Her eyes are squinty. “Don’t know why you even bother. She’s too good for you.”
Gritting my teeth, I try to stay calm even though it’s hard to when she comes at me like this.
I used to wonder what I did to make her hate me. I used to tiptoe around her and try to do everything I could think of to get her to smile at me—to act like she liked me—but nothing ever worked. I reckon I’ll never know what I did to make her treat me like this.
She steps closer and jabs a finger at the center of my chest. “You’re no good for her.” Another angry jab. “You’re just too stupid to see it.” More jabbing, and each time her finger pokes me, it makes me feel worse.
Unwanted. Like the trash she always tells me I am.
“She’s usin’ you. The boy who wears hand-me-downs. You’re her project.”
She’s ready to jab me again, but without thinking or realizing what I’m doing, I grab her wrist, stopping her.
“Don’t.” I drop her hand and am about to turn around when she catches me off guard.
She rears back and slaps me so hard across my face, my cheek throbs painfully.
I stare back at her in shock. She’s never gone this far before. Ever.
When I raise my fingertips to my cheek, it’s hot to the touch.
She smiles, and it’s so far from sweet or kind that it sends chills straight to my bones. For a second, I hate that I’ve never seen her really smile at me.
I quickly shove away that thought.
“You think you’re different, but you’re not. You’re trash. You just need to get it through your head.” Her smile is pure evil now. “Maybe this’ll help.” She pulls her hand back, ready to slap me again.
“Paula!”
My dad’s loud voice interrupts suddenly. We hadn’t heard him come in from work. He rushes forward and grabs her wrist, holding her back. His eyes meet mine, and he tips his chin, gesturing for me to leave the room. He steps aside, guiding her out of the way, and mutters to me, “I’ll take care of this.”
My cheek still burns as I pass through the house and speed through the back door to the yard. Every step I take toward the treehouse happens in a blur.
I don’t breathe easy until I drag myself up and inside. Until I see Magnolia sitting cross-legged on a cushion, flipping through one of my car magazines.
The instant her eyes flick up to mine, she freezes. Slowly lowering the magazine to her lap, her lips part when she notices the side of my face where Mom slapped me.
“Hollis?” she breathes out. “You have”—she swallows hard, her throat bobbing—“a handprint on your cheek.”
I lower myself beside her but avoid her eyes. Staring at a frayed string on my khaki shorts, I can’t say anything. I’m embarrassed, but now that I’m with Magnolia, I’m beginning to wonder if what my mom said is true.
I mean, she isn’t the only one who’s said it.
Magnolia’s mom gave me an earful that sounded similar. Not that I’d ever tell my best friend that, though.
“Hollis.” Magnolia’s voice is gentle. “Please just…nod or somethin’.” She drags in a deep breath. “Did she do this?”
I mash my lips together and give one brief nod. Magnolia lets out a tiny, painful sound.
“Whatever she said, whatever she did, you don’t deserve it.” She cautiously moves closer, and I hate that she’s afraid to get closer or touch me. Any other time, she’d hug me or touch my hand or arm.
I reach for her hand that’s between us and lace our fingers together. Then, I whisper, “But she might be right.” When she starts to protest, I hurry up and add, “You’re smart and your family has money. I’m only smart when it comes to certain things and we both know my family doesn’t have money like yours.”
“Hollis.” There’s so much sadness in her voice. “You’re smart. Just because you’re better at writin’ and do well in English class doesn’t mean you’re not smart in other ways, too. And I don’t care about money. You know that.”
She shifts and raises our hands between us. I pinch my eyes closed, embarrassed. When she presses a little kiss to the back of my hand, my eyes sting, and I force back the tears.
I don’t know what I did to deserve a friend like Magnolia, but I promise to never screw it up.
“Hollis Barnes, you’re amazin’. You’re the best friend everyone wishes they had. You’re kind and smart, and there’s no way you’re not good enough for me.” She sounds so sure. “If anythin’, I’m not good enough for you. You’ve taught me so much, and all I’ve taught you is how to play Barbies and weddin’ and not to hold your pinky out when you have proper tea.”
A small smile tugs at my lips, and I brave a look at her. The way she watches me makes it seem like she’s begging me to believe her. To ignore everything else.
I wish it was that easy.
Still, I don’t want her upset like this.
I tease her. “Did you just kiss my hand?”
Her face relaxes, and she smiles, rolling her eyes with a laugh. I sling an arm across her shoulders and tug her close.
When she lays her cheek on my chest, I think back to her grandpa Joe’s sermon the other Sunday. He spoke about how true friends love at all times. I admit, some Sundays, I’m either distracted by something Mom said to me or a little bored—no offense to Grandpa Joe—but that bit he did about “authentic friends” stuck with me.
Magnolia’s a true friend, and I won’t let anyone or anything come between us.
Ever.
She whispers, and her words are a little muffled by my shirt. “I love you, Hollis.”
I freeze, in shock. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s saying that to me or because no one—aside from my dad—ever says it.
She pulls away, rushing to add, “But not like that.” Her mouth twists into an embarrassed smile. “I mean…you know. I love you as a friend.”
My throat is tight, and for the second time, I have to fight the tingling in my eyes. No way am I fixing to cry, even though part of me wants to. Not because I’m sad, but because her words mean so much.
“I know.” I tug her close.
Magnolia gets me. She’s the one person on this earth who does.
“I love you, too,” I whisper with a little smile. “But not like that.”
Hollis
TWELVE YEARS OLD
Magnolia’s Pre-braces bucket list
Summer
Magnolia: I’m not feeling so great, so I can’t come outside today.
This text comes in about an hour before I’m supposed to head to the park and help Magnolia with her batting. She begged me to teach her the ins and outs of baseball, especially when it comes to hitting the ball.
We’ve been getting in some practice at the batting cages behind the high school. I cut grass for the baseball coach, and he seems to like me, so he lets me use it as long as I lock up after we’re done.
As excited as Magnolia’s been, I know she must be pretty sick to bail.
Me: You need anything?
I wait to see those three dots pop up on the screen. They show, then disappear before popping up again. With a laugh, I just press the button to call her, knowing it’ll be faster.