A Different Blue(13)

friends gave him hugs and made him promise to text. Gracie seemed transfixed by Brandon and his

friends, and when everyone dispersed she was still sitting on the tailgate staring. Manny tugged

on her, pulling her out of her reverie, and the two of them hopped in beside me. Graciela had a

dazed look on her face, but Manny was pouting.

“I don't think Brandon likes me,” he mused, looking at me for feedback.

“Brandon is so hot,” Graciela sighed.

I cursed derisively. Wonderful. Brandon was waaaay to old for Graciela, and I wasn't just

talking age. Graciela was small and pretty, but she was immature, both physically and

emotionally. And she was spacey in a very “look at all the pretty flowers” kind of way. It was

a good thing she had Manny. Otherwise she might just wander around in a pleasant fog. Both Manny

and Graciela were unfazed by my language, continuing on as if they hadn't even heard me.

“In fact,” Manny huffed, “I don't think any of Brandon's friends like me, either. And I am so

nice!” Manny seemed genuinely befuddled.

“Do you think Brandon likes me, Manny?” Gracie pondered dreamily.

Manny and I ignored her. I decided it might be time to give Manny a little advice.

“I think maybe the guys are confused about how to treat you, Manny. You're a guy but you hang

out exclusively with girls, you wear fingernail polish and eyeliner, and you carry a purse . . .

”

“It's a slouchy bag!”

“Fine! How many guys carry slouchy bags in rainbow colors?”

“It's just a backpack with flare!”

“Okay. Fine. Forget the backpack. You openly remark on how hot this or that guy is . . .

including freaking Wilson, yet in the very next breath you are flirting with the head

cheerleader. Are you gay? Are you straight? What?”

Manny seemed stunned that I would just come out and ask, and he stared at me with his mouth

agape.

“I'm Manny!” Manny shot back, folding his arms. “That's what I am. I'm Manny! I don't know

why I can't compliment a cute guy and a cute girl! Everybody needs positive reinforcement, Blue.

It wouldn't hurt you to give some every once in a while!”

I banged my head against the steering wheel, frustrated by my obvious inability to communicate,

wondering if maybe he was the only one in high school who wasn't afraid to be himself. Maybe it

was the rest of us who needed to figure ourselves out.

“You're right, Manny. And believe me, I wouldn't change a hair on your head. I was just trying

to explain why some people might have trouble relating.”

“You mean why some people might have trouble accepting,” Manny sulked, looking out his window.

[page]“Yeah. That too,” I sighed and started up my truck. Manny forgave me about ten seconds

into the ride and chattered the rest of the way home. Manny couldn't stay angry unless, of

course, someone messed with Graciela. Then all reason left him and his mother joked that he

became a raging chihuahua. I'd only seen it happen a few times, but it was enough to make me

never want a chihuahua. Apparently, since I'd only pointed out his flaws, I was immediately

forgiven and back in his good graces with barely a snarl.

When I got home the heat inside the apartment felt like the bowels of hell. It didn't smell very

good either. Stale cigarettes and spilled beer mixed with 90 degree October heat wasn't a