The Back Seat

My older sister Carla was supposed to be babysitting me.

She’s in high school, she just got her braces off and figured out how to stick contacts in her eyes, but she's bad at putting on her Proactiv so she’s got lots of zits. I can say all that because I’m her sister. Just like how I can say she has hair on her toes and her boobs are different sizes.

Also, she likes to shower with the door open so everyone can hear her bad singing more clearly. That’s not really relevant, but it’s a fun fact.

Anyway, Carla is 16 and has never been laid, and she thinks that’s a really big deal. She was really hoping to get laid with our neighbor, Tommy, according to her diary. She and Tommy had been best friends since before I was born. They learned how to ride bikes together, and I guess used to take bubble baths together, according to my mom. To be honest, I wouldn’t want to get laid with someone I took a bath with. That’s just creepy.

Anyway Tommy used to look goofy but he turned into a good-looking kid with shiny hair and played on the tennis team at school. Somehow, through some kind of tennis connections, he ended up dating a college girl with much better boobs than my sister. And once you do good boobs, you can’t really go back, so I’ve heard.

That was the worst week of my life, when he started dating Tennis Boobs. Carla locked herself in our room all day and played the boring Coldplay songs and cried. I was like, hey, can I get into our room? I left my Game Boy in there. And she was like NO! So I couldn’t even play Donkey Kong.

Anyway, I’m getting off track here.

Carla was interested in this new guy at school named Zach. He was kind of a loner, a brooding type, which is sexy, according to her diary. She called him a Bad Boy, but Carla’s idea of Bad Boy is a guy that plays Dungeons & Dragons in the state park after the sun goes down. He wore cargo pants and hoodies and smelled kind of Bad, but I guess he did have nice hair.

Anyway, about 15 minutes after mom left for her date, Carla came bounding into our room holding her phone up for me to see.

“He asked me out. He wants to go out. Oh my GOD!” she said, shaking the phone up and down in my face. I couldn’t read it when she was jiggling it up and down like that, but I saw a lot of exclamation points from her side of the conversation. God, she was already ruining it.

“Congratulations,” I said, “Maybe now you’ll finally get laid.”

Carla stopped bouncing and looked at me.

“What? I don’t care about-- that,” she said. “I just want to have a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“And anyway, you shouldn’t be talking like that. You’re way too young.”

She typed on her phone, frantically. She paused, the phone dinged, and she looked up at me in awe.

“He wants to see a movie at the drive-in tonight.”

“You’re babysitting me.”

“I know, I know.” She flopped on the bed. “But what if this is it -- what if this is my only shot? What if he thinks I don’t like him and moves on to Heidi or something?”

Uh oh. Heidi had better boobs.

“I like movies,” I said.

“This movie is rated R,” she said, as if that was a big deal.

“So? Nobody cares.”

“You’re 10 years old.”

“You’re 16, technically you can’t see it either.”

“So, I can’t just… that’s not… you’re… I’m.... UGH! I’m not bringing you on my date!”

“I’ll hide in the back seat and play games, he’ll never even know I’m there.”

“What if you just stay here, alone, for a couple of hours?”

“What if I call mom?”

Carla narrowed her eyes at me. Then she was typing again.

“Alright. Whatever. But if you ruin this for me--”

I held out my pinky for a pinky swear. “I promise I’ll be good.”

15 minutes later I was sitting in the very back seat of our mom’s SUV as Carla drove across town to pick up Zach. She was nervous, and a bad driver, so she was swerving everywhere and I wanted to throw up.

She stopped to pick up Zach from his house, hitting the curb when she pulled the car over. We were definitely on the creepy side of town -- his front yard was overgrown with weeds and there was a fenced-in backyard full of barking dogs -- big, fat, cranky ones.

“Get down, he’ll see you!”

Carla was spreading another layer of make-up over her zits, kneading her skin like she was making Christmas cookies. It was getting dark outside, but it was still about 90 degrees, and her face was extra shiny and her hair was extra frizzy. The sight of herself in the rearview mirror was making her stressed, which made her neck all red. She was a hot mess, as they say.

Zach came brooding out of his front door, banging the screen door behind him, tossing his golden bangs. Carla inhaled sharply, nervous. I ducked down.

Zach opened the side of the van and slid into the back seat, one seat in front of me.

“I told my parents you were an Uber driver,” he explained to Carla. "They don't trust teenagers."

“Oh,” she said, “Cool. Um…Gotcha.”

I heard her fumbling around with the gear shift as though she’d forgotten how it worked. But eventually she pulled herself together and the car started rolling.

It was really quiet and weird for a few minutes, so I peeked up. Zach was looking at his phone -- I could tell from the way his head was lowered.

“Nice night,” Carla said.

Zach looked up. “What?”

“Oh I just said, "Nice night," because it’s probably what an Uber driver would say. So it’s like, kind of funny because that’s what I’m pretending to be.”

Oh my god, Carla, just shut up and make kissy faces in the mirror, that’s all this guy wants.

“Oh, hah,” he said, looking back down at his phone.

This was not going well.

We got to the drive-in and Carla tuned the radio to the right station for the movie, trying to make small talk. Something about science class, something about lunch, something about Heidi. It all felt so forced and dumb. After a few minutes, Zach went to go get some popcorn from the concession stand while a smiling hot dog danced on the big screen.

I popped up to say hi to Carla.

“Hey,” I said, “How are things going?”

Carla turned back to look at me, furious. “Get down!”

I didn’t.

“We had an arrangement!” she snarled.

“Are you having fun?”

Carla glared at me, motioning for me to get down, flapping her hand.

I couldn’t really watch the movie, because I had to hide, but it was a horror movie. I could tell because of all the shrill violin music and screaming. Something about a guy who goes to a hotel with a lady and she turns out to be a demon or something.

It had been quiet for a while, so I peeked up over the seat.

Carla and Zach were holding hands! Plot twist!

I ducked back down and played some more Donkey Kong, surprised that things were going that well. Maybe Carla had some game after all.

I heard them talking to each other in low whispers -- and then different sounds started. Muffled, slippery sounds. Sure enough, when I peeked up again, they were sucking face, really going at it. Or at least trying to -- neither of them seemed very good at it. They both had their eyes squeezed really tight, like they were trying to focus.

Ew.

I noticed a light on the back seat and looked down -- Zach’s phone was lighting up with messages. They were both so occupied, I couldn’t help myself. I reached around and snagged the phone, wanting to see what kind of bet he lost to end up in this situation.

I looked at his messages.

A bunch of random numbers -- no names. And they were all sending him one word.

Faggot.

Faggot.

Ur a fuckin’ FAGGOT.

Hmmm. I tried to remember what that word meant.

I heard Carla’s voice again -- she was whispering.

“Um, maybe we shouldn’t -- there’s people… around.”

“It’s dark in here, no one will see.”

“Yeah... Okay.”

I peeked up.

Zach was in the process of lifting Carla’s shirt off her body. It was getting stuck up around her head. Oh man. They were really going for it. I kind of couldn't help but watch.

“Um, maybe--” she said, muffled.

“It’s okay. Just relax.”

His hand was shaking and he reached for his pants pocket. He patted his pocket -- something was missing.

He looked around on the ground for it, looked toward the back seat, and he saw --

My face lit up by his phone.

“What the FUCK?!”

Zach scrambled backwards, fumbling for the car door. Carla shot up -- she couldn’t really see 'cause of all the shirt bunched around her head.

She sounded panicked. “What? What, what is it? Are they that bad?”

Zach got the door open and fell out onto the pavement.

“Zach!” Carla finally got her shirt down. “Did I do something?”

“There’s a fucking -- child -- in your car!” he spat, pointing at me.

Carla looked back at me. I waved, nervous. She sighed.

“It’s just Izzy, my sister. I was babysitting her and--”

“And you brought her here? What the FUCK?”

“Stop swearing!”

“Stop swearing?!! That’s what you’re fuckin' worried about?!”

A couple of car lights were coming on, people checking out the commotion. On screen, a creepy naked woman was crawling down a hallway towards us.

Zach looked at the screen and screamed.

Then he pinched the top of his nose and took a few deep breaths.

“I’m going home,” he said, finally.

“Should I drive you or--”

“No. I'm -- I'm sorry."

He flipped up the hood on his sweatshirt, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked towards the road. 

Carla sat, her hands gripping the wheel tightly, staring straight ahead.

She didn’t say anything for a long time. And then she let out a long, shaky breath.

“Sorry,” I said.

She shook her head.

“It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have…” She shook her head again.

I crawled up into the front seat so I could get a better look at her. Her foundation was runny, her eye stuff smeared, her lipstick rubbed off. And there were little tears sneaking out of her eyes. She brushed them away.

I put a hand on her shoulder and she leaned her head down and started to blubber, the way kids do when they hurt themselves and someone comes over to comfort them.

I whispered:

“If it makes you feel any better, I think maybe he was homosexual.”

She sniffed.

“What?”

“Everyone was calling him a bad word. I think that’s what it means.”

“What?”

“I mean he probably doesn’t like any boobs, not just yours.”

I held out his phone so she could see the messages.

We caught up with Zach as he was walking home, his fists still in his pockets, his face all scrunched up and red. It was starting to rain -- a summer thunderstorm. Really coming down. 

Carla pulled over and rolled down her window.

“Hey, get in,” she said, “We need to talk.”

Zach kept walking. Carla kept the car moving.

“I know what you were trying to do,” Carla said. “Please.”

Zach looked at both of us. He looked like he might just keep going. But then he stopped.

He opened the back door and got in.

They didn’t talk, not really. Instead they both just sat there in the dark car, each of them brushing their faces every few moments and sniffing and breathing heavy. It was taking so long that I took out my Game Boy and played a few levels of DK.

“I’m hungry," I said.

We went out to the 24-hour McDonald's drive-thru for fries and shakes, and ate everything in the car. Mom was going to be so pissed about the crumbs.

Before we dropped him off, I reached back to give Zach his phone.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You're welcome. Block those guys, they’re fucking punks,” I said.

His eyebrows shot up.

"Uh... Thanks."

“And don’t worry,” I said, “I already knew the word "fuck.""