“Drive safe,” Dad said.
When the door closed he turned toward me, a grim look on his face. “I would appreciate an explanation.”
“You said I could have a friend over,” I said, shrugging and avoiding eye contact. I knew how lame it sounded, but a part of me felt indignant too, that he was standing there, judging me, caring how I spent my time and setting rules for me for the first time in over six years.
“Don’t be coy,” he said, moving toward the cabinet where he kept the liquor and removing a bottle of whiskey. He got down a glass and took a sip without flinching. “You know I didn’t mean you could have a boy over.”
“I guess I know now,” I said, walking past him to my bedroom door. The words hung there in the silence, challenging, but I didn’t want to have this fight right now, not after the way I’d left things with Grant. “I’m tired. Good night.”
“Wait,” he said, stepping toward me, but the door was between us before he could say anything more.
14
The locker room smelled of mildew and bleach. The fluorescent lights buzzed angrily, but a decades-old brown film on the panels dimmed their light. I remembered all the times boys at my old school had cornered me out of the sight of a teacher and hit and kicked me in places that couldn’t be seen through my clothes. I remembered them yelling, “Faggot!” and laughing. I remembered how I was certain teachers knew what was happening and how they did nothing. I remembered the boys warning that nobody would care if I said anything anyway, and if I ever did get them in trouble they would put me in the hospital.
I stood there, frozen in the doorway. Two dozen girls dropped their conversations and looked up at me. I cleared my throat and shifted my weight from foot to foot for a painful moment before Layla appeared, grabbing my hand and leading me to her locker. The other girls’ attention slowly drifted back to their own business.
I tried to control my breathing and kept walking, following Layla’s footsteps gratefully.
“What are you doing here?” Layla said as we reached her locker. “Was art canceled today?”
“Forever, actually,” I said, chewing my fingernails. “When they found out we hadn’t had a teacher all semester, the school put me here. Not sure what they’ll do with Bee. I think they were afraid if they put us both in the same class again we’d cause more trouble.”
“Reasonable fear,” Layla said with a smile as she pulled her knitted sweater over her head. Instinctively I looked away, remembering the way the girl from school had screamed when she’d seen me in the women’s room, and how angry her father had been at the idea of finding me there. “You okay?” Layla said, looking concerned.
“Fine,” I said, shaking my head and returning to chewing my nails. “I’m fine. Just thinking about something.”
“Grant, probably,” she said, poking me with her elbow. “He came over Friday, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, fiddling with the buttons on the front of my blouse. My head was already buzzing and rattling so I focused on those buttons, trying to get them under my control. How silly it was that I still had trouble with them. Why did boys’ and girls’ buttons have to face different directions? “My dad got home early though, so…”
“Woof!” Layla laughed. “He didn’t catch you … doing stuff, did he?”
“No, thank God,” I said. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that night, and how awkward Grant’s departure had been. Thankfully he texted as soon as he got home, apologizing for an evening cut short and promising another date soon, but things still felt tense.
I sat down on the bench. I had reached the final button on my blouse. I wouldn’t be able to stall much longer.
“You okay?” Layla said.
“I’m good,” I said shakily. There was no way she believed me, but she smiled and pretended to. She finished dressing and sat down to lace her shoes, though I noticed she was doing it over and over to stay with me.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and shrugged off my shirt. A few seconds passed, and I opened my eyes to find Layla looking at my chest with raised eyebrows.
“You know we’re running today, right?” she said.
“So?” I said, looking down at the padded bra I’d been wearing since I started hormones.
“Late bloomer?” she said, standing and giving me an understanding smile. I half-smiled and nodded, wondering what I’d gotten wrong this time. “And you said you live with your dad, so it makes sense there’s stuff you don’t know.” She looked around and saw the locker room was quickly emptying, and proceeded in a lower voice. “Your boobs are too big to run in that. Today is going to hurt for you.”
“They are?” I said. The idea had never occurred to me.