It’s sunny out when we meet up. He’s already sitting there, GameBoy in hand, biting his lips as he tilts the screen back and forth.
“Hey,” I say, plopping down next to him on the swing. “What’s up?”
Alex puts away the GameBoy and looks at me.
“Not much. The usual. You?”
“Same,” I say, refraining from telling him about something funny that happened with the girls. I spare him the girl talk. I don’t want him to see me like other girls. I try my best to fall under the category of girls that he wouldn’t think of like that.
“What are you gonna do during the summer?” I ask, trying to tear my eyes away from his hair. I want to comb it so badly, but I know he’ll find the act to be too motherly, and I’ve kinda been pulling away from that lately. For some reason, we’re growing apart. I haven’t been able to figure out why yet, though. I act like his mom too much already.
“I dunno.”
“Why don’t you find a part-time job?” I persist. It’s hard to get Alex going. He has no determination, unless it’s about a girl or videogames. Videogames, I can understand, but girls, I do not.
I mean, I understand why he’d try so hard, but then again, I don’t. Is it so necessary to pursue someone?
“Eh. Not necessary.”
“Alex, how’s it not necessary?” I ask, trying to not show my exasperation. “Don’t you ever think of your future?”
“I don’t know what I wanna be.”
He’s staring at me now, with those intense eyes, and I can’t help but wonder if…if it’s true. If no matter how sisterly you are to any guy, at one point in their lives, they’ll have to look at you like that. It makes me uncomfortable, his hormones. Or, should I say, my lack of them. I can’t reciprocate his feelings. I don’t like him, but I have no clue how he feels. It would be so stereotypical, wouldn’t it? But it’s not. It’s just confusing.
All I want to do is be a boy for a day, to completely understand their body and brain, and then be me, Sadie, again, so I can figure this all out.
It’s too complex for me. And asking him is like suicide. What is he supposed to respond?
“Oh, no, I’ve always seen you as just a friend, but I can’t believe how conceited you are. Why would you think I liked you?”
Or even worse:
“Oh, no, I’ve always seen you as just a friend, but now that you mention it, you have potential.”
Or the scariest:
“Yes.”
What I hate the most is that we can’t have one conversation where I end up stiff and scared that he likes me. It’s not that I think much of myself more than the fact that I know nothing about how boys think, but I also do.
Then we talk about the future. Alex gets really into it, and he keeps looking at me like expects something from me, but I don’t know what. Advice? Calculus homework? A hug?
As we’ve grown up this year, I’ve minimized the touching, knowing that it freaks guys out. No matter what I might not think about it, god knows what he does think of it.
I pity him for being a guy. He makes both of our lives harder. But then again, it wouldn’t be the same if he was a girl. It really wouldn’t. Like how it wouldn’t be the same if I were a guy.
**
I sit by myself on the swing, playing the newest game on my GameBoy. The sun shines and burns my forhead.
Sadie’s coming over, but I pretend not to see her. Instead, I focus on killing all the beavers on my screen. She sits next to me.
“Hey.”
She’s wearing normal jeans—not too tight, but not too baggy, and a medium-sized green t-shirt with a jacket. Not much skin.
I close the GameBoy before she can lecture me on my lack of communication.
“What’s up?
“Not much. The usual. You?”
“Same.”
I open my mouth, about to spill about how the boys and me were checking out these girls and got thrown out of the café, when I’m reminded that Sadie is one of them. I have a tendency to forget that. She doesn’t act like them much. I mean, her feminine side comes out, but she’s really smart. And she’s not like all the ditzy girls I know and like. I don’t know how I feel about that. I mean, it’s cool to have a rational girl friend, but sometimes I wonder if we’d be just friends if she wasn’t the way she was. She cares about stuff. Important stuff. Not like, nail polish or shoes. It makes it harder for me to talk to her, but easier at the same time.
I’m afraid she’ll judge me about the café thing, so I keep my mouth shut.
“What are you gonna do for the summer?”
Crap. She’s not gonna like my answer.
“I dunno.”
“Why don’t you find a part-time job?” her eyes remind me of a puppy dog’s. They’re big, round, chocolate brown, and full of hope.
“Eh. Not necessary.”
And it isn’t, really. Why should it be? I’ll get it later.
She slides away from me, unaware that she’s doing so. Her body language is so careful and timed. I swear, she’s warning me with her whole body. I’m pretty sure what I’m being warned of, but I don’t want to make any assumptions. If I turn out to be wrong, I’ll be an asshole. A conceited asshole.
“Alex, how’s it not necessary? Don’t you ever think of your future?”
With any other girl, I would’ve probably gotten up and left, but I know Sadie does what she does for a reason. She’s acting like my mom. She’s reminding me of who she is. She’s setting some boundary between us. Normal guys wouldn’t notice, and it’s a miracle that even I did, but I studied. Hard. After becoming friends with her, everything became complicated, so I took some time out of my oh-so busy schedule and did some research. Adolescent psychology and stuff.
“I don’t know what I wanna be,” I feed her the bait. It’s not what she wants to hear.
This starts off a conversation about our future, and my mind wanders. I think about how I don’t even know what size Sadie is ‘cause I’ve never seen her in anything tight. She dresses so normally, and although nobody else would notice it, it sets her aside from all the other girls. The more she tries to blend in, the more she sticks out like a sore thumb.
Sometimes I completely forget she’s a girl, and we’ll do all sorts of crazy stuff, and then one thing will happen. The wind will blow her hair, or I’ll look at her straight, perfect nails, and I’ll remember who she is, and I’ll pull back.
Sometimes I get this urge to hug her or something, but then I’m just like, “Control your hormones, Alex.”
It’s so frustrating. Sometimes I wish she’d just been born a boy. Or she could just give me the “I don’t care if you’re a sexually frustrated boy, it doesn’t disgust me, so you can talk about girls in front of me without me being insulted or puking” signal.
But then again, if she was born a boy, we wouldn’t talk about deep stuff. We’d just play games and laugh. It would be cool, but if she was a boy, I probably wouldn’t be her friend.
“Hey,” I say, plopping down next to him on the swing. “What’s up?”
Alex puts away the GameBoy and looks at me.
“Not much. The usual. You?”
“Same,” I say, refraining from telling him about something funny that happened with the girls. I spare him the girl talk. I don’t want him to see me like other girls. I try my best to fall under the category of girls that he wouldn’t think of like that.
“What are you gonna do during the summer?” I ask, trying to tear my eyes away from his hair. I want to comb it so badly, but I know he’ll find the act to be too motherly, and I’ve kinda been pulling away from that lately. For some reason, we’re growing apart. I haven’t been able to figure out why yet, though. I act like his mom too much already.
“I dunno.”
“Why don’t you find a part-time job?” I persist. It’s hard to get Alex going. He has no determination, unless it’s about a girl or videogames. Videogames, I can understand, but girls, I do not.
I mean, I understand why he’d try so hard, but then again, I don’t. Is it so necessary to pursue someone?
“Eh. Not necessary.”
“Alex, how’s it not necessary?” I ask, trying to not show my exasperation. “Don’t you ever think of your future?”
“I don’t know what I wanna be.”
He’s staring at me now, with those intense eyes, and I can’t help but wonder if…if it’s true. If no matter how sisterly you are to any guy, at one point in their lives, they’ll have to look at you like that. It makes me uncomfortable, his hormones. Or, should I say, my lack of them. I can’t reciprocate his feelings. I don’t like him, but I have no clue how he feels. It would be so stereotypical, wouldn’t it? But it’s not. It’s just confusing.
All I want to do is be a boy for a day, to completely understand their body and brain, and then be me, Sadie, again, so I can figure this all out.
It’s too complex for me. And asking him is like suicide. What is he supposed to respond?
“Oh, no, I’ve always seen you as just a friend, but I can’t believe how conceited you are. Why would you think I liked you?”
Or even worse:
“Oh, no, I’ve always seen you as just a friend, but now that you mention it, you have potential.”
Or the scariest:
“Yes.”
What I hate the most is that we can’t have one conversation where I end up stiff and scared that he likes me. It’s not that I think much of myself more than the fact that I know nothing about how boys think, but I also do.
Then we talk about the future. Alex gets really into it, and he keeps looking at me like expects something from me, but I don’t know what. Advice? Calculus homework? A hug?
As we’ve grown up this year, I’ve minimized the touching, knowing that it freaks guys out. No matter what I might not think about it, god knows what he does think of it.
I pity him for being a guy. He makes both of our lives harder. But then again, it wouldn’t be the same if he was a girl. It really wouldn’t. Like how it wouldn’t be the same if I were a guy.
**
I sit by myself on the swing, playing the newest game on my GameBoy. The sun shines and burns my forhead.
Sadie’s coming over, but I pretend not to see her. Instead, I focus on killing all the beavers on my screen. She sits next to me.
“Hey.”
She’s wearing normal jeans—not too tight, but not too baggy, and a medium-sized green t-shirt with a jacket. Not much skin.
I close the GameBoy before she can lecture me on my lack of communication.
“What’s up?
“Not much. The usual. You?”
“Same.”
I open my mouth, about to spill about how the boys and me were checking out these girls and got thrown out of the café, when I’m reminded that Sadie is one of them. I have a tendency to forget that. She doesn’t act like them much. I mean, her feminine side comes out, but she’s really smart. And she’s not like all the ditzy girls I know and like. I don’t know how I feel about that. I mean, it’s cool to have a rational girl friend, but sometimes I wonder if we’d be just friends if she wasn’t the way she was. She cares about stuff. Important stuff. Not like, nail polish or shoes. It makes it harder for me to talk to her, but easier at the same time.
I’m afraid she’ll judge me about the café thing, so I keep my mouth shut.
“What are you gonna do for the summer?”
Crap. She’s not gonna like my answer.
“I dunno.”
“Why don’t you find a part-time job?” her eyes remind me of a puppy dog’s. They’re big, round, chocolate brown, and full of hope.
“Eh. Not necessary.”
And it isn’t, really. Why should it be? I’ll get it later.
She slides away from me, unaware that she’s doing so. Her body language is so careful and timed. I swear, she’s warning me with her whole body. I’m pretty sure what I’m being warned of, but I don’t want to make any assumptions. If I turn out to be wrong, I’ll be an asshole. A conceited asshole.
“Alex, how’s it not necessary? Don’t you ever think of your future?”
With any other girl, I would’ve probably gotten up and left, but I know Sadie does what she does for a reason. She’s acting like my mom. She’s reminding me of who she is. She’s setting some boundary between us. Normal guys wouldn’t notice, and it’s a miracle that even I did, but I studied. Hard. After becoming friends with her, everything became complicated, so I took some time out of my oh-so busy schedule and did some research. Adolescent psychology and stuff.
“I don’t know what I wanna be,” I feed her the bait. It’s not what she wants to hear.
This starts off a conversation about our future, and my mind wanders. I think about how I don’t even know what size Sadie is ‘cause I’ve never seen her in anything tight. She dresses so normally, and although nobody else would notice it, it sets her aside from all the other girls. The more she tries to blend in, the more she sticks out like a sore thumb.
Sometimes I completely forget she’s a girl, and we’ll do all sorts of crazy stuff, and then one thing will happen. The wind will blow her hair, or I’ll look at her straight, perfect nails, and I’ll remember who she is, and I’ll pull back.
Sometimes I get this urge to hug her or something, but then I’m just like, “Control your hormones, Alex.”
It’s so frustrating. Sometimes I wish she’d just been born a boy. Or she could just give me the “I don’t care if you’re a sexually frustrated boy, it doesn’t disgust me, so you can talk about girls in front of me without me being insulted or puking” signal.
But then again, if she was born a boy, we wouldn’t talk about deep stuff. We’d just play games and laugh. It would be cool, but if she was a boy, I probably wouldn’t be her friend.
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