“Hey.” Her voice sounds weak.
“What’s goin’ on?”
“I just don’t feel so great. But I’ll feel better by next weekend.”
I scrunch my face in confusion. “You don’t think you’ll feel better by tomorrow?”
“I just have…” She lets out a long sigh. “Hollis, I have girl stuff goin’ on right now.”
A smirk tugs at my lips, and I tease, “Like, what kinda girl stuff?”
“Hollis.” Her voice is stern. “Use the sense God gave you and remember our health class and all those changes they taught us about.”
It dawns on me. “Oh, shit.”
“Hollis Barnes!” She uses that prim and proper voice I always tease her about and I can’t help but smile. She never cusses, and it’s not like I do it all the time, but man…sometimes, it just fits the moment.
“What can I do to help you feel better?”
Magnolia lets out a little sigh. “Not much anyone can do, I reckon. Just have to get through the worst of it.”
“So…what exactly does it feel like?”
“I have these awful cramps and just feel gross.”
“I’ve seen commercials where the lady usually wants ice cream or chocolate.” I mentally tally how much money I’ve saved up from cutting grass. “Want me to get you somethin’?”
Her tone is soft. “No, but thank you. Mother wouldn’t let me have any of that anyway.”
“What if it’s somethin’ I can smuggle in pretty easy? And I’d take the evidence with me after we’re done?”
There’s a pause before she whispers excitedly, “Pop Rocks?”
I grin. “Yes, ma’am.”
She lowers her voice, and it sounds like she’s cupped her hand over her mouth and the phone. “We have to wait until she leaves for her Women’s League meetin’. She’s supposed to be gone in a few minutes. And Roy’s still in Montgomery.”
“I’ll watch for her car to leave before I head over.”
“See you then.”
After ending the call, I change out of my ratty shirt and shorts. The few times I have been inside Magnolia’s house, I felt out of place and underdressed. Even though her parents won’t be there, I feel like I should dress nice.
I pull on a pair of khaki pants and a polo shirt and slide on my nicer pair of flip-flops. Mrs. Barton’s Audi pulls out of the driveway, disappearing down the street, and I head over.
When I cross the driveway on my way to the front door, my phone vibrates in my pocket with an incoming text message. I slide it out.
Magnolia: The front door is open, and I’m in the back den watching TV. Miranda’s gone for the day.
I quickly send back an okay. Miranda’s the housekeeper, and aside from Magnolia and Grandpa Joe, she’s my next favorite person. She’s not snobby toward me at all.
Quietly, I open the front door and let myself inside. I can’t help but stop and glance around. This place is always spotless and elegant looking. Not one thing is out of place.
When I walk into the den, it’s a slightly different story, and it’s easy to see why Magnolia likes this room. She says Roy calls it his “man cave,” and it’s the one room that’s more mellow than the rest of the house.
She’s sprawled on the couch, wearing some expensive yoga pants and a T-shirt, and clutching a pillow to her stomach. Her eyes lock with mine. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I stop at the couch, and she curls her legs up to make room for me. As soon as I sit, I tug her legs over my lap.
“I don’t need to stretch out,” she protests.
“It’s no big deal.” I shift, remembering what I’ve brought with me, and tug it from my back pocket. I hand her the packet.
She smiles. “Thanks.” Not wasting any time, she rips open the Pop Rocks and sprinkles some into her mouth. I grin at the crackling sounds they make and how something so simple can make her this happy.
I focus on the television. “What’re we watchin’?”
When she doesn’t answer, I turn and find her studying me while the crackling inside her mouth finally dies down.
“Why are you dressed”—she waves a hand, gesturing to my clothes—“like that?”
I shrug, trying to play it off, and turn my eyes back to the TV. “Reckon I fit in better here in these clothes.”
Silence.
“Hollis.” I don’t turn to face her. “Hollis. Please look at me.”
With a sigh, I turn my head. As soon as I see the look in her eyes, I shake my head, my tone sharp. “Don’t. I don’t want your pity.”
She sits up, shaking her head. “It’s not pity. I just don’t want you to be like them.”
I frown. “Them?”
“Everyone else.” Her voice softens. “Don’t be like them. Just be you, Hollis.”
I huff out a breath. “I put on nice clothes. No big deal. I just want to try to look like I’m good enough to be around you.”
She tips her head to the side, and it feels like she can read my thoughts. “But you’re already good enough. It doesn’t matter what you wear.” Her mouth spreads into a wide smile. “I love you the way you are.”
“But not like that,” I finish, grinning back at her.
“Well”—I reach for what I brought along with me and set it on my lap, on top of her legs—“I could read to you if there’s nothin’ good on TV…”
Her eyes light up when she sees which book I have. It’s a small, cheap paperback of sonnets by William Shakespeare. We’re in advanced English class together, and the teacher has started introducing us to all sorts of literature. Shakespeare’s work is one.
I have one page—one sonnet—marked since it’s her favorite. Sonnet 130. She loves it, and even though she’s never actually come right out and told me why, I’m pretty sure I figured it out.
Shakespeare talks about the woman he’s in love with and how she’s not perfect in the least, but it’s what makes her even more beautiful to him. Her imperfections—how real she is—make him love her even more.
I know she has a hang-up over her teeth, but if she could just see herself how I see her—especially when she laughs—she’d know not to worry about it. She’d see that she’s awesome just the way she is.
I read her the sonnet while she finishes her Pop Rocks until it’s time for me to head back home.
“Thanks, Hollis.” She gives me one of those smiles that makes the corners of her eyes crinkle. That gap between her teeth grabs my attention, and I wish she knew how much I’ll miss that sucker once she gets braces. It’s hard to explain, but it’s just…Magnolia. It’s like she’s being made to get rid of something that’s totally her.
“Anytime.” I pat her legs before lifting them so I can stand. “Hopefully, you’ll feel better tomorrow.”
A WEEK LATER
SUNDAY
“Hollis, boy! Good to see you!” Grandpa Joe booms, waving me over to him after church service on Sunday.