If I Was Your Girl(38)

“Nope,” I said, poking him in the ribs with my elbow as I slipped my helmet on. “I’m not an Amazon. I’m a bounty hunter.”

We made our way to the door, but Dad called for me just before I was out of earshot. Grant gave me a reassuring wave and jogged down the stairs while I stepped back inside.

“Yeah, Dad?”

“I’ve been thinking about what I said,” he said, closing his book and sighing. “You’re smart as a whip, and from everything I’ve heard from you and your mother you missed out on a lot of good years. It’s okay if you want to cut loose a little. I haven’t missed the fact that you’re a teenager.”

“Really?” I said, smiling despite myself.

“Do be careful though,” he said, pointing his book at me.

“Of course,” I said, nodding once, my heart lifting as I stepped toward the door. But before I left I turned around and met Dad’s watery blue eyes. “And Dad? Thanks.”

*

Our costumes were a sensation at Layla’s Halloween party.

Half the people present weren’t in costume at all, but Layla had had the forethought to put face paints out on the kitchen table next to the beer, and within an hour everyone who hadn’t come with a costume had painted one on. Layla was dressed as Morticia Addams, skintight dress and all, and from the way she had to shuffle slowly to get anywhere I knew she had made the same style-over-function trade-off as Grant and me—our full-coverage helmets and leather jackets were a sweaty nightmare to dance in. Anna wasn’t wearing a costume, because her parents would’ve killed her if they’d known she was coming to a Halloween party at all. Chloe’s face was painted like a skull, and she was wearing black jeans and black boots. The only difference between her costume and Grant’s original one was that she had on a flannel shirt instead of a black sweater.

“Aren’t you glad?” I said, leaning on him as we rested in a corner and caught our breath. Our helmets sat on a side table next to us. He was on his fourth beer and I had just finished my second, feeling like a lightweight to already be as giddy as I was. “Aren’t you glad I spared you the embarrassment? Nothing worse than showing up to a party in the same outfit as another girl.”

“Is that a thing?” he said.

“Oh yeah,” I said. “Stuff like that can be a total social disaster.”

“Being a girl seems like it has a lotta rules,” he said, sounding suddenly thoughtful.

“Oh totally,” I said, thinking of the million things I had to learn to fit in. “It’s way harder than being a guy.”

“What?” Grant said. “No way. When’s the last time you got in a fistfight? You ever been popped in the nose?”

I remembered all the times guys had hit and kicked me because they didn’t like me, but decided it was best not to mention those. “Whatever, tough guy.” I poked him in the chest and put a hand on my hip. “A fistfight gets you a black eye but girls destroy each other with just a couple of words. Guys could never handle what we go through.”

“Challenge accepted!” Grant said, setting his beer down and grabbing his helmet. “Come with me.” He grabbed my wrist and dragged me to Layla’s hall bathroom, slamming the door shut behind us.

“What’re you doing?” I said, confused.

“You called me out,” he said as he unzipped the Boba Fett jacket and tossed it to my side of the bathroom. “Now we gotta switch costumes.”

“What?” I said, the room tilting ever so slightly. I leaned against the sink for balance. He was down to a tank top, boxers, and socks. “Why?”

“You said I ain’t got the guts to be a girl,” he said, “and I don’t back down from a challenge. Gimme your costume.”

I stripped down to a cami and boyshorts, giggling the whole time, and watched as he clumsily got into the bounty-hunter Leia costume. Once everything was zipped up and the helmet was on I had to admit that besides the broader shoulders and a certain flatness across the chest, nobody would know the difference—provided he kept the helmet on, of course.

“What am I supposed to wear?” I said.

“You get to be Boba Fett,” he said. “Let’s see if you got the guts to be a boy.”

I looked down at the Boba Fett mask, then at myself in the mirror, and started laughing. I doubled over, wrapping my arms around myself and nearly falling over.

“What’s so funny?” Grant said.

“Nothing,” I gasped, slowly getting myself back under control. I wiped away a tear and started getting dressed, shaking my head. There was something hilarious about the idea of me dressing as a boy, after so many years of trying to escape it. “Nothing. You go on. I’ll come out once I’m dressed.”

I stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later to find the party even more raucous than we had left it. The beer was almost completely gone, and the way the partygoers leaned on one another and howled out of key to “Monster Mash” and “Thriller” told me exactly where it went. I stood there awkwardly for a moment, unsure what to do. Wearing boys’ clothes, even a costume, felt like a skin I’d long ago shed.

“Grant!” somebody called from over near the kitchen. I looked around for Grant, and then the voice called out again and I realized they were calling to me. Two guys I recognized from the football team were standing in a cluster near the stove, beckoning me. Parker stood just behind them, a beer in his hand, trying to look nonchalant. I walked over to them, only to realize a few steps in that my wrists were too loose, my elbows tucked in at my sides, my hips swaying slightly. That wasn’t how boys walked. I pushed my elbows and knees out and tried to keep my spine as stiff as possible. When I reached the kitchen Grant’s friends looked confused.