“He’s so cute,” I remembered Vickie Anderson saying about Aaron. It was one day toward the end of school. It had been hot outside and I had been waiting for the bus, standing alone, watching everyone.
“He sorta is,” Alison Leavitt said. “A little. I guess.”
“No, he so is.” They had laughed.
I had looked at Aaron then and imagined myself coming up to everyone. Their circle would have opened for me. Vickie would have thrown an arm around my shoulder.
Then I would have said, without one bit of fear, I would have said to all those girls, “He is so cute. Such a hottie.” I would have laughed right along with them.
But no one asked me how I felt. And I couldn’t just walk up and talk to them. So I stood on the outside, looking in, seeing them all collapse with laughter over Aaron. Finally, I had turned away.
The bus slowed down for the railroad tracks and I took a peek back at Aaron. He was talking with those girls.
“Who are you looking at?” Momma said.
I shook my head. “No one.”
Aaron is a skateboarder. I’ve seen him on the road in front of our house, skating with his buddies sometimes, sometimes alone. Now I could see his board tucked right up underneath his arm. He looked straight at me, even with one girl leaning toward him, and nodded a hello. I tried to smile but my face wouldn’t move and I had to look away again.
It took thirty-five minutes for us to get to the Winn-Dixie, and any time I wasn’t talking to Momma, I glanced to the back of the bus. The girls got off at the mall, pulling at Aaron to make him follow. He grinned and shook his head. One threw a look at me and fake gagged. I gathered my courage and narrowed my eyes at her.
There! And ha! He’s not going with you.
I looked at Aaron again as the bus doors closed. It was weird. And embarrassing. It was like I had to see him and I wasn’t sure why. He was cute and all. But I never stare at guys. Not like the girls at school do. Even if I was in their group, I’m not sure I could stare at guys the way they do, laughing and giggling and talking behind their hands like it’s a secret when really their voices are way loud.
But today, as we bounced toward the beach, the bus roaring along, I did look at Aaron. Maybe it was my library job that gave me courage to watch what he did.
And the thing is, every time I looked back, Aaron was staring at me. Twice he raised a hand in something like a wave. I swear my heart skipped a beat. Just like it says in books. I felt it miss, felt it thud.
“He is such a hottie,” I said, my voice low.
“What?” Momma said. And then, “Boys, boys, boys. Oh Lacey, you know how Granddaddy feels about the boys. He’s always watching, you know.”
“Yes, I know Granddaddy’s rules,” I said. “I’ll be careful.”
“We’re Fertile Myrtles,” Momma said. “A boy can just take a peek at you, and you’ll get pregnant. That’s how fertile we are.” She smiled like what she said was full of fact and like it wasn’t the most horrifying thing a mother could say to her daughter.
“I’m not fertile, Momma,” I said, my face flaming at the thought.
“You are! We are!” Momma let out a soft laugh. “Don’t make eye contact with that boy.” She nodded.
“What boy? I won’t.”
“You know what one,” Momma said. She gestured with her chin. “The one back there.”
I refused to see if Momma was talking about Aaron.
She whispered into the side of my face. “Granddaddy told me already you needed to watch out for that one.” Momma gave me a smile that seemed so intense I was sure Granddaddy had warned her.
It was then that the grocery store came into view. I wanted to say, “What a relief. Take Granddaddy with you when you go,” but I didn’t. Instead, I leaned close to Momma, putting my arm around her shoulder. Touching her cheek with a finger.
“You ready?” I threw one last look at Aaron, who had changed seats, moving forward on the bus some. My face was bright red, tomato red, crayon red, red velvet, red like a fire, no that’s orange, burning-hot red, I knew it. But I couldn’t help the feeling I had. Aaron was cute. And on the bus. Right on this bus.
“Fertile,” Momma whispered. Then she lifted her head. “Already here?” A look of panic swept over her face. “I’ve changed my mind.” She gasped for air. Her arms tightened around me, squeezing out my breath.
“You can do it,” I said, my heart picking up the pace a bit. I kept my voice low. “I know you can.”
“I’m scared, Lacey.” Her words were full of air. She looked me right in the eye and I saw that she was. For sure scared.
A good daughter would have done something different. Would have ridden all the way back home with her momma. A good daughter would have said, “Let’s get on back to the house.” But desperation grabbed at the back of my neck. For a moment I could only think of me. And getting out. Being free.
Then my heart went soft and I tried to talk Momma through her sadness.
“They’re waiting for you, Momma.” I spoke into the side of her face, my lips touching her skin. “And you can do this.” I made myself say the words I didn’t want to. I had to inhale big to do it. “Look, if you don’t like your job, you don’t ever have to go back.”
“I don’t?” Momma said. Her eyes searched my face, like she looked for lies.
“You don’t,” I said.
“And they’re waiting,” Momma said.
I nodded.
The bus pulled to a halt, one stop away from the Winn-Dixie. Momma took in a cleansing breath and let it
