“What kind of story do you want the reporters to tell their readers?”

Pete's Vagina
79. Fake Reverse
by Erin Halfelven

Brigitte sat back down, reaching across the table diagonally, offering her hands to grasp mine. Did I trust her that much? I needed some trust somewhere.

I put my own hands on the table, palms up, and she covered mine with hers, adding a gentle squeeze. I glanced sideways at Lee, keeping my face neutral. He smiled and put his bigger hand on top of the knot of hands on the table. His eyes met mine and widened to match his smile.

But Brigitte spoke. “I know you probably don’t want this interview, but I think refusing it completely would leave them to frame it however they want. If you want any control, you have to make it happen on your terms.”

I looked at her, and we both nodded.

The noise in the room felt like walls around us. The Pizza Barn back room is a fake-rustic space with timbered walls and a tall ceiling full of lights, vents, and summer fans. It was familiar, like my own room or the lockers at the gym. But…I used the girls’ side of the locker rooms now.

“Time to think about what kind of interview you’ll give,” said Brigitte. “What kind of story do you want the reporters to tell their readers?”

I hadn’t thought in those terms at all. Did I really have a choice in this? And what kind of story did I want out there? The real story was too wild to be believed, that less than six weeks ago, I had been a boy. A boy that no state or national news organization would be chasing for an interview.

I looked up to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes. I’d gotten into playing football to help Jake get a scholarship by making it into the state tournament. Wait…? Had I gotten that done now? Or was I being a distraction in the way of Jake’s future?

That…. That? Was that the story I wanted told? Wouldn’t that make everyone think Jake and I were a couple? I cut my eyes toward Lee, and he grinned at me, almost as if he knew what I was thinking.

What was I thinking? How much had Lee known of what his mom had planned? Did I want to be mad at him for whatever part he played in the ambush Mrs. Frick had set up?

His hand on top of the tower of hands in the center of the table squeezed mine. I took a deep breath to say something, but Coach spoke first. He was looking at Brigitte as he said, “How do I get so lucky?”

“Pardon?” said Brigitte, smiling back at Wilson’s goofy grin. I reclaimed my hands from the pile and Lee took both of mine in both of his, looking directly at me as Coach proved that he was really a socially inept jock at heart.

“I’m having dinner with two beautiful girls,” he murmured inappropriately, then obviously played that back in his own head, realizing how it must sound. “I mean —uh—” he stammered, blushing.

I glared at him but Brigitte let him off the hook with a laugh, just about the time Johanna pushed her way into the room from the front of the restaurant, letting a server pass her with what looked to be Jake’s favorite pepperoni and pineapple.

The noise level instantly went up and Joanna added to it with the voice a head cheerleader uses from the sidelines to get attention. “Hey! Listen!” It wasn’t a shout, it was just loud.

“Listen,” she repeated. “I want this out for the team and the cheerleaders before anyone else hears.” Megan and several other cheerleaders already in the room looked toward her.

She’s tall—taller than most of the boys in the room—and she had everyone’s attention, including mine. “Homecoming is two weeks away, and I’m nominating Pete for Homecoming Queen!”

My head went up, Lee squeezed my hand again, Brigitte looked at me from under her brows, and Coach busted out a grin. The room exploded into cheering, “Rah! Lions! Friendly Pride! Pete! Pete! Pete!”

Joanna pranced to the middle of the room and said something else, “Who deserves the honor more than the girl who wins football games just by showing up to play!?”

Jake and Megan were both looking at me from across the room, and I couldn’t really read their expressions. Jake stood and pulled Joanna into a booth with him while the server set the P&P pie in front of them.

Lee leaned forward, shielding me a bit from the cheers. He said something, but I couldn’t hear him. He pointed. There were people coming into the room behind Joanna. Some of them had cameras and notebooks, and they all looked hungry but not for pizza.

Then I was pushing on Lee to get out of the way. He stood awkwardly; his stiff left leg didn’t bend easily from that position. He offered a hand to help me out of the booth. I took it, sliding out and dragging him toward the rear exit.

The noise rose like a wave on a foreign shore, no oceans in Friendly, Arizona. We surfed toward escape on shouts of “Friendly Pride! Queen Pete! Rah! Rah! Rah!”

Lee held the door open for me, and I made it out, away from several hands that were trying to touch me. A winter’s night had deepened while we were inside the Barn, and stars shone above the Mogollon Rim. I pulled my football jacket with the number 17 on the sleeve around me and followed Lee toward his van parked in a handicap stall.