by K. A. Holt
distorted.
Eyes huge,
chin small,
not like a human,
almost unrecognizable.
And for a second
my scalp tingles
when the thought skitters by
that maybe this is actually
how I look
to Mom,
to the world,
twisted up,
not right.
Alex
Alyx
Alexx
Red alert.
Red alert.
Red alert.
A disturbance.
A change.
Divergence.
The forecast.
Stormy.
Watch out.
Red alert.
Red alert.
Red alert.
Kate
Her pinkie is relaxed.
She laughs,
talks to kids in the hall,
her finger gently holding mine,
keeping me close
so I can’t escape.
But my pinkie holds onto hers
like it’s holding onto a secret now,
holding its breath
afraid to move
afraid to get caught.
My heart starts to beat
faster
harder
scarier
and how did I never worry before?
About everyone seeing our pinkies?
About what they all might think?
Has everyone always seen the pinkies?
And no one said anything?
I mean, kids link pinkies sometimes,
so what.
Kids hold hands sometimes,
who cares?
Probably no one cares.
Probably I’m going crazy for no reason.
But then eyes catch mine.
Levi’s eyes.
They dip down to the pinkies,
they look back up.
His mouth scrunches for a second
before he starts talking.
TAM
I’m trying to get Levi
to finish his long story
by nodding
a lot
agreeing
on the spot
because I need him to be done.
Kate has eased away
and is already turning
so I can’t see her face.
And where is she going?
I want to go with her.
Why did she let go of my hand?
Why won’t Levi
stop
talking
just . . .
Hey!
Kate!
Wait!
I gotta go,
Levi.
I pretend his eyes don’t narrow.
I pretend I don’t see him shoot lasers
at Kate
as I run toward her.
Kate!
Wait!
Hey.
Hey.
Take a deep breath.
Are you okay?
Your face is like
white white white.
Here.
Sit down.
Have some water.
Kate.
Kate?
Kate
Can everyone see me freaking?
I drink the water
sharing germs
sharing spit
sharing Tam
and it’s like maybe a vitamin?
It makes me feel better,
stronger,
more like her.
I sip again.
More Tam.
Trying to be like her.
Trying not to care.
Trying not to see
everyone looking . . .
differently
at me.
I’m okay.
I say.
Kate
She wants to know what happened
and I can’t just say
I need a minute
to catch my breath.
I know it doesn’t make sense
the cheerleader
the mascot
the possible future president
doesn’t want eyes on her,
doesn’t want people looking at her
staring at her
talking about her
whispering about her.
I know it doesn’t make sense
and I need to figure it out
and I don’t know what to say
so I blurt:
Maybe people are looking too much.
At us.
Maybe linking pinkies is weird.
Maybe we should stop.
Her face gets kind of frowny.
She says,
Since when are you afraid of
people looking at you?
At us?
Her forehead wrinkles,
her eyebrows dip low,
confusion passes over her face
like a shadow.
What’s going on?
I don’t know what to say.
Mom says I can’t be gay?
Tam’s arms cross over her chest,
a wall I’ve not seen before
and I feel a jab
in my stomach
like a punch,
a blow.
I don’t know,
I just . . .
Hey. Listen.
Deep breaths.
It’s okay.
No more pinkies.
If that’s what you want.
And I know,
even though she’s being nice,
those few little words
I blurted just now . . .
I’ve just . . .
Man.
I really let her down.
But GAH.
That freaks me out, too,
because I want to hold hands
except now,
sigh.
I’m afraid to.
TAM
I want her to be happy
and smiley
and goofy.
I want her to be the Kate
I know.
I want all of those things.
So if I need to stop holding her hand
to make her happy
then fine.
I’ll do that.
But I admit
I don’t understand.
Not holding hands
doesn’t feel happy
or
smiley
or goofy.
It just feels sad.
Kate
I don’t want her strong
slim pinkie
to intertwine with mine.
I don’t want her palm
just a little bit sweaty,
pressed against mine.
I don’t want to feel
the heartbeat in her thumb
beat beat beating along with mine.
I don’t want to hold her
smooth, soft hand
tightly against mine.
If I wanted all of that,
what kind of girl would I be?
Definitely not the normal kind.
TAM
It’s okay she disappeared
right in front of me.
People are weird,
right?
It’s okay she barely ate,
barely talked,
and then left me.
Right?
It’s okay she didn’t say goodbye,
she didn’t look at me,
or smile one time.
Right?
Whatever.
I’m sure
it’s fine.
Right?
Kate
Becca pulls me aside,
fingers pressing
into my upper arm
squeezing,
yanking,
dragging me
away.
Her eyes are wide,
as she shoves me
into the bathroom.
Hey.
Um. Hey?
I rub my arm
where her fingers just squeezed.
Is there an emergency?
I just heard something.
Okay?
Her eyes are wide.
Concerned.
Jeremy said
Paul said
Kaitlyn said
Chloe saw you
and Tam
kissing
after school
the other day.
My whole body goes tingly
like static shocking
every inch of my skin
as I literally feel the blood
in my face
drain
away.
What?
My voice chokes out,
like the words are made of
sand.
That’s crazy.
That’s what I said.
Why would you kiss someone who
yelled at all your friends?
Why would you kiss someone who
was
so MEAN?
Becca looks at me like
I’m a book written in French
she’s trying really hard
to understand.
So it’s not true?
Of course it isn’t!
It isn’t.
But my face flames when I realize
I wish it was.
Okay. Well, weird.
Why would she say that?
I don’t know.
But it’s one hundred percent
untrue.
Cool.
Cool.
But nothing,
nothing,
feels cool,
especially my cheeks
and the boiling burning
churning
of my stomach.
Kate
Jill’s car pulls up
outside of school,
her smile big,
her silver glitter eye shadow
raining down her cheeks
when she blinks.
Need a ride?
She knows I need a ride.
We already planned this.
My arms are crossed so tight
they hurt my chest.
Kate?
Hop in.
Milkshakes on me.
I chew the inside of my lip.
Stare at her face.
It’s longer now,
where it used to be
round
it’s . . . different.
She looks like a grown-up
and I guess she is.
Sort of.
I told Mom.
The words come out on their own.
I told Mom.
She didn’t care.
I mean worse than that . . .
she just said . . .
no.
She told me I’m wrong.
About my own self!
And she asked what people would think.
And I hadn’t thought about that,
not a whole lot,
Jill,
what would people think?
Then today,
I asked Tam to stop,
no more holding hands
until I can . . .
I don’t know,
figure out my thoughts
and
THEN I found out
there’s this rumor—
I feel like I might choke
and throw up
or worse
cry.
Oh.
Oh, hey.
Kate.
The engine stops
just like my heart,
and she jumps from the car,
opens my door.
Her arms swoop around me,
warm and tight
and she doesn’t say anything
just holds me
in front of everyone
like someone has died.
Kate
Why did I listen to you, again?
Why did I think that was a good idea?
You, who left us.
You, who Mom hates.
Why did I do the thing
YOU said to do?
I can’t leave, Jill!
You know that, don’t you?
I can’t just pack a bag and run off.
I’m not eighteen like you were.
I have nowhere to go.
I don’t even want to go somewhere else.
I just want Mom to listen.
I just want to be heard.
Why aren’t I as important as
the brand-new
stinking
floors?
Kate
The milkshake is melted.
Slimy
warm
pukey pink.
I imagine that my guts look like this, too.
The inside of my heart
just mixed-up slop.
I look up.
Jill hasn’t said anything.
She just keeps looking at me.
Nothing is right.
And then
without even thinking
my hand swats out,
smashes into the milkshake
spraying it
all over Jill’s shirt
all over her stupid glittery face
and I stand up
and I walk out.
Kate
She’s behind me
her boots clip-clop
like a military horse.
I swipe at the tears
and I wish,
oh I wish,
they would turn to tiny daggers
so I could spin and throw,
hit her with my sorrow.
Kate. Please. Stop.
Kate. Please. Stop.
It feels like those are the only words
anyone ever says to me.
Kate, don’t do that.
Kate, do this other thing.
Kate, you’re better than that.
Kate, look at what you can be.
Look at what I can be.
Something no one likes
or believes.
This girl,
this stupid girl,
with deviant pinkies.
Kate
I’m only here because I’m not going home.
I’m only here because I started to get cold.
I’m only here because Jill followed me.
I’m only here because she made me get in the car.
I’m only here because I don’t know where else to go.
I’m not here because I want to talk.
I’m not here because of the cocoa.
I’m not here because she keeps hugging me.
I’m not here because she’s quiet.
I’m not here because I’ve missed her more than I can know.
I’m not here because I’ve forgiven her
for her terrible, hideous advice.
I’m only here because I had to go to the bathroom
and at least her bathroom is nice.
Kate
Tell me what you want
Jill said
right now.
Today.
What do you want
to make you happy?
And I said
for everyone I love to be happy.
And she said
but what would make you happy?
And I whispered
what if me being happy
makes everyone else unhappy?
And she said
it never would
And I whispered
we can’t all be happy at the same time
And she whispered
your happiness makes other people happy, Kate
And I whispered
I don’t think so
in a voice that was barely anything at all.
And she hugged me.
And I cried.
Kate
Everything is quiet
on our drive home.
Me sniffling a little,
Jill glancing at me,
the corner of her eye
getting quite
the workout.
When the car slows down
a block from the house
so Mom can’t see
me
getting out,
I finally turn to Jill,
feeling so tired,
so sad.
I did my part.
Our stupid plan, remember?
Now it’s your turn, Jill.
Don’t make me tell her
something else she doesn’t want
to hear.
Kate
Mom’s face
when Jill comes through the door,
it breaks.
It collapses in on itself,
crumbling.
A wall
torn down.
Mom’s face
when her hands clap over her mouth
and her eyes swim
swim
swim
until they spill over her hands,
Mom’s face
buried
in Jill’s shoulder
as Jill looks over at me
and our eyes lock,
holding each other just as tight
