How to get over the end.., p.18
How to Get over the End of the World, page 18
Most of the kids were silent. One or two of them looked ready to start yelling things themselves.
Behind me, Opal made a noise. I glanced at them and made eye contact. “Jesus,” they muttered.
Jukebox turned briefly toward Opal, and seemed about to open their mouth, but then they thought better of it. They let out a long exhale.
“Uh,” Venus said loudly, drawing out the vowel sound to give everyone time to look at her. “If we’re doing like, big political commentary, I think we’re probably not going to be able to fit all of those ideas into a worm. Respectfully.”
“I agree,” Opal said.
“You wrote this script,” Jukebox said.
“Yeah,” Opal said. “But I was just trying to be like, funny and get people to donate to Compton. It’s funny that James is a cow. We all have to dedicate our lives to do things that save the world. The show’s this weekend. Can we just focus on practicing already?”
Jukebox put a hand on their heart, as if they were going to rip it out.
“The moment where someone opens to new ideas about what’s possible is the moment revolution starts.”
They paused, as if trying to let this sink in.
“I think the moment revolution starts is when you have a bunch of oppressed-ass people who want the same thing,” Sophie said, deadpan. “For instance, we are all being oppressed by your loud-ass voice and all want to leave.”
Jukebox rounded on Sophie again. “Well, why don’t you leave, then?”
Sophie started for the door.
“Okay, yeah. I think we’re done for today,” Opal said loudly, their voice shaking a little. “Jukebox, I think you need to calm the fuck down.” They put their drumsticks into their vest. “Like, you’re putting a ton of work into this. But no yelling, okay? I don’t like that shit.”
Gemma had figured out there was a fight going on, and was sidling toward the stage, holding her arms delicately to either side with her wrists at angles like she was a moth that was going to fan away the conflict. She seemed like she wasn’t sure how to directly step onto the stage. “Okay, okay, everyone,” she said. “I’m hearing a lot of accusations and bad feeling right now. Let’s step back.”
Opal turned their wheels and rolled down toward the ramp and the dressing room.
In the dressing room, I grabbed my stuff and texted my mom. Opal was asking where Barb was.
“Hey, Ian,” James said. He was changing his shirt and taking too long to put the new one on. I knew it was because he was proud of his scars. I let myself look at his chest a second too long. “Do you want to watch Barbarella with me and Orsino this weekend after the show? I miss sleepovers.”
I felt tears spring to my eyes and a lump in my throat. I needed to tell him again, but I couldn’t. I turned away, pretending to rummage in my bag. “No,” I said. “I mean, I can’t. I’m grounded. Aren’t you grounded?”
“Only when I’m at my dad’s house,” James said. “My mom and him had a fight.”
“She was supposed to drive me home,” Opal said. The edge had gone out of their voice. Now they just looked exhausted. They looked to James. “Can you take me?”
James was strenuously taking off the cow pants. I watched the shape of his ass and his legs in his black underwear as he turned, extracting his feet from the fake fur. I was surprised Orsino wasn’t in here with him, watching him undress. “I came here with Jukebox,” he said. “I could ask if they could drive you.”
Opal grimaced. They turned to me. “Not my fave plan. Monique?”
“I got work after this,” I said apologetically. “I took a late shift because I need money. My mom’s making me take the bus there.”
“Wait,” James said, turning to me. “Are you for real going by Monique?”
“Yes,” I said. My voice was a whisper, but not on purpose.
“Cool,” James said. He looked like he wanted to ask more. I turned toward Opal to avoid the question I knew was coming.
Opal had their head in their hands. “God,” they said. “Today was a mess. Gemma’s useless. Why does every adult have to be like this.”
James had finished taking off the pants. “I think Jukebox will still drive you, Opal. It’s not about you.” He shoved the cow pants in his backpack and dashed towards the door in his socks. “I’ll check. Be right back.”
Opal waited until the door closed to tilt their head to me. “Hey, I’m sorry for saying stick it out,” they said. “I think we can call this shit right now if you want. Let the fucking nonprofit fail. This is demented. The only person having a good time is James.”
“No way,” I said. “This is demented, but it’s important.”
But as I made fries and flipped burgers and stared out at the drive-through, it did occur to me a couple times that I might have chosen to get involved in literally anything else.
Chapter 14: JAMES
Ian—Monique?—had been avoiding me since immediately after we kissed.
I’d been in denial that it was happening, because he still texted me memes and he was half-grounded, but I realized now that ever since I’d kissed him, we hadn’t had a conversation of more than two minutes one on one.
He?
Monique?
Ian would tell me if there was a trans situation happening, right? Ian was femme, but that wasn’t the same as having gender dysphoria. There were infographics about it. We had both read hundreds of them.
Very possibly it took some people longer to come out than I did, but still. I would know, wouldn’t I?
Monique had muttered something in the car that I hadn’t heard. And like, if I asked, I would have to admit that the kiss thing had happened and was weird and my fault. I didn’t really want to talk about the kiss. I knew I hadn’t like, checked in exactly, or been totally consensual about it, because I’d been drunk. Ian—Monique—had been all sad and weird and had just gotten dumped, and what if that meant that I’d hurt Monique?
How bad could you hurt someone by being tipsy and horny one time? Maybe bad.
And maybe he—she?—they?— were really mad at me now, in a way they couldn’t even express?
I didn’t know how to deal with that.
Not knowing didn’t feel great.
I was too nervous to text and find out what was going on.
Opal was sitting in the back of Jukebox’s car while I stood there like an asshole, holding the pieces of their chair half-disassembled. I had been looking at the back of the car, trying to figure out where I could Tetris them in.
Opal was talking to me.
“But like, why did they leave? Even if they’re mad they could talk upstairs or at Prancing Oat.”
“Barb was mad at Duke for wrestling Orsino and giving him weed,” I said. “That’s literally all I know.”
I hadn’t seen Orsino anywhere either since Jukebox called rehearsal, I realized. Maybe they all had gone somewhere together to process. I texted Orsino, hey, what’s up? Jukebox is abt to drive Opal home.
Venus and Francine, her butch fifteen-year-old friend who had showed up late, were glaring at Jukebox as Jukebox talked to Gemma under the marquis. Venus and I were maybe friends now. I tried to catch her eye.
“Today sucked,” Opal said. “What the fuck was that Star Is Born bullshit Jukebox was doing with you, anyway? It’s the music we gotta get right, not your cow antics. No offense.”
“I mean,” I said, “they were directing. Just a little, you know, queer and weird.”
I’d seen a vision when they touched me on the third take we did of “Actioncow.” I had been in water, hot water, and someone was naked above me, their stomach covered in mud, staring down from a grassy ledge. Then I’d seen a cloudburst, trees struck by lightning, then strange, enormous creatures swimming in the deep parts of the ocean, curling and unwinding their long blue bodies. And then—this was scary—this enormous ship, completely covered in guns, bearing down on a tiny sphere like a pink moon.
Was the moment that we needed to change hundreds of thousands of years ago? Was it millions of years ago? Was it this week? How late were we?
Orsino texted, sorry, I took off to take a walk. Felt stressed. See u tomorrow?
I didn’t understand, but I didn’t understand anything about Orsino. Weird dog bone boy. Weird beautiful ghost boy. Mysterious punk. Sad boy, deep boy.
I scooted a guitar further under the front seat and rammed Jukebox’s shit more to the side so Opal’s wheels fit. I worried about something falling on the wheels, but not enough to fix it. I slammed the door shut, wishing for the best, and climbed in the back seat behind Opal.
“Can I talk to you about something?” I said.
“Shoot,” Opal said, though their voice was distant. They were staring at their phone.
I thought better of it. No Ian/Monique talk. If I asked, it might just cement everything and Opal would be sure I did something wrong, and one thing I knew about Opal was that they were really intense about right and wrong and hated when people were doing wrong things. Which meant I had to come up with another thing. I did have one at the ready.
“I think I have a crush on Jukebox,” I said. “Like a big one. When they touched me I felt like, all tingly. Like I understand what the future’s for.” That was the easiest way to describe it.
Opal hissed through their teeth and rubbed their eyes with their wrists. “Why don’t you just go fuck them on stage, then, James?”
They sounded the angriest I’d ever heard them.
I tried to laugh, even though I immediately felt all rotten and slimy inside. “That would sell tickets.”
They glared. I realized, suddenly, how badly I’d messed things up with them. Somehow, impossibly quickly, I’d fucked up. What had I done?
“I thought you liked Jukebox.”
“Not in a fuck-them way, James. And not really, right now. They’re being a dick.”
“It’s just like, a crush. But it’s exciting. Laying under them when they touched my stomach, I felt this jolt of like, wow, if a person like that asked me to like, kiss the ground they walked on, I would. They’re so powerful and they wear their queerness all around in public, they look so trans and they love it. It makes me feel better about my body, to look at them.”
Opal looked at me in the mirror and moaned sadly.
“What?”
“That’s such a dumb thing to say.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. “It’s like you and Goober.”
“No it’s not. Goober is eighteen months older than me. Jukebox is twenty-seven. You’re just like, all over the place, James. I can’t figure you out. You were all horny at Monique, and pulled that shit, now you’re fucking Orsino, and now you wanna get with Jukebox of all fucking people?”
I shrugged. I hadn’t expected this. I wasn’t sure exactly what Opal meant. That shit? “Ian’s . . . has Monique been talking about it?”
Opal turned around in their seat. “James,” they started to say. Their voice had the same tone as my dad talking to his old dog, and I froze. But then they stopped, looking behind me. Jukebox was coming towards the car, swinging their keys. “We have to talk soon,” they said, just before Jukebox opened the driver’s seat door.
That was ominous.
“Hey, dudes,” Jukebox said, swinging through the open car door. It slammed shut with a noise like a bomb. “Sorry about the wait. Opal, hey, wanted to say sorry for earlier. Got a little intense in there. You were right.”
Opal grunted, looking sidelong at Jukebox like a cat assessing a roach before looking back at their phone. I felt the earth falling out from under me. Everything could change so fast.
Jukebox grinned. “Cool,” they said. They looked back at me. “James. Wanted to say that you were on point the whole time. I really like how into it you are. You did that take a ton. You’re a trooper. You should do dance professionally.”
I smiled weakly, feeling like my gut had turned to jelly.
When we got to Barb’s house, it was clear that Barb and Duke’s argument wasn’t over. We heard Barb’s voice from outside when we pulled up. Barb’s house is right on street level, though the sidewalk is sloped up because the house is on almost the top of a hill. The accessibility ramp zigzags to stay at the right grade. I opened the car door for Opal and they got into their chair with the brakes on and we went up the ramp to the stoop. Opal was about to use their keys to open the door, but then we heard a door slam inside, and they stopped.
“. . . isn’t the same,” Barb’s voice said. “It’s not the back of a drag bar in Oklahoma City, and materially helping isn’t the same as acting like you’re still seventeen.”
There was silence for a second. “This is a you issue,” Duke said. “It’s not a me issue. The kid’s fine. I know when to code switch. That kid needs bros. He needs people who will show him people care about him in the ways that mean something.”
“You do not know when to code switch,” Barb said. “On a radical faerie commune, you can wrestle all the rogue teenagers you want, Duke, and be grubby Peter Pan or whatever and tell them you love them, but we are in a city and you have professional roles to play.”
“Maybe I should just go back to Seattle, live with Ben again full time.”
“So go,” Barb said. “Go be with Ben. He’s your partner. I have no problem with Ben. That is so not the issue. The issue is that you’re committing to being present in a certain way for youth. Am I wrong that the job you applied for makes you responsible in a professional way for teens? Do you disagree that you have a professional role?”
“Professional role like mother, you mean?” Duke said, way too loudly, close enough to the window that I took a step back down the ramp. I wondered if he had heard our car. “Opal called you their mom to me the other day. Do you realize that?”
Opal stuck their keys in their pocket and looked at me. They mouthed, we have to go.
We went back to Jukebox’s car.
“I can’t go in there,” Opal said to Jukebox. “They’re fighting.”
Jukebox looked uneasy. They glanced through the window at the house. “Well,” they said uncertainly, “I could drive you someplace else, I guess. Or, you wanna call them and say you’re outside and they gotta stop fighting?”
“No,” Opal said. They were shaking now. They turned their chair away from Jukebox’s car. I realized they couldn’t make a decision. They took out their phone and opened TikTok, letting the speaker play. A teen was doing a one-person sketch about the musical Hamilton. They scrolled, and a dog wearing a hat was jumping from a truck. I watched them, knowing this could go on for a while. They were frozen, and they didn’t want to go with Jukebox or go inside.
“Can I do anything?” I asked. I was aware of Jukebox sitting in the car, waiting to hear what was next.
“Can I stay with you tonight, James?” Opal asked. They were still looking down at their phone, frowning.
“Yeah,” I said. “Probably. Let me text my mom.”
I texted: hey can opal crash tonight? Barb is having relationship issues
My mom was probably either grading papers or watching Star Trek. It would be a second before she texted back.
“Let’s get coffee,” I said quickly. I had to stop us all from just freezing forever. I reached inside the car and grabbed my bag. “They’ll be done by the time we’re done. Or at worst we can stay at my house tonight.” I was cold. I looked to Jukebox. “My mom can get us, really,” I said. “Or Opal will be able to go inside in a bit. You’re good. You can go home. Thanks for driving us.”
“Cool,” Jukebox said, with obvious relief. “Okay. See you dudes later. You’re both amazing. Sorry for earlier.”
“You’re good, man,” Opal said, facing away from them.
Jukebox drove off. I stood, staring at the house, and not staring at Opal.
“I am so triggered by this, dude,” Opal said. “I cannot be around this.”
“Duke and Barb are like, on-and-off lovers, right?” I asked. “Maybe this is just what it’s about for them. Sparring.”
Opal shrugged and said nothing.
“What was that stuff about Ben? Is that his ex?”
“That’s his primary partner,” Opal said. “He’s been living with him for years. He goes to see him like every other week.”
I tried to absorb this. Duke was with a man? A cis man, or a trans one? Was he leaving that guy for Barb?
I turned to look at Jukebox’s retreating car as a cat ran across the street. “Let’s go to Oakland Happyland. We can sit for a minute.”
Oakland Happyland is a bakery around the corner from Barb’s. It has a garden in the back that’s nice to have breakfast in during summer. Most of the people who work there on weeknights are college kids. I’ve been eating their cookies since I was a kid. We moved down the block and around the corner slowly. Opal’s chair creaked and I noticed one of the tires was getting kind of low. Opal was quiet, staring straight ahead. They were clutching the sides of the seat.
“Are you okay?”
“Not really,” they said. We paused on the path to the door of the bakery. “I hate when people yell. I really, really hate when people yell. My aunt and my cousin would fight all the time like that, just in circles. And Jukebox was yelling earlier.”
Opal did the thing they do when they’re stressed and rubbed in a little hard circle with their fingers just behind each ear.
“Sometimes people argue,” I said. “It’s no big deal. It’ll pass.” I took a couple steps forward toward the bakery door so we could move inside and not talk out in the cold.
We got two big spiral chocolate and vanilla cookies and two vegan gingerbread dinosaurs and two cups of black coffee that tasted like it had been percolating since Bikini Kill broke up. I paid. We sat eating while the college kids who worked the counter danced to Grimes in the back, washing dishes. We were the only people in the cafe.
