Wing Jones(54)

She blinks three times in rapid succession. I don’t think I’ve ever called her by name, and it’s throwing her. “What?”

“I think you have a nosebleed.”

Heather raises her hand to her nose, looks at the blood and back up at me. Her eyes go wide, wide, wider, and her face gets so pale I’m sure I can see her veins. “I don’t like blood,” she says. And then she slumps forward and before I realize what I’m doing I’ve stepped toward her, arms outstretched, and she collapses against me, head lolling to the side, blood still dripping out of her nose. More than dripping now, so much coming out that it gets on my new uniform.

I prop her up under the sink and put a damp paper towel on her forehead and hold another wad of tissues under her nose. The blood blooms like a peony. I’m not sure what to do. Only person I’ve ever seen faint was Monica in the hospital, that night, and there were doctors there who took care of her.

I pat Heather’s cheek a few times, like they do in the movies. And then I slap her. Not a hard slap, not as hard as I would like to, but enough that my hand stings.

It does the trick. Her eyes flutter open.

“Wing?”

Just like she’s never heard me call her by name, I’ve never heard her say my name. Never heard her refer to me like I’m a real person. “You got a nosebleed and passed out,” I explain.

She tries to scramble up and nearly hits her head on the bottom of the sink. “Oh my God. Did anyone see me?”

“Just me. But, um … you should probably go to the nurse. Or something.”

Heather shakes her head. “I’m fine.” But her voice is weaker than I’ve ever heard it.

We stare at each other and I wait for it. The thank-you. The apology. This is our made-for-TV moment. We’ll be braiding each other’s hair and having sleepovers by the next episode.

She narrows her eyes. “What are you looking at, freak?”

I shake my head. “Girl, you got all kinds of problems,” I say as I walk out the door without looking back.

Her words can’t get inside me anymore.

As the bathroom door slams behind me and I step outside, I feel the sun burning away my invisible scars, scorching me clean.





CHAPTER 36


Aaron drives me home after practice today like he usually does, but this time instead of dropping me off at the curb he pulls into my driveway.

“Everything OK?” I ask, unsure why he’s parked.

Aaron scratches his head. “I don’t really know how to say this.”

I swallow and try to keep my imagination from playing roulette with all the things he could say.

I’m madly in love with you.

I’ve got back together with Dionne and she doesn’t want me spending time with you.

You know we’re not really friends, right? I just wanted to be nice because of Marcus.

You really stink after practice and I don’t want to drive you home anymore.

“Can I come in for a bit? It’s just that … I really miss your house. And your mom. And your grannies. I used to see them every day, you know?” He runs his hand over his short hair. “That probably sounds kind of weird.”

I exhale. This is the best thing he could have said.

All right, fine. Other than telling me he’s in love with me.

“That isn’t weird at all. I’m sure they’d all love to see you. I mean, like to see you.” My tongue is getting all twisted. “I should have invited you in before. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

“You know you can come over whenever, right? You don’t have to ask me.”

He flashes me a smile that makes my heart do a somersault. “Thanks, Wing,” he says. “I really appreciate it.”

We walk into the living room to find Granny Dee and LaoLao facing each other in some kind of standoff. Granny Dee is shaking what looks like a child’s sweater in LaoLao’s face, and LaoLao looks both guilty and enraged at the same time. And I can tell you from experience, that is not a good combination.

“You shrunk my favorite sweater!” Granny Dee hollers. “Didn’t you read the wash instructions?”

I take a closer look at the sweater she’s holding. It’s green with yellow stripes, and I’ve never seen her wear it before. I’m certain it isn’t her “favorite sweater.”

There’s no denying it’s shrunk, though. It looks like it might fit a toddler.

“It is just a sweater! Here. Take mine.” LaoLao takes off her own blue sweater, huffing as she does, and pushes it at Granny Dee.

Granny Dee holds it with two fingers and wrinkles her nose. “And drown in it? You could fit about five of me in this big ol’ thing.”

LaoLao puffs up like a rooster before a cockfight. “What you saying? That I’m fat?”

“We all know you understand English, even if you can’t read the laundry label,” Granny Dee retorts. “You know exactly what I’m saying!”

“I am not fat!” roars LaoLao, which is a blatant lie, because LaoLao is fat. “You just too skinny! Look like starving person. Like starving…” She pauses, and I can tell she’s trying to come up with a really good comeback.

“Like starving duck!” she says, and Granny Dee’s mouth actually drops open. She knows that “duck” is one of LaoLao’s worst insults.