The Tattered Gloves

by J. L. Berg

  I nodded, still staring at the tiny snowflakes. Part of me wanted to rip off the gloves and toss both pairs in the trash. But I knew I wouldn’t. I knew the nice pair with the snowflakes on them would end up in a drawer, never to be seen again.

  Because I couldn’t — no, I wouldn’t take them off.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  LIFE SLOWLY BEGAN to settle into a different kind of normal in Sugar Tree.

  Addy, determined to get me into clothes that actually fit, took me shopping the next weekend and managed not to say a single word when I came out of the store, carrying two full bags of boring long-sleeved T-shirts and jeans.

  “At least they fit,” she muttered.

  Okay, so she said a few words.

  I continued working at Page Turners, nearly sprinting the entire way there after school in hopes of one day beating Sam, but I had no luck. He beat me every time.

  Although I wasn’t about to admit this to him out loud, I was starting to wonder if I really had misjudged him from the very start. He was a bit arrogant, always had a comeback, and rarely seemed to actually work, but more than that, he was kind.

  Or at least I thought he was.

  I’d made it a habit to arrive at school early. The hallways were less crowded, and it gave me time to visit my locker and slip into class way before the bell rang.

  My English teacher wasn’t much for punctuality, something well known around the school. He’d show up mere minutes before the bell, wiping sweat from his brow as he collapsed into his rickety chair, carrying a huge travel mug of coffee.

  His distaste for mornings served me well since the empty classroom gave me a sort of sanctuary to hide in while the hallways filled with noise and commotion. I’d doodle on my notebook, listening to the gossip and chatter just outside the door, thankful I was away from it all.

  Today, however, as I made my way to the empty classroom, I was intercepted.

  “Willow!” a cheerful voice called to me from across the hall.

  I turned to see Allison, dressed in a colorful top and stylish jeans, jogging toward me, her megawatt smile in place. This wasn’t the first time she’d tracked me down, demanding we sit next to each other in our shared classes and walk together between classes.

  “How are you?” She beamed, slightly breathless, as she stopped in front of me.

  “Good. I’m good.” I stumbled over every word.

  If she noticed my awkwardness, she didn’t show it. Instead, she simply continued on, reminding me about homecoming and the dance that would follow.

  “It’s going to be so much fun. You must go.”

  “It’s not really my type of thing.”

  “Have you ever been to a dance?” she asked, her hand gently resting on her hip.

  I shook my head.

  “Then, how do you know?” she asked. “Besides, you don’t have to bring a date. Lots of people just go in a big group. If you wanted to, you could come to my house and get ready before. I’d be happy to help.”

  “I don’t know. I’ll think about it,” I answered, feeling completely out of my element.

  Why did she care so much?

  Was she working toward some sort of kindness badge for Girl Scouts, and I was her newfound charity case?

  I just couldn’t figure out why she wouldn’t leave me alone, like everyone else.

  “Okay, but I’m holding you to it this time. You also said you’d think about eating lunch with me last week, and I haven’t seen you in the cafeteria once!”

  I purposely averted my gaze.

  I’d been spending most of my lunches as far away from everyone else as I could. Since upperclassmen had roaming privileges around campus during lunch, it wasn’t that hard. Sometimes, I would eat outside on the grass or in an empty hallway.

  Thankfully, I hadn’t had to resort to eating in the restroom yet.

  That would be unfortunate.

  And gross.

  “I’ve been busy,” I said lamely.

  Her vibrant blue eyes dulled slightly. “Look, if you don’t want to be my friend, I understand. I just wanted you to feel welcome here.”

  Now, who’s the jerk?

  Again.

  I sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this.”

  “What? Talking? Friendship?” she asked, a bit of amusement in her tone.

  “Yes.” A small smirk appeared on my face. “All of it.”

  “That’s okay. Not all of us can be perfect like me,” she quipped, adding a dramatic hair flip for effect.

  I actually found myself laughing at her antics.

  It was so unexpected, my hand instantly flew up to my mouth.

  “Well, please do think about the dance. If it makes you more comfortable, it can just be the two of us at my house. My mom would love to meet you. And—”

  Her words died as I watched her usual bright and happy features fall to the floor.

  Following her gaze, I turned to see what had upset her so swiftly.

  There, in the middle of the hallway, was Sam and a girl I recognized from my gym class. He stood over her, smiling wide, as his fingers brushed her cheek. She batted her eyelashes, swinging her hair in a ridiculous fashion, as she laughed at something he’d said.

  The whole scene made me kind of sick.

  But, for Allison… it was obviously soul-crushing.

  “I’ve got to go,” she said suddenly.

  “Allison, are you okay?” I asked, turning back to find her already darting down the hallway.

  My eyes swept back around to find Sam still making a nauseating scene in the hallway with the girl from my gym class.

  Feeling braver than I had in months, I stomped over to him, surprised when he noticed me right away.

  “Hey, Mittens.” He smiled.

  “You know how you said I shouldn’t judge a person by my first impression?”

  He began to respond, a lazy grin on his face, as his fingers stretched across the waist of the girl in front of him. I didn’t let him get a word in.

  “I’ve had the time now to get a second, third, and even fourth opinion of you… and you know what? You’re still a jerk.”

  As I stormed off, I tried to ignore the onlookers and whispers that followed in my wake.

  Sam might have been wrong about a lot of things, but he was right about one.

  I couldn’t be invisible.

  Not here and certainly not anymore.

  HE DESERVED IT.

  Sam is selfish and callous, a pathetic excuse for a human being, and what I did in that hallway was totally justified.

  Those were the thoughts running through my mind as I made my way to the bookstore that afternoon, a little slower than normal. I wasn’t scared of confronting Sam after my public lashing at school this morning. I was just taking my time to admire the scenery.

  Yep… that didn’t sound like a lie.

  The fact that I’d gone out of my way to completely avoid him in History class? Total coincidence.

  As I stepped up to the stoop of the old shop, pushing open the door, I found myself taking a deep breath, as if I were preparing to go underwater.

  Seeing Sam’s stern expression meet mine, I would have preferred the water.

  Hell, the middle of the ocean would have been a cakewalk compared to this.

  He didn’t greet me with his normal, You’re late, Mittens.

  Instead, our eyes met briefly before he quickly turned away. It was enough time though for me to catch the hurt and anger painted clearly across his face.

  He deserved it, I reminded myself.

  I tried not to linger too long on his downcast eyes as he worked on the computer.

  Selfish… and pathetic excuse for a — what was the rest of my speech?

  “You going to stand there all day, or are you planning on actually working?” he asked, his voice filled with a bit more grit than usual.

  “What’s up with you and Allison Greer?” The words flew out of my mouth faster
than my mind could contemplate whether it was my place to ask.

  Sam turned to me, the old wood counter still separating us. He set down the book he had been holding and folded his arms across his chest. I tried not to stare, but it was hard not to.

  I could see why Allison — and every other girl in school — was obsessed with him. There was nothing trendy about Sam Shepherd. He was the kind of handsome that transcended style and generations.

  I remembered watching an old eighties movie on the small television in our DC apartment and rolling my eyes at what the girls back then considered hot.

  Had they had eyes?

  But I was sure that even those girls, with their crazy acid-wash jeans and hot-pink scrunchies, would agree with me about Sam. It wasn’t his clothes or the way he cut his hair. It was the feeling you got in the pit of your stomach when he looked at you with those dark green eyes.

  The feeling that you were something more than ordinary.

  Does he make Allison feel that way? I wondered.

  Did she care that he was a worthless idiot, or did none of that matter when the guy was gorgeous and popular?

  “So, that’s what this morning was about? Sticking up for your friend?” he said.

  My mind tried to wrap around my convoluted feelings.

  “Friend?” I said, slightly bewildered.

  “That was what you were doing, right? Sticking up for Allison? Not that it was necessary.”

  “And why—” I began to ask but was quickly cut off.

  “Look, you lost your chance for an explanation when you decided I wasn’t worth the time and tried to embarrass me in front of half of the school. I told you before that first impressions weren’t always a given. Maybe that wasn’t accurate because my first impression of you was spot-on.”

  I was immediately taken aback.

  His words hurt more than I could comprehend.

  Hearing his footsteps on the wood floor, most likely heading for the stockroom, I stood frozen, as if I’d been physically harmed.

  But my gloves were still firmly in place.

  His steps halted, and his deep voice filled the quiet void once more. “I’m not the guy you’re trying to pigeonhole me into. If you trusted your instincts, you would have realized that by now. I’m going to work in the back today and give us some space. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The rest of my shift was spent in relative silence. There were the few random customers. One even bought a book, despite my awkward lack of words as I rang her up.

  But I just couldn’t get Sam’s voice out of my head.

  Deep down, I did trust him. I had walked into this bookstore on my own, had seen a nearly full-grown man, and hadn’t run out the door, screaming.

  Why?

  I always rolled my eyes at stereotyping and labels in high school, but as I sat there, alone in the bookstore, listening to Sam’s words bounce around in my head, I couldn’t help but wonder…

  Was I just as bad as my peers?

  IT DIDN’T TAKE long for Allison to hear about my altercation with Sam, and although she emphasized that it hadn’t been necessary — not bothering to give any further details on the matter — she did decide that me standing up for her meant we were officially friends.

  Besties.

  What a stupid word.

  “So, now, you must go to the homecoming dance with me. I don’t want to bring a date. So, we can go together. Please say yes,” she begged as we sat together at lunch.

  Yep, she’d even managed to coerce me into having lunch in the cafeteria as well.

  Pissing off my boss, causing drama, making friends — it had been a big week for me.

  The idea of going to a dance sounded like my own personal version of hell. But the way Allison’s face lit up when she asked me to go with her? It made me want to say yes.

  I wasn’t a total freak. I’d had friends before in my life — mostly when I was younger and a bit more naive to what went on in my house. In second grade, there was Maria. Her father had split when she was a baby, so we’d found common ground there.

  But that was where the commonality had ended.

  Her mother was a nurse, and Maria would sometimes come to school crying because of the late hours her mom worked.

  “She didn’t tuck me in,” she’d complained.

  It was a tough life, growing up with a single parent.

  I couldn’t help but notice, even then, the differences between her family and mine. No matter how little her mother was around, the love she had for Maria was evident.

  Little notes in her lunchbox. Days off spent together.

  I’d tried not to be jealous of Maria. After all, life was hard for everyone in one way or another, but by the time we were in middle school, Maria’s mother had remarried, and they’d moved away.

  I had been left behind, stagnant.

  Never moving forward.

  Until now.

  “Sure,” I finally said. “I’ll go to the dance with you, but I have one request,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t say no.

  “Anything,” she nearly squealed.

  “Can we get ready at my house?”

  “CAN YOU SAY that again?” Addy asked, her eyes filled with surprise at my sudden request.

  We’d just settled into a lively evening of crafting and silent TV-watching when I sprang my rather odd question at her.

  “I’m going to the dance,” I said once again. “And I need a dress.”

  I thought the shock from my words may have caused a brain malfunction in my poor aunt because the stupid felt rose she had been working on suddenly fell from her hands, unraveling from the tight bundle she’d created.

  “That’s… great,” she finally uttered. “Do you have a date?”

  Her words were timid, causing the teenager in me to want to roll my eyes.

  “No,” I sighed. “Just me and a friend. I was actually going to have her come over here to get ready, if that’s okay?”

  She excitedly bobbed her head up and down. “Yes, absolutely. I can do your hair if you want — both of you.”

  “I’m not sure how formal it is, but I know Allison wouldn’t mind the attention,” I answered, seeing how happy this entire conversation was making her.

  She seemed to recompose herself as the idea settled between us. Picking up her ruined piece of felt, she twisted it between her fingers, starting in the center and slowly reworking the fabric into a flower.

  “And the dress? What were you thinking?” she asked casually.

  I could sense the way she’d approached the question with hesitance.

  “Um, I don’t know since…” I looked down at my gloves.

  Addy took her time with gluing the flower so that it wouldn’t fall apart this time when it left her hands. Setting it down on the table, it stood upright, a beautiful, tiny piece of art.

  With her hands free and her mind focused on me, she met my eyes. “You’re not doing yourself any favors by beating around the bush when it comes to me.”

  I let out a heavy sigh.

  “I know you’re not used to trusting people, especially those close to you, but believe me when I say, you need to address whatever you’re avoiding in your head. Whether that’s talking it out with me, writing to yourself in a journal, or finding a friend to confide in. But something has got to give, Willow.”

  I instantly wanted to rebut, to refuse to believe her. But I’d been doing a lot of that lately — arguing with Sam, fighting off friendships because I didn’t believe I was worthy of one, and refusing help from the one person who continued to offer it.

  It hadn’t gotten me anywhere.

  I was still miserable, still scared of the dark, and still fighting a past I couldn’t forget.

  An internal war I was sorely losing.

  Addy was right. Something had to give.

  Maybe it could start with this.

  “I need a dress that will cover me — all of me,” I said, nervousness and fear bubbling up in my stomac
h like burning acid.

  “See? That wasn’t too hard.” She smiled warmly. “I’ll take you shopping on Saturday. I’m sure we can find you something.”

  I let out a breath of relief. I hoped she was right.

  DESPITE MY BEST efforts to will it away, the day of the dance came anyway.

  And a crapload of anxiety with it.

  By the time Allison arrived at the house, armed with enough stuff to supply a small boutique, I was nearly climbing the walls with apprehension, terror, and every other disastrous word I could think of.

  “Whoa, you look like you’re about to explode,” Allison said as she entered my room, taking a quick glance around before plopping down on the bed.

  “Why did I agree to this?” I asked, pacing back and forth between the closet and the cute little bookshelf Addy had installed the week before.

  “Because you didn’t want me to go alone,” Allison said, smiling just enough to ease some of the tension in my shoulders.

  “Like that would ever happen. Everyone loves you.”

  “And everyone would love you if you gave them a chance,” she added.

  Over the last week, I’d given in to my friendship with Allison. I’d stopped trying to hide during lunch or avoid running into her in the halls. I’d accepted her for what she was — a decent, profoundly nice person. Once I’d stopped trying to label her, to put her in a box like everyone else, it was actually quite easy to get along with her.

  To onlookers, her and I might be as different as two young adults could be. She was outgoing and vivacious while I was shy and frumpy.

  But, together, we worked.

  I didn’t know why, but we just did.

  And, slowly, she was starting to bring me out of the impenetrable hard shell I’d created for myself, despite my best efforts to stay buried deep inside.

  “So, do you want to see my dress?” she asked, her voice rising an octave or two as her excitement boiled to the surface.

  “Sure,” I replied.

  We switched places — me on the bed and her pacing around the room. Only her pacing had purpose. When she’d entered the tiny space — armed with makeup, clothes, and overnight supplies — she’d also had a garment bag slung over her shoulder that she’d placed in the closet, next to my aunt’s boxes of fabric.