iGo Home Again
Wendy couldn't concentrate. This wasn't right. She couldn't think straight, as if she'd ever thought straight. She wanted nothing more than to go home – to her parents' place – and sleep in her bed. Something was seriously wrong here. How could Shelby Marx – the most amazing cage fighter ever – be gay?
Wendy wondered exactly what Shelby could've meant during the cab ride back to her childhood home. There was no way in the world that Shelby Marx could be gay. There was just no way.
The Miller family lived in a modest home – well, modest by Seattle standards, anyhow. The building Wendy, her parents, and their little dog called home was a mile from Ridgeway High, and as such, central to her world before college.
She paid the cabbie and made her way inside. All she wanted now was someplace that felt like home.
Seventh and James wasn't the Bushwell Plaza, but it was home. It was her home. She made her way up the stairs and unlocked the door. The room was dark, but Wendy could navigate in the dark. She made her way through the living room down the hall to her old bedroom, dropped her backpack inside the door, just as she always had in her Ridgeway days, and flopped down on the bed, only to hear a very cranky, disconcerted squeak.
Wendy had nearly squished her four-legged little buddy out of sheer exhaustion.
"Sorry, Bandit…"
The little Boston Terrier loved her. He licked her face generously. He missed his redhead.
Wendy tickled the dog's belly as she sprawled out on the bed. In the split second before she could feel sleep advancing, she remembered.
"Oh, dammit…."
The redhead sprang to her feet, operating on sheer adrenaline now. She couldn't go to sleep without this.
She snatched up her book bag and tore it open at the zipper. She needed to hold it.
Wendy grasped her heavy black sketchbook and clutched it to her chest. Shelby Marx had last touched this. Shelby Marx had complemented her art. Shelby Marx had complemented her.
She carried the book back to her bed and laid down with it, fitting herself, the dog, and the book onto her bed. She clicked on the lamp on her bedside table. Wendy had no earthly idea what she was doing, but she did it anyway.
She pulled out her Pearphone, dialed the numbers, and pressed SEND.
It was ringing. Oh God, it was ringing again! It rang again!
"Hello?"
The voice was unmistakably that of Shelby Marx, the greatest female fighter who'd ever lived.
"Umm… Hi, Shelby… It's Wendy… you said I should call you sometime… and… well, it's sometime…"
The champion could tell that the redhead was nervous. The chuckle in her voice was meant to indicate that Shelby found this absolutely adorable. Wendy was clearly oblivious.
"Ya know, from the sound of it, you'd think you'd never been slipped a girl's digits before…"
Wendy laughed, not knowing what else to do.
"Seriously, you haven't, have you?"
Wendy answered sheepishly.
"No…"
"Well…" Shelby paused, "I meant what I said and I said what I meant…"
Wendy interrupted Shelby with a fit of laughter.
"You're quoting Doctor Seuss?"
"What? You think I came into the world wearing boxing gloves?"
Wendy flushed with embarrassment. She had just inadvertently pictured Shelby Marx naked. She spoke quietly, letting Shelby continue.
"Sorry… You were saying?"
Shelby found the little redhead to be absolutely priceless. This girl lit some spark inside of her that she didn't quite understand. She was so ordinary, in the very best senses of the word. She felt like, around this art geeky friend of Carly's, she could truly let her hair down and be herself – not Shelby Marx, World Champion, but simply Shelby.
Shelby laughed on the other end of the line. Wendy felt butterflies stirring inside her rib cage.
"I was saying that I meant what I said… I really like you… I… this is awkward, because, well, I'm… you know…"
Shelby couldn't finish. Wendy jumped in, offering up her best guesses.
"What? Just a little bit famous?"
There was more infectious laughter. Wendy felt her insides turn into chunky red goo. Shelby Marx was even more amazing than Wendy had first suspected.
"Well, Yes, that… but what I mean is… when you live the kind of life I live… in front of cameras and stuff all the time, you don't really get to be… you know, you."
Wendy was confused. She thought she knew what Shelby was trying to say, but she wasn't sure.
"…And you're saying what, exactly?"
Wendy waited for Shelby to respond, only to be interrupted by her Boston Terrier, Bandit. The little dog barked, clearly wanting attention from his Mommy.
"What was that?"
"That was just my dog. He's two. Quiet, Bandit… Mommy's on the phone…"
Shelby laughed again. She loved animals, dogs especially.
"I was saying… God… I was… I was saying… I really like you… How would you like to… you know… with me… sometime…?"
Wendy was stunned.
"Excuse me?"
Shelby tried her best. She clearly didn't have experience at this, either.
"Would you like to… you know… go out with me sometime… you know, like on a date?"
Wendy was absolutely speechless. Not only was Shelby Marx in fact gay, but she had just asked her out on a date.
"You want to go on a date… with… me?"
Shelby stammered, her nerves betraying her cool public persona.
"Yeah, I would… It doesn't have to be anything major, but, I'm… I'm really not anything at all like how the media portrays me. I'd like to… you know, start small and see where things go, if that'd be cool with you…"
Wendy's brain had checked out. Of course it was cool with her.
FOUR HOURS LATER…
Wendy didn't want to hang up the phone. She never wanted to end the call, but she knew that she had to. Her battery was beeping in her ear, truncating every few words. She and Shelby had talked for hours, about everything under the sun and nothing at all, all at the very same time. She yawned quietly. She could sense a bright smile on the fighter's face.
"I'd better let you go, I know it's super late…"
It was. It was two-thirty in the morning.
"That's okay, all I have is a routine doctor's visit tomorrow morning… Can I call you after?"
Wendy blushed. She didn't like the sound of the words 'routine' and 'doctor', but she figured that it all came with the territory. She couldn't believe that Shelby Marx was thinking of her.
"Of course…"
Shelby wished the redhead could see her now. She was beaming.
"Alright… Goodnight, Wendy…"
Wendy wished Shelby a good night's sleep and finally ended the call.
The redhead fell backwards into her pillow. The shifting of Wendy's weight woke the dog, who readjusted himself, finally settling onto the warm flesh of the redhead's bare stomach. It was a beautiful evening. Wendy knew she needed her sleep. There was no telling what tomorrow might bring.
