me, and after a prolonged struggle, I get out from under her, weird pink thing in hand.
“Fine, fine. I’ll put it on. Sheesh.”
“I’m just willing to fight for beauty,” she says.
I stomp to the bathroom and throw it on. I stomp out and stand with legs spread. “So?”
“Well.” She laughs. “Maybe it would look better if you took your shorts out from underneath.”
“I’m not wearing this thing without shorts.”
She goes to the closet, pulls out something only a bit longer than a pair of drawers. “These, then.”
“Those aren’t shorts, they’re underwears.”
“They’re for working out.”
I frown down at them, stretch them in my hands. “They’re tight.” I go into the bathroom and put them on. “I can’t wear these,” I say. “They’re like a prison for my butt.”
“They’re Spanx, that’s the point.”
“They’re horrible. Besides, I don’t have anything to spank.” I’m a rail, unlike her, with her soft curves. I’m jealous, but then again I’m not, because she’s vulnerable, and I’m not, so much. Curves don’t help you run, or fight.
“Well, you said you had to wear shorts.”
“Fine.”
I cross my arms. My ears are on fire as she looks me over. I feel like I’m crossdressing. I mean, I do feel like I’m a girl inside, but not this kind. Like I’m somewhere between boy and girl, and that’s where I’m comfortable.
“Do I look like a drag queen?”
She frowns and looks taken aback. “No. Are you kidding? Did you even look in the mirror?” She pushes me back into the bathroom, forces me to face the mirror. I’m so much bigger than her but she’s great at pushing me around.
But she’s someone who cares, and I don’t want to lose that. I don’t have much of that. Unless you count Ryan and his damn sandwiches.
I look in the mirror. Amy is smiling behind me. I force myself to face my reflection. I hate my reflection. It never feels like me.
The girl staring back at me is pretty. She’s haunting, because she’s what I maybe would have looked like if I’d been born into a family like Ryan’s, or Amy’s.
She looks like a girl who can afford to be soft.
She looks like a gazelle about to be eaten by a lion. She looks like a piece of silk floating towards a tornado.
I frown. It’s a pretty frown. My lips are painted. I’m not sure if the mask is the makeup, or the face underneath it. I turn away from the mirror, then turn back. It’s weird seeing myself as pretty, and the more I look, the less I hate it.
But I still have to force myself to keep looking. It’s like staring at the sun. I don’t want to face myself. I don’t need to see myself to know who I am.
“Ryan is going to go crazy when he sees you,” Amy says.
It pulls me away from the mirror, gives me something else to think about. “Think so?”
“Yeah, I bet this is just what he likes.”
Yay. Wait, does that mean normal me isn’t?
Chapter 9
I don’t usually do parties. I wasn’t really invited to many in high school, and when I was, I found excuses not to go. But I can’t say no to Ally.
She makes life more exciting, and even if it’s kind of always heading for a crash, it’s a train I don’t want to get off of.
I wonder if she’s done her ASL homework for tomorrow, then realize it’s a stupid thing to be thinking about while walking up to Amy’s door.
I knock, maybe too hard. Amy’s house is nice, two-story, brown brick, upscale. The door opens, and music floats out. I love music. I wish I knew what it was like to feel it through vibrations, like my parents, but I can’t turn my ears off.
Amy’s a pretty girl. Tan skin, brown eyes and hair, short and curvy body. The polar opposite of Ally. She smiles at me, and I try not to fidget. I look past her into the living room. No Ally. Disappointment must show on my face because Amy smiles and wraps her arm through mine and drags me in, shutting the door loudly behind us. I gulp.
What does one even do at a
“Fine, fine. I’ll put it on. Sheesh.”
“I’m just willing to fight for beauty,” she says.
I stomp to the bathroom and throw it on. I stomp out and stand with legs spread. “So?”
“Well.” She laughs. “Maybe it would look better if you took your shorts out from underneath.”
“I’m not wearing this thing without shorts.”
She goes to the closet, pulls out something only a bit longer than a pair of drawers. “These, then.”
“Those aren’t shorts, they’re underwears.”
“They’re for working out.”
I frown down at them, stretch them in my hands. “They’re tight.” I go into the bathroom and put them on. “I can’t wear these,” I say. “They’re like a prison for my butt.”
“They’re Spanx, that’s the point.”
“They’re horrible. Besides, I don’t have anything to spank.” I’m a rail, unlike her, with her soft curves. I’m jealous, but then again I’m not, because she’s vulnerable, and I’m not, so much. Curves don’t help you run, or fight.
“Well, you said you had to wear shorts.”
“Fine.”
I cross my arms. My ears are on fire as she looks me over. I feel like I’m crossdressing. I mean, I do feel like I’m a girl inside, but not this kind. Like I’m somewhere between boy and girl, and that’s where I’m comfortable.
“Do I look like a drag queen?”
She frowns and looks taken aback. “No. Are you kidding? Did you even look in the mirror?” She pushes me back into the bathroom, forces me to face the mirror. I’m so much bigger than her but she’s great at pushing me around.
But she’s someone who cares, and I don’t want to lose that. I don’t have much of that. Unless you count Ryan and his damn sandwiches.
I look in the mirror. Amy is smiling behind me. I force myself to face my reflection. I hate my reflection. It never feels like me.
The girl staring back at me is pretty. She’s haunting, because she’s what I maybe would have looked like if I’d been born into a family like Ryan’s, or Amy’s.
She looks like a girl who can afford to be soft.
She looks like a gazelle about to be eaten by a lion. She looks like a piece of silk floating towards a tornado.
I frown. It’s a pretty frown. My lips are painted. I’m not sure if the mask is the makeup, or the face underneath it. I turn away from the mirror, then turn back. It’s weird seeing myself as pretty, and the more I look, the less I hate it.
But I still have to force myself to keep looking. It’s like staring at the sun. I don’t want to face myself. I don’t need to see myself to know who I am.
“Ryan is going to go crazy when he sees you,” Amy says.
It pulls me away from the mirror, gives me something else to think about. “Think so?”
“Yeah, I bet this is just what he likes.”
Yay. Wait, does that mean normal me isn’t?
Chapter 9
I don’t usually do parties. I wasn’t really invited to many in high school, and when I was, I found excuses not to go. But I can’t say no to Ally.
She makes life more exciting, and even if it’s kind of always heading for a crash, it’s a train I don’t want to get off of.
I wonder if she’s done her ASL homework for tomorrow, then realize it’s a stupid thing to be thinking about while walking up to Amy’s door.
I knock, maybe too hard. Amy’s house is nice, two-story, brown brick, upscale. The door opens, and music floats out. I love music. I wish I knew what it was like to feel it through vibrations, like my parents, but I can’t turn my ears off.
Amy’s a pretty girl. Tan skin, brown eyes and hair, short and curvy body. The polar opposite of Ally. She smiles at me, and I try not to fidget. I look past her into the living room. No Ally. Disappointment must show on my face because Amy smiles and wraps her arm through mine and drags me in, shutting the door loudly behind us. I gulp.
What does one even do at a
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