Into White (10 page)

“Kat, Josh is trying to talk to you.” One of the twins shook my arm.

“She's not from Alabama, you know. Their rules are different up north.” They sounded so similar that it was impossible to tell who was speaking. Really, though, I didn't care. Hunger was making me very, very impatient.

“Whatever, dude.” I listened to his wet feet pad off.

“And just what the hell was that?” asked Amera, I think. My eyes were still closed. “You dissed the sexiest guy in the whole school.”

“He was staring at my boobs, and he wasn't even trying to hide it.” I didn't bother opening my eyes.

“That's what guys do! We've discussed this.”

“So lame, Kat.”

“Well, he had a booger on his nose. Sorry, girls, but that's not sexy in any state.” I could sense their disgust. Want to gross a girl out? Talk about snot, boogers, or loogies. Alex was a gross-out genius. He'd developed the snot rocket to end all arguments. I smiled at the memory, and then the thought made me sad.

The ocean sounded. “Ugh, whatever. Want to go to Gus Von March after school?”

“Hey!” One of them shook my thigh. When I opened my eyes, I realized that it was Amera. “Omigosh, what's wrong with you? You're being a total bitch.”

“Yeah,” said Amelia.

“We took you in, and, like, do you know how many girls would kill to trade places with you?”

“Yeah!”

“Stop saying that, Amelia!”

“What? I'm agreeing with you, idiot.”

“Well, stop it. You sound like a parrot.”

“Screw you!”

“No, screw you!”

“Go to hell!”

“You're stupid!”

“Stop doing that!”

“No! You stop!”

“Shut up!”

“Just … shut … up … Omigosh!” they said. Afterward, they both looked over at me and laughed—I couldn't bring myself to join them. I may have thought it was cute or cool a couple of days ago, but not today. Today they were just buttholes.

“Come on, Kat. We're going to show you the best store ever.”

 

GUS VON MARCH REBOOTED

I paused at the entrance, remembering my big brother and me in the same store just days earlier.

“Come on in, Kat.”

“Isn't it beautiful?” Amera grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the flowery pink-and-green Lily Pulitzer display to the right of the entrance.

Amelia held a pleated seersucker miniskirt covered in flowers up to my waist. “It's just seventy dollars. What do you think?”

“Cute skirt,” I said, but it was easily the most ridiculous thing I'd ever seen. It belonged on a toddler on Easter Sunday. Seventy dollars,
pssshhhha!

“Skort,” they replied. “It's a skirt and shorts combined.”

“They're all the rage at Edgewood. We don't have to obey the fingertip-length skirt rule when it's shorts, too.”

“Omigosh!” Amera lifted the matching tank top to my chest and pulled me to the floor-length mirror. “This will totally make you look like you're from Alabama.”

“Totally!”

“Stop that!”

“You stop that!”

“Ughhhhhhh!”

“I like it,” I said without smiling. Really, I hated it, and Alex would've agreed immediately.

“Omigosh, I knew you would love it. Try it on.”

“Yeah, and take this with you.” Amelia tossed me an eighty-dollar water bra. “That will help fill out the top.”

“I'm already a D cup. How big do you want them to be?” I asked.

“Why settle for D?”

“When you can be an E…”

“Or F…”

“When you can be a G…” They bumped hip bones and smacked me on the butt as I entered the corner dressing room.

Mirrors covered all three walls of the fitting room. My bare feet sank into the plush pink carpet. The tiny crack in the leftmost mirror and daisy-shaped stain on the bench jogged my memory of the day I'd tried on swimsuits in that very space as Toya. That day, I scrutinized my naked figure from all angles and began crying wildly. At one point, an employee quietly asked if I was all right. I sniffled in return, and she cleared the rest of the rooms.

“We've all been there, little miss. No such thing as a body looks good in three inches of cloth.” Her twang was deep and sweet—more of a calm New Orleans sound than classic Montgomery false. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“I want my brother,” I said through snivels.
Beep, beep, beep!!!
My big brother was there to talk me off the ledge.

I jumped at the loud knock on the door. “Kat, come on. We're dying to check you out.”

“Here I come.”

Two minutes later, I looked like a Southern Baptist blow-up doll.

“Omigosh, Kat, you
have
to get that outfit,” said Amera.

Amelia cupped her hands around my waist. “It makes you look so much skinnier; you totally have to get this.”

I glanced at the price tag hanging underneath my armpit. “A hundred and seventy dollars.”

“The blacks didn't give you spending money?”

I shrugged, and they shot a quick look at each other—judgment. “Take it off and we'll get our makeup done.”

“We know the Lancôme lady.”

“Shit,” I said under my breath.

“What?” they said.

“Oh, nothing.”

When I finally exited the room, the twins were already seated in the makeup high chair. The same Lancôme lady that Alex and I had fought applied liquid liner to Amera as Amelia watched, arms folded.

“Kat! You can be next.” Amera motioned me toward the counter—her eyes still half-closed. Amelia refolded her arms and let out a hostile sigh. “Amelia. Be patient, my God. You are such a brat. Ouch!”

“I'm so sorry,” said the Lancôme lady.

Amera held her palm to her left eye. “You poked me in the eye with the liquid liner, seriously, bitch!”

“I am so sorry,” she said again, staring as I approached the counter. “Hi, I mean, where's your boyfr—?” She bumped a small blush display, and it went crashing to the floor.

“Lucy! What the hell is wrong with you?” the twins yelled.

Lucy was on her knees, attempting to clean the broken blush from the marble-ish floor, but she was only making it worse—swirling the pinks into the violets, creating a tie-dye effect. Her head was down, and she kept mumbling, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…”

“She'll be all right. Her eye needed a good poke,” Amelia snickered.

“Shut up, stupid.” Amera bent forward to look into the lighted magnifying mirror. Her eye was bloodshot, veiny, and surrounded by black stuff.

“No, not you. You.” Lucy pointed at me—stopping the twins in their tracks. “I'm a good person. I love the Lord, really. I go to church and I have black friends.” She stood and placed her hands on my shoulders. “I even let a few black women come to my house for Bible study. Every Wednesday!”

“Lucy, she's not black. What the hell are you talking about?”

Tears fell from Lucy's eyes, leaving black streaks on her stark-white cheeks. Waterproof, my ass. “No, not her. Her boyfriend.”

“No! Oh, God no. It's my bro—my … exchange family brother, Alex.” I attempted to laugh it off.

Lucy pulled back, still holding on to my shoulders. “But you said that—”

“No, no, no, Miss Lucy.” I eased her hands away. “You must be confused. He's not my boyfriend.”

The twins laughed.

“She would never date that loser. She has Joshua Anderson chasing her around,” said Amera.

“
The
Joshua Anderson of Anderson Toyota, Jeep, Dodge,” added Amelia. “Plus, we don't mix in Montgomery.”

“Wait,” Amera said. “Do you mix races in … wherever you're from?”

I shifted from one foot to the other. All three of them gawked at me, anticipating my answer like it was really important. “Right on the border of Kansas and Missouri. Most people don't realize they share Kansas City.” There was a long pause as they continued rubbernecking me.

“Well?” Amelia pressed.

“Not really.”

“See! She would never date a black.”

Lucy took a step back. “But the way you acted…”

“I acted? You asked for it, lady.” I cleared my throat, realizing I was raising my voice. “I mean, you were pretty unpleasant.”

“Kat!” said the twins.

“She's married to our cousin's uncle or whatever.” Amelia patted Lucy on the upper back.

Amera's gaze was fixated on the magnifying mirror. “She's practically family, Kat. Chill out.”

“You just called her a bitch.”

“Like I said—practically family.” Amera backed away from the mirror and kissed Lucy on both cheeks. “If this gets infected, I'll sue.” Lucy bowed her head and mouthed additional apologies. She, too, kowtowed to those ninety-pound twins—everyone did.

We walked toward the exit. “I have to go to the little girls' room. Wait here,” Amelia said before jogging back to the Lancôme counter.

A few minutes later, Amelia tossed a Gus Von March bag at my chest. When I opened it, the Lily Pulitzer outfit and eighty-dollar water bra were inside.

I stopped. “I can't take this.”

“Nonsense,” they said.

“I can't pay you guys back.” I looked at my feet as we headed to the car.

“No need, I made Lucy buy it for you with her employee discount. She really can be a bitch.” Amelia climbed into the driver's seat.

Amera replied, “We barely speak to our cousin's uncle anyways. He's from our dad's white trash side.”

“We play up the family angle for free makeup. And other stuff.”

Throughout the ride home, I sat on the Gus Von March bag and made myself as small as humanly possible in the backseat. I peered out the window, trying to ignore the negativity spewing from the front.

I knew Amelia was driving because she'd taken the scenic route through the wealthier section of Edgewood, where single houses were nestled on acres of wooded land. Magnolia trees lined sidewalks filled with power-walking pedestrians in hot-pink jogging suits. One exceptionally skinny walker wore leggings with the exact same pattern as the Lily Pulitzer outfit in the bag beneath my butt. My hands involuntarily balled into fists. Lucy had bought the clothing. Malicious, stupid Lucy who worshipped the demons in the front seat and prejudged my kindhearted big brother at a glance. My press-on nails dug little red half-moons into my palms, and I felt the anger rise from my stomach, through my chest, and finally settle in my pursed lips.

When we pulled into my driveway, I leaped from the Bug before it came to a complete stop.

“God, Kat!” Amelia shouted.

“Yeah, don't be so eager to get away from us,” said Amera. “God.”

Hampton growled at the Bug's rear lights as it rolled away. When the car was no longer visible, I walked to the neighbor's garbage can, lifted the lid, and threw the Gus Von March bags inside with the rest of the trash.

 

YOU CAN'T HAVE IT ALL

But I wanted it all.

I wanted thrifting with my mom. I wanted to tell my dad what cars he should and should not buy. I wanted my big brother to help me find quarters. I wanted to be invited to parties where I could dress like a Barbie doll and flirt with popular boys. I wanted to ride in a car that didn't smell like diesel fuel. I wanted to feel comfortable in bathing suits and body-hugger jeans. I wanted it all, but if I had to choose, I chose Katarina.

Before Katarina, Alex and I had never gone a full day without at least one deep conversation about life, liberty, and the pursuit of popularity, but during my first week as Kat, he treated me like a pauper would treat the queen, like he was not worthy of me. Missing Alex was a gut-wrenching consequence of the choice I'd made. I missed him so much, sometimes I couldn't concentrate.

I tried to evade my family by staying in my room during reruns of
Unsolved Mysteries
, but whenever I closed my eyes, I saw Alex climbing Colossus alone, or Mom leaving, or Dad buying another lemon of a vehicle. They were ruining everything, so I avoided all of them. I avoided talking to Dad; he never listened to my advice anyway. Stuffed earbuds in to block out Mom's morning screams and praise Jesuses; I don't know why I'd never thought of that earlier. And took showers extra early; that way Alex could have full access to our shared bathroom when he woke up.

On school days, the twins picked me up before and dropped me off after school, so I never smelled like diesel. The weekend, however, was another story. On my first Saturday morning as Katarina, I couldn't avoid my family.

Mom woke up the house at eight a.m. screaming. “Who spills coffee on their own hardwood floors? Must be crazy as hell.”

“Go back to sleep, Mom.” Alex stirred in his bed.

But my mother never slept past seven forty-five, and she made damn sure no one else in the house slept past eight o'clock. She'd continue her ruckus until at least one of us paid attention to her.

“How am I supposed to sleep when your daddy's walking the dog all times of night?”

Dad stayed quiet. Sometimes he elected to keep his mouth shut and disappear into his own mind. Dad was a strange man with a lot of flaws, but his feelings got hurt easier than anybody else I knew. Alex had inherited that curse. Deep emotional wounds that festered for months and years. Dad still brought up the look I gave him the one time he spanked me as a child. My attitude toward such things was I deserved the spanking—you delivered—get over it and move forward. Dad, on the other hand, couldn't let it go. Little memories built up inside and tormented him like ghosts.

“Toya!” Mom screamed. “You want to go thrifting?”

Our favorite mother-daughter pastime—thrift store hopping. While most of Edgewood's mother-daughter duos spent their Saturdays at Gus Von March, my mom and I sifted through other people's trash to find treasure. I was a brilliant thrifter if I do say so myself, but Mom sucked. She was a pipe-dream thrifter who believed every worthless tchotchke was worth a million dollars—fake fruit, ceramic white children with red lips, pretty much anything that could be purchased at the Dollar General.