Everything That Makes You(11)

"Can we please stop referring to me as the lesbian? It can't be just me, right?"

"Uh, I have no idea."

"It's what I get for coming out in high school. Could be years before  these other girls catch up." She slumped in her chair and spoke to the  ceiling. "I mean seriously, there's got to be at least one."

"We're pathetic," Fiona said with a huge sigh. "Crossing our fingers that we get one."





FI


Fi was sitting on the couch-the damned couch-when Ryan came home from  school, dropped a stack of homework in her lap, and sat down across from  her.

She wanted to lash out at him, sitting there in his uniform, all sweaty  and dirt-smeared, but she held back. Instead, she picked up the bulk of  homework, weighing it in her hands. "Please tell me this is for the  whole week."

"Just today," he said.

Fi scanned the pages from English, along with the unfamiliar writing in  the margins. "She's already picked the topic. And given me an  assignment."

"Who?"

"Lucy Daines, worst partner ever."

"On the English paper? What book are y'all doing?"

"Faulkner, apparently," Fi said, still reading through Lucy's highlights, notes, and instructions. "The two short stories."

"Trina Simmons and I are doing The Red Badge of Courage," Ryan said. "We started today at lunch. It's a big part of the grade."

She gave her unsympathetic brother a look before tossing the stack of  homework onto the coffee table. "I. Am. Going. Insane." She let her head  flop backward onto the armrest. "If I'd just moved back in position. If  I hadn't gone for that ball none of this would have happened. Life  would be normal."

"Yeah," Ryan said after a moment, "but you can't change it. Might as well look on the bright side."                       
       
           



       

"Which would be?"

"You only have to deal with Lucy Daines on paper," he said, nodding to Fi's stack of homework. "No face-to-face."

"True."

"You get to watch Cupcake Wars nonstop."

"I'm sick of Cupcake Wars. Like, totally sick of it." She pointed to the  wall directly across from her. "Do you know there's a crack in the  plaster over there that looks like the east coast of Florida?"

"Wow, you are bad off." He studied her. "When's the last time you, like, moved?"

"This morning. Bath."

"Okay, time for an intervention," Ryan said with a laugh. "Come out with me tonight."

"Right." She couldn't remember the last time they'd done something  alone, without their parents or friends. She pointed to her cast.  "Slight mobility problem."

"I'll help you," said Ryan. "Anyway, I'm not doing anything major-just open mic night at Otherlands."

There was a coffee shop about five minutes' drive away, but she'd never  gone in. "That grungy place?" It looked run-down, with an old,  hand-painted sign out front.

"It's got character. This open mic thing's supposed to be, uh, unique is how I heard it."

Fi vaguely remembered Trent mentioning going there, although he never  said anything about an open mic night. "Who told you that?"

"Girl who works there."

Her eyes narrowed on her brother. "What girl?"

"A girl," he said, rolling his eyes. "Do you want to come or not?"

Fi looked in the direction of the kitchen. "Where is everybody?"

"Mom went to the grocery store, I think. Dad's still at work."

Fi figured she wasn't the coffee-shop type, what with her lack of tribal  scarves and ironic T-shirts. Anyway, she never had the luxury to just  hang out. School and lacrosse took up all her time.

But she didn't think she was an anti-coffee shop kind of person, either. Plus, no parents meant no one to stop her.

She pushed herself upright. "Go shower, then help me get to the bathroom when you're done."

When they got to Otherlands, Fi clutched Ryan's arm and hobbled up the  ramp to the back door. It was weird needing his help so obviously and  publicly.

The crowd moved aside at the sight of her Day-Glo cast. "People are staring," she muttered.

"It's just your imagination."

Mismatched tables and chairs crammed nearly every inch of the place. A  beaded curtain behind the bar barely disguised a bunch of boxes, crates,  and dirty mugs. Lines of poetry were painted across the walls and on  the concrete floor.

"Everybody in here is pierced and tattooed," she whispered, scanning the crowd. "Or has those giant holes in their ears."

"Not everybody." At the counter, Ryan leaned toward a tiny girl with  short, light blond hair streaked in blue. She smiled when she saw him,  then she moved to the side so the other guy back there-a tall guy with  tattoo vines covering his arms-could take orders. Ryan gestured between  the two girls. "Gwen, this is my sister, Fi."

Wiping her hands on a towel, Gwen reached a thin arm across the counter. "Hey, Fi. Nice to meet you."

Fi shook the waif's hand, worried she might break it.

"Can I get y'all something?" Gwen asked. Looking at Ryan, she asked, "Decaf?"

He nodded and looked to Fi. She read the menu overhead but had no clue what to order. "Something not too coffee-ish?"

Gwen laughed. "Sure."

A few minutes later, Gwen handed over a large mug filled with milky foam. Fi pointed to her cast. "I need to sit somewhere."

Ryan nodded, and they both surveyed the shop. Every table was full.

Fi began to panic slightly. This little bit of activity made her foot  ache. She was dizzy and out of breath. If she felt like this after three  weeks, what would her game be like after a year?

Ryan gestured to the full tables. "There's nowhere."

"Seriously," she whispered, leaning in. "I need to sit."

He pulled back to study her before scanning the café again. Finally, he  clutched her arm and walked her to a table for four, where two guys  around their age sat. They had dark, wavy hair and looked about the same  height.

"Y'all mind if she sits?" Ryan asked, pointing to the two empty chairs and then at Fi's cast.

One of them had nice, olive skin, the other was fair like Fi and Ryan.  The fair one stood, pulling out the chair just in front of her and  gesturing to it. "Not at all."                       
       
           



       

At the same time, Tan Guy reached over to Fair Guy's chair and pulled it toward him, closing the distance between the two boys.

Fi considered pointing out that broken ankles weren't contagious.  Instead, she looked to the nice one, who still stood near, offering  help. "Thanks," she said.

Ryan pulled the remaining empty chair toward her and pointed to her cast. "You should keep it elevated."

"Where will you sit?" she asked.

Her brother gestured behind him, back toward the blue-haired girl. "I can hang out there."

So much for brother-sister time. "Is this the mysterious study group?"

Giving a half smile, he said, "Be back in a bit," and left her with the two strangers.

Fi wasn't sure what to do. Should she check her texts or look otherwise  busy? The place was packed with people talking loudly, even shouting  across the room, yet the two boys at her little table silently looked  into space. Quite deliberately not at her.

She was studying the little tabletop menu when Fair Guy pointed to the  corner, where a microphone was sandwiched between two brown plants.  "Here for open mic night?" he asked her.

"Oh. Uh, yeah-I guess so."

Fi and Fair Guy stared at the personless microphone for several long,  painful, silent moments. The boy shifted his gaze, looking to where his  fingers toyed with the edges of an old book in front of him. Then he  smiled and reached a hand across. "I'm Marcus." He looked over his  shoulder to Tan Guy. "And my antisocial brother's name is Jackson."

"Fi," she replied, taking Marcus's hand. Jackson narrowed his eyes when they touched, like she was diseased.

"Fee?" Marcus asked.

"F-I. Short for Fiona." She pointed toward Ryan, now bent so far over  the counter he risked falling onto the other side. He was saying  something to the girl-what was her name? Gail? Gwen? "My antisocial  brother nicknamed me when I was little. It just stuck."

Marcus glanced over at Ryan before nodding toward Jackson. "We're twins, too."

Fi looked between the two boys, who, outside of the wavy black hair,  looked nothing alike. Marcus was creamy-skinned and slight. He had light  brown eyes to Jackson's green. They seemed roughly the same  height-close to six feet, she'd guess-but Jackson had football player  shoulders. Tall, dark, and handsome, her mother would say. Too bad he  was such a jerk.