You are Carla

You are Carla.

It’s Senior Year. You’re 18 and so is everyone else. That doesn’t change High School as much as you thought it would. The real change is where you are.

At age 12 you left Gurlberg for Oakland. Now you’re back. It’s been a long time, but this town hasn’t changed at all. Still quiet, humid, and boring.

Well, except for the company. Your alarm beeps at you and you sit up, immediately rolling over to the window to peek through the curtains. Nope. That redhead’s not giving you a show this morning. That’s a pity. Your shirt isn’t stuck to you, which means that was a rare night without a wet dream. You did dream about your ex, Tiffany. In the dream you were on a crowded beach, rubbing suntan lotion on her back while on top of her, discreetly humping against her plump rear end.

That was just a dream though, not a memory. In reality, your intimate moments with her were all in your room with MTV playing, deep under the covers on top of her, pressing your face against her sweaty neck as her hot, slick depths swallowed your cock and she scratched at your back, pleading for you to do it harder.

You take a deep breath. Tiffany isn’t around anymore.

You get up and leave your room, tossing aside your nightshirt.

“Carla, don’t run around naked,” your mom scolds you, although her heart isn’t in it. It’s not as though you’re walking down the street; it’s like teen feet from your door to your bathroom.

The house isn’t nearly ready. Most of your stuff is still in boxes, but you find a towel. You only moved in yesterday. Your shower is quick, then you’re toweling off and wondering what to do with your hair. You gaze at yourself in the mirror. You’ve always tanned easily, but you’re a bit pale at the moment because of the time of year. Your short, black hair is frizzy and curly. You can spend time straightening it, but it’s your first day at Gurlberg High. You may as well give them the real you. As for the rest of you? It’s been six years and you’ve grown, at least a little. You’re leaner than you used to be, and you will never be a gorgeous, hourglass-shaped supermodel, but you have just enough curves that no one will mistake you for a boy unless you want them to. The penis complicates that. It’s gotten pretty big. Not big compared to, say, a tall tree… but on your relatively slight frame, it’s not small, even soft. And from the noises that it used to get out of Tiffany, you know that it can deliver. It’s pointless to try to hide it, and you don’t want to anyway. Some girls will be turned off by it, and others will be intrigued. The same with boys. You’re used to that by now.

“Your strap’s showing,” your mom says as you breeze through the kitchen. Of course it is; you’re wearing a black bra under a white tank. “Hey,” she says, and you stop and look back.

She peers at you suspiciously. “Where are you going so early?”

It’s not that early, but she has a point. Usually, you are out the door just in time to not be late.

“I want to check on something,” you tell her.

She searches your face for a moment, then chops a bagel in half. She slides a fried egg onto it, wraps the sandwich in a napkin, and holds it out to you.

“Eat something. And don’t be late on your first day,” she warns.

“What, no cheese?” you ask.

It takes you a minute to figure out where your new street is in relation to the rest of the town. And another ten minutes to get where you’re going, even walking fast. But you grew up in Gurlberg and you know its streets. You quickly find your way.

It may not be the most normal thing to just stand outside a house and wait, but you don’t mind doing it. You might be wrong. If you are, you really will be late for school.

But this is worth a try. You have to do this. So you stand on the sidewalk and stare up at the nice, three-story house. It’s a little cool because it’s so early, but it’ll warm up.

You’re officially late. School starts in ten minutes. You can’t get there on foot in that amount of time, even running… but behind you is a red Firebird, and you are pretty sure that you know who it belongs to.

The front door opens and a girl emerges. She’s as lean as you are and just as tall. In terms of shape, you’re almost identical. Your features are soft and feminine, but hers have become sharper since you knew her in middle school. Her wild, black hair is short, like yours. She wears overly baggy jeans and a green, flannel shirt over a plain white tee.

She freezes at the sight of you, a Pop Tart in her hand.

You are still chewing the last bite of your bagel. You swallow and wipe your hands on your mother’s thoughtful napkin.

“Hey, Stef. Sleeping in?”

She looks at you, then puts her hand over her mouth. She looks back into her house, then down at you.

“Carla?”

You shrug and make a face. “Who else would I be?”

“Oh my god,” she says, coming down the steps. Her bookbag slips off her shoulder, and she barely hangs onto it. “Oh my god.”

You don’t need to act cool. Not with Stef. You drop your own backpack and hug her. It’s a little startling how tightly she squeezes you. It’s been a few years, and you never expected to see each other again, so it’s fair for her to be surprised. But you can tell from the way that she holds you that the last couple years have not been as much fun for her as they were for you.

But she, unlike you, apparently has a car.

“Can you give me a ride?” you ask.

She just laughs. With Stef’s total failure to yield to stop signs, you make it to school on time. That five-minute drive is all you get. Then you’re in one class and Stef’s in another.

You left Gurlberg long before you got to High School, so you never saw this place. It’s an old mountain of bricks, as ugly on the inside as it is on the outside. It’s like it was built in the Middle Ages.

You don’t even get lunch at the same time as Stef. The day is a blur. You meet some people. Some of them are nice, some aren’t. Some are hot and some are not, like the goth girl that has the locker next to yours. She just looks at you, then hunches and walks away when you try to introduce yourself. You actually like that type, but… maybe not this one.

“Hey,” you say, grabbing the arm of the boy with the next locker. “Who’s that?”

“Ellen,” he says. “She’s just shy.”

“OK,” you say, staring after her.

“I’m Jimmy, by the way,” he says.

You turn and look at him. He’s tall and cute, with brown hair and bangs, hazel eyes, and a big smile. His shirt has the Batman cartoon on it, the one where his jaw looks like a square.

There was a guy just like him at your last school. He thought he was going to go all the way and so did you until he noticed your penis. Then he lost his shit and nobody had a good night.

“Nice to meet you, Jimmy,” you say, faking a smile and patting his arm.

After school, you find Stef in the parking lot, just like you agreed.

“So I didn’t imagine you,” she says as you approach.

“Nope,” you say.

“I told you how much I missed you, right?”

“Yeah. And you sounded like such a little bitch,” you say, joining her in leaning against her Firebird. “What happened to you?”

She snorts. “Shut up,” she begins, but doesn’t go on. Stef used to be your best friend, and not much has changed. She has gotten a bit taller, but like you, she hasn’t filled out much.

She is still very easy to read. You follow her gaze.

“Oh, shit,” you mutter as you watch the redhead come out of the school. She wears a blue skirt and a No Doubt top. Her… generous chest strains against it, bouncing slightly as she walks. She is beautiful. Her bright, red hair swings with each step. You are suddenly in the same trance that Stef is in, watching her walk out to her VW Beetle. She waves at some other girls, then climbs in.

“You know,” you say, reaching over to Stef.

“Huh?” she says distractedly, still ogling the redhead.

You pinch her ass, hard.

“Ah! Son of a bitch! What?” she snaps, glaring at you.

“You should come over tonight,” you say, watching the Beetle drive away. “I think I have something you should see. Does your dad, uh… does he still birdwatch?”

GB1996

A lot of emotions go with this, but… finding Stef makes it all simple. You don’t have to worry about the impressions you make or how to present yourself to this new school. Stef is already here. She makes things easy.

“Stef!” your mom shrieks when Stef comes into the house, grabbing her in a hug.

Even your dad seems relieved to see Stef. That bugs you, but it’s not a problem. As you watch Stef gobbling down your mom’s enchiladas, just like she did when you were both in middle school, things just feel weird. But not bad.

She asks some questions about California, and you and your family ask some questions about Gurlberg.

But nothing has changed here. The same people are still in charge. It’s still humid and swampy. Nothing new has come to town, and nothing old has left it. Six years is not so long after all.

After dinner and dessert, you and Stef finally have some privacy in your room. She dumps her duffel bag on the floor and looks around.

“I guess you’re still moving in,” she says.

“We got here yesterday,” you tell her defensively.

“I know,” she says, putting her arms around you again. You want to laugh as you rest your chin on her shoulder and she sniffles.

“I missed you too,” you say.

She just sniffles again. Then she gets herself together and at least tries to act cool.

“I hope those aren’t JNCOs,” you say to her once you separate.

“So what if they are?” she replies. They aren’t. They’re just big, baggy Lees.

“You have a butt,” you say with a laugh. “Don’t hide it.”

She rolls her eyes and sits in your beanbag chair. “Was it different in California?”

“Very different,” you assure her. It’s like night and day.

“Are you sorry you came back?”

She asks the question with such vulnerability that it doesn’t seem fair. You sigh.

“No,” you say. She smiles. “Did you bring them?”

“Yeah, but why?” She gets the binoculars out of her bag and hands them to you.

“No, you keep them.” You push them back into her hands. “Check that out.” You part the curtains for her, and she frowns. “Check out that window.”

“It’s somebody’s bedroom,” she murmurs. “Why are we spying like perverts?”

“Because we are perverts,” you reply, rubbing her back. “Is she home?”

“There’s nobody in there. Cute room.”

“OK, just… keep an eye on it. There’s a really cute girl over there.”

“Oh,” Stef says, lowering the binoculars and looking at you uncertainly.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Just say it,” you snap.

“What? How glad I am that you’re back?”

“No, how hot I look. Look at all this.” You gesture toward your modest, totally unimpressive chest.

“Oh, fuck you.” She laughs, though. “Who are we spying on?”

You see… a choice in front of you.

Tease Stef?

Or tell her the girl next door is the redhead she was staring at?