Beyond Clueless by Linas Alsenas Page A

Xiang said, shaking her head.
    “What? Did you even talk to him?”
    “Yeah, I guess, a little bit,” she hedged.
    “Did you start the conversation, or did he?”
    “Parker did.”
    I sat there, just looking at her. She looked right back at me, impenetrable.
    “Aaaaand?”
    “He came over during the break and said hey.”
    Another moment of just sitting. This was getting ridiculous.
    “Xiang,” I said, “you gotta work with me here. We’ll be here until Saturday at this rate. Just tell me what happened.”
    Xiang rolled her eyes and gave a huffy sigh. “OK, OK, OK.” Then she rattled off, “He came over, said hey, said it was great running into me and meeting you on Saturday, asked how long we ended up hanging out at the mall . . .”
    “Well, that sounds promising!” I interjected.
    “. . . and he asked what I was doing on Wednesday after school.”
    Yowza!
    “WHAT? Ohmigod, that’s
huge
!” I exclaimed. But then I stopped myself. “Wait—are you lying again?” You could never tell with Xiang.
    “Noooo, he really asked me that. But I told him that Wednesday I’m going to stay after school to watch your audition. And that was that.”
    “Oh, Xiaaaaaang . . .” I was touched, actually—she chose supporting me over a date with her crush! Gosh, would I have done that for her? Uh . . . no. “You know you didn’t have to do that. I’ll be fine auditioning on my own.”
    “Well, no shit, but I was glad I had an excuse. That sounded a lot better than, ‘Actually, my mother expects me home right after school to practice this goddamn cello and do my fucking homework.’ ” I involuntarily scanned the cafeteria to make sure there were no teachers around to hear. But poor Xiang. I had never seen her so upset.
    Then we just sat there for a bit—me searching for something to say, and Xiang twisting her straw to death. This may be weird, but to be honest, I felt jealous of her, just as I had with Jimmy. I didn’t even have the excuse of being gay, or of having really controlling parents, and yet I was the only one without any romantic stuff going on. I know I wasn’t interested in the orchestra guys, but how come none of them liked me? What was wrong with me? Wasn’tI pretty enough, or friendly enough? Was I destined to spend all my Saturday nights pretending to flirt with a bunch of gay guys?
    “OK, well, what did Parker say after that?” I finally asked. “When you told him you would be at the audition?”
    “He just kinda turned red and bolted. I don’t know.”
    I made a frowny face and said, “Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out. And, hey, if he joins the musical’s orchestra, think about all that extra time you’ll have to flirt and canoodle during rehearsals!”
    “Ha-ha,” she replied sadly.
    “Come on, Xiang, chin up! Keep a stiff upper lip!” I said, reaching across the table and giving her shoulder a light punch.
    “What the hell does that even mean? Shouldn’t it be a stiff
bottom
lip?” she asked, just as the period bell rang. I shrugged, and we gathered our garbage and headed out of the cafeteria, variously contorting our lips and tapping them to test their stiffness.
    That evening Jimmy came over so we could do our homework together. Yeah, I know, we have different homework, but sometimes he needs to have people around when he does it—otherwise, he ends up watching HGTV or
Teletubbies
or something; he has very little self-discipline.
    “You don’t happen to know what caused the Whiskey Rebellion, do you?” he asked me, sprawled out over my bed with his American history work sheets.
    “I dunno—something about taxes? Isn’t all the early stuff about taxes?”
    “Yeah, but there’s something more to it. Federalism or something. I wish this thing had an index,” he said, flipping through his textbook.
    “Can’t help you there. Ask me next year.” (Our Lady has us take American history as sophomores.) I finished off the last exercise on my algebra