Boy, was I wrong.
I rush inside my house and close the door behind me. Hurriedly, I untie and remove my shoes, carrying them as my feet move quickly down the hall to my room.
Please let me avoid my mother, I chant silently. My face feels hot, and I swear, the woman is like a bloodhound. I’m afraid she’ll know exactly what I just did.
“Magnolia Mae!” Her sharp tone causes me to practically skid to a stop on the hardwood floors. “Ladies do not run inside a house.” Then she adds, “Least of all in filthy-lookin’ socks.”
“Sorry, Mother.” I hesitate. “I just wanted to get a shower and be cleaned up for dinner.” There. That should please her since she told me we’re hosting the local congressman and his wife.
“Turn around and let me see you.” She sounds suspicious, and I barely hold back a cringe.
I turn and face her, praying I don’t show any sign of what I was doing just moments ago. When her eyes narrow on my mouth, panic rushes through me.
She steps closer and purses her lips. “You should really be more careful. Your lips are chapped from spendin’ so much time outside with”—her next words drip with disgust—“that boy.”
“I’ll be sure to use some lip balm.”
Her eyes snap to mine, and she nods. “You’d best do that.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I spin around and head down the hall to my room.
Once I’m inside my bedroom, I race to my en-suite bathroom and check my reflection in the mirror.
Oh, my gosh. Lips reddened, my cheeks are flushed, and my eyes even look a little wild.
I trace the tip of my index finger along my lips as a sense of wonder settles over me. If that’s what kisses are like, I can’t wait to do it again. Especially with someone I really like and who likes me back, of course.
Not like Hollis because he doesn’t think of me like that. I mean, I basically begged him to kiss me.
I just hope my next kiss is even more amazing than my first.
As soon as I step out of the bathroom, I notice my mother standing in the doorway of my room. I stop short, just now realizing what I didn’t see when I’d rushed in here.
My mouth parts in a silent gasp. My entire room is…
“I thought since you’re now a woman, you’d want your room to be reflective of that.”
Gone. Everything I loved is gone from my room.
The small model cars Hollis had bought me for my birthdays and helped me put together. The baseball I hit the home run with when I challenged the guys at the ball fields. He’d written on it with a permanent marker and dated it.
It’s all missing. Everything that meant anything to me. Even my bedding is different, for heaven’s sake.
My throat feels like it’s closing up. I force out the words. “Where are my things?”
“I had Miranda dispose of them.” She wrinkles her nose in distaste. “It was mostly cheap little trinkets.”
I struggle to fill my lungs with air. Both panic and an ache fill my chest at the fact she’s trashed my belongings.
“Now, Magnolia”—her voice is condescending—“a young lady like you deserves keepsakes that don’t come from the dollar store.” She raises her eyebrows in question. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply robotically.
An edge of her mouth lifts, pleased with my response. She turns around and heads for the door. “Please don’t bring any more of that trash in this house.”
When I don’t immediately answer, she hovers in the doorway, back to me, but her shoulders stiffen.
“Yes, ma’am,” I answer.
Without another word, she disappears from sight, leaving me to slowly inspect my room again.
It looks clean, empty of any life. Even the copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets that Hollis got me for Christmas last year is gone. Most likely because it was one of the inexpensive copies.
Sadness floods me, and I press my fingers against my mouth to fight it. Hollis had written in that book of sonnets—right inside the front cover—and I cherished it.
To my best friend, who’s beautiful just the way she is.
I knew what he meant without him coming out and saying it. He’d always gotten so upset about my mother commenting about my teeth. He’d even told me he loved my smile with the gap. That it made me Magnolia.
I didn’t care one bit that the paperback copy he’d given me only cost a few dollars. It was something he knew I loved, and he’d used his own money to buy it for me.
A thought hits me, and I rush to my dresser. Tugging open the middle drawer, as soon as I see the contents, my entire body deflates.
The old T-shirts Hollis gave me are gone, too.
I lower myself to a heap on the carpeted floor and close my eyes. Tears silently race down my cheeks. I wrap my arms around myself, silently asking why? Why would my mother do this? Why couldn’t she ask me first?
Why can’t she accept that Hollis is my best friend?
I’m not sure how long I sit like this until a light touch on my shoulder has me opening my eyes.
Miranda squats down beside me. She reaches out to gently brush away my tears, and whispers, “I have some of your things in my trunk.”
My eyes grow wide, and my lips part, but our housekeeper shakes her head to stop me. With a quick glance at my open door, she turns back to me and whispers once again. “I’ll give them to Hollis.”
I nod and mouth a silent “Thank you.” She nods with a tiny, sad smile before she leaves my room.
I’m able to breathe a little easier knowing my stuff will be safe with Hollis.
LATER THAT NIGHT…
A text comes through just when I’m crawling into bed.
Hollis: Can you open your window quietly?
I frown at the odd message.
Me: Why?
Hollis: Just do it, please. And turn off your light first.
Me: Okay, hold on.
After flicking the switch to turn off the light and quietly locking my bedroom door, I tiptoe across my room. I’m not sure what Hollis is up to, but I don’t want my mother to catch me off guard. I still feel raw after what happened this afternoon.
Grateful my bedroom is on the opposite side of the house as my parents’ and faces the backyard, I pull the string to raise the blinds and carefully unlock and raise my window.
I whisper-yell, “Hollis?” He stands there on the grass in a pair of pajama pants, plain cotton T-shirt, and flip-flops.
“Shh!”
He reaches for the windowsill, lifts himself up, and climbs through my bedroom window with ease. He lands on his feet, carefully closes the window, and turns to face me. The hint of moonlight peeking from behind the clouds behind him makes him look like some sort of fierce archangel.
“Miranda gave me a bag with your things.” His voice is hushed. Dark brows slant fiercely.
I lower my eyes to my bare feet, concentrating on my painted toenails. I’m not sure why I feel embarrassed, but I do. I mean, I’m twelve years old, and my mother won’t allow me to keep a baseball or model cars or even a copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets in my room. She acted like I was hoarding drugs or something.
His fingers beneath my chin steer me to meet his gaze. When he says my name softly, in a low, gentle tone, I practically throw myself into his arms.