Free Those Girls by Lauren Saft Page B

In front of people. In front of my friends.
    We dressed as a mariachi band. I begged to wear a vest and sombrero like everybody else, but the boys insisted I go in a more Catalan/flamenco direction. I hate myself in dresses. I feel like a drag queen in them, but it was Halloween and the Cunning Runts’ balls-out, full commitment to the causeseemed like it was going to be hilarious when we came up with the idea, so I said okay.
    We stewed in a back office, hearts pounding, legs twitching, foreheads sweating, my hair slicked back in a bun, a rose behind my ear, a fake mole penciled on my cheek, and a dark premonition that my dress would split onstage.
    “Alex, this is what we practice for!” Ned said. “Please stop looking like you’re about to puke.”
    I couldn’t even muster a polite laugh. My heart beat in my eyes.
    I sat on a swivel chair in the stale old office that smelled like a taxi. Fernando knelt in front of me. He reached out both hands and held my shoulders. “Alex,” he said, peering deeply into my bloodless face, “you are beautiful and talented and going to rock shit out there, man.”
    He rubbed his warm hands up and down my goose-bumped arms.
    Our flirtation had continued, sort of. At least that’s what I thought it was, but I wasn’t sure, because I had zero experience in this area. I’d thought maybe boys had liked me in the past, but it never ended up materializing into anything. Things always took a turn, and they ended up with someone else and just being my “best friend,” so I’d learned to be careful not to delude myself and accidentally think I was pretty or talented or special in any way, because I couldn’t risk being humiliated and disappointed when it turned out that wasn’t true. And even if he was flirting with me, I wasn’t going to do anything about it. Even though I’d never had an actual relationship, I’d seenenough to know that this was the fun part: the imagining, the flirting, the possibilities. It was all downhill into boredom and jealousy and paranoia after that. Right now, he thought I was cool and interesting and fun. If he really got to know me, he’d see that I was actually not that cute and not that interesting and just a dumb insecure girl like everyone else. Or he’d become another Drew and learn to love me, but not like that. It wasn’t worth it. It was better like this. Plus, sometimes boys just like to flirt, it doesn’t mean they actually, physically, want to do and/or plan on doing anything about it. I resigned myself to stay focused on the music, assuming it was nothing.
    “Please don’t make me sing,” I said, almost in tears. “I’m fine on the piano in the back. Please, just don’t make me sing. Ned should sing.”
    “Is that really what you want?” Fernando asked. I felt guilty for thinking how right he looked in a sombrero.
    “Fuck that,” said Ned.
    “What band has a chick and doesn’t put her in the front?” said Pete.
    “You’re Gwen Stefani,” Ned said. “You’re Stevie Nicks, Grace Slick, Lauryn Hill, the chick from Garbage.”
    “Can’t I be D’arcy Wretzky?” I pleaded. “Let it be. Please.”
    Fernando looked at me, and the tears welled again. He put his hand on my trembling face, turned, and said, “Dude, look at her. Give her a fucking break, man.”
    I looked at Ned and Pete, tears still mounting, heart still racing. I now not only feared I was going to be mocked and ridiculed by my friends and the audience, but also that I wasabout to gravely disappoint my bandmates, the only people who might even possibly still sort of respect me.
    “Really, Holbrook?” Ned asked. “You’re really that scared?”
    “I’m not scared!” I shouted, tears now fully falling down my cheeks. “I’m just not good enough.”
    The twins threw their sombreros on the ground and rolled their eyes.
    “Please don’t cry,” Fernando said, wiping a rogue tear from my cheek. “It’s cool. Ned will lead tonight.”
    I was so