Heteroflexibility Read Online Free PDF Page B

meeting.”
    “They’re okay girls,” Fern insisted, coming back at me, this time with a comb.
    “I don’t know anything about gay rights. I got confused just trying to figure out who they were in the coffee shop.”
    She began combing through my frizz. “It’s not rocket science.” She stood back to assess her progress on my hair. “Just don’t be a homophobe.”
    “I’m not a homophobe. I just worry I might look like one.”
    “You’ll do fine. Stick close to me.” She turned to a rack of hats by her closet door. Every type of headwear imaginable covered the pegs, from sequined top hats to pink net pill boxes. She tugged down a red ball cap, standard issue.
    “Really?” I asked.
    “You’ll fit right in.” She set the cap on my head and pulled my hair through the hole in back. “This needs some conditioner.” She stepped into the bathroom and returned with a squeeze bottle. The room filled with the scent of gardenia as she smoothed the mass of frizz. “There. Much better.”
    She turned me to the mirrored wall. My hair was almost tame, the flyaway strands smoothed into a curly mop.
    She popped the cap shut. “Let’s go!”
    I trudged after her, quite sure I was headed toward certain doom.
    ***
    My Volvo bounced and bumped through potholes in the dirt as we approached the softball fields.
    Colored shirts dotted the fields in every direction, along with knee socks and shiny shorts. I had never been much of a sports player. The two times I’d ever been to bat in junior high, I’d closed my eyes and swung. Making any sort of connection between metal and leather was about as likely as bumping uglies with Brad Pitt.
    Fern peered out the window like a kid looking into FAO Schwartz.
    I gripped the steering wheel. Despite being worried about how she might act, I was glad she had asked me to come along. I vowed to let her do the talking to avoid embarrassing myself. “What are we looking for?” I asked.
    “Red uniforms that say ‘Satan’s Hoebags.’”
    “Oh, right. Their team.”
    She pointed at a mass of women in purple. “Oh, look at those. Palin’s Power Tools.”
    Their shirts had an image of Sarah Palin’s face on the front. The backs read, “A Team You Can Get Behind!”
    I pulled up next to the line of cars and parked. “Sarah Palin. Finally get a woman on the ballot and it has to be a conservative ex-beauty queen.”
    Fern opened her door. “Don’t worry. Caribou Barbie will have the shelf life of a day-old Twinkie once Obama gets elected.”
    I killed the engine. “He’s a sure thing?”
    Fern stepped out of the car, then popped her platinum head back inside. “As sure as Carrot Top being your soul mate.”
    I got of the car and nervously ran my hand along the conditioned ponytail. Strands were already starting to dry out and fly away.
    We headed toward the bleachers. “I am so going to blow this.”
    “Just be calm and confident.” She waved to a blue group. “These team names are so great—the Love Monkeys.”
    A beautiful girl in a Love Monkey uniform nodded as we passed. “What team are YOU on?” she asked.
    I shook my head at her. “We don’t play softball.”
    Fern gripped me tighter and steered me abruptly away. “Just a joke!” she called over her shoulder. “This one’s not mine!”
    After a few steps, she said, “Don’t talk!”
    “What? What did I say?”
    Fern leaned in so close her cheek brushed mine. “She wasn’t asking me if I was on a softball team. She wanted to know if I was gay or straight.”
    “How was I supposed to know that?”
    We passed another team called the “Big Rods.” I had to tread carefully over the broken ground, rutted with tire tracks and clumps of dried dirt. Fern hanging on me like a drunk chimpanzee didn’t help. “Is this a special league?”
    “With names like that? Obviously. It’s the Gay and Lesbian Athletic Alliance League. They have them in California too.”
    I forced us to slow down to avoid tripping. “Are