Free Boy Minus Girl by Richard Uhlig Page B

purse, which is slung over the wooden kitchen chair, and removes a strip of small black-and-white photos, the type you take in one of those booths, and hands it to me. They show her and a very cute blonde in each picture. Their arms are around each other, and in two of the photos they are kissing. “This is my Lauren.”
    I hand back the photo strip and try not to look like I want to cry. “Does your mom know?”
    “It’s the biggest reason we don’t get along. She insists I’m doing this to get back at her for something.”
    “And your dad?”
    “It’s why he moved us back here. To keep me away from Lauren.”
    The kitchen suddenly feels hot, cramped, and it’s hard for me to catch my breath.
    “No one else knows,” she says. “Please don’t say anything.”
    I nod numbly and walk toward her front door.
    “Les . . . I hope this won’t hurt our friendship,” she says. “I really like hanging out with you.”
    I manage to ride my bike out of view of her house before the tears break.
    ***
    Jesus . . . why? Aren’t I allowed to become a man? Who’s going to help me with this? What have I done to deserve this? Where is Your heart?

Seduction Tip Number 7:
    That Voice

    Get a tape recorder and say the following into the microphone: “Has anyone ever told you you have the most amazing eyes?” Now listen to your recorded self. Are you speaking from the deep masculine chest or the strained virginal throat? Is your voice smooth or shaky? Record yourself again and hone your technique until you master the deep, alluring purr of the Seductive Man.

    I spend the rest of Saturday in bed, facing the wall, with the covers pulled up to my chin. A lesbian in Harker City. Who’d guess such a thing? How could I possibly have known she was one of those? It was only a couple of years ago that I even heard the term “lesbian.” And aren’t they always manly women? Is this a ploy for her to appear special and different? Like her flapper costumes?
Or
does she just need to be with the right guy? After all, she’s never dated a guy. Could
I
change her? Except . . . she seems like she knows exactly who she is and she and the blonde looked very much in love in those pictures. This is not fair. Still, if I could only convince her to give me a shot . . . who knows?

    Sunday afternoon. I’m lying in bed, wondering if I will ever get over Charity, when the phone rings. Moments later Mom yells from downstairs, “Les, you’re wanted on the phone—by a girl.”
    No. I’m not, Mom. I’m not wanted by any girl.
    Still, I force myself to take the call.
    “Hey, Les, it’s me.” Sounds like she’s been crying.
Over me?
    “Hey.”
    “Can you meet me at the Frosty Queen in an hour?” she asks. “I need to talk to you.”
    Maybe she’s given it some more thought and discovered she isn’t as lesbian as she thought? Could she have feelings for me after all?
    “Uh, okay. See you soon.”
    I hang up, wondering if Jesus has decided to throw me a bone. I warn myself against such feelings—but my hopes
are
up. I will play it cool. Just a sexy, experienced guy, willing to forgive her. And then . . .

    When I step into the garage to fetch my bike, I freeze at the sight of my Chinese vanishing box—100 percent finished. And it’s painted a fancy shiny black. A red velvet curtain hangs regally in its doorway. It looks like a million bucks.
    I find Mom and Dad in the garden, on their knees weeding.
    “Dad, it looks awesome!” I say. “It’s totally perfect!”
    Dad turns to me, shaking his head. “What’re you talking about, son?”
    “The vanishing box. I just know I’m going to win the talent show now.”
    Dad still looks baffled. “I haven’t worked on it.”
    “Your uncle finished it last night,” Mom declares as she falls back on her heels.
    “Well, that was certainly nice of him,” Dad says, looking almost hurt.
    “I have to thank him,” I say. “Where is he?”
    “Hard telling,” Mom says. “He drove off