His head whips around so fast, I stiffen, my eyes going wide. His expression is fierce as he forces his words between gritted teeth.
“Don’t ever try to be like the others.” He shakes his head. “Ever. Because you’re perfect the way you are.”
“But the other boys don’t—”
He shoves up off the bed and starts pacing. “The other guys are jerks. You’re amazin’. Smart and—”
“Oh my gosh, Hollis. You don’t have to say that just because I’m your friend. I know I’m not pretty with a mouth full of metal. I’m just…” I’m unsure of how to put it into words. “I just want to learn how to be.”
I scramble off the bed and stop in front of him, forcing him to look me in the eye. I gesture to my chest. “I don’t have anythin’ here yet, but I don’t know if that’s a deal breaker or not.” I wave toward him. “You’re a guy, so can you tell me what I should do to make myself prettier?”
His expression looks pained, and it confuses me. “Magnolia.” He says my name on an exhale. Stepping closer, he rests his palms on my shoulders. A shiver runs through me at his touch, which is…an odd reaction.
I shove it aside.
His dark eyes hold mine. “If you change to be more like someone else, you’ll lose what makes you, you. And I don’t want you to be different.”
I frown. “But you don’t understand what it’s like. They have”—I glance down at my pathetic excuse for a chest—“boobs that aren’t microscopic.” He makes a choked sound, but I continue. “And no one with half a brain would want to kiss this.” I point an index finger at my braces.
A tiny sigh spills from Hollis’ lips before he tugs me close, wrapping his arms around me. I hold him tight, his soft, well-worn cotton shirt at my cheek, and breathe him in. The scent of Hollis’ body wash fills my senses.
“Promise me you won’t change. Not for anybody.”
My shoulders slump slightly in defeat. I’d hoped he’d help me. Maybe give me pointers or something. “Fine,” I say begrudgingly.
“Because if you change, then you’re not my Magnolia anymore.” His hand at my back glides over me in a soothing way. “My favorite person in the whole world.” When I don’t say anything, he prompts, “Promise me you won’t change?”
With a sigh, I let my eyes fall closed and whisper, “I promise.”
In typical Hollis fashion, he coaxes a laugh out of me a moment later. Convincing me to change and put on my usual pajama pants and matching button-up top, he sits beside me on the carpeted floor of my room, our backs against the bed, and we time each other’s crackling mouthful of Pop Rocks.
He somehow got the best batch because his crackles for fifteen seconds longer than mine.
When my mother’s text comes in that she’s on her way home, Hollis tucks both of our Pop Rocks packets in his pocket and gives me a hug before sneaking back out the window.
I’m about to lower it to lock it when his voice carries over to me.
“Love you, Shortcake.” For some reason, Grandpa Joe’s nickname for me sounds even sweeter coming from Hollis, and it brings a small smile to my lips.
As usual, I finish with, “But not like that.”
After I lock the window and close the blinds, I quickly delete the texts from Hollis in case my mother decides to look through my phone. The agreement we have is she’d pay for it as long as it’s understood she has the right to go through my phone at any time. I don’t want to give her more ammunition to feed her dislike for Hollis.
I brush my teeth, crawl into bed, and say my prayers.
And just like I always do, I thank God for Hollis Barnes.
Hollis
SIXTEEN YEARS OLD
“Barnes’ll tap that soon if he’s smart.”
I whip my head around to pin Ashton with a dark glare. “What the hell are you runnin’ your trap about now?”
I tug a plain cotton T-shirt down over my head and run a hand through my damp hair, waiting for him to stop grinning and answer me.
We’ve just showered after football practice, and I have to rush out of here so I can head to my job at the country club.
“Your girl, Magnolia.” As soon as he says her name, conversation in the locker room immediately stops.
Because he’s broken rule number one: Don’t talk shit about Magnolia Barton.
It’s not like I’m cool with guys talking out their asses about girls, but let’s be real. Guys can be douchebags and run their mouths about “hittin’ it.” It’s disrespectful, and I do my best to shut that shit down.
Luckily, I’ve gained about fifteen pounds of muscle and stand a half a foot taller than most of these big talkers, and usually that’s enough to intimidate them into shutting up.
It’s getting harder, though, because I know what’s gained their attention. Hell, it’s gotten my attention whether I want to admit it or not.
Magnolia’s no longer the thin blonde who’s been my best friend since I moved here. Over the past few months, somehow, her chest grew more noticeable. And her legs are even longer.
It sucks because it can be distracting. It makes me feel weird, and I’d like nothing more than to beat the ever-loving tar out of these guys when they start talking about her tits and how they’d love to get their hands on her ass.
Even with braces, nothing can put a damper on Magnolia’s beauty. She’s had to wear them longer than expected since apparently her teeth were “stubborn,” as she likes to say.
I’d never tell her outright, but I hate that her mom made her get braces to correct that gap between her front teeth in the first place. I’d grown to love it. It was just…Magnolia. Somehow it made her even cuter.
I grit my teeth and shove my locker shut. Sliding the strap of my bag over my shoulder, I step closer to Ashton.
My voice is low, menacing. “Stay away from Magnolia.”
As I hover in his personal space, his features tighten. “You think you’re so big and tough, but you’re nothin’. You don’t fit in with us.” He moves so our chests are nearly touching and his eyes turn cold. “You’ll never be good enough for her.”
I clench and unclench my jaw, hands fisted at my sides. I’d like nothing more than to knock him on his ass, but I know I’d end up facing the brunt of the punishment in the end.
Ashton’s dad is a big deal at the country club, so he could easily make my life hell if he wanted.
I refuse to let even a flicker of a reaction cross my face and show him how his words ricochet inside me like a boomerang with sharp razor-like edges. I know he’s right, but hell if I’ll give him any sign his words hit their mark.
“She’s my friend.” I huff out each word on heavy breaths. “That means nobody’s good enough for her.”
A large paw of a hand shoves its way between us. “Y’all better break it up.”
I get a stern look from my left tackle, Bryce Daniels. A few feet behind him, our tight end, Dallas Hampstead, looks ready to step in and play referee. Though he’s usually quieter than the others, Dallas is still one of the rich kids and tends to hang with them.