The Lesbiana's Guide to Catholic School(42)

“Um . . . hi.” I pause for way too long. “I punched someone. It was cool, I guess. You may be surprised to hear it was my first time inflicting violence on another human.” I don’t know why I’m talking so proper. Maybe to make the idea of punching someone in the face sound less violent. It doesn’t last, though.

“Am I a scary person, do you think? I think people assume I’m more scrappier than I am. Oh, the party sucked. I should have stayed with you. If I wasn’t such a dick, maybe you would have let me stay there instead. That would have been better, I think. I just wanna say, you don’t make me uncomfortable. I make me uncomfortable. You’re a cool person. You’re soooo cool and pretty and funny and way too good for me. Your girlfriend is soooooo lucky. Please, Bo, you need to stop doing your cute eye smile thing to me, because I’m literally dying inside. Fuck you, seriously, you’re ruining everything. I like you a lot, do you know that? I don’t think you get it. I liiiiike you! I like being with you. I mean, not with you, with you. Obviously. Because I’m straight, remember?” I start laughing, and I can’t stop. My laugh is worse than my mom’s right now.

“JUST KIDDING I’M GAY AS FUUUCK!” I’m practically screaming from laughing so hard. There are tears coming out of my eyes. She’s gonna think I’m hilarious. I hang up.

My phone buzzes. It’s not Bo or my dad, though.

Cesar: LUCHADORA YAMI!!!!!! He’s STILL sleep! Didn’t know you had it in you

I grin and recline my seat all the way back so I can get comfortable, then curl up on my side.

I respond that it’s about time he put some respect on my name, but I only say it in my own head. I used up all my texting energy on Dad. How long does it take for drunkenness to wear off? Hopefully not too long. I feel like I’ll throw up if I move, so I close my eyes.

It only takes a second for an overwhelming feeling of what the fuck is wrong with me to consume my entire being.

Suddenly I have enough texting energy to send both Bo and my dad one more. I text them the same thing.

Yami: LMAO JK

I text Bo again, because maybe she hasn’t heard the voice mail yet.

Yami: I’m drnk please donnt listen to the message

Once damage control is done, I close my eyes again, and fall asleep.





11


Thou Shalt Bear False Witness Against Drunken Voice Mails


The buzzing of my phone almost doesn’t wake me up. It takes me a second to realize I’m still in my mom’s car. When the buzzing doesn’t stop, I get a little annoyed before it hits me that it might be my dad calling. I have to squint to see the name on my screen. It’s almost three a.m., which means I wasn’t asleep more than ten minutes.

It’s Bo. Beautiful Bo.

“Heyyyyyyyy, Bo . . . Bo-nita,” I croak, then start laughing. Bonita. I’m so clever.

“Um, hi. Sorry I didn’t answer. I was asleep. Are you okay?”

“Ummmm, no, I am not okay. . . . Have you ever seen poor-people stars, Bo? They suck. Also, I punched someone!” I gasp like it was my first time learning about the punch.

“You’re not driving, are you?” She ignores my starry insight. And the other thing. How rude.

“Maybe, I don’t know.”

“No, you’re not. Where are you?”

The next thing I know, I’m in the passenger seat of Bo’s car. I’m pretty sure I’m a time traveler, because I just skipped whatever happened between that conversation and now. Dope.

Bo is asking me something, and I have to strain to make sense of it. I groan.

“Where do you live?”

I giggle. Nice try, sexy demon. No way am I giving up my secret identity.

Another time skip.

I’m hunched over a toilet, throwing up. It’s not my bathroom. Someone is holding my hair back.

Time skip.

“Where is it?” I’m crawling around in Bo’s room, looking under her bed.

“Where is what?”

“The portrait you made of me! I need it.” Need to find that portrait. Need to . . .

Time skip.

Bo is helping me into a bed that isn’t mine. It’s not Bo’s, either.

“You can sleep here. I’ll be in my room if you need anything, okay?”

I’m in her guest room.

“I hope your girlfriend is the nicest to you ever. You deserve someone better,” I mumble.

“Thanks . . .”

“Is she nice to you?”

“She is. It hasn’t been that long, but I like her a lot,” Bo admits, and I push down the jealousy. I should be happy for her.

“I’m glad. I bet she’s a lot nicer than Jenna,” I say, and Bo looks down. “And me. I’m sorry I wasn’t very nice to you. Why are you so nice to me?” I don’t understand Bo. She comes across as a stone-cold badass at school. But she adopts ugly dogs and takes care of her drunk friend who she has every right to hate.

“It’s good karma.” She shrugs, but I think she simplified it for me, like I simplified “in lak’ech.” “Good night.”

She starts to walk toward the door. But it’s cold in here, and I don’t want her to leave. What I really want is a hug.

“Noooo . . .” I reach my arms out toward her. “Cuddle.”