I was eleven and in the sixth grade when I got my period for the first time. I was the first of all my friends. Mom cried, and even though I asked her not to, she told Dad, who pulled me aside that same day and said, “I heard you got your little friend.” Beyond humiliating.
When I told Katrina, she refused to believe me until I showed her the extra pad Mom had stuffed into my backpack. At the time, I was horrified. It was bad enough that I was the first girl in sixth grade to need a bra. Rance Potter, a horrible boy I am happy to say moved to New Jersey in eighth grade and was never heard from again, announced that fact to our entire science class, telling everyone that I had the biggest boobs in sixth grade. If I could have chopped them off right then, I would have.
And here I was. First again. As far as I knew, I was the only girl in my cohort at Wallingfield to get her period. I felt ashamed, just like I had in sixth grade.
I didn’t tell anybody except Nurse Jill, and that was only because I needed tampons, but people found out anyway. At group, I saw Allie looking at me funny. I realized later that my tampon was sticking halfway out of my pocket. If she knew, that meant everybody else probably did, too. I imagined all the girls around me feeling superior, that they weren’t losing control of their body as much as I was, even though anorexia was supposed to be our sworn enemy.
That night, right before eight p.m., Simone came into my room and said, “Hey, congrats on your period.”
Sigh.
And then, in the same breath, like she was asking if I wanted my door open or closed, she added, “Oh, Tristan wants to see you.”
Of all the people in the world I wanted to see right now, Tristan was at the bottom of the list. No, he was below the bottom. He wasn’t on it at all. I’d avoided him since the whole Charlie disaster by making sure not to be anywhere near the front door when Simone got dropped off or picked up. Whatever Charlie had told him couldn’t be good.
Elizabeth, my rational side said, it was two weeks ago. Besides, Tristan knew. How could he not? Was that why he was here? To rub it in? I couldn’t think of any other reason.
I turned to the door. “I don’t want to—” But Simone had already vanished.
I swallowed and turned toward the mirror. I wished I’d showered.
My yoga pants were dirty, and my faded green sweatshirt with Morgan Middle School presents MY FAIR LADY in big letters on the front wasn’t doing me any favors. I traded it for my favorite cardigan—a red, fluffy angora Mom got me for Christmas last year—and brushed off the lint.
Mom. Just the thought of her made me catch my breath. We’d ended things so badly at phone therapy. I should call and apologize, even if I wasn’t sure what for.
No. She should call me. She’s the grown-up.
I found Tristan alone on the cold patio, his back to me in a wicker chair, a second empty one beside him. I hadn’t been outside in three days and I’d forgotten how good fresh air, even chilly air, felt in my lungs. I ignored the bite of it on my bare, sockless ankles. “Hey,” I said, in as unfriendly a voice as I could.
Stupid. I shouldn’t have said that until I got closer, because now he turned and watched me lumber over to him, every little movement awkward and ugly. I tried doing what Mary said to do when I panicked like this. I told myself I was just nervous, that my body hadn’t changed that much in the last week. It didn’t work.
I sat next to him, and the wicker wheezed with my weight. I winced.
“These chairs creak when anybody sits on them,” he said.
I didn’t respond.
The seats were closer together than I realized. He smelled like something, something I couldn’t quite place. Doughnuts. I loved doughnuts. Not that I’d eat one. But they were so good, especially when they were fresh and hot.
“You smell like cinnamon,” I blurted out.
“It’s probably the cider doughnuts I ate.”
“From Russell Orchards?”
“Yeah. They’re pretty awesome. You had ’em?”
“Yes.” And then, without thinking, I added, “I could go for one right now.”
“You could, huh?” His green eyes widened in surprise and he swiveled around to look at me, reading my face.
“I mean, if I wasn’t here.”
“Huh.” He sat back in his seat.
It felt like five minutes but was probably only a few seconds before he finally said, “I heard about the whole Charlie thing.”
I felt a prick of fresh embarrassment. “Did he tell you?”
“Yeah, in private. Heather, though, she sort of brought it up at lunch today. I guess he’d asked her not to tell and at first she didn’t, but then they got in a fight yesterday and so she told everybody just to piss him off.”
“Oh.” I imagined Heather and Charlie and Tristan and all their friends sitting at one of the round wood tables in the cafeteria, laughing hysterically as Heather, eyes sparkling and in total story mode, tore me apart.
“What did Charlie say?”
Tristan paused. He reached in his pocket and whipped out his pack of Marlboros. Then he seemed to think better of it and put them back just as fast without taking one. “Nothing. He just let her talk.”
I pulled the brass ring out from under my shirt and rubbed it between my fingers. It calmed me, like always.
“Did you say anything?”
“No.” He stared at me rubbing the ring. “It wasn’t my business. It was Charlie’s.”
“Oh.” I don’t know why I was surprised by his answer. “Figures.”
He stared at me for a second and then looked up at the sky as if asking the clouds how to possibly deal with annoying people like me.
“Yeah. I should have said something,” he said instead.
“Forget about it. It’s not like we’re friends or anything.” He shot me a look I can only describe as surprised. And hurt.
He stood up and took out his car keys. “Just so you know,” he said, voice sharp, “I don’t like half the shit Charlie does.”
“Could have fooled me.” I couldn’t tell if I was standing up for myself or just being mean. Either way, it felt good.
“Look, I’m my own person.”
I raised my eyebrows. “There’s no doubt about that.”
“Great. Fine. I’m out of here,” he said.
“Fine,” I said.
He took another cigarette out of the package. It broke between his fingers. “Shit,” he said.
“You’re going to get cancer, you know,” I said, fuming.
He turned around then. “I’m trying to quit.” And then he stomped across the patio and was gone. A minute later I heard his Jeep peel out down the driveway.
I sat there in the cold for a minute, waiting to feel embarrassed or sorry for the way Tristan and I left things. But I didn’t. It had felt good to tell him how I felt. A month ago, I wouldn’t have said a word. Who was this feisty Elizabeth? I had no idea, but I sort of liked her. She felt strong. And healthy. The kind of girl who would eat food and like it.
28
At four o’clock the next day, when Simone arrived, she walked into the hallway where Margot, Willa, and I were sitting on the floor playing a card game. “Tristan is here,” she said, clearly annoyed. “He wants to see you again. Sorry in advance.”