“I look stupid,” I said. “I’m not a boy or a girl anymore. I’m just broken. It would have been easier if I’d died.”
“Easier for who?” Mom said. Her hand tightened. I turned to face her and there was a steeliness in her narrowed eyes that seemed completely out of place in her soft features.
“Everybody but you I guess,” I whispered. I looked away again and her grip weakened.
“You wouldn’t hurt your mama, right?”
“Right,” I muttered.
“You promise you ain’t gonna … again…?”
“Promise.”
“Atta girl,” she said. She grabbed both shoulders and turned me toward her, looking all roses and biscuits again. “Mason girls don’t quit.”
“I’m still a Hardy.”
“Well, your dad’s mama was a hard old bitch, so she counts too.” I smiled despite myself. “Now, let’s see what all the fuss is about.” She put her fingers under my chin and turned my face this way and that, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Good lord, Amanda, you got a good inch slathered on here. Who said you needed this much?”
“The Internet,” I said sheepishly. Mom made a dubious noise at the back of her throat.
“The Internet says lots of things, hon. Remember Hank?”
“The ointment guy?”
“Yup. Internet said we was a perfect match, and look how that turned out. Ointment stains in my damn carpet and just as single as ever.”
I laughed, forgetting the burning puffiness around my eyes for a moment. She grabbed the makeup wipes off my desk and started gently rubbing my face like she used to when I was little. “Makeup has lotsa uses. One of ’em is to highlight your eyes, cheeks, and lips so they stick out a little, give you a kinda feminine glow that boys think’s natural. There now.”
“What are the other uses?”
“Looking young,” she said without looking up. “But if you looked any younger, folks’d wonder why I let you out of your crib.”
I laughed. This felt right. This felt like the moment I had wanted with Mom since I was old enough to know I wanted anything at all.
“Quit moving! Now, wink at me and hold it.” I did as I was told. The tip of her tongue poked out of her lips and she squinted as she took the pencil to my eyelid in long, graceful strokes. “Now, open both eyes and look up.”
She ran the pencil along the waterline of both eyes. “You know I thought you were gonna be a girl when I was pregnant?” My eyebrows popped up. She snorted and made a tutting sound, and I forced myself to return to a neutral expression. “I was a little sad when you came out a boy. I knew I didn’t wanna go through that whole ordeal again, so I was afraid I’d never get to show anybody this stuff.”
“Me too,” I said. I closed my eyes as she lightly brushed a peach blush onto my cheeks. “I was afraid too, I mean.”
“You still afraid?” she said. I opened my eyes and saw a look of concern pulling her smile down.
“Yeah,” I said. “Not as much. In different ways. Scared of getting hurt by people instead of scared to live at all.”
“At least you’re smart as I always thought then,” she said. “Pucker up. Being a girl in this world means being afraid. That fear’ll keep you safe. It’ll keep you alive.”
“Is it really that bad?”
She ran the balm along my lips and signaled for me to pucker. “Maybe not. Who knows? World’s different now. When you told me about … your condition, I was more sad for you for having to deal with being a girl than anything else. Go check your reflection.”
“Oh,” I said when I reached the mirror. I brushed my fingers against the glass. Burgundy lines around my eyes, faint peach pigment on my cheekbones, and brownish-red lip gloss, and somehow the face staring out at me was one I’d never seen before. It was the one I always felt like I should have seen.
A wave of vertigo washed over me. I leaned back against the wall and grabbed a nearby bookshelf. My cheeks hurt and my eyes were starting to water again, but it felt different.
“You okay?” Mom said, walking up behind me.
“I think I might be allergic or something. I feel kinda strange … sort of floaty and light-headed.”
“You ain’t sick, hon,” Mom said. She kissed my cheek and hugged me so tight I thought I might break a rib. “That’s joy.”
26
“Have fun tonight,” Dad said as we pulled into the school parking lot. The homecoming game had ended hours before, with the team pulling out a fourth-quarter victory, and I was hoarse but happy from cheering Grant on from the stands. I wore the knee-length purple dress with a cowl neck, the amethyst earrings the girls had bought me for my birthday, and low gold heels. In them I would be Grant’s height or a little taller, but for once I didn’t care.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said, reaching for the door handle. I had gotten distracted when Anna stopped by to pick up her dress, then spent too long on my hair and makeup, and now I was late meeting Grant, the girls, and their dates for photos on the school lawn—a Lambertville High tradition, apparently.
“Amanda, wait,” Dad said as I got out of the car. His tone was serious, and I worried he was going to give me another lecture about being careful.
“I’ve got to go,” I told him. I could see Anna bounding toward me across the parking lot, waving.