See You at Harry's(12)

Before we were done, my mom came upstairs. She looked at me, but she stared at Holden, and I remember how ashamed he seemed. She gave us a lecture about playing with Sara’s things without asking and how makeup wasn’t a toy. The way she towered above us as we sat on the floor, she looked so big and different. And I felt so small. When she left, we finished putting everything away and looked at each other guiltily. We stood at the sink and quickly washed our faces and then went to our own rooms until it was time for dinner.

Halfway through dinner, my dad asked me what was wrong with my eyes. I rubbed them and some mascara came off on my finger.

“It’s my makeup,” Sara said.

My dad nodded and smiled at me. “Playing with your sister’s stuff?”

I shrugged.

“I think you’re much prettier the natural way,” he said.

It was the first time he said I was pretty. Maybe it was the first time anyone said I was pretty. I looked across the table at Holden and noticed that his cheeks still seemed red from the blush I’d put there. I touched my cheek and nodded at him carefully to try to let him know. He got the hint right away and got up to go to the bathroom. My dad watched him go.

“I wish you wouldn’t let the kids play with that junk,” he said to my mom.

“It’s not junk,” Sara said. “And Mom didn’t let them. They were sneaking around while I wasn’t home.”

“Well, whatever,” my dad said, still looking at my mom. “I don’t like it.”

“I don’t see why dad cares,” I told Holden later. I’d found him hiding out in the pine-tree cave after dinner.

“He thinks I’m weird,” Holden said. He wiped his cheeks again as if the makeup were still there.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I was playing with makeup.”

“So what?”

“Boys aren’t supposed to.”

“That’s stupid,” I said. “We were just having fun.”

But he didn’t answer. He just wiped his cheeks again and turned away from me.

Now, sitting at the table watching Holden hide his face, I finally get it. Even then, he knew. And now he’s the one who’s afraid. Maybe even ashamed. I study my mom as she twirls pasta on her fork. She’s pretty open-minded. So is my dad. I’m sure if Holden told them, they’d be supportive. But he stays quiet. So I do, too.





THE NEXT MORNING, Holden and I go out to wait for the bus again. Holden teeters at the edge of the road, kicking stones across the street. I join him, imagining that the tiny pebbles are the heads of the jerks who hurt him. Pretty soon we hear the far-off squeal of the bus brakes.

I feel Holden stiffen beside me. “Yeah. You know what? I’m out of here,” he says. “Wanna come?”

Yes, I do. But it’s only the second day of school.

“Where?” I ask lamely.

“Who cares?”

“What about school?”

“Overrated.”

I wonder what Ran would do. He’d probably tell me that running away doesn’t mean the problem won’t just be waiting when you come back.

The bus brakes sound again. One more stop and we’ll see the top of it crest at the hill beyond our house.

I want to go with him. I want to so much.

“You go,” I say.

He shrugs and lopes off down the road toward his pine cave, as if he doesn’t care a single bit that I don’t join him. He doesn’t even look back once.

When I step on the bus, I pause at the third seat. It’s empty again. Waiting for me. But I keep walking all the way to the back. I keep my jaw clenched as I sit where Holden sat yesterday, in front of the same two boys. The people around me get quiet. It seems like ages before the bus finally starts down the road again.

One of the boys cranes his head close to the back of mine and sniffs.

“Looks like Hildy finally had a sex change,” he says.

There’s a brief quiet, then everyone around me laughs.

“See you at Hawee’s!” someone farther back whines.

I stare straight ahead at first, just like Holden did.

“Hey, Hildy,” one of the jerks whispers. “Come back here and sit on my lap.”

I feel a hot sting on my ear. One of them has pinged me just like they did to Holden.

My fingers curl into a fist.

“Hey, Hildy, how ’bout a kiss?”

Another ping.

I squeeze my fist tighter. My eyes are watering. How could Holden sit here like this and not do something?

“Aw, I think Hildy’s gonna cry.”

“What’s wrong, Hildy? Come back here and I’ll make you feel better.”

Someone yanks my hair.

“Nope, not a wig!”

I wipe one eye with the back of my hand. Do not cry. Do not cry.

“I’m sorry, did that hurt, Hildy?”

Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

Another tear slips down my face.

“Oh, my God. She’s really crying!”

“Maybe she didn’t want to be a girl after a —”

The force of my fist against his jaw shuts him up midsentence.

The bus is silent again. I realize there might be a camera in the back of the bus and I’m going to be in serious trouble. Far more than if I’d skipped with Holden. I expect Trudy to pull over and haul me off the bus. But we keep moving on as if nothing happened.