“What’re you doin’ after the game on Friday?” Lora Ann asks Hollis after Sunday school’s over and we’re all headed to the church for service.
He shrugs, his tall, lanky form towering at my side. “Usual.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Her condescending tone gets on my last nerve. “You meet Magnolia Mae at the diner afterward, don’t you?”
Her smile is snide. “Aren’t you just too precious for words?” Her tone has my spine stiffening. Someone needs to lay hands on her and exorcise the evil. “Shame you can’t find anyone else to hang out with you.”
Hollis’ jaw clenches while he slides his hands in the pockets of his slacks. The edges of his lips curve up, but it’s humorless.
Not that she’s smart enough to pick up on it.
“The lesson today was about not judgin’ others.” His smirk widens. “Wouldn’t want you to be one of those weeds instead of the good plants, now, would we?“
Lora Ann’s mouth drops open in either shock or surprise—no telling which. He takes advantage of her lack of response to pick up our pace. His hand is at my lower back as he guides me to the section of pews where we normally sit.
“Hurry up,” he mutters under his breath, “so we can get a seat and pray for her black soul.”
I bite my lip to stifle a laugh and breathe a sigh of relief when there’s still no sign of Lora Ann once we take our seats.
When my mother slides in beside me, I refuse to let it stifle my happiness. As long as I have Hollis by my side, everything seems that much easier.
Simpler.
Happier.
An hour and a half later, we file out of the church—quicker this time since Roy has meetings first thing Monday morning and needs to head up to Montgomery—and my mother tells me she has plans for the afternoon.
“Now, remember you’re not to have anyone over while I’m gone.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Not even that Hollis boy.”
I barely restrain my face from screwing up when she says “that Hollis boy.” I wish she’d just accept that he’s my friend and stop being so judgmental. Heck, she goes to church right along with me each Sunday. How she comes away from it and does nothing to change her ways burns me up.
“Did you hear me, young lady?” my mother prompts when I don’t respond.
Internally, I roll my eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”
With Mother gone, this means I’ll get a tiny bit of freedom without her constantly assessing and critiquing me.
This is what has me moving to the car much quicker and with more pep in my step than before.
“Hi there. No… Hey, y’all! No, no, no,” I correct my reflection in the mirror. I sound like a crazy person, talking to myself in my bedroom like this.
Flipping my long hair back over my shoulder, I pose in front of my full-length mirror. With a hand on my hip, I thrust my chest outward. The crop top I have on is really just a cotton shirt I’ve gathered and tied up to bare my midriff. The cotton shorts are a pair of my sleep shorts, but all the girls wear them when they want to get a boy’s attention. Especially in PE.
I jut out a hip and attempt a pouty look like the models on the covers of magazines in the grocery store checkout lines. I don’t look sexy when I try that kind of expression, though.
I heave out a frustrated breath and throw myself back on my bed and stare up at my ceiling. I’m doomed. No boy will ever find me the least bit pretty. My braces are a huge strike against me. My lack of sexiness just increases my chances of winning the I’ll live alone the rest of my life and die a virgin award.
My phone vibrates with an incoming text. I groan and snag it from my bedside table.
Hollis: You celebrating having the house to yourself?
Me: Not even. I’m way too lame.
Hollis: Do I have to come over there and cheer you up?
Me: I can’t have anyone over while they’re both gone.
Hollis: If I sneak through the window, and no one sees me or hears me, then did I really ever come over there? Kinda like the whole “if a tree falls and no one’s around to hear it” thing.
I hesitate because I don’t want to get into trouble, but I could also really use some time with Hollis right now. Maybe he can tell me what to do to look prettier even with my brace face.
Me: If you come over, you have to promise two things.
Hollis: What things?
Me: You have to promise not to laugh at my question and promise to help me.
Hollis: Yes, ma’am.
My best friend’s response brings a small smile to my lips. Even though we’re the same age, he always treats me with respect. Mr. Jay sure has raised him right.
I walk over to lift the blinds and open the window for Hollis. Less than a minute later, his hands reach up to grip the windowsill. He lifts himself up and inside and dusts off his hands with a grin.
As soon as he notices what I’m wearing, his smile drops. He immediately turns around to lower the window and adjust the blinds before closing them.
With his back still to me, he asks, “Can you put on some clothes?”
I scrunch my face in confusion and glance down at myself. “Hollis,” I start. “I am wearin’ clothes.”
He waves a hand dismissively, still refusing to turn around. “I mean, clothes that actually cover your body, Magnolia.” He sounds exasperated.
I plant my hands on my hips. “But that’s what I need your help with!”
He heaves out a breath and slowly turns around. His eyes don’t veer from my face.
“What do you need help with?”
I gesture to my body. “I’m tryin’ to figure out what I need to do to look pretty like the other girls. Boys seem to like this kind of outfit, but I don’t have boobs yet and—”
“Magnolia.” Hollis’ voice sounds tight, almost like he’s being strangled.
“What?” I peer at him in confusion before pointing my index finger at him accusingly. “You said you’d answer my question and promised to help me.”
He scrubs a hand down his face, eyes closed in a wince. “I didn’t expect you to be half naked, for cryin’ out loud!”
I growl in aggravation and toss myself facedown onto my bed.
“Shit,” he whispers, and I don’t have it in me to call him out on his cussing.
After a beat of silence, the mattress shifts with his weight. I turn my head and find him sitting at the far corner of my bed, his gaze focused on the wall. With my cheek against the comforter, I study his profile, realizing I never really take the time to look at him.
It’s funny how I’m just now noticing the faint stubble along his upper lip and jawline. When he rakes a hand through his hair, the scar that bisects his eyebrow catches my attention. I’ve overheard other girls whispering about him in the locker room while we change for PE. They always wonder about his scar and think it makes him look dangerous.
He doesn’t look dangerous to me, though. He just looks agitated, but I’m not sure why.
My voice is a whisper. “Hollis, I’m just tryin’ to figure out how to look pretty.” I swallow hard, trying to get past my insecurity somehow. “Like the others.”