None of the Above(69)

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice filled the curtained nook. I reached up to cover my ears, but my quick movement must’ve startled him, because he reached out to grab my left wrist so hard I could feel my bones rubbing against each other. I screamed, partly in pain and partly in fear.

“What the f*ck kind of freak are you?” Josh shook my wrist.

“I didn’t . . . I’m not . . .” I’m a girl, I wanted to say. But nothing came out of my mouth except sobs. Then all of sudden Josh started tearing at my clothes with his free hand, pulling at my miniskirt. There was no room where we were, nowhere to back up, and I could feel the unfinished concrete of the wall pressed against my bare skin.

“Where’d you hide it?” His fingers were thick, and they groped at my waist, gouging into my flesh.

“What? What?” I finally got out between the tears. “I’m not hiding anything!”

“Where’s your dick? Did you, like, tie it back or something?”

“I don’t have one, I swear.”

“You’re lying.” He let go of my wrist to go at my skirt with both hands. I scratched at his fingers.

“FUCK!” Josh yelled.

My eye lit up with an explosion of pain and I jerked at the curtain, pulling us into the flashing lights of the club. It was so noisy that my cry for help got absorbed into the chaos. I scrabbled toward the dance floor, but Josh grabbed me in a rough embrace and backed me toward an emergency exit.

He growled in my ear. “Scream again, and every person in this club is going to find out what you are.”

Behind us, people cheered even louder as the emcee came onstage.

“All right, my friends, time to get this party started! Let’s have a hand for The Concept!”

The strobe lights came on again as Josh led me outside. In the alleyway, he shoved me through the piles of garbage and broken-down boxes. After the stifling heat of the club, the cold air and the silence almost felt like a relief.

“What are you going to do?” I whispered, my breath barely frosting the air.

Josh spun me against a wall so we stood face-to-face. In heels I was taller than him, though he had more bulk. I knew I should be terrified, but I’d been expecting hatred and violence since the first text message and the vandalism to my locker. Now we’d come to the natural conclusion of my story. The worst-case scenario.

I watched the sinewy muscles on his neck for the first sign of a blow. My fists clenched in anticipation.

Then the back door to the club clattered open, and a hoarse voice shouted out, “Hey, you! Hey, Neanderthal!”

I stiffened. I didn’t want an audience. Josh swore, and turned. “What the f*ck do you want?”

I looked past him. Saw a scrawny figure in a light-gray band T-shirt. And my heart sank.





CHAPTER 42


In an eerily calm voice, Darren held up his hands palm out. Despite the chill, I could see a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. “Look, is this about money? Because . . . here. I’ve got some cash on me. And a phone. Take it.” He bent over and laid his wallet and phone on the ground.

Josh ignored Darren. So he didn’t see how Darren had pressed one of the numbers on his phone a little more deliberately than most people would during a supposed mugging.

“Mind your own business, will you?” Josh said.

There was no way I wanted Darren to get involved. He was tall, but Josh had at least fifty pounds on him. I still held out a crazy hope that I could talk Josh down. “It’s okay, Darren,” I called out. “We’re just trying to figure some things out. You should go back inside—I don’t want you to miss the concert.”

“Nah, those guys suck,” Darren lied. “I just wanted to get some fresh air.” I almost laughed at the thought of him coming out to breathe in the smell of stale hops and old puke.

Josh turned to take a closer look at Darren. “I told you. Get. The f*ck. Out of here.” He let go of me and took a threatening step in his direction.

Still, Darren didn’t go.

Instead, he turned to one side, like he was a fencer getting into a ready stance. He curled his hand into a fist, and I felt a sinking sense of impending doom.

Josh threw the first punch, but Darren managed to dodge it. They circled each other a couple of times, but before Darren could even get a punch in, Josh rushed him, swept his ankle up in a vicious circle and kicked Darren’s legs out from under him. I winced as Darren dropped to the ground with a thud. I thought I heard a shoulder crack. Josh looked around grimly, and picked up an empty bottle lying in the alleyway.

I couldn’t run for help because they were blocking my way to the club. Desperately, I scrabbled through the debris on the ground next to me. No rocks. No bottles. Then my fingers curled around a can of spray paint left behind by a graffiti artist.

I hauled myself up. Josh leaned over a half-crouching Darren, the bottle raised high. The light from the streetlamp made the brown glass glitter. With all my strength, I slammed the spray paint down onto Josh’s head with both hands.

The can dented with the impact.

Josh’s head didn’t. He turned on me. A vein stuck out in his forehead. His breaths came out in huge puffs of steam. He reached for me.

And I brought my leg back in my best hurdler leap, and kicked him in the balls.

It turned out that David Letterman’s gender-verification test had something to it, after all.