I don’t tell Mike about Kate. I’m not sure why, but it feels like a betrayal. I mean, he knows we’re friends, but if I tell him she kissed me, it won’t be a secret anymore. And I don’t know how Mike feels about me. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. At least that’s what I tell myself.
“You okay?” he asks. “You seem distracted.”
I hate that he can see right through me. When did that happen? I don’t remember us getting this close. What happened to hanging out behind the convenience store? I remember our almost-kiss and I shudder. How I feel about Kate is unrelated to how I feel about Mike, but right now the two seem inextricably linked.
“I didn’t sleep very well,” I lie. It’s Sunday. I slept like a lazy housecat and didn’t wake up until noon. He knows that. I do the same thing every Sunday.
Mike nods as if he’s silently agreeing to believe my story even though he knows it’s a fabrication.
“You’ve been hanging out with those chicks a lot lately.” The way he says the word “chicks” sets my teeth on edge. It’s as though he’s using it as a curse word, as if he’s judging me.
“So?” I am barely containing my anger. Mike’s judging me and he’s judging my friends. Any affection I may have had dissipates in defense of my fellow Riot Grrrls.
“So nothing. It’s just an observation. Jesus, you’re in a mood today.” He stamps out a cigarette and kicks the curb. The black scuff marks are still there from when I first wore my boots—an angry smudge that proves my existence, and yet I feel invisible. Mike doesn’t see me for who I really am.
“Sorry.” The word squeezes out through my sneer. I’m not sure why I’m apologizing. It’s okay for me to be angry. Isn’t it? I’ve always been a peacekeeper, though, and I simply want things to go back to normal between us. Before that almost-kiss that made me question the last year of my friendship with Mike. Before Kate kissed me and turned my world upside down. Why can’t Mike just talk about music the way we used to? Or not talk at all? When did we start discussing our moods? I don’t want to be here anymore. I ache for the solitude of my room and the pseudo-earthy smell of potato chips and the sticky tang of pop.
Mike breaks the silence first, but the tension stays. “Look, I’m gonna go. Why don’t you call me when you’re…” He trails off, the unsaid words hanging in the air between us.
“When I’m what?” I challenge.
“I don’t know,” Mike says. “Less angry. More Tabitha.”
“This is me. Deal with it.” I’m not sure where that came from but now that I’ve said it, I realize it’s true and I walk away.
Does he know this is it for us? I won’t call him. Things have changed. The Tabitha who needed Mike’s friendship is gone. The Tabitha seeking refuge from Heather’s ire has grown up and moved on in the span of one girl-on-girl kiss. Her brief and misguided crush has gone up in smoke along with the tobacco in his cheap menthols. The new-and-improved Tabitha has better things to do. She has Kate.
Kate links her pinky with mine as we enter the rec center. It’s our first Riot Grrrl meeting as a “couple,” and I’m nervous. What will Marty say? Will Cherie approve? Have they read Kate’s zine?
Marty’s on us before we’re two steps inside the door.
“Look at the love birds!” Her hair is the color of grape Kool-Aid and smells like it too as she rushes up to give us a bear hug. My stomach lurches at the memory of my soaked gym clothes.
Kate must sense my tension because she squeezes my wrist. It’s as comforting as she intended. Maybe more so.
“I can’t believe you guys made out!” Marty looks like she just opened presents on Christmas morning. Okay, so she’s definitely read Kate’s zine.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us.” Cherie’s pout is insincere. She gives Kate a crushing hug, and our hands are tugged apart.
“It’s not that big of a deal, guys.” Kate’s a pro at playing it cool, but my palms are sweaty. I wipe them on my jeans in case Kate wants to hold hands again.
“We didn’t exactly make out,” I mumble.
Ignoring me, Marty says, “I didn’t know you played for the other team.”
Kate jabs her with an elbow. “Rude.”
“What? She walks in with you on her arm, and I can’t call her a lesbian?”
“No, you can’t,” Kate says, her nose in the air.
“I don’t mind,” I mumble. It doesn’t matter that Marty thinks I’m gay. Right now I want the attention off me and on something else. Anything else.
Kate turns to me and smiles. “Babe, only you can choose your labels. Don’t let other people put you in a box, okay? We talked about this.”
I take a deep breath. She’s right. These girls won’t judge me. Marty and Cherie are not Heather and Molly. Besides, I’m too busy soaking in the fact that Kate called me “babe” to care what anyone thinks. I clear my throat. “I guess I like girls,” I say, barely loud enough for Marty to hear.
“Well, hallelujah!” Marty shouts. “Tabitha speaks.”
I’m not sure why, but I’ve gotten a reputation as the shy one. Truth is, though, I rarely feel that way. Sometimes I just like to listen. I speak when I have something to say. Kate seems to have figured that out, but Marty is a bit more bullheaded. Kate’s responding eye roll gives me courage.
“Oh, shut up, Marty. Just because I don’t comment every time a bird farts doesn’t mean I don’t have a voice. Some of us know when to shut the hell up.”
Kate squeezes me close and laughs. “See? My girl can stand up for herself.”
Babe. My girl. I don’t even know what Marty says in response.
As we’re starting to stack the chairs, the doors to the rec center swing open, and three girls walk in. One of them is wearing a studded leather jacket. Her hair is pulled into tight rows of braids that fall halfway down her back. The tallest of the trio has legs that seem to go on for days and a loose afro that bounces when she walks. The third has a downturned mouth and bright, friendly eyes. When she catches me staring, she raises an eyebrow. Her buzzed hair makes her look butch and fierce. The rich and varied tones of their dark brown skin make me suddenly aware of how fair-skinned our group is.
“Is this Riot Grrrl?” Leather Jacket asks.
“Sure is, girlfriend,” Marty says. She’s trying too hard as usual.
The glare that Buzz Cut sends in her direction is armed with a thousand knives, and I’m glad she’s turned her attention away from me so my heart rate can recover. Embarrassment keeps me silent as I catch her eye roll and stifle a laugh. She smiles in my direction, revealing bright white teeth. I catch myself staring, and my face burns as I turn to face Marty.
“We want to join,” Leather Jacket says. She throws an arm around Buzz Cut. “I’m Venus and this is Jackie.” She points to the tall girl with the Afro, “And Monique.”
Kate steps in front of Marty and holds out her hand. “I’m sorry about Marty. Sometimes I swear she was raised by wolves.” She laughs. “I’m Kate Goldberg. We just finished up but we’re always happy to have new faces.”
“We got lost or we would have been here earlier,” Jackie says. I can’t stop staring at her. She seems infinitely cool and it pulls me in like a moth to a flame.
“We didn’t get lost,” Venus says. “The address was wrong.”
“Oh, we just moved,” Marty says. “We used to meet at my house.”
“Figures,” Monique adds. “Two crazy white ladies have to be from the same family.”
Marty gapes at her like a fish out of water. I’ve never seen Marty speechless. I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“Your mom told us where you were,” Venus clarifies.
Kate clears her throat. “Where do you girls go to school?”
“Central,” Jackie says. “Me and Venus are seniors. Monique graduated last year.”
“I think we had gym together.” Cherie’s voice is barely a squeak, and I had almost forgotten she was there.
Jackie raises an eyebrow. “Gym. Right.” She rolls her eyes and huffs sharply. “Look, Vee, I think these Girl Scouts might be a little too vanilla for us.”
“I take offense to that,” Marty says. “We might be white, but we’re definitely not vanilla.” She thrusts her hands on her hips and gives Jackie her best punk glare. I can’t believe I used to find Marty intimidating. It’s hard to take her seriously when she’s acting like a spoiled toddler.
“Oh yeah?” Venus looks like she’s on the verge of laughter.
This time Cherie steps in front of Marty. “Why don’t you come to our meeting next week? You can meet the other girls and make your minds up then.”
“That’s not a bad idea, Vee.” Monique seems to be the voice of reason in their group, and for that I like her already. “And these girls seem cool. Anyone who will speak with Jack staring them down has to have some balls.”
“Why does everyone always say that when they mean someone’s tough?” Marty rants. “Shouldn’t we say, ‘She’s got ovaries,’ or something?”
Leave it to Marty to lose what little ground we gained in the last five minutes.
“Crazy girl’s got a point,” Jackie says. “Vaginas are way tougher than some saggy old balls.”
Kate and I both turn to stare, open-mouthed, at Jackie.
“What?” she says, and the glare is back. “She’s right.”
Marty beams proudly. “I think we’re going to get along just fine.” Marty’s too busy preening to see that the trio of girls are looking at her like she’s nuts. She holds up her hand for a high five and says, “See you guys next Tuesday, then?”
A bored-looking Jackie says, “Sure, whatever.” She ignores Marty’s raised hand, but her body language has changed. She seems more relaxed. I take that as a good sign.
“Kate, I got to get home,” I say. “My mom’s going to flip if I’m late again.”
“Sure thing, babe,” she says and kisses my forehead.
I see Jackie’s eyebrows rise, and my stomach flutters. I hope she’s not offended. But I prepare myself to defend our relationship.
“Look, Jackie, you’ve found your fellow rug-munchers.” Monique laughs.
I shoot glances from one to the other. From her appearance, I probably should have guessed Jackie was queer. But I had been too busy sneaking glances at Monique. I didn’t realize until that moment that I’d been flirting. But the way she smirked when she teased Jackie says she’s not on the same team. When I look back to Jackie, she’s got her head down, and she’s rummaging through her pockets.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. I’m not sure what’s okay exactly, but it seems like the right thing to say.
Jackie’s eyes meet mine and, beneath her cool exterior, I can see tears beginning to form. She blinks to hold them back the way I always do. I try to smile, but only one side of my mouth cooperates. I probably look like a moron.
“Thanks,” she says, raising her head. She seems to regain some of her composure and all of her attitude. “Monique, stop being such a bitch, okay?”
Monique holds up her hands. “It was a joke. Jeez.”
“We didn’t find it very funny,” I say. “And anyway, Kate and I are bi.”
It’s only the second time I’ve admitted it to myself and the first time I’ve said the word out loud. I brace myself for the laughter. It never comes. Jackie smiles at me, and her entire face lights up. She has a stunning smile. Monique rolls her eyes, and I think I might have to reconsider my initial impression of her. Kate simply threads her arm through mine and leads me to the car while I steal glances over my shoulder at Jackie.
When I close the door, I release a burst of air. I have to struggle to catch my breath.
“You okay?” Kate asks as she turns the key in the ignition.
“Kate,” I say, my eyes glued to the dashboard, “I think I just came out to a complete stranger.”
“Yeah, so?” She narrows her eyes at me. “Wait… was that the first time you said it? The word ‘bi’ I mean.”
I nod. My face is hot but my hands are cold. My stomach flops around as though I drank a double espresso.
“How does it feel?”
I swallow. “I think I might throw up.”
Kate’s laughter is drowned out by the radio as I try not to burst into tears. Happy tears.