If I Was Your Girl(52)

“At least you’re smart as I always thought then,” she said. “Pucker up. Being a girl in this world means being afraid. That fear’ll keep you safe. It’ll keep you alive.”

“Is it really that bad?”

She ran the balm along my lips and signaled for me to pucker. “Maybe not. Who knows? World’s different now. When you told me about … your condition, I was more sad for you for having to deal with being a girl than anything else. Go check your reflection.”

“Oh,” I said when I reached the mirror. I brushed my fingers against the glass. Burgundy lines around my eyes, faint peach pigment on my cheekbones, and brownish-red lip gloss, and somehow the face staring out at me was one I’d never seen before. It was the one I always felt like I should have seen.

A wave of vertigo washed over me. I leaned back against the wall and grabbed a nearby bookshelf. My cheeks hurt and my eyes were starting to water again, but it felt different.

“You okay?” Mom said, walking up behind me.

“I think I might be allergic or something. I feel kinda strange … sort of floaty and light-headed.”

“You ain’t sick, hon,” Mom said. She kissed my cheek and hugged me so tight I thought I might break a rib. “That’s joy.”





26

“Have fun tonight,” Dad said as we pulled into the school parking lot. The homecoming game had ended hours before, with the team pulling out a fourth-quarter victory, and I was hoarse but happy from cheering Grant on from the stands. I wore the knee-length purple dress with a cowl neck, the amethyst earrings the girls had bought me for my birthday, and low gold heels. In them I would be Grant’s height or a little taller, but for once I didn’t care.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said, reaching for the door handle. I had gotten distracted when Anna stopped by to pick up her dress, then spent too long on my hair and makeup, and now I was late meeting Grant, the girls, and their dates for photos on the school lawn—a Lambertville High tradition, apparently.

“Amanda, wait,” Dad said as I got out of the car. His tone was serious, and I worried he was going to give me another lecture about being careful.

“I’ve got to go,” I told him. I could see Anna bounding toward me across the parking lot, waving.

“I just wanted to tell you,” Dad began, stuttering and awkward. He didn’t look at me as he said, “You look really beautiful tonight.”

“Oh,” I said. “Thank you.” My face flushed.

“And be safe,” I heard him call behind me as I got out and closed the door, but it felt like an instinct, like something all fathers said to their daughters.

“Amanda!” Anna cried as I got out of the car, coming toward me with a broad, mischievous smile. “Amanda, look! Chloe’s wearing a dress.”

I turned toward the school lawn, where the setting sun had cast everything in a warm, golden glow, and saw Chloe in a red sleeveless dress that matched the color of her hair—just the shade that Layla had advised. I marveled at how lean and well-muscled her arms were and how lovely she was with her hair straightened and a hint of makeup on her eyes and cheeks—or how lovely she would have looked if she weren’t scowling and shuffling her feet like a sullen toddler. I knew the feeling, of course, since that was how I’d felt every day I’d had to wear boys’ clothes.

“Shut up,” Chloe said.

Grant arrived a few minutes later, his suit crisp and clean. He whistled when he saw me, his eyes wide and appreciative, and I had never felt more beautiful. I kissed him, and then we lined up for pictures, our arms wrapped like ribbons around the best present ever, and smiled so much our cheeks hurt.

*

The homecoming committee, under Anna and Layla’s expert guidance, had taken the “Heroes’ Homecoming” theme and transformed our drab, run-down gym into something out of The Odyssey. Canvases painted with profiles of Greek heroes slaying monsters lined the walls, hiding the folded-up bleachers. The ceiling was covered in blue streamers interspersed with hanging cardboard hydras and sea monsters. The DJ onstage at the far end of the gym even wore a toga.

I pulled Grant into the center of the crowd and danced with him as “All Night” by Icona Pop blared over the speakers. Something resonated in me whenever the singer declared, “We got the keys to open paradise,” and I felt too miraculous not to be moving with the boy I liked so much. I pulled him close, buried my face in his neck, and breathed him in, and realized I didn’t like him.

I loved him. I loved him, I knew that now. I tried to tell him, but the noise silenced my words. He cocked his head, and I just laughed and kissed him. There would be time to talk later. I thought of what he had said the other night, We have all the time in the world. We danced to song after song, my hair loose from my careful updo plastered with sweat against my forehead and my new heels digging into my feet, but I didn’t care. Finally, we were too worn out to continue. I kissed Grant and excused myself to the bathroom.

The halls felt like a crypt after the humidity in the gym. My clicking steps echoed off the rows of lockers and the chilly air raised goose bumps on my arms. I opened the bathroom door and paused when I saw Bee leaning against the sink with her eyes closed.

“Oh, hey!” I said.

She smiled and swayed in place. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were bright pink.