“She won’t even talk about it. She won’t even try to clean off her locker.”
“I know.”
“So what do we do?”
“We wait,” I said. “Until she’s ready to deal. And when she is, we’ll be there.”
Heidi nodded. “Yes we will.”
I handed her a bottle of water. “In the meantime, we hydrate.”
Heidi took a few sips. Then she handed the bottle back to me. I tipped back my head and drank, long and deep, feeling the cool wetness on my throat and sting of the November air on my cheeks.
Epilogue
HERE IS A picture. I am standing in a boxing ring in Quincy, Mas sachusetts. It was Theo’s brilliant idea, entering me in the New England Girls’ Boxing Competition. I told him no, but the entrance form kept magically appearing in my locker. And my backpack. And my sweatshirt pocket. It was so annoying I finally caved, filled the thing out, and mailed it in.
So now, here I am, wearing the ridiculous boxing shorts Ruthie gave me for my sixteenth birthday—shiny gold with red stripes. My hair is in a ponytail, long pieces and stumpy pieces all mixed in together. It is a warm spring day, and the gym is a sauna. Everybody’s sweating.
I am supposed to have on my game face, but I keep sneaking glances at the bleachers. I can’t believe they’re all here. I knew they were coming, but still—the fact that they drove this far, for me … I can’t explain how it feels.
I know my mother will watch the whole thing from behind her fingers. She doesn’t like boxing, and she’s worried about my face. Even though I’m wearing this puffy red helmet thing Theo gave me that makes me look like a Martian and protects every bone in my skull. My mother will never understand my need to do this, just as I will never understand her need to freak out.
I still get annoyed with her sometimes, but she’s backed way off on certain things, too. Like food. I no longer have to stuff my mouth in front of her just to make a point. I eat when I’m hungry, and I stop when I’m not.
I didn’t realize how much my body had changed until this one day Theo brought his camera to the gym and started clicking away. I was totally self-conscious at first. I wouldn’t let him shoot my right side. But pretty soon I forgot he was there, and now, Theo has this photo over his bed, of me throwing a jab. You can see all the muscles in my arm, like mountains on a relief map, and the shadow of my punch reflected on the ground. It’s really cool. Theo made a copy for my dad, so now it’s hanging on the wall outside his study, too.
My dad is in the bleachers right now … and so are Ruthie and Carter, even though the clock is ticking until she leaves for Oberlin and he leaves for Cornell and they want to spend every last millisecond making out…. Kendall and Rae are 90 percent texting and flirting with the refs, but every so often they stand up and whoop like maniacs, waving the banner they spent last night painting in Kendall’s rec room: LEXI IS SEXY AND SHE CAN HIT! Heidi keeps jumping up, too, allegedly to cheer, but I think it’s to show off her new butt. She’s lost twenty-five pounds in five months and looks amazing. Yesterday, when we were running, I reminded her of Theo’s sister. “Don’t get too obsessed,” I warned. “Or too skinny.” Heidi rolled her eyes. “You worry too much.” And I said, “I’m just looking out for you.”
Heidi is waving now, from the bleachers.
I wave back.
I take a sip of water. Roll my head from side to side.
“Yo, Lex!” a voice rings out.
I know who it is before I even spot her. Meagan O’Hallahan, the only girl in Millbridge, Connecticut, who uses the word yo. It took me three months to call her and apologize for my Labor Day flip-out, but as soon as I did, she forgave me. Just like that. A simple phone call.
Sometimes a problem is so built up in your own mind, you don’t realize how easy it is to fix. Swallow your pride; pick up the phone.
Other times, it’s harder than you ever imagined.
Watching your best friend’s life implode makes you feel powerless. You want to help, and you try in every way you can, but you don’t have a magic wand. You can’t fix everything.
I look at Taylor now, sandwiched between Meagan and Heidi, and try to catch her eye, but she’s staring into space. I hope she’s not thinking about those guys or what was written on her locker yesterday. I hope she’s thinking something good.
Sometimes that’s all you can do. Hope.
That’s what I’m doing now, as I stick in my mouth guard: hoping I don’t get my ass kicked. Theo says it’s all part of the game. When you step in the ring, you never know what they’re going to throw at you. You have to be ready for anything.
Theo and I talk a lot about boxing, the technical aspects and the connections to life—cheesy analogies and all. We watch a lot of movies, too. Rocky, Raging Bull, The Champ. And when we get burnt out on boxing, we watch comedies. Theo says I laugh like a horse, which offended me at first, but now, whenever he neighs, I laugh louder.
That’s a big thing that’s changed for me. I can laugh at myself in a way that I never could before. When Theo suggested I name my graft, I picked Harriet. On a good day, I pretend I’m wearing a sticker. Or a tattoo. But just last week when I was looking in the mirror, my face reminded me of some crappy kindergarten collage that only a mother could love.
When I told this to Theo, he said, “Can I tape you on my refrigerator?”
Right now he is squeezing my shoulders, getting me pumped. “She’s bigger than you, but you’re tougher.”
“You think?” I say.
“I know.”
It occurs to me that Theo might be selling me a bill of goods. The girl across the ring from me isn’t just bigger; she’s huge. She has muscles on her muscles. She could eat me for lunch.
When I whisper this to Theo, he smiles. He kisses the top of my head. Then he says, “Give her all you’ve got.”
“I’ll give her a knuckle sandwich.”
Theo laughs.
I bounce on my toes. Bounce, bounce, bounce. I raise my gloves in the air. Up, up, up. I don’t know what will happen in the next year, or even in the next five minutes, but I am in it right now.
Sound the bell.
I’m ready.
Acknowledgments
THIS BOOK WOULD not exist without Joy Peskin, editorial genius and cofounder of the Mutual Admiration Society. Thank you for believing in me, for pushing me to dig deeper, and for cheering every step of the way.
My parents raised me in a house without a TV. Turns out this wasn’t child abuse after all; it was the greatest gift of my life. You made me a writer.
To Evan Borg, thank you for the ultimate compliment (see page 213). You may have been drunk, and you may not even remember you said it, but you changed the way I saw myself forever.
To Mar at Mar’s Hairy Business in Hamilton, N.Y., thank you for all the transformative haircuts of my youth, especially the bi-level.
Kate Reilly LaPia, thank you for not crashing the car on the way to Middlebury.
Kuj, thank you for brewing the coffee and manning the troops when crunch time hit. I couldn’t have done it without you.
Jackie, Baya, and Emo: My love knows no bounds.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Two Things
It’s Not What You Think
Pussy Galore
Talk to Me
How Do You Make a Venetian Blind?
A Lifetime Supplyof Antimicrobial Soap
Bogus, Bulimic, Smack Shooters
Make Yourself Comfortable
Burnt Toast
Just Shoot Me Now
You Don’t Mean That
Delinquent
Ifonlyifonlyifonly
The Point of Baked Chicken
There Must be a Reason You’re Dressed that Way
Specks of Dust, Atoms
Meow
Petty Little Problems
I’d Rather Be Cleaning Litter Boxes
The First Breath Is the Worst
Kissing the Canvas
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It Doesn’t Take Nancy Drew to Figure It Out
So Unbelievable
Never Is a Strong Word
Peace Offerings
Just Happy Not to Be Barfing My Guts Out
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Natasha Friend, My Life in Black and White
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