Page 37 of Like a Love Story
“Who’s the little prince?”
Why are you not ignoring him, Judy? Ignore him.
“My stepbrother,” he says. And then, with a smirk, he adds, “Your boy toy.”
“He’s the same age as you,” I say.
Saadi smiles, like I’ve set him up for a perfect response. “I know,” he says. “But he’s so small and cute.”
I just shake my head. I don’t want to talk to him. I just want to pick the food out of my teeth and go back to the table.
“So what’s with him and Madonna?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “What’s with you and your white hat?”
Stop engaging, Judy.
“I look cute in it,” he says, his overconfidence anything but cute. “Have you seen his room? There’s a newpicture of Madonna every day. Two posters was weird enough. Now it’s like a shrine or something.”
“If you have a point, make it,” I say.
“I think you know my point,” he says with an arched brow.
Why is the person in the bathroom taking so long? Hurry up, lady. I’m about to go ballistic on this dude.
But she doesn’t hurry. And I can’t hold back any longer. “You know something, you’re an asshole,” I say. “And so unoriginal too. Guys like you are everywhere. In fact, you don’t even need to speak anymore, because I know everything you’re going to say next.”
“Fine,” he says, holding his hands up. “I’ll shut up now. I was just trying to save you.”
“Oh, please,” I say. “Save me from what?”
He doesn’t say it. He’s a jerk, but there’s only so far he’ll take it. I know what he’s thinking though, some version of “I’m trying to save you from getting AIDS from your gay boyfriend who loves Madonna so much.”
“Did you follow me to the bathroom to harass me?” I ask.
“You asked me not to speak,” he says. “Now you’re the one asking me questions.”
“Shut up,” I say.
“I did not follow you to the bathroom to harass you,” he says. “I came to the bathroom because I ate too much roughage.”
“You’re certifiably disgusting,” I say. “And by the way,I can tell you from experience that Reza isn’t gay, not that you said the word. You’re probably too afraid to say it. You probably think that speaking it means you’ll get the disease.”
“Oh yeah, are you sure?” he asks. “Does he get hard when you kiss him?”
“Get away from me,” I say. “That’s none of your business.”
“Which means he hasn’t gotten hard.” Saadi smirks.
“Of course he has,” I say, hoping the lie isn’t too obvious.
“Uh-huh.” It’s obvious Saadi doesn’t believe me. “In that case, I would bet his eyes are closed, and he’s thinking about Tom Cruise when he kisses you.”
The bathroom door opens. The skinny model emerges from inside, smiles sheepishly at us, and then returns to her table. I rush into the bathroom and close the door behind me.
I approach the mirror and smile big. There it is, a bright-orange piece of chicken stuck between my teeth. Disgusting. How long was it there? Will Reza’s mother forever think of me as the girl with food in her teeth? I pick at it with my nails, but it’s stubborn.
Saadi’s wrong about Reza. He’s so wrong. Reza holds my hand all the time. He loves kissing me. He loves spending time together and he lets me dress him, and... Okay, it’s not like we’ve gone further than kissing, but that’s as much my fault as his. It’s not like I’m sexually experienced myself. He’s probably just scared, or shy. Lotsof straight men like Madonna. Saadi is such a stereotype himself that he can only think in stereotypes. He doesn’t even know Reza. Even though they’re stepbrothers, they just met. Screw Saadi.
