Free My Invented Life by Lauren Bjorkman Page B

happier.
    She didn’t notice she might like girls until she hit college?
I
am a bit of a tomboy.
I
asked for a tool set for my birthday.
I’ve
had five short-lived boyfriends. What if my obsession with boys turns out to be a repressed longing for girls?

Chapter
10
    I slide Better Than Chocolate
into my computer DVD player, engaging the English subtitles in case a certain someone has her ear pressed to my wall. I’ve never seen a girl kiss another girl, and imagining the act gives me an odd feeling, like when I picture Gethsemane and Elmo having sex. My legs jiggle while I wait for the first love scene. By the time it happens, I’m so into the story that the making-out part is neither gross nor earth-shattering. Normal. Ish.
    A tap on the door gets me to click the stop button. Mom peeks in. “Lights out,” she says. “You need your cutie rest.” She smiles in a silly way.
    “I’m already too cute.”
    “Go to bed or I’ll reformat your hard drive.”
    “Okay, good night,” I say.
    When she’s gone, I stuff an old towel in the crack under my door, lock it, and watch the rest of the movie, wondering if the “real thing” has ever taken place in the next room over.
    I scoot into the school bike racks a few minutes after the bell. Fortunately, Mr. Beltz, who behaves as if a littlewhispering and note passing will cause the downfall of civilization, ignores tardiness. Go figure. With everyone safely dozing off in homeroom, I’m free to distribute my bumper stickers at will.
    The bottom of Bryan’s skateboard has an inviting blank spot. I peel off the backing and paste my sticker next to his PHANTOM , covering a bit of the skull and cross-bones, but oh well. I read the result with satisfaction. SAVE THE GAYS ! But will he appreciate the little details like the clip art showing two boys holding hands and the Web address I invented— www.YouLoseAgain.com ?
    I tag Carmen’s bike next. Not nice, but just deserts for the divots she’s made walking all over me with her spiky heels. Eva parks her car in the lot nearby. Should I tag her next? I waver. She asked me to give her the L Report at the Silo after school. That reminds me about the boxer shorts over the Barn door and how I need to take them down. But when I go to retrieve the ladder we use for aerial pranks, it’s not there.
    I circle to the front of the Barn. There’s Jonathan coming down the ladder, the boxer shorts dangling from his back pocket. He smiles at me, his gorgeous eyes flashing friendliness. For a second, I wonder if I’ve entered a parallel universe where I’m someone he likes.
    “You took them down?” I ask. “Hey, thanks.”
    He folds the ladder. “No big deal.” Together we carry it to the storage spot. He hands me the boxers from his pocket. “I thought Aunt S asked you . . . you know, to convert me, or something.”
    If I were a cartoon character, a little balloon with a light-bulb inside would appear over my head. How Jonathandoesn’t look like a typical juvenile delinquent, that he had to change schools, why he took down the insulting banner. I’ve been as oblivious as someone with an IQ in the single digits. Jonathan is gay. Then again, except for wearing dress shoes to school, he doesn’t act like the gay men I’ve met—Dad’s uncle and Mom’s teaching assistant—nor the ones I’ve seen in movies. No eyeliner, no effusive hand gestures, no high-pitched giggle to tip me off.
    “Convert you?” I ask. “Like convert you to straight? Sapphire wouldn’t do that.” I make the boxer shorts do a little dance. “I flirted with you because you’re cute.”
    He grabs them back. “Let’s burn them,” he says.
    “Okay,” I say, thinking he’s having me on.
    He takes off into the field behind the Barn, and I follow him. The contents of his pack impress me—matches, newspaper, and bottle of rubbing alcohol. He wads the paper to make a little nest around the shorts.
    “Are you a Boy Scout or something?” I ask.
    “Aunt