“If that ain’t the definition of horsefeathers, then I don’t know what is.” I shake my head, putting that ridiculous rumor out of mind. “Doesn’t it feel ironic that everyone knows our secret ’bout Doc’s, but now we’re wearing masks?”
“Technically, that ain’t a mask, Bonn,” she says of the patch that covers my eye. “But if you want, we can rip ’em off”—she lifts her cat eye mask—“and be our true, renegade selves.”
“Renegade? Let’s not add any more fuel to the gossip fire.”
“Outlaws?” she offers instead.
Buck laughs.
“God, Blanche. That’s even worse. We’re not fugitives.”
“Stop squashing my fun.”
“Meow,” Buck says. “Blanche has her claws out tonight.”
She paws at him, hissing.
I drop my head into my hands, the handkerchief Blanche tied ’round my head shifting. “Dance,” I say. “I want to dance.”
The type of dancing at Southwest Dallas High School’s bonfire is a bit tamer than at Doc’s, at first. Apparently, we ain’t the only ones who snuck in alcohol. I hear Hazel—the sorriest excuse for a princess—bragging to someone ’bout how her older brother is in a fraternity and can get her liquor anytime she wants.
The night progresses and our teachers spend most of their time separating boys and girls. But not me and Roy. With every swirl, twist, movement I make, I search for him among the clowns, knights, and pumpkin-themed costumes dancing ’round the blazing fire.
My enthusiasm for dancing fades.
“I’m sorry, Bonn,” Blanche says, plopping down next to me on a bleacher. “I haven’t seen him either.”
I sigh. “I feel stupid. Part of me got my hopes up that he’d be here.”
Blanche opens her mouth to respond, stops.
Jimmy—Hazel’s Jimmy—is coming our way with a determined and steadfast walk.
“Bonnelyn?” he starts.
“Hi, Jimmy,” I say dryly.
“Would you like to dance?”
That question, it sets me on edge. Jimmy has always worshipped Hazel in a spineless way. But he’s here. That means something. I sidestep Jimmy, spotting Hazel with her ridiculously big cone hat with long flowing veil. She spins, clutching her hat to keep it atop her annoyingly perfect blonde head. Rather, Roy spins her.
I tear off my eye patch.
“Bonn…” Blanche says.
I swallow, my stomach on fire, staring at Roy’s satisfied expression, as he leads Hazel forward, backward, to the side.
“Bonn,” Blanche repeats. “What are you ’bout to do?”
Hazel’s big mouth is flung open in a smile, eyes locked on Roy.
I’m storming toward them. My breathing grows faster and faster, matching my pace. I grab the lace of Hazel’s veil, ripping her hat off.
“Don’t touch him!” I scream.
Hazel yelps in surprise. A few people ’round us gasp and cover their mouths. Hazel advances on me, hand raised before I can swing my own. She swipes at my head, but Buck jumps in, restraining her. The punch glasses he once held now litter the grass at his feet.
“Get off me!” Hazel screams at Buck. Her elbow connects with his gut, and he grimaces.
“Bonnelyn,” Roy roars, an orange glow from the fire flickering on his face. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
I feel my own face burn—from anger, from embarrassment. “She’s evil,” I growl, pointing at Hazel, my outstretched arm shaking. “She’s been feeding you, and everyone else in our school, one line after another ’bout me!”
“That’s not true!” Hazel yells, and sneers back at me, struggling again to free herself from Buck’s arms.
“Don’t deny it, Hazel. You’ve been trying to get between Roy and me for months.”
“You did a fine job of doing that yourself,” Roy says to me, his brown eyes huge.
Blanche runs up, pulling me against her. She whispers into my ear, “Relax, Bonn.” She turns to Roy. “You two need to talk. And not here.”
Roy looks ’round at the openmouthed faces of our classmates. One of our teachers appears through the crowd. “Fine.”
He turns on his heels, and Blanche pushes me after him. I stumble forward and smooth my ruffled hair beneath my handkerchief, trying to maintain whatever teeny, tiny amount of dignity I have left.
He leads me beneath the bleachers.
I hang my head, stare at my feet. The rush of adrenaline I felt only moments ago evaporates. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Acted like a complete crazy person.” He tears devil horns off his head. “Jesus, Bonn. You attacked her.”
I press my hands against my face, stretching my skin. “Hazel makes me so angry.”
He throws his hands up before crossing his arms. “Why? She wasn’t doing anything. You can’t blame Hazel for all of this.”
Only moments ago, I saw the way she smiled at him, and how he smiled back at her. I grit my teeth. Hazel knew what she was doing, and Roy ate it up like his favorite dessert. Even Jimmy knows it, asking me to dance to finally take his own stand against her. But sayin’ that now won’t help; it’ll only make me seem more childlike, guilty.
Roy shakes his head. “I don’t know what to do, or say, or think anymore.” He uncrosses his arms, his face turning sad. “This hasn’t been easy on me, ’cause this is you. I’ve tried to rationalize things, maybe too much. I can deal with that speakeasy. But I keep coming back to the same thought: you kissed that jerk.”
I step closer, touching his arm, my stomach tingling when he doesn’t pull away. “I wish I could go back and change things. A lot of things.”
“I wish you could, too, Bonn. But it doesn’t work that way.” He steps back, and my hand slips from his arm.
I could tell him how I got a tattoo to prove my commitment to us, but with how he’s scrutinizing me, forever inking his name on my skin now seems rash, crazy. Crazy ain’t going to win Roy over. Not after I attacked Hazel. All I can do is lower my head and count the beats of silence between us, while that stupid tattoo burns between my legs like the worst sunburn I’ve ever had.
When I look up, Roy licks his lips, swallows. “As much as I want us to exist, this”—he pulls out a stained, creased piece of paper from his pocket—“doesn’t seem possible anymore. Too much has happened.”
My doodle of us together, happy, old and gray.
I knead the back of my neck, squeeze ’til it hurts.
We stand there awkwardly, the seconds ticking by.
“I’m going to go,” Roy mumbles, and steps ’round me.
I stare at the rows of shadows the bleachers cast and rub my arms. Behind me, the sound of his shoes against the gravel grows quieter. With each step, I grow panicked, frantic.
My heart pounds. My brain buzzes. A million thoughts run through my head, but none of them is how to fix this mess I made. All I know is that I can’t let him walk away. If I do, I know this will be the last time he does.
Then it comes to me, what to say. Something I know Roy won’t—can’t—ignore. Not after years of sitting at our table, climbing the tree in our backyard, dodging the swing of my ma’s hand after he let a cuss slip out, with a devilish grin on his face, identical to my brother’s.
“My ma is sick!”
I feel slimy as soon as the words leave my lips. But it doesn’t stop me from holding my breath, waiting, listening. The sound of his shoes against the gravel grows louder.
“What?”