Thursday, August 6, 2009

BIAW - Day 4

I am reaching what is usually the magical point for me in any story, the hundred page mark. By this point ideas are solid. Unfortunately this is also the time when flaws become visible. Amazingly so far, no glaring plot holes. I'm at 16,000 words, far ahead of schedule, and I see the road to the end of the story clearly.

Right now I'm busy plodding through the dreaded middle.
“Is there something wrong with me?”

“No.” Now I have to explain I’m not interested, and then she’ll want the details why and she’ll pout and another friend bites the dust. Why didn’t I just say something in the first place?

Her brows furrow like Sierra's does when her mother takes her toys away. “I thought you liked me. Is it because I’m a white girl?”

After biting back a laugh I say, “It’s because you’re a girl.”

She’s silent for a minute. “You don’t like girls?”

You could parade every model from the swimsuit edition in front of me and all I’d think was – interesting. Maybe, nice tan. “Call me crazy, but I’m gay, as in not exactly happy, but that’s life.”

“Gay? As in you hate girls?”

“Oh, I like girls. They make great friends. But I’m not interested in them in any other way. Julian knows I wouldn’t object if you two got interested in each other.” Yet, for some reason that thought does bother me. Calling Julian a man-whore’s a bit much. He just never met a girl he didn’t want to touch, and right now he’s popular enough that most of them want to be touched by him.

The girls at our table are the exceptions. Like a prophet unwelcome in his own neighborhood, our girls know him too well. But there’s a whole school full of girls for him to strut through. I don’t want Sheila one of his casualties.

“How do you know you’re gay?”

The crowd screams as Farrington scores again. People around us leap to their feet, jerking the wooden bench beneath us as we stare at each other.

“How do you know you’re straight?”

“Boys – some boys, make me feel -,” she pauses as if searching for words.

“Some boys make me feel hot, too.”

“But not girls?”

“Never.” Still, there’s something in her face that attracts me. I’ve never questioned being gay. But there is something calming about being with her. “I’ve known I was gay since I was twelve.”

“You wanted to have sex with guys at twelve?”

Why does everyone think its only about sex. “Is that what you wanted at twelve?”

She looks thoughtful. “No. I just … wanted to impress them. Wanted them to like me. To be around me. It made me feel good knowing a guy liked me.”

Bingo. “Especially the right guy.”

She nods. “I’d get all tingly inside when he’d smile or say hi.”

Ditto. I love that tingly thing. When Carl and I have sex, it will be extra.

Except its not gonna happen. He’s over there across the stands snuggling up to Wendy like she’s the last life preserver on the Titanic.

“Did you ever try being with a girl?”

“No. Have you ever tried being with a tree?”

“That’s gross.”

“Not really. I like trees. Think where the world would be without them.”

She doesn’t laugh. “Is that what you think of us?”

“Girls are all right. Okay to talk to, sometimes even interesting. But not that interesting.”

“But guys blow your gasket?”

I’d never have put it like that, but she’s got the idea. “Some guys, anyway.”

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