I nod. “Exactly. I don’t get why he likes me, but I truly believe that he does. I really do. It’s just that I don’t think anyone else will understand what he sees in me.”
“That’s a tough one,” she says. “People are shit. Look at people like Patrick Thomas. You dating a guy like Bo would be a field day for him.”
It’s nice to talk to someone who understands. Hannah may not get what it feels like to wonder if you’re going to fit into a chair with armrests or how anytime a floor creaks beneath your weight, everyone looks at you like you’re about to break the entire building. She might not get what it’s like to walk into a mall and know that 90 percent of the clothes won’t fit you or that even thinking about going to a buffet is a bad idea, because a fat person at a buffet is a joke waiting to happen. But she’s not patting me on the back, and telling me to do what makes me happy. And there’s some relief in that. “I wish that there was some kind of alternate plane we could exist on where he could be my boyfriend.” It’s the first time I’ve said the word out loud and it sends a hum all the way through me to my toes. “And no one had to know.”
“But isn’t that the point of labels like boyfriend and girlfriend? To make things easier for other people?” She slurps her beer. “Isn’t that sad? It’s like the whole world has to walk around with name tags on so we can all feel more comfortable? I guess things are less scary if you know what to call them.”
We drink our beers in silence. Her words sound right, but feel wrong. Yeah, labels make it easier for others to understand you, but I like the safety of knowing. Especially with Bo. That’s why I haven’t given him an answer yet. I can’t bear to tell him no.
“Hannah, I want to ask you a question. It’s rude, but I’m not asking to be rude.” Although, that doesn’t really make it any better.
“Shoot,” she says.
“Why have you never gotten your teeth fixed?”
“Why should I have to?” she retorts immediately. Her voice softens as she adds, “Plus it’s expensive. Mom’s a hairdresser. Dad’s a mechanic. Not like we have great insurance or anything.”
“You’re right,” I say. “You shouldn’t have to.”
She clears her throat. “I don’t mean to be such a bitch, you know.”
“It’s okay.”
She laughs. “I wasn’t apologizing. But it’s hard not to have my claws out all the time. I don’t have friends like you do. There’s no one there to walk down the hallway with me.”
“You have friends. Don’t be stupid.” But I can close my eyes and see her at school, wearing black from head to toe and with her mouth stretched over her teeth, so that maybe people will just forget.
“I wanted to sabotage this pageant from the inside out. That was the only reason I entered. I wouldn’t be the girl with buckteeth. I’d be that girl who ruined the whole pageant.” She pauses. “But then my mom found out. She saw the welcome packet. She was so proud of me for entering. And now . . .”
“You’re stuck actually doing this thing.” It makes sense. If people treated me half as bad as they do Hannah, I would want to ruin this whole thing, too.
“I’m going to bed,” she says. “Gimme your empties. I’ll throw them out at my place.”
I finish the last of my beer. Her hand reaches out and I pass her my two cans. I feel the couch shift as she stands. I don’t know where she is or if she’s even facing me, but I say, “I’m your friend. Not in a corny way. Not because you said all that about not having friends. But because I like you. I like talking to you.”
It’s so quiet that, for a moment, I think maybe she’s not even in the room. Her voice comes as a whisper. “Okay.”
I miss Ellen. I will never stop missing Ellen. But there’s a sigh of relief that comes in having another friend who I can talk to about more than this dumb pageant. Even if it’s only in the dark.