Getting It by Alex Sanchez Page A

boy’s head. Upon seeing the photo, Playboy had dubbed them “Los Horny Boys.”
    At the time, Carlos’s arrival into teenage-hood and the prospect of sex had seemed jam-packed with the promise of thrills and excitement. Now, two and a half years later, it felt like an overrated dud ride, thanks in no small part to his unsupportive pain-in-the-butt friends.
    For the rest of the evening, Carlos practiced how to cleanse his face and rub wax into his hair so it spiked like the guys’ on TV. The more he looked at his shiny blond highlights, the more he liked them.
    Sunday morning he gazed in the mirror, flexing his arms, and thinking his chest might’ve gotten a little bigger from his workout the previous day. He considered going back to the gym, but his muscles were kind of sore. Besides, he didn’t feel like seeing Toro.
    Instead, he hung out at home till his ma asked Raúl to go get tortillas, so she could make enchiladas for lunch. Raúl kissed her on the cheek and asked Carlos, “You want to come with me?”
    On the trip to the supermarket, Raúl and Carlos mostly talked about cars. But on the drive home, Raúl told Carlos, “You know, I think your ma is a very special lady”
    Carlos glanced across the seat at him, wondering why Raúl was telling him that. Were he and his ma planning to get married or something? If they were, why hadn’t she told him?
    Carlos kept expecting Raúl to say more, but Raúl simply smiled out the truck window. And Carlos felt too awkward to ask more.
    As soon as Raú left after lunch, Carlos confronted his ma. “Are you going to marry him?”
    His ma thought a moment before replying, “I’m not sure. We’ve talked about it, but I don’t know yet.”
    Carlos sputtered, annoyed. He wanted a simple yes or no, not some wussy “I don’t know yet.” How much longer would she keep squeaking the bedsprings before she made up her mind? And if she did marry Raú, would they
stay
married?
    Carlos retreated to his bedroom and slammed the door. Taking a seat at his computer, he noticed from his buddy list that Playboy, Pulga, and Toro were online. He waited for one of them to IM him. But they didn’t. And he was still too angry to IM them.
    Instead, he went to Hot-or-Snot and discovered that Roxy had made the day’s “Top Picks.” Probably every guy in America was e-mailing her. Carlos let out a sigh, wishing
he
had the nerve.
    After giving her a ten for the day, he searched for Playboy’s profile and gave him a ten too. After all, even though his friends were homophobic
pendejos,
they were still his buds.

Twenty-Nine
    M ONDAY MORNING, C ARLOS sat in the back row of the bus as usual, but his buds barely said more to him than “’S’up?”
    It wasn’t till biology class that Toro whispered, “Look, man, I don’t care if you
are
gay, we’re still friends, okay?”
    He tried to shake hands, but Carlos exploded in a whisper, “I’m not gay!”
    He refused to let his friends’ comments get to him. Besides, he was too busy worrying. Would Roxy notice his hair? Would she like it? If she did, he’d planned exactly what to say: “Thanks. By the way, I saw you on Hot-or-Snot. I gave you a ten.”
    At lunch, he spotted her and her friends getting ketchup. His heart pounded furiously as he broke into a sweat. Hands trembling, he carried his tray toward her, arriving just as she finished squirting her hot dog.
    She turned in his direction. An endless moment passed while she looked at his hair. Then she broke into a smile. “Hey, your hair looks cute.” Picking up her tray, she stepped away with her friends, leaving Carlos speechless once again.
    And yet a wave of joy flooded through him. True, he hadn’t said what he’d planned, but
she
had said more than he’d dared imagine.
    He floated toward his table, barely aware of his