check the window displays, and Kimiko definitely wasn’t in a hurry either.

  “Well,” Allie said when at last they got outside. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Yeah, good to meet you, too,” Kimiko replied, giving her a gentle fist-bump. Meeting Alice had felt more than good: kind of wonderful, actually. She liked Allie’s unpretentiousness, considering how much she knew about Japanese stuff and how pretty she was; and she liked all the attention she’d gotten from Allie. It had felt totally wonderful, not just kind of.

  After the mall, she went to Sergio’s to hang out, listen to music, play a few games, and have dinner. His mom’s spicy Mexican recipes were a welcome break from her own mom’s delicate cooking, and she loved talking soccer with Sergio’s dad. Plus, his parents were more lenient about them being alone together. Kimiko’s mom wouldn’t allow her to have a boy in her bedroom—as though there were the remotest need to worry. Kimiko had never felt even the slightest interest in guys as anything more than friends.

  Later that night, she walked the three blocks home. Her parents were watching TV in the living room with her eight-year-old brother, Yukio, asleep on the sofa beside them.

  “’Sup, I’m home,” Kimiko announced and went to the kitchen for a glass of soy milk. Her mom followed shortly after her, bringing a tray with some rice cookies.

  “Did you eat dinner?” she asked, setting the cookies next to Kimiko. “Here, have some. How was your day?”

  “It was good, had dinner at Sergio’s.” She took a cookie and told her mom about meeting Lance and Allie, leaving out any allusion to anything gay. She was out and open at school and with friends, but not with her family—although surely they must know. Just look at me, she often thought. How could they not know?

  ??
?Sit like a lady, Miko.” Her mom gently nudged Kimiko’s knees together. “There, that’s better.”

  Kimiko forced a smile and went along with it; she wanted to be a good daughter. But in seconds, without her even realizing it, her knees again drifted apart like a boy’s.

  “This is my name in kanji.” Allie showed the characters Kimiko had written to her boyfriend, Chip, during dinner. “Isn’t it amazing?”

  “Cool,” he answered, giving the lettering a quick glance while grabbing another slice of their super-combo pizza. He’d never really gotten Allie’s craziness for Japanese stuff. And with each passing day, Allie wondered if he really got her.

  They’d been going out since freshman year, when she’d first spotted him towering over the hallway crowd. His height was a major selling point to a girl who constantly got flak for being tall. Even though she’d had several minor-league boyfriends, he’d become her first truly serious relationship. She liked his floppy hair, hazel eyes streaked with blue, and his gentle shyness. Unlike other boys, he didn’t try to push himself on her, and when they kissed, he let her teach him how. Within a month after meeting, they’d become a couple: walking arm-in-arm in the hall, going to school dances together, bringing each other candy treats, telling each other, “I love you. . . .”

  During tenth grade, they’d settled into each other, but over the last few weeks, as they returned to school for junior year, she’d begun to question their future together. Even though she still got sexually stoked by him, she no longer felt the same emotional connection. It felt as if they’d gone as far as they could go together and were drifting apart. She wanted to try something new, something different.

  Tonight after dinner, they returned to the little bungalow behind his parents’ house that he’d taken over as his band room, sat in their usual places on the sofa, and turned the TV on.

  While he surfed through channels, she debated how to talk to him about her doubts. Maybe she should just hold on and wait till graduation. Then they’d go away to separate colleges and she’d have more space to figure out her feelings—except that was nearly two years away.

  After settling on a music video program, he leaned across the couch to kiss her and she went along for a moment. Then she pulled away.

  “How do you feel about our relationship?”

  “Um . . .” His brow crinkled as he leaned back, obviously surprised. “Good . . . Why? What’s the matter? Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, no, no.” She didn’t blame him for anything. He was the same person he’d always been. “It’s just . . . Where do you think our relationship is going?”

  “I don’t know.” His face went blank. “I haven’t really thought about it. . . . I guess we’d finish school . . . go to college together . . . see what happens. Why? What do you think is our future?”

  “I’m not sure,” Allie said. She became quiet, and they stared at each other. She wasn’t sure what else to say at this point.

  “Well,” he said at last, “the important thing is that I love you.”

  Hearing that failed to resolve her uncertainty; instead it sort of made her feel guilty.

  “I love you, too,” she answered. But saying it didn’t feel the same as it used to.

  He bent over again to kiss her again, and she knew that unless she stopped things, they’d soon be shedding clothes and putting the condom on.

  “Do you mind if we just make out tonight?” she asked.

  He peered at her a moment, looking a little wounded. “Um, okay. Are you sure everything is all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m just in a weird mood,” she replied. “Sorry.” She leaned across and kissed him, even though she wasn’t feeling exactly thrilled.

  While they made out, her mind began to drift . . . first to Kimiko and how much she’d liked hanging out with her . . . then to the Academy’s tiny six-person Gay-Straight Alliance . . . and how, although Chip had never said anything against her participating in the club, he’d never shown any interest in going to meetings. . . . He’d never really gotten that aspect of her either.

  After making out for a while, they just held each other, watching and listening to the music videos. She liked holding him and being held by him. And for a moment, the feeling of connection returned.

  On her drive home, she put in her earphone and called Lance to check in. “Hey, babe. How’s it going?”

  “Um, okay.” He was in the middle of peeling off his clothes, getting ready for bed. “I ended up going to eat veggie food with Megan and Nancy.” They were two friends of theirs from the school GSA club. “And you?” he asked Allie. “How did it go with the Chip-meister?”

  “I want to ask you something,” Allie answered. “Do you think I’m, like, settling with him?”

  “Um, I don’t know.” Although she’d hinted to Lance about her doubts before, the question took him by surprise. “Do you think you’re settling?”

  “I don’t know either.” She stopped at a traffic light. “I think he’s a great guy. I mean, in the two years we’ve gone out, he’s never lied or cheated on me. He doesn’t do drugs. . . . He’s good-hearted and generous. . . . Plus, I still think he’s hot. So why don’t I feel excited about him anymore?”

  Lance lay down in bed, trying to think of an answer. “Maybe that’s just what happens after you’ve gone out with somebody for a couple of years.” Then he added: “Wow, that’s depressing.”

  “I still feel excited to see you every day,” Allie argued. “And I’ve known you for—what—ten years?”

  Lance shifted his phone from one ear to the other, as a familiar worry popped up: Had she grown too attached to him?

  Once at a party, she’d gotten kind of drunkish and when he drove her home she’d cooed, “You’re my hero, you know that? My best friend, my soul mate”—a hiccup interrupted her—“oops, sorry.” She covered her mouth, then began again: “I’m a better person because of you. I doubt I’ll ever love anybody as much as I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” he’d told her, even though he felt nervous she might be putting the make on him. But she hadn’t, and the next day she’d apologized for being “kind of a mess last night.”

  “Maybe you should just be honest with him,” Lance now suggested. “Tell him how you feel.”

  “I don’t want to hurt him,” Allie said, turning onto her street. “Besides, I’m not sure how I feel. I mean, even though I don’t feel like he completes me or anything like that, I still care about him. You know what I mean? I feel comfortable and safe with him. Shouldn’t that be enough? Maybe I’m expecting too much. But if I’m not in love with him anymore, am I like misleading him?”

  “You’re not in love with him anymore?” Lance asked. It was the first time he’d heard that from her.

  “I don’t know. On some days I wonder if I ever was in love with him. Maybe it was just infatuation. But then I wonder if maybe it’s not really about him; maybe it’s about me. I mean: Maybe there’s more to me I still want to explore.”

  “That’s cool,” Lance said. “Like what?”

  “I’m not sure.” She gave a long, questioning sigh as she pulled into her driveway. “Anyway, thanks for listening.”

  “Sure, anytime.” It was apparent she’d gone as far as she wanted to go with the topic for now.

  When she got into her house, her mom and dad were watching Saturday Night Live. She sat with them for a while, and on the way to her room she peeked in on Josh and watched him sleeping.

  Inside her room, she pulled Kimiko’s kanji out from her bag. And as she undressed and got ready for bed, she recalled times growing up when she’d met a new girl and become friends; and how she’d felt a sort of crush, thinking how pretty the girl looked and how much she liked to be with her. The feelings had eventually died down, and she’d never thought of them as romantic or sexual.

  But there was one night in middle school, when she dreamed she had sex with a girl, and the next morning she woke up with her whole body tingling.
The experience had felt as intense as any sex dream she’d ever had about a boy.

  On the school bus she’d told Lance about the dream, giggling nervously.

  “You’re gay!” he whispered, thrilled to think his best friend since first grade was a latent lesbian.

  “You really think so?” Allie stared out the window, thinking about it. “But then why do I get turned on by guys? Lesbians don’t, do they? Maybe I’m bi.”

  “I think bi’s kind of a cop-out,” Lance argued. “Maybe you should try it with a girl—I mean, at least try kissing or something.”

  “With who?” Allie asked. She felt too chicken to do anything with any girl from her school or church. No way. Nevertheless, she did mention the dream to her friend Jenny, after field hockey practice one day—or at least she tried to.

  “I’ve got a question for you,” she said in a low voice. “Have you ever had a sex dream about . . . a girl?”

  “No!” Jenny scrunched up her face in disapproval. “That’s gay! Why? Did you?”

  “No,” Allie lied, regretting having asked. “I was just curious.”

  “I mean,” Jenny said, softening her tone. “I like Lance and I’ve got nothing against gay people, but that doesn’t mean I’m gay. So why would I ever have a sex dream about a girl?”

  “I don’t know,” Allie said, and quickly changed the subject.

  After that experience, she’d put the dream aside, and never had another like it. And as she began to date boys, she’d almost completely forgotten about the dream. Now, as she pinned the kanji up on the bulletin board above her computer, she remembered the dream for an instant and thought how cool it was going to be to have Kimiko as a friend.

  On Sunday morning when Lance’s alarm rang, he mistakenly grabbed his cell phone instead, groggily hoping it was Sergio calling. Realizing it wasn’t, he shut off the alarm and lay thinking for a moment, recalling Sergio’s hunky pecs. . . .

  Maybe I’m making too much of the bi thing, he thought as he tumbled out of bed and shuffled toward the shower, taking his phone along—just in case.

  His dad made breakfast: turkey bacon and French toast. Lance squirted maple syrup into his glass of milk: his comfort bev.