I looked at Cassandra. “Did you feel sexually objectified by my catcall whistle?”
“No, not really. More than anything, I’m embarrassed for you.” God, did she ever have a killer smile.
“Thank you for doing for me what I am incapable of doing for myself.”
“You shouldn’t thank people when you don’t mean it.”
“How do you know I don’t mean it?”
“I know insincerity when I see it.”
“And I know a beautiful woman when I see her.”
“Now, that was sincere.”
“Was it? How’s that?”
“Sincerity clothed as insincerity. Now, that’s sincere.”
“Cassandra, you’re crazy.”
“You are as crazy as I am. In fact, you’re crazier. You’re a male, and even the best representatives of your gender are crazier than any female.”
“Because?”
“Do you like having a penis?”
“What kind of crazy question is that?”
Gina hadn’t said a word, but she figured that moment was as good a time as any to join the conversation. “Answer the question. Do. You. Like. Having. A. Penis?”
“Well, well. Well, yes.”
“Well, yes?” Susie wouldn’t be left out.
“Hell yes! Yes, I like having a penis. Am I supposed to apologize for that?”
“Well, I don’t know about Gina and Susie, but I’d say yes. I think apologies for liking having a penis might be in order.”
“Do you think you should apologize for liking having a, I mean, for having a, for having a—”
“Vagina? Is that the word you’re looking for?” I liked that smug look on Cassandra’s face.
“Exactly. That’s the word.”
“You can’t even say it. You see, here’s the thing: Women don’t think that having a vagina qualifies them to be in charge of the world. In fact, it disqualifies us from being in charge of the world. For our part, no apologies are necessary.”
I knew where she was going with this. I was way ahead of her. I took out a pad and pencil and wrote six words on them, tore the page off, and folded it in half while she was talking.
“Men, on the other hand, think that having penises does qualify them to run the world. And that’s truly fucked up. Which is why the world is fucked up. Which is why we have so many damned wars. There’s a lot of women making noise that they want to be soldiers just like men. Not me. Human beings with penises start those wars. And human beings with penises can die in them. So yes, you should apologize for liking having a penis.”
I handed her the note. She unfolded it and read my six words. You’re right. But I am gay.
She took a pen from her purse. But you still have a penis.
She handed me the note. And I wrote, Penis or not, I’m still disqualified from running the world. But at least it also disqualifies me from joining the military and getting killed in a war started by the human beings who have penises. She smiled as she read the note. She showed the notes to Gina and Susie, who nodded and kept looking at each other.
“Well,” Gina said, “Cassandra’s not going to say it, but someone has to. Congratulations, Ari! You’ve just won round one of a yearlong debate that will have God knows how many rounds, and Susie and I will be keeping track. And may the best human win, penis or no penis. And just so we’re clear, there will be no extra points given for having a penis—and—”
Cassandra interrupted her. “Yes, I know—and no extra points for having a vagina. And it should not be may the best human win. It should be may the greatest intellect win.”
The girls—or should I say the two almost-women and the woman who was already a woman—handed one another smiles as if they were giving one another medals.
Cassandra gave me a kiss on the cheek. “The outcome is not in doubt. I have fallen in love with you, Aristotle Mendoza—but I am going to shred you like I’m going to shred this note.” She put it in her purse.
“Hey, that’s mine.”
The first bell rang. We had ten minutes to get to class. Cassandra grabbed my arm. “You keep this note, you’ll lose it. Someone may find it and maybe figure something out that they have no right to be figuring out. In my possession, it’s safe. Like I said, I’ll shred it like I’m going to shred you.”
“Bullshit. You’re not going to shred it. You’re going to save it.”
“Yes, I’m so fucking sentimental.”
“Sincerity clothed in insincerity. Now, that’s sincerity.”
“I really should slap that smile off your face.”
“You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean.”
She gave me a look I couldn’t quite read. I really didn’t know what she was feeling and why. “For the first time in my four years at Austin High School, I actually believe that it might approach being a great year.”
She turned left, and Gina, Susie, and I turned right—and headed to Mr. Blocker’s English class. My school days would start on a good note—a note I’d written to win the first round. I was going to get trounced. It would give me a good excuse to run to Dante. He would console me by kissing me. That didn’t sound so bad to me. Not bad at all.
Ten
I DIDN’T GET INTO A fight on the first day of school. I saved that for the second day. I didn’t start it. And I’m not saying that to make myself feel better. I’ve lied to myself about a lot of things, but I’ve never lied to myself about the fights I’ve gotten into.
When I drove into the parking lot, there were five guys surrounding a little guy. I knew who that little guy was. Yeah, he was effeminate, a word Dante taught me. He was a nice guy, smart, nerdy, and with a lot of lilt in the way he spoke. But he didn’t bother anyone. He hung with a crowd, each one of them misfits in one way or another. He was in the same class as I was, though he didn’t seem to be any older than fourteen. His name was Rico and I’d heard his friends call him Rica but as if it was a joke, and it was their joke.
The guys had him surrounded and they were calling him all the predictable names those guys used to refer to guys like Rico. Joto, maricón, pinche vieja, faggot, queer. They thought the whole thing was funny. Yeah, hilarious. I didn’t know exactly what was going to happen, but when one of then kicked him in the groin and he fell to the ground, I was in the middle of it before I even knew I’d gone there. One of the guys tried to punch me, and it didn’t take but a couple of punches before he was kissing the asphalt—then the other guys came at me. Out of fucking nowhere, some tough guy with tattoos jumped in on my side. That guy was small, but he had muscles and he knew how to fight. He could have given me lessons. He was standing right beside me and he laughed. “It’s two to one, baby. They fuckin’ think the odds are in their favor. That’s what makes them losers.” And the fight didn’t last more than five minutes when this tattooed badass and I had them all face-to-face with the tires of the parked cars.
“I’m Danny,” he said. I couldn’t help but notice he was a good-looking guy. “Danny Anchondo.”
“I’m Ari Mendoza.”