Chapter 9 Fembots and Bubble Tea
Fembots and Bubble Tea
Istare into the bluest eyes I have ever seen.
My right knee buckles and I stumble like an idiot.
PJ reaches for my elbow, and I straighten myself up and fall back into his eyes that are the color of a summer sky.
If I do nothing but stare into his eyes for the rest of my life, I will be a happy boy.
My tongue hangs from my mouth like a Labrador retriever, so I promptly close it and compose myself. I reach out to shake his hand.
“Hi, PJ. I’m Simon. Simon Bugg. It’s nice to meet you.”
His handshake is rock hard, but his skin is buttery soft.
It’s like touching a newborn baby. The golden hair covering his forearms sparkles in the sunlight shining through the window.
His belly is a bit round and protrudes through his T-shirt, but his strong jaw and blond hair make him look like Apollo, the Olympian God of sun and light.
No doubt about it, I am smitten! Do I like boys now?
The final bell marks the end of the school day, but I stall in my seat. I hope PJ comes back to talk to me. I make a show of sorting through my backpack pretending to look for something. As luck would have it, PJ doesn’t leave the classroom. Instead, he walks straight over to me.
“What are you looking for? It must be important by the way you’re digging through that backpack.”
My face flushes as I continue to fumble nervously around the bottom of my pack.
“Uh, I was, uh, looking for this.” I hold up the first thing I grab—yesterday’s granola wrapper.
Only then does it occur to me that I could have said something normal like I was looking for my car keys instead of trash.
PJ steps back and gives me the once-over; my already red face ignites into flames.
“You were looking for an empty granola bar wrapper?” he teases with a Cheshire cat grin.
“Uh, yeah, I…I didn’t realize it was empty,” I say, attempting a save.
“You didn’t realize the empty wrapper was empty? You are a strange one, Simon Bugg!”
“Well, see, I ate part of it yesterday, and I guess I forgot that I ate the rest of it. I’m hungry.
Actually, I’m starving.” I shake a few crumbs from the wrapper and pop them into my mouth.
I could die of embarrassment. Spontaneous human combustion is a thing, right?
I want to burn up and disappear into a pile of ash.
PJ stares at me with his piercing blue eyes and grins.
“How did you get to school today, Simon Bugg? Did you take the bus?”
“No, I drove myself.”
“Well, then, Simon Bugg,” he says mischievously, “let’s go get this hungry boy some food.”
We walk out the classroom door and Tillie calls, “Goodbye, my lovelies, see you tomorrow.”
We don’t speak. I walk briskly toward my car, and PJ follows. When we arrive in the parking lot and I locate Tom, my insecurity sets in. I love Tom, but he is old and rusty. I look around the parking lot and notice all the newer, fancier cars the other seniors brought to school.
I’m about to make up some excuse about Tom when PJ asks, “Is this your car?”
I nod slowly.
“Awesome. Totally awesome. My parents won’t let me have my own car. But sometimes, on weekends, they let me drive one of theirs. Unfortunately, they don’t let me drive the Saab, but if I’m lucky they let me take the Toyota. I’m so jealous. Wow, you have your own car! You are so lucky, Simon.”
PJ’s exuberance puts a smile on my face, and I begin to relax. We get into the car and put on our seatbelts. I tell him how my friend Mags named the car Tom, and he agrees that Tom is the perfect name. He keeps grinning and repeating how lucky I am to have my own car and how jealous he is.
As I pull the car out of the parking lot, he asks, “Where are we going?”
I have to think about it for a moment. Where to go?
My first thought is Starbucks for more of that delicious iced green tea.
But I don’t want to run into Hector and have to explain who he is to PJ.
Even worse, what if Hector asks why I abruptly stopped texting him last night?
Starbucks is a hard no, but the thought of tea gives me an idea.
“Have you ever had bubble tea before?” I ask.
“Can you eat it?”
“Sort of, but mostly it’s a drink.”
“Because I thought you were starving.”
“Well, I’m not as hungry as I thought.”
“I didn’t think you were,” he says slyly.
We look each other right in the eye and burst out laughing.
“My friend Mags turned me and Neel on to bubble tea, and now we’re obsessed! As soon as I told Mags I was moving to Rockville, she was on her phone searching for a local bubble tea shop where we could all go hang out when they visit.”
“Where do they live?” PJ asks.
“Oh, I moved from Columbia. Neel, Mags, and I have been BFFs since grade school. We grew up together. We’re like the three amigos—a quirky, nerdy trio. They’re my best friends.”
“Ah,” PJ says with a nod. He shares that he once had a close-knit group of friends, but they don’t talk to him anymore. His face clouds over, and it’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it. I don’t press him with any questions. I can appreciate wanting to keep painful memories to yourself.
We walk into the shop, and PJ looks around in awe.
He admires the teapots, the endless shelves of golden, urn-shaped tins, and the neatly stacked boxes of tea.
He seems especially fascinated by the gnarled ginseng roots in a glass case by the register.
I’m so lucky to have diverse friends who teach me so much about their culture and heritage.
“This shop is called Ten Ren. Mags told me it means heavenly love. Fitting, don’t you think?
“That’s beautiful, just like this shop,” he says. My grin goes from ear to ear.
We look over the drink menu, and I point out my favorite—sour apple bubble tea. He scrunches up his face at the mention of sour.
“Your first bubble tea is on me so pick any flavor you like,” I say. “That way if you hate it, you won’t be out any money.”
He holds a fist to his heart and blushes. “I’ll have mango.”
We take our drinks outside and walk around the shopping center while we sip them. He loves the mango-flavored tea but is weirded out by the bubbles floating in it.
“What are these made out of again?” he asks.
“Tapioca. They’re called boba.”
“Why are they translucent? They’re freaking me out.” I laugh out loud as I watch him sip the tea while trying to avoid sucking the boba up the straw.
“Give them a try. You might like them.”
PJ spits a boba in my direction, and we fall into a fit of laughter. We take another loop around the shopping center.
“So, what’s it like to go to a new school for your senior year? I’ve never known anyone who has done that before.”
“It’s fine. I just don’t really care all that much.”
He nods his head to my answers like he hears me, but it also seems like he’s not sure what I mean. I attempt to clarify.
“I’m not a fan of any school, PJ. I’m just counting down the days until graduation.” This he seems to totally get.
He tells me about the teachers, the cliques, the jocks, the bullies, and the school cafeteria.
I tell him about seeing the stoners get caught smoking pot in the trees when I was outside for lunch.
He loves hearing the story, so I briefly mention the lady at the school office and how she reminded me of a robot.
“That’s it!” I yell, startling PJ.
“What’s it?”
“I knew she reminded me of something, but I couldn’t place what it was earlier today.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense. What does she remind you of?”
“A fembot!”
“A fem-what?”
“A fembot. From The Bionic Woman. It’s a TV show from the seventies, and I’ve watched the reruns with my mom a thousand times. My mom loves Lindsay Wagner. They have the same name except my mom spells hers with an e and Bionic Lindsay spells her name with an a.”
“Okay,” he says. “I have no idea who Lindsay Wagner is, and I certainly don’t know about any fembots.”
I pull my phone from my back pocket and pull up a YouTube clip to show him.
I pick the scene where the fembot gets her face ripped off to reveal the robot underneath.
He bursts out laughing. It’s infectious, and I laugh too.
We’re in hysterics for what feels like ten minutes.
I feel happy and free. I’m having a nice time, and then it hits me. Oh my God! This might be a date.
“Clearly, you’ve got a cool mom. My mom is boring. She watches bad reality television like The Bachelor or The Real Housewives of This and That. Is your dad cool too?”
Uh oh.
“Well…I don’t see him much.” Heat rushes to my cheeks. It’s hard to talk about my parents, but I decide to be brave and carry on. “My parents are divorced. My mom is a lesbian.”
I brace myself for PJ’s reaction. I don’t usually offer up this much personal intel on my family.
When it has come up in the past, kids have been super cruel.
But I only see kindness in PJ’s eyes, so I continue.
“Mom came out when I was around two. I guess it must have taken a lot of courage back then to ask for a divorce, move out, and raise a kid alone.”
“Absolutely it did. Your mom sounds very brave. I’m seriously impressed.” PJ leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. “So, how did your dad take the news?”
“Honestly, I don’t think he cared. He didn’t fight or try to convince her to stay.
At least that’s what I’ve been told. I’m not sure he even wanted kids.
I barely saw him growing up. His life was always in flux.
Each new girlfriend had him moving to a new city—usually for the length of the relationship.
They never lasted for more than a year or so. ”
“Ah. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. It never bothered me much. Funny thing, though, he is back in Maryland, alone, for the first time in several years.
He claims he moved back to have a relationship with me, but I still barely see him.
He’s a pharmaceutical rep and travels constantly.
Once in a while, we see a movie together or go for pizza.
It’s fine. We talk about music or TV shows, but nothing too deep. ”
“Hey, that sounds like a somewhat positive step forward in your relationship.”
“I guess. Surprisingly, he came to Mom and Carole’s wedding last year.
Carole’s my stepmom, by the way. I couldn’t believe they invited him in the first place.
But Mom insisted. She said it wasn’t his fault she was in the closet when she married him.
I was convinced he wouldn’t show up but, lo and behold, he did. ”
“That must have been awkward.”
“It was for me. He had a great time laughing, drinking, and unsuccessfully trying to pick up some of Mom’s lesbian friends. I could have died when he shouted over the DJ, Are there any straight women here tonight?”
PJ laughs and slurps the last of the mango tea. He’s left with a pile of ice and boba in the bottom of his cup.
“Sorry, I loved the drink, just not the tapioca part. Want my bubbles?”
He smiles and holds his cup out to me. I hesitate before taking it.
We only met a few hours ago. It seems a bit too intimate to be sharing straws so soon.
We’re not friends. Yet. But I take the cup from him anyway and begin sucking the tapioca balls up the straw.
It gives me an immediate rush to put my lips on the straw that was just in his mouth.
There’s a stirring in my shorts, and I quickly sit on a bench before he notices.
He sits next to me and asks why I wasn’t at school yesterday. It’s hard to tell him that I don’t have a good answer. I stall by looking down at my feet in silence for a moment, then blurt out that I got scared and couldn’t make myself walk through the front door of the school.
“So, you went back home instead?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I mumble. I look up and find his eyes. His gaze is sweet and thoughtful. I could melt right here and now in his arms. In public, in front of everyone. I want him to hold me; to tell me everything will be all right, and there’s no need to ever feel scared again.
He places his hand on mine and rubs over my fingers. I yank my hand away in shock and jump to my feet.
“Um, you know what?” I stammer. “I am kind of hungry. Do you want to go grab some fries somewhere?”
He shakes his head. Red in the face, he looks more embarrassed than I am. Dumb, Simon, dumb! Why did I pull away? A moment ago, I wanted him to hold me. Does that mean I’m gay? My heart beats faster as the shaking comes back.
PJ stands up too, and says, “Actually, I need to get back now.”
I offer to drive him home, but he shakes his head. “Just take me back to school.”
“Okay,” I choke in defeat. I don’t question his one-eighty.
We drive back to school in silence; the air is heavy between us.
I keep a death grip on the steering wheel to conceal my shaking hands.
A blistering, red hive appears on my left cheek.
I turn my head so PJ won’t notice it which makes it look like I’m trying to ignore him.
This is a mess. I pull into the school parking lot, and PJ has the door open before I come to a complete stop.
“Thanks,” he mutters and walks away without looking back.
“Damn it!” I say out loud, letting my head fall to the steering wheel. The persistent voice in my head jabs, Simon, you idiot, what have you done? What have you done?