In Motion

Chapter 2: Kids by MGMT (2005)

"You have a stupid face," I shot to Gab. He was at the foot of the stairs, leaning against a wall, with cocked eyebrows and tongue out. I punched him on the arm as soon as I reached him.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, though I doubted it hurt. The guy swam laps for fun. He could take punches that landed his way.

"You have a stupid face," he shot back.

The wide AS lobby was swarming with students fresh from summer break. Some were slumped on the floor, catching up with friends while eating. Others were screaming toward each other and hugging. The din of excited voices made it hard to talk.

"I'm serious, Gab," I said, walking toward the building exit with him. "Ferrer handed my ass to me earlier."

"That sucks," he said, glancing at my back. "It's not a very cute ass."

I punched him again on the arm as we walked to the parking lot. He glared at me and threatened to punch back. I winced and ducked.

"Yeah, you better be scared, Pillsbury Doughboy," he said, looking at my cheeks.

Who wouldn't be? Gab towered over me at 6 foot flat. He was always in a tight shirt and jeans. It was easy to miss that he was gay, except when he made cutting remarks like a petty Mean Girl.

I've learned to live with it. Gab and I have been friends since third grade, when I transferred to his tight-knit grade school and moved to their village. Being class president, he was assigned by our adviser to be my buddy. He was friendly enough to show me around, introduce me to his circle, and invite me to his house for video games.

We became quick friends. My parents liked the bouncy Chinese boy who was dropped off at our house on weekends. He would peer into my mom's physician's bag and ask "What does that do? How about that one?" When Gab got into BS Chemistry, Mom baked him a batch of brownies. I had rolled my eyes at that but thought it was sweet.

But "Pillsbury Doughboy" was making me rethink our friendship.

We got into his car and dumped our bags in the backseat. Whatever he lacked in nice words, he made up for it in quiet kindness, like letting me hitch rides and refusing my payment for snack stuff.

"Let's go find Andi," he said, putting the car in reverse and checking the rear view. He was slowly backing out of his space when the car braked.

"Motherf--" he exclaimed as I lurched forward. I snapped my head back to see what had caused him to stop.

It was that guy Martin, deer caught in tail lights, eyes wide, mouth open at the almost accident. We yanked off our seat belts, opened our doors, and stood outside the humming car.

"Are you okay?" Gab asked, voice full of uncharacteristic concern.

"Y-y-yeah," Martin answered, switching his head from Gab to me. He looked at me a second longer, recognition flashing in his face.

"I'm sorry," he said to Gab.

"Sorry," he said again, more to himself than to us. He walked away, file case clutched, head lowered.

Gab watched Martin walk away before settling into the driver's seat. He glanced back again at his retreating figure before snapping his seat belt in place.

Gab's sudden softness? His double take? The tall, lean build balled in shyness? I wasn't dumb. I could see the appeal, too.

What. No. I didn't. Whatever.

"Are you okay?" I repeated in the same tone, relishing at my rare turn to poke fun at him.

"Wanna walk home tonight?" he menaced, but his face was a shade redder.