We approach a school zone and the Volvo slows to a crawl. “Dr. Shepherd says the puffiness in your face should go down over the next few days.”
I laugh. “My face is eternally puffy.”
My mom doesn’t respond. “The girls at Cinch It! have been asking after you,” she finally says. “I told them all about your job at Uncle Vernon’s gym, and they all just think it’s so great that you’re taking the initiative to work at a gym.”
I look to her, but she keeps her eyes trained on the school zone ahead, and I’m actually thankful she can’t look at me when I say, “Mom, you know that’s not why I’m working at the gym, right?”
A small boy darts out across the crosswalk, and she slams on her brakes. “I swear! That crossing guard isn’t paying attention to a thing!”
“It’s really just to help out. Uncle Vernon and Inga need all the help they can get since the twins were born. And I like boxing okay,” I tell her. “It’s fun, ya know? Uncle Vernon gives me a few pointers every now and then. But I don’t do it to become some after-picture version of myself. I do it ’cause it makes me feel good. You know that, right?”
She smiles and accelerates as we leave the school zone.
And that’s it. I wish I could figure out a way to just sayit in the most blatant terms: MOM, I DON’T WANT TO OBSESS ABOUT DIETING WITH YOU ANYMORE. But instead, I’ve just sort of slipped away from her and have begun avoiding all the things that once bonded us. Now, the void between us feels so wide that I often wonder if our bond only ran as deep as our obsession with bodies we’ll likely never have.
In front of the school, we share a hug and a kiss. “Oh, I printed off the application for this summer at Daisy Ranch,” she tells me. “I’ll just need you to fill it out so we can send in the deposit. I’ll leave it on your bed for you, okay? This is the year, baby. I can feel it.”
This is the moment when I should just rip off the dang Band-Aid. “I’m not going to weight-loss camp.” Seven words. That’s all it would take. But instead I nod and say, “Sounds good, Mom.”
A cloud of hurt and anger at no one but myself follows me through the carport and into the school. I’m so scared of bursting this unspoken bubble between my mom and me, when in reality, it would be the best thing for both of us. I’ve spent so much time wondering who my mom would be without all the fad diets and the calorie counting and the absurd workout plans. Honestly, I’ve wondered the same about myself. Some part of me is scared that she’s spent so long living this life that if she stripped it all away, there’d be nothing left, and surely in some deep recess of her brain, she fears that, too.
I head straight to the front office to do morningannouncements, hoping to find that spring in my step but failing.
Between first and second periods, I find Amanda waiting at my locker, tugging the straps of her backpack and twisting her toe into the linoleum. A wave of embarrassment washes over me as I relive my wisdom-tooth text-message fiasco. I might’ve been drugged, but I made something that was very much about Amanda about me and my feelings. I should’ve reached out to her over the weekend, but I didn’t know where to start. I take a deep breath and tuck all thoughts of my mom and Daisy Ranch aside. Trying to fix more than one thing at a time usually means I can only give half a mind to a whole problem. So first: Amanda.
“Hey, are you okay?” she asks immediately.
I nod and touch my cheek. “A little sore. Mom said she can’t believe I had to get my wisdom teeth out. Her and Uncle Vernon never did.”
She nods, but there’s something about her that feels off.
“We should talk,” I offer.
She waves her hand and her whole body bounces back, like she’d just as soon tiptoe around the issue. “Psh! Nothing to talk about. Well, I mean, between us.” She leans down and whispers, “But oh my God! What did you send to Malik?”
I release a heavy breath, but I can’t hide my smile. “Well, I’ve got some damage control to do, but it shouldn’t be too bad.” I’ve backed out of one tough conversation alreadythis morning; I won’t do it again. “You know those texts I sent you about my feelings?”
She nods silently.
“That was just about me wanting you to always feel like I’m here for you and not about me thinking there’s anything wrong with you being... asexual.” I test out the word, wanting to be sure I’m using it in the right way. I take a step closer and cup her arm with my hand. “You’re my best friend. The only one who’s ever willing to go all in on my ridiculous plans and the only one whose faith in me is unwavering. I want you to be able to tell me everything. And if it’s something I don’t understand, I want to learn. And I know it’s not on you to teach me about it.”
Her lips split into a half smile. “It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you. I just didn’t know how. And...” She shakes her head. “When we were playing Two Truths and a Lie, it felt like a good time to just get it out there. Like, it wouldn’t be some big deal. It’s just my sexual orientation in the same way that you’re straight and Hannah’s a lesbian. I wanted to tell you, but I also know that you’re always looking for a solution. So I was scared you’d think this was something that needed fixing.”
“Oh, no. Not at all. I don’t think you’re broken,” I say. And I mean it. “I love you because you’re Amanda,” I tell her. “And that means loving all the little and big things that make you—you!”
Amanda throws her arms around me and squeezes relentlessly. We’ve never been the type to hug much. Not like Ellen and Willowdean. But in a way, I’m okay withthat. Because this hug—this suffocatingly tight hug that Amanda has perfected from years of wrestling with her brothers—means so much more.
After lunch, I rush over to AP Psych in the hopes that I’ll catch Malik a little early and maybe we can talk. If I’m being honest, I have totally daydreamed about this moment. Us in Mr. Prater’s dark classroom with the twinkling lights. Except in my daydream, no one else is there. We would talk and talking would turn into kissing and kissing would turn into love and love would turn into forever.
I know, I know. But aren’t daydreams supposed to be embarrassing?
I settle into my seat and wait for Malik. Slowly students begin to trickle in, and my daydream begins to dissipate. The second-to-last bell rings, and Mr. Prater strolls in with a fresh mustard stain on his tie. He waits in the doorway for any stragglers, and just as the final bell rings, Malik squeezes in past him.
He plops down beside me and says, “Hey.”
“Hey,” I echo. Our eyes lock for one... two... three seconds before he looks away and we are right back where we started.
I turn away and reach into my bag for my textbook. I squeeze my eyes shut as hard as I can, because if I don’t, I might just cry.
