in Erick. Just the way I always do. I do not let my heart lift. Even as Toby turns to me and says, I’ve been waiting for you. Want to go for a walk?I should make an excuse. Homework. It’s too cold. Or just a no with no excuse attached. Just no. Behind Toby’s back, Mae grins at me. The June-has- a-boyfriend grin. I shake my head at her. Toby doesn’t like me that way. Even if he did… Look at what Mae does to hold onto Erick. What would it cost me to keep Toby? C’mon, Toby nudges me. A quick walk, I promise. You’ll love it. There’s lots of crisp leaves to crunch. I told him weeks ago my favorite part of fall was walking on fallen leaves hearing them crackle like Rice Krispies beneath my feet. He remembered. Okay, I say at last. Because sometimes it’s too hard to say no. Because sometimes it’s too easy to pretend girls like me (and Mae) get happy endings, too.
WE WALK IN SILENCE
Listening to the leaves crunch with every step. I shiver from the cold and Toby plops his hat onto my head. It grows dark. Toby takes my hand. My empty stomach aches. My toes go numb inside my shoes. But I don’t suggest we turn back. As long as Toby holds my hand I’ll walk with him wherever he wants to go. My heart sinks when he stops. There. He points across the street. It’s just a house. That’s all I see. Gripping my hand harder, he pulls me across the street until we’re in front of the house.
SUDDENLY, I GET IT
The lights are on. The curtains are open. We can easily see in. The mother is vacuuming. Two kids are on tablets. A man enters. He slaps the mom’s butt. When she whirls around, he kisses her. The kids don’t even look up. She pushes him away. But he comes back, taking the vacuum from her, tossing it aside. Then grabbing her hands, he starts to dance. She resists… until she doesn’t. Her arms come around his neck. They sway in the middle of the room. The kids are still unaware. But Toby and I watch it all. It’s like they’re on a stage. When they finish, I clap.
OH, THAT WAS GREAT,
I say. Do you know them? Toby laughs. Of course not. That would be creepy. I only spy on strangers. The stranger the better. I wonder if he’s talking about me. About lOOking over the hedges and watching me heave. But then he takes my hand again, pulling me further down the street. Helpless, I follow where he leads.
WE WATCH
an old couple as they sit on their couch at opposite ends. They eat soup, awkwardly cradling the bowls in their hands. The TV flickers with something we can’t see. They stare at it, unblinking. We watch so many people watching their televisions. Game shows. Sitcom repeats from 10 years ago. The nightly news. We watch until it’s fully dark and now almost all curtains and blinds are closed. I wait for Toby to call it. To say it’s time to head home. Instead, twitchy and tense, he stomps his feet and mutters under his breath. Hesitant, I reach out, touch his sleeve lightly. Then snatch my hand back. What’s wrong? I ask. Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair. Everyone is boring. I wanted it— I wanted you— He stops. Shrugs. He’s embarrassed, I realize. It’s okay, I say. No. He shakes his head. I wanted you to get it. I thought you’d get it. Cause you’re… I hold my breath, desperate to hear what I am. Instead, he goes off in another direction. I took a friend once back where I used to live. She called me a freak. Said it was wrong. Said I was sick. I told her, Hey, I’m not hurting anyone. I’m just interested, you know. Like curious. I want to see, to know how other people live. But more than that—
Toby paces now, punching his hands fist to palm. He barely notices me, shivering from the cold. More than that I go out, find the nicest, most perfect house filled with perfect people. Mom and Dad. Nice cars parked straight and clean in the driveway. Lawn cut even and trim. They got two kids. Little ones. Boy and girl in private school uniforms, getting on the bus waving to Mom and Dad. Everyone happy-happy, grinning big and so perfect it hurts to see it. To think it might be true.
Toby’s voice is too loud on the quiet street. But I don’t shush him. I listen and let him rant. So one night I can’t take it at my house. I go out walking. It’s late. and everyone’s snug inside. Happy families doing happy family things. I go by the house of the perfect family in their perfect house with their perfect kids. I pick up a rock out of their own landscaping. It’s heavy in my hand. I go closer, thinking to put it through a window. That’s when I hear it. Shouting. From inside the house. And a kid. Crying. Wailing. Scared. I creep closer and now I see they got filmy type curtains you can almost see right through. There’s a man shaking a lady, she’s screaming, kid at her feet is sobbing. It’s awful. And it’s also kinda perfect.
Toby laughs. Misery loves company, isn’t that what they say?
He laughs again, but then it trails off as he finally looks over at me. His eyes hold mine. Intense. Burning in the dark night. I nod. Yeah. That’s what they say.
He comes closer, his hands grabbing mine holding them to pull me closer pulling me into him, then his hands are over my ears shushing the world and I think he’s warming them but he wants me closer still ’til our lips touch. He kisses me. I’m so shocked I stand there, stupid and unmoving. Days and years and decades pass before some voice in my head yells, Kiss him back, stupid!So I do. The best I can. All the while certain I’m doing it wrong. Finally, just as I’m getting the hang of it (I think I’m getting the hang of it) Toby pulls back. His hands caress my face and it’s weird and wonderful. His eyes stare into mine. You get it, don’t you, June? You see someone or something, they seem perfect but they’re not. Or like you. His thumb brushes my lips. And I’m barely listening to what he’s saying. People see you, and they think they know you or about you. Like you’re lazy or addicted to fast food. Suddenly Toby’s flow of words ….stalls...
I realize I’ve pushed him. My hands against his chest. Shoving him away from me. That’s what people think? Or what you think?
The words come from lips still warmed with his kisses. My voice is soft. Only trembling slightly. Toby swallows. No it’s other people. They think… It’s not, I mean, you’re not like your sister. Like Mae. Making brownies. Like, of course, the big girl loves dessert and makes the best brownies. But you…
He trails off again. I wait. But you… you’re not like Mae. You try to be… different. You don’t eat like she does. I mean, you probably just have bad genes.
I laugh. I don’t know why. Because really, I want to cry. Bad genes, I repeat. Wondering if he can hear it. How incredibly STUPID it sounds. But Toby nods eagerly like we’re on the same page. Yeah, bad luck. Right? He says. Worst luck, I answer. The very worst.
WRAPPING MY ARMS
around myself, I turn and do what I should’ve done long ago. I walk away.
TOBY’'S NOT THE TYPE
to go rushing after a girl calling her name and babbling apologies. Toby’s the type… to wait. Let you walk alone several blocks, before finally catching up and falling into step beside you. Like nothing ever happened. Like you imagined everything. Toby is so good at pretending. I’m a friend in one place. A stranger in another. I’m the girl who gets him. The girl he kisses in the dark. The girl who will— of course —easily forgive him.
I STOP
Toby keeps walking several paces, not realizing I’m no longer beside him. I watch him striding forward loose-limbed and confident. He’s so certain I’m still trotting along beside him. He actually startles when he finally looks to his side and realizes I’m no longer there. Ha. Whipping around, he throws his arms out. And I can tell he’s mad. Mad at me for making him look foolish. C’mon, seriously? You’re still pouting? You want some BIG APOLOGY? Is that it? No,
I respond. I want you to take me to the Homecoming Dance. Toby’s arms fall. He wasn’t expecting that. Honestly, I wasn’t either. The words fall from my mouth before I can stop them. June…
Toby says. Just that. My name and nothing more. I could let him off the hook. Say I’m joking or something. But I don’t. Instead, I just wait.
OKAY, LOOK,
Toby says. I don’t wanna go to Homecoming at all. But I gotta because of basketball. So, I’m going with a group of frie
nds. Not people you really know. Guys from the team and their girlfriends. It’d be weird and awkward if I had you as a date. When everyone is treating it more casual. Like a thing your parents are making you do. Toby finishes with a shrug. Okay. That’s what I should say. Let it go. Instead, my mouth decides tonight is the night I say what needs to be said. Why did you kiss me? Do you even like me? The words hang between us. Then Toby strides toward me closing the distance. Do you think I kiss girls I don’t like? Do you think I hang out all the time with girls I don’t like? I like you, June. I like you so much. I like you… more than I should. If things were different…
My nose is running from the cold. And from the tears filling my eyes. Like if I were skinny, I say. Different like that, right?
Toby grabs my arms. TIGHT. No! Not like that. I shouldn’t have said that before about bad genes. What I meant was… You got secrets. Ugly ones. Ones that make you different. That set you apart. I got those kind of secrets, too. Don’t shake your head, June.
I don’t realize I’m doing it. But still, I don’t stop. I don’t believe you.
Again, I say this OUT LOUD. Apparently, I am now the sassy sort of girl who simply says what she thinks. Well, as sassy as anyone can be while sobbing.
MY DAD IS DEAD,
Toby announces. I stare, shocked. It takes me a minute to realize… This right here. THIS is his ugly secret. I’m sorry, I say, unsure now. Because sure, it’s sad. But it’s not really an ugly secret. As if reading my mind, Toby adds, There’s more. He died of a drug overdose. Big surprise, but not really. He was always a mess. Mom, too. Which is why I’m staying with my grandma. Mom overdosed just like Dad, only she didn’t die. Lucky her. Ambulance got there in time. Stuck some magic needle in her. Brought her back from the dead. Off she went to rehab. Off I went to Grandma’s.
Toby stops. Shrugs. I’m sorry, I say again. It’s not enough. That sucks,
I add. As if it helps. Toby shrugs again. Yeah, well, it is what it is. But do you get it now? Do you see why I need things at school to just be easy? Smooth. No bumps. No hassles. No one and nobody who will make things hard.
WHAT CAN YOU SAY
when someone plays the dead dad card? When they follow it with the almost-dead mom card? I can’t say, Yeah, but Homecoming. I can’t. And I don’t. We walk the rest of the way home in silence. Right before we part, Toby asks, Friends? I hesitate… but only a moment before answering— Of course.
Of course, says the girl who will not make his life hard. Of course, says the girl who holds his secrets and nothing else. Of course.
THE FRIDAY
of Homecoming Lacey announces that Toby’s bringing a date. She sounds heartbroken. And I am instantly sick. I might’ve thrown up if my stomach was not totally and completely empty. I haven’t eaten a single bite in two days. For once my lie is true. I’m not hungry. The Friday of Homecoming Mae and Erick have a fight. He hates the shortbread cookies. He calls them dog biscuits. He throws them in her face. And Mae cries. I’m sorry,she tells him. Sorry. Sorry for staying up all night making the shortbread cookies. Sorry for spending a week perfecting the recipe. Sorry. I got people wanting to buy brownies, Erick says. Nobody wants this shortbread stuff. Nobody even knows what it is.Mae again says she’s sorry. But it’s not good enough. Not for Erick. He storms out. Drives away. And Mae cries some more. The Friday of Homecoming I listen to Mae crying in the bathroom. I stare at the shortbread sitting on the kitchen counter. I take the first bite to prove Erick wrong. Sweet butter and dark chocolate chunks mixed with little bits of salt burst and melt across my tongue. That first bite I savor. It’s a miracle in my mouth. I inhale the rest. Jaw working angrily. I don’t taste the butter or chocolate or salt as I push cookie after cookie down my throat. I am still chewing the last one when the sickness comes. I run to the sink, hang my head and… EXHALE. Everything rushes back UP. I’m standing there panting when I hear a laugh. Dude, that was sick.It’s Erick. Erick with his phone in hand recording everything. I stare at him. Mind racing. And mad. Not at Erick. But at me. For letting My guard D O W N For not learning my lesson. For letting someone lOOk and see. Again. I didn’t feel good.
It’s the truth. Sorta. Erick snickers. Yeah. I can tell.
I start to shake. Please delete whatever you recorded.
Erick looks at his phone. Like he’s surprised to see it in his hand. Aw, yeah, of course. Just goofing with ya. He laughs. Shoves the phone in his pocket. I don’t believe him. But I have no power here. I try to take control. Or at least not totally lose it. Do you need something? I thought you’d left?
Erick shrugs. Yeah, I wanted to tell Mae, she needs to make me some brownies. For tonight. No brownies. No dancie.
I know Erick is not the worst person on the planet. I know there are murderers and child molesters and even worse than that still. But right now Erick is THE WORST. And I am, too. Because, I say, Yeah, okay, I’ll tell Mae.
Erick nods. Heh, I figured you would.
His hand slaps my back. Hard. You sorta owe me now, right?
He looks at me and smiles in a way that tells me he won’t be deleting that video. I swallow. And say nothing. Erick squeezes my shoulder. Too tight. Guess somebody liked them ugly cookies.
He’s still laughing as he walks out the door.
MAE ENTERS
the kitchen not long after Erick leaves. What’s wrong?
She asks right away. Erick was here. He wants brownies. Says he won’t go to the dance otherwise.
The words are uneven and stiff. Mae frowns. Like she knows there’s more I’m not saying. Her gaze lands on the empty counter where her cookies used to be. And he took the cookies, too? she asks. No, he didn’t take them.
That’s all I say. I expect Mae to ask where they went. She doesn’t. She just goes silent and sad. Even more sad than before. And I realize. She knows. Mae knows my awful secret. Mae has probably always known. And even though she knows, Mae comes over and wraps her arms around me. It’ll be okay,
she says. This is Mae’s favorite lie. Like most lies, it’s the thing we most wish was true.
WE PRETEND
everything is fine. We pretend everything is normal. And we get ready for the dance together. I pull on my dress. It hangs on me. I stare in dismay and then start to cry. I brushed my teeth and gargled mouthwash but I can still taste Mae’s cookies coming up the wrong way. Mae comes in, sees me crying and then leaves again. Moments later she returns with her sewing kit. C’mon, she says. Let’s fix you up.
MAE DOES MY HAIR AND MAKEUP
We stand side by side looking in the mirror. Our mouths are two perfect bows. Our cheeks are shaded with makeup to create hollows. Our eyes are outlined in black with eyelashes sharp and spiky. I look like Mae. I look beautiful. And sad. In the mirror my eyes meet Mae’s. I ask the Mae in the mirror what I cannot ask the Mae beside me. Why put up with him? Why let him act that way? Why not tell him to make his own brownies?
The Mae in the mirror blinks. Tears shimmer in her eyes. I’m sorry,
I say. And I am. Mae shakes her head. It’s okay. I know he’s not…
Mae stops. Shakes her head. Sometimes I think… he’s not worth it.
Then the Mae in the mirror laughs. Sadly. But mostly I think it’s okay. That being with him, being able to say “my boyfriend,” is worth it.
It’s the most honest Mae has ever been with me about Erick. Usually she just says she loves him. Maybe only the Mae in the mirror can tell the truth. What about you? Mae
in the mirror asks. She doesn’t ask me. She asks June in the mirror. A girl who looks like me mixed with Mae. Except skinnier. So skinny her dress had to be taken in 2 inches on each side. I’m afraid you’re going to disappear,
Mae says. June, when was the last time you ate? Ate and held it all in?
Normally, I’d lie. But June in the mirror doesn’t lie to Mae in the mirror. So, I try to remember. Not at lunch. Not at breakfast. Not yesterday for dinner or lunch or breakfast or in between. The day befor
e? I remember staring at a piece of toast. Dry. No butter. No jelly. I wanted to eat it. I needed to eat it. My hands were shaking, I couldn’t hold a pen to do my homework. I brought the toast to my lips. Took a bite. It filled my mouth expanding like something alive. I spit it out. Into a napkin. That’s really the last time I ate. But that’s not what Mae in the mirror means. When did I last EAT, like really EAT? I don’t know,
Not Hungry Page 2
