“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.
“I just wanted to tell you,” Dad began, stuttering and awkward. He didn’t look at me as he said, “You look really beautiful tonight.”
“Oh,” I said. “Thank you.” My face flushed.
“And be safe,” I heard him call behind me as I got out and closed the door, but it felt like an instinct, like something all fathers said to their daughters.
“Amanda!” Anna cried as I got out of the car, coming toward me with a broad, mischievous smile. “Amanda, look! Chloe’s wearing a dress.”
I turned toward the school lawn, where the setting sun had cast everything in a warm, golden glow, and saw Chloe in a red sleeveless dress that matched the color of her hair—just the shade that Layla had advised. I marveled at how lean and well-muscled her arms were and how lovely she was with her hair straightened and a hint of makeup on her eyes and cheeks—or how lovely she would have looked if she weren’t scowling and shuffling her feet like a sullen toddler. I knew the feeling, of course, since that was how I’d felt every day I’d had to wear boys’ clothes.
“Shut up,” Chloe said.
Grant arrived a few minutes later, his suit crisp and clean. He whistled when he saw me, his eyes wide and appreciative, and I had never felt more beautiful. I kissed him, and then we lined up for pictures, our arms wrapped like ribbons around the best present ever, and smiled so much our cheeks hurt.
*