“Just ignore ’em.” Then I add, “If anyone gives you trouble, let me know, and I’ll deal with ’em.”
She slowly backs away and looks at me with wide blue eyes. “Really?”
I nod. “You bet.”
Nobody should be bullied for something they can’t control. That’s what Dad always says. A kid made fun of me back in Birmingham because of the scar that cuts through part of my right eyebrow. He moved away after that year, but most of first grade sucked because of him.
I tell Magnolia this, and she reaches up to run her finger over the scar. “How’d you get it?”
My cheeks get hot, and I look away. “I, uh, ran into the edge of a metal shelf in my friend’s garage. We were playin’ hide-and-seek, and I was chasin’ after him. Cut it too close when I whipped around the shelf. Just lucky I didn’t lose an eye.” When I look back over at her, she winces.
“That must’ve hurt.”
I shrug. “I had to have stitches, but that white ridge won’t go away.”
Her lips press flat. “Well, if anyone makes fun of it, they’ll have to go through me first.” She nods. “That’s what friends do, right? Stick up for one another.”
I grin. “I reckon so.”
We stand here, and I don’t know why I can’t seem to look away. Her smile is happy, and I like it.
“Hollister, what’re you doin’ in—” My mom’s voice has us whipping around to face the doorway. “Oh...hello.”
“Hello, ma’am.” Magnolia offers her hand to my mom who looks surprised. “I’m Magnolia Barton. I live in the house right behind y’all. It’s so nice to meet you.”
The look on my mom’s face makes me nervous, but she gives Magnolia’s hand a brief shake. Then her eyes flick to me suspiciously. “What are y’all doin’ in here?”
“I was gettin’ a shirt for her to wear so she wouldn’t mess up hers.” Then, I rush on with, “She’s helpin’ us with the treehouse.”
Mom eyes me sharply. “How much longer will it take till it’s finished?” Her tone is cold. She didn’t like the idea of Dad and me working on it in the first place. No idea why.
Then again, she never seems to like anything I do.
“We’re almost finished. Dad found a used air conditioner and got a cheap window for the side.”
Her mouth turns down. Shoot. I thought it would make her happy to know we were close to being done.
She backs away from the doorway, looking down the hall. “I’ve got some more sewin’ to finish.” Then she’s gone.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Barnes,” Magnolia calls out after her.
Mom doesn’t respond. Her rudeness makes me uncomfortable, so I shrug like it’s nothing. “She’s busy with a lot on her mind.”
“She sews?”
“For other people. She hems pants and stuff.” I dig out some old T-shirts from a bottom drawer and hand her a few. “Here you go. You can keep ’em if you want.”
She looks down at the folded shirts in her hands like I just gave her fifty bucks. “Thank you so much.”
I laugh a little. “They’re just old shirts.”
“Hollis! Magnolia! Lunch is ready,” Dad calls from the kitchen.
Her blue eyes meet mine, cheeks turning a little red. She steps forward and presses a kiss to my cheek. “You’re a good friend, Hollis.”
Then she turns and leaves me standing in my room.
She’s nice enough, but man, that kiss was just gross.
Magnolia
TEN YEARS OLD
“May I please go over to Hollis’?”
I stand in the doorway of my mother’s bedroom. She’s sitting in front of her dressing table, sliding on her big diamond earrings. Her hair is perfectly styled, and her dress is smooth, with no wrinkles in sight. Like always.
Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and I brace myself for what’s coming.
She wants me to look and act a certain way, but I have this stupid gap between my front teeth, and my hair is never perfectly neat and straight. Plus, it’s darker blond, and she says I resemble my daddy—my real daddy—and it’s no big secret it bothers her. I know what he did was downright dirty, leaving us like he did, but it’s not my fault he left.
Sometimes, I think she’s trying to shove all the girly stuff down my throat because she hopes I’ll become what she wants me to be. More like her.
Less like me.
It never matters what I want. And it’s only gotten worse since Roy’s been elected state senator. They keep saying they want me to follow in his footsteps when I’m older.
Except I’m not that great at being social. I say what I mean and mean what I say, and that’s not how things work around here. The people Roy and my mother always have around have those fake kind of smiles, and they’d tell me they love my dress even if it was a gosh darn black plastic trash bag. Just because I’m a Barton.
The only time I ever see any sign of life in the eyes of those ladies my mother hangs around with is when one of them bites off a chunk of juicy gossip.
The last bit of gossip I overheard was something about Hollis’ mom being unfriendly to my mother. The other ladies said she was probably just jealous since Roy is such a “fine-lookin’ man.”
“Magnolia, dear,” my mother starts, and I already know I won’t like whatever comes next one bit. “I’m not sure this Hollis boy is the right sort of friend for you. You should hang around with the other girls.”
“But he helps out Grandpa Joe at church. You always say that donatin’ time and helpin’ others are important.”
I’m hoping this’ll change her mind. Grandpa Joe’s been the preacher at Holy Cross Church for as far back as I can remember. Not only that, but he’s one of my favorite people in the world—aside from Hollis, of course. Grandpa Joe always sticks up for me when my mother starts going on about how I’m not “ladylike” enough, not “refined” enough, or whatever she’s in the mood to complain about.
Basically, I’m never enough of anything for her. Grandpa Joe always tells me, Be tough, Shortcake. It’s not you. Your mama’s always got a bee in her bonnet.
My mother tips her head to the side. “Why don’t you ever play with Lora Ann? She’s a lovely little girl.”
I work hard not to make a face. Just hearing that girl’s name makes my stomach churn so much I about toss my cookies.
Lora Ann is wretched. The Bible verse about the wolf in sheep’s clothing reminds me of her. She has perfect hair and teeth and always acts polite in front of adults, but when they’re out of sight or not paying attention, that all changes. She’s one of the kids who makes fun of my teeth.
As politely as possible, I tell my mother this.
She frowns. “Well, we’ll be gettin’ that gap fixed soon, so that shouldn’t be a problem much longer.” Her eyes drop to my shoulders. “And stop slouchin’.”
I straighten. “Too bad Lora Ann can’t get her attitude fixed,” I mutter without thinking.