Getting It Read Online Free PDF Page A

the bus began its bumpy ride.

Nine
    â€œS IT HERE!” C ARLOS told Sal, grabbing the first empty bus seats—as far away as possible from his back-row buds. Unfortunately, that meant sitting beside Vicky Vasquez, a girl Carlos had been friends with till middle school, when she began dressing weird—in porkpie hats, polka-dot stockings, and other uncool stuff that made people start to call her “Freaky Vicky the Lesbi.”
    Carlos didn’t know what dressing weird had to do with being a lesbian. Yet, out of concern for his own rep, he began avoiding her, reasoning that she’d brought the stigma upon herself.
    â€œHi, Vicky!” Sal now called out.
    â€œHi, Sal,” she yelled across Carlos, ignoring him as he peeled off his backpack. “What are you doing on this bus?”
    â€œGoing to Carlos’s,” Sal shouted back.
    Carlos slunk down in his seat. Did Sal have to announce the fact loud enough for the entire bus to hear?
    â€œBe careful,” Vicky warned Sal, darting a scornful glance at Carlos. “He’ll turn on you.”
    Carlos cringed, wishing he could disappear. Not only had he ditched his friends and had the school queer inform the entire bus he was going to Carlos’s, now Vicky had reminded everyone she used to be his friend. Carlos’s entire high school rep seemed to be careening out of control.
    The instant the bus reached his stop, Carlos whispered to Sal, “Come on!”
    â€œHey!” Vicky called after him. “You forgot your backpack.”
    Carlos grabbed it and hurried out the door. As the bus pulled away, he peered from beneath his sweatshirt hood toward the rear window. His buds’ faces stared back at him, brows furrowed in confusion.
    â€œWhy are you so stuck-up?” Sal asked as they walked toward Carlos’s white-stucco apartment complex.
    â€œI’m not stuck-up,” Carlos muttered, shoving his fists into his hoodie pockets.
    â€œYeah, you are,” Sal insisted. “You didn’t even say thanks to Vicky for handing you your backpack.”
    â€œShe’s a freak.” Carlos defended himself. “Just look at how weird she dresses. No one talks to her.”
    â€œDude, it’s called being an individual. That makes her a freak?”
    Carlos kept silent, uncertain how to respond. On
Queer Eye
they hadn’t told the straight guy to talk to some freakazoid lesbian. As Sal and he crossed the parking lot toward his building, a panicked thought crossed Carlos’s mind: Was Sal planning to turn him into a freak?

Ten
    C ARLOS SWUNG OPEN his apartment door and stepped inside. But Sal remained standing outside, scowling as if Carlos had just farted in his face.
    â€œUm, what’s the matter?” Carlos asked.
    â€œDude …” Sal gave a sigh. “When you’re with someone, don’t just barge ahead of them. Open the door and let them go first.”
    Carlos flushed warm from embarrassment—and annoyance.
“Dude,”
he echoed sarcastically, “you’re not a girl.”
    â€œDoesn’t matter,” Sal shot back. “It shows you’re considerate—or
not.”
    Carlos narrowed his eyes, debating whether to tell Sal,
Go blow yourself!
Grudgingly, he stepped back out to the corridor and stood aside.
    â€œThanks.” Sal strode past him into the living room.
    â€œYou’re welcome,” Carlos grumbled, silently adding,
pendejo.
    As Carlos closed the front door, the phone began to ring. He jogged to get it, but upon seeing Playboy’s number displayed on the caller ID, he stopped short and let the call roll to voicemail.
    â€œYou want something to eat?” he asked Sal.
    Inside the kitchen, he tossed packs of snack cakes, corn chips, and marshmallows onto the kitchen table. “Grab whatever you want, man.”
    Sal stared at the pile. “Have you ever read the ingredient labels for this junk? It’s all fat and