Becoming A Butterfly (The Butterfly Chronicles)

by Castile, Mia

  Farrah Leevar: 812.555.2525 Sorry, lightning, lost power for a few minutes.

  I chewed on my fingernail as I watched Henry sit down. He had been pacing.

  Henry Emmitt: It’s cool. I was worried for a second; you just disappeared.

  Farrah Leevar: No, just technical difficulties. So what are you into?

  Henry Emmitt: I skate, but every summer my dad takes me, my little sister and my brother to Cocoa Beach, FL, and we surf for two weeks just him and us. It’s pretty cool.

  Farrah Leevar: So that’s a no.

  I smiled because I knew how passionate he was about skating.

  Henry Emmitt: Skating is a sport! It takes a lot to hit the ollies, boardslides, and do all the other tricks. I’ll match skating up to any sport, any time, any day.

  Farrah Leevar: OK, OK, I have no idea what you just said, but maybe you can show me your moves sometime.

  Henry Emmitt: I’d like that.

  Farrah Leevar: Cool.

  There was a long pause as I waited for his response. I tapped my fingers on my desk and watched him.

  Henry Emmitt: What do you like to do?

  That was a loaded question; there were so many things I thought Farrah would be good at, like walking, talking, and looking pretty.

  Farrah Leevar: Idk. I want to make a difference somehow though. Mean something to someone someday.

  I rolled my eyes at myself.

  Henry Emmitt: Hmm,

  I wasn’t sure what that meant, but he added after a few minutes,

  Henry Emmitt: I think if anyone could do it you can.

  Farrah Leevar: What makes you think that?

  Henry Emmitt: I’ve been watching your posts. I think you’re cool and funny. I wouldn’t have messaged you if I didn’t. I think you’re interesting.

  My heart skipped but only for a second. He didn’t think I was interesting; he thought Farrah was interesting. This was not how I wanted to spend a Saturday night chatting with Henry—as Farrah.

  Farrah Leevar: I’ve got to go; it was enchanting to meet you Henry Emmitt.

  Henry Emmitt: Yes, it was. Good night.

  I logged out, suddenly feeling like I was going to suffocate. I closed my laptop and raced out the door— down the stairs and to the front porch and the swing. I collapsed into the swing, and it bounced from the springs at the hook. I pulled my legs up and leaned my head on my knees. All was quiet. It was chilly, but other than that a nice spring evening. I swung for a while and watched the night settle in.

  The only sounds were the crickets chirping, the squeaking from the swing, and the hum from the street light. Next door, Henry’s front door opened, and he came out. He sat on the edge of his porch railing and watched the street light flicker for a moment. His shirt said “I do my own stunts” and had a stick figure falling off a skate board.

  “Hey,” he smiled, as he straddled his porch railing. This was NOT happening.

  “Hi,” I said softly, turning my head to face him. There was a long awkward silence, like the kind when someone says a joke that they think is hilarious, but no one laughs or even smiles.

  “So—” “Um—” we said at the same time. Then there was another long uncomfortable silence. There was so much I wanted to say.

  “So, how well do you know Farrah?” he finally asked. All the blood drained from my face, and I had to swallow hard to make my ears pop and keep the white noise from overpowering everything.

  “Pretty well, actually all my life.” I no longer allowed myself to look at him.

  “Cool. She seems really cool,” he continued, unaware of how painful this conversation was for me.

  “She’s all right,” I shrugged.

  “How often do you get to hang out with her?” He threw his other leg over the railing and faced me head on. I turned to face him, wanting to scream at him, Stop! Look at me now! I’m right in front of you!

  “Not often,” I managed to shrug. All I wanted was for him to go inside and leave me alone, yet I wasn’t strong enough to rise on my own. I looked into his emerald eyes, so open and honest, and I was lost in them.

  “That’s too bad,” he said. I only shrugged. “So, how come we never talk?” he asked, as if it were the most natural question, like he really didn’t know.

  “Different circles,” I said, putting my feet down and sitting on my hands.

  “You should say ‘hi’ when you see me,” he said too casually.

  “Maybe I will.” I gave him my best effort at a smile. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes as a smile crept into the corners of his amazingly full lips.

  “Didn’t you have braces?” I blushed instantly and looked away.

  “Yeah, I just got them off; happy spring break to me.”

  “Definitely, you have a nice smile.” He grinned, then added as an afterthought, “Hey, do you know if Farrah is seeing anybody?” He rubbed the back of his head as his smile went crooked, and my heart stopped.

  “Goodnight, Henry,” I said and stood up.

  “So is that a yes, or no? Oh, OK, night.” He waved, and I went inside.

  Chapter 5

  Something strange was happening when I arrived at school on Monday. It felt like an electrical buzz hummed

  through the halls as I passed a group of girls who had wrapped scarfs around their arms from their wrists to the middle of their forearms as we had done Friday night. I passed a group of boys and heard one say, “The sum of two parts equals the whole,” and the others laughed. I kept hearing the name Farrah. I felt a wave of excitement followed immediately by dread. What did we start?

  Mr. Ziggler began English class all business. “Good morning class, and please pass forward your research papers.” The morning chatter died down as everyone began digging into their bags and binders. I grabbed my binder and opened my English folder. It was empty. Someone tapped me on my shoulder, and annoyed, I turned to receive Jake’s folder. I passed it on and, wishing I had a Trapper Keeper, I continued digging through my binder. I had too many loose papers.

  “OK, now that that’s over, let’s get started.” Mr. Ziggler placed the stacks of papers on his desk, walked over to the chalkboard, and began writing. Frantically, I went through my binder again. There it was in the back pocket behind a stack of graded papers. I slid it out, put it in the folder, and rose to take it to the front. As I walked past Henry’s seat, he looked up at me. I whipped my head to the side, giving him one of my best smiles, the kind of smile that said Hey, I STILL don’t have braces. He held his hand out to me, and I thought, This is it; he’s going to confess his love to me in front of everyone. Farrah who? But his eyes were wide, and I realized too late that I was falling. My right foot and turned into another left and tangled with my real left foot. It wasn’t a trip and scrape-your-knee kind of fall. As I fell, my feet nearly went over my head. I landed on my face and heard a crack. Then my knees slammed on the carpet, the rug instantly burning them. I lay there for a second to get my bearings. The class burst into laughter, which made the throbbing in my head worsen. The tears that had already magically appeared began to sting my cheeks. I pushed myself up, but my glasses stayed on the floor in two pieces. It was then that I realized the cute plaid pleated skirt, which I had debated about wearing today, was at my waist. My first thought was grateful: I wasn’t wearing skimpy panties that showed everyone my hoo-ha. My second thought was terror: I was wearing my Granny’s special, big-bottomed, brief panties, and everyone had just seen my white bloomers. That was why they were laughing. I realized that not only was I crying, but I was also bleeding from somewhere. I pushed my skirt down and pulled my sticky hair back from my face. Blood dripped down my chin onto my blouse, and my nose hurt. I looked up to Mr. Ziggler, whose face was crimson from trying to contain his laughter. The horror of being laughed at by a TEACHER!

  “Who wants to help Lacey go to the nurse’s office?” he asked after he cleared his throat and I stood. No one volunteered as my shaking hands held out my blood-smeared folder. I took a ti
ssue and began rubbing at my nose, my eyes instantly watering again.

  “Chase, help Lacey, please.” I cringed. Chase Livingston had never said more than two words to me in the entire year even though he was in four of my classes. The rumor was that he had been kicked out of his old school, and his mom had sent him to live with his dad at the beginning of the school year. Some people said he was from Shelbyville; others said it was Bloomington, and that he had been banned from Indiana University indefinitely. The version of the story depended on whom you talked to. Chase wore faded, ripped jeans with grease stains and rode a Honda, which was more like a Harley knock off. The only color shirt he ever wore was white and always a T-shirt. From a distance I could see how someone might think he was hot. He had definitely nailed the bad boy image from the way he leaned wherever he stood to the disinterested expression in his deep, chocolate-brown eyes. His hair was always disheveled, and he made Henry look well put together. Chase followed me out of the classroom.

  “I hab to stob at by loocker,” I said as my nose swelled. He nodded. I stumbled again, and he touched my elbow lightly to help guide me. His fingers were rough, and his palm seemed to be covered in callouses, but his touch was delicate. We found my locker and after trying three times, I reluctantly let Chase open it for me. He promised me he wouldn’t be able to remember the combination anyway. If something came up missing I knew the first person I would go to. I got my bag, and we began our trek to the nurse’s office as he guided me again at the elbow.

  “Thanks for being—so—careful with me,” I stuttered nervously. I could only imagine his impression of me.

  “If you’re teetering, make sure you do it away from me; I don’t want to get any blood on me.” I felt about this small—imagine I’m holding my fingers an inch apart. I didn’t say another word to him. He deposited me in the nurse’s office and went back to class. After the nurse decided my nose wasn’t broken, she called my dad who picked me up a few hours later. He brought my spare glasses, which were ten times worse than my regular glasses. They were tortoise-shelled—probably vintage from the sixties. I can only imagine what I looked like, leaving with cotton stuffed up my nose and my ugly glasses. My dad usually knows what to say, but when he doesn’t, he knows what to do. He took the scenic route home through the Dairy Queen drive-thru and got me a cherry cordial blizzard. He took me home, and settled me on the couch. He gave me frozen peas for my nose, the remote to the TV, and gently patted my head as he left. Lana arrived a short time later and was surprised to find me already home and lying on the couch. She screamed first, then threw one of my mom’s figurines at me. She was such a brat.

  “Owa!” I moaned.

  “Shut up, dork.” She went to the fridge, retrieved the Ben and Jerry’s and a spoon, and retreated to her room.

  “You’re so addoying!” I called after her through my still stuffy voice.

  The next day I wore jeans to school. I spent way too long putting the contacts into my eyes, always blinking just as I was about to put one in, but after I got used to them, I decided they would be manageable. I didn’t look that bad. The bruise across my nose was tender, but after I put on a bit of foundation, it wasn’t too noticeable. At school, approaching my locker, I saw that someone had tucked a white cloth in the upper corner. I wondered what that was about, but as I took it down, I realized it was an extra-large pair of panty briefs.

  “Nice,” I said, stuffing them into the nearest trash can. I heard laughing from a group of boys who had been standing near my locker.

  “It will all die down soon,” Tasha said, as she leaned against the locker next to mine.

  “Says the girl who doesn’t have big-bottom panties hanging from her locker,” I smiled weakly.

  “Says the girl who attends high school and knows everything blows over.” She smiled encouragingly.

  “Hey, Lacey! My grandma called and said she wants her panties back,” a jock called from down the hall.

  “Tell her I need to keep them one more day!” I called back and rolled my eyes at Tasha. She giggled as I closed my locker. We walked to our next class arm in arm.

  “I think Bea is hating you right now.” All morning I was bombarded with comments and undies. It’s not as if it was wanted attention—like they all thought I should be homecoming queen or anything. Jade, Tasha, and I sat at our lunch table surveying the room. Bea kept shooting us dirty looks. What else was new?

  “I would totally give her my embarrassment, attention whore.”

  “Hey, Lacey.” Derrick Chandler straddled the bench and sat down, and scooted close to me. I turned and his face was almost touching mine. “So is it true that your nose broke?” He almost crossed his eyes trying to find a crook in my nose.

  “No, just my glasses.” I turned back to my sandwich.

  “Did you really rip your skirt and flash everyone?” I took a bite and tried to remain calm.

  “Seriously, Derrick, why?” Tasha’s eyes widened as she shook her head at him; he looked at her and twisted his mouth, trying to contain a smile.

  “Inquiring minds want to know.” Jade laughed hysterically at his comment. Then she looked at him seriously.

  “Oh, you were talking about you?” She burst into laughter again, causing Tasha and me to join in. Frowning, he scooted away from me.

  “You guys are freaks!” He stood and walked away making us laugh even harder. I realized that I had two of the best friends in the whole wide world.

  When I got home from school, I was surprised to find my mom standing at the foot of the stairs with her purse in hand, tapping her foot.

  “Lana,” she called up the stairs.

  Lana came bouncing down the stairs in a seriously short sundress, her hair in a high ponytail with curly ends brushing her shoulders. She had a long elegant neck, and I just looked stuffy standing next to her.

  “So where are you headed off to?” I asked in a motherly tone.

  “Shopping. Lana is outgrowing everything.” I laughed, and Lana smiled smugly. The brat was getting new clothes. Awesome.

  “If you see something you think I might like—” I began, but mom cut me off.

  “I’ll get it.” Mom waved me off as she put on her sunglasses. Lana went to put on some wedge heels, and as she bent over, I gasped.

  “How do you move in that dress?” I exclaimed as my mom’s eyebrows creased.

  “Shut up dork,” she said as she stomped out the door.

  “Lana. . .” my mom began as she followed her out the door. There was a lecture, but I didn’t hear the rest of it as she shut the door behind her. I watched Lana shrug as she waited for my mom to unlock her car. My mom’s mouth was going a mile a minute as it always does when she gets on one of her bandwagons.

  A few days a week I work in my parents’ shops. At my mom’s salon I stock the product shelf, fill the stylists’ products at the sinks, and sweep up hair. At my dad’s office, I file and help keep him organized. In total it takes me about three hours, but they pay me cash that goes toward my car fund. Once I was done, I went home and began my homework. Mom and Dad came home with Chinese take-out, and we ate dinner with our chopsticks. Afterwards, I returned to my room to Status Quo and planned on gaming, but I was interrupted by a ding.

  Henry Emmitt: Hey

  Farrah Leevar: Hey yourself, what’s up?

  Henry Emmitt: Not a lot, just avoiding homework.

  Farrah Leevar: I can relate. I couldn’t. I always did my homework first. So what’s up, I feel like I barely know you, give me a clue.

  I looked over in his window at him typing away at his computer. I couldn’t take the guilt, so I stood and went to my blinds. He was oblivious of me standing there watching him. I lowered them and twisted the rod to close them.

  Henry Emmitt: I’m in the 10th grade. I love to skate, but you already know that. My brother is at the University of Indianapolis. Even though he’s only like an hour away, I feel like I never see him. I have a younger sister, Myra, she’s in eighth grade. My par
ents think I influence her too much, LOL. My best friend’s name is Byron; I’ve known him since kindergarten.