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Chapter 54 - Flush With Determination

Mrs. Horwitz scooted her chair over to the center and made a quick reminder to everyone about weekend problems for Monday before releasing us. Some classmates had set chairs together to make groups. Others had turned and shared things. None of this was for classwork. Somehow, I hadn't noticed any of this.

With a stretch and a yawn, Summer packed up her bag. She told me she had to meet up with a coach but noted, "Have an awesome weekend, everybody." She slipped on a pair of shades and left with a lull of people coming and going.

A few were already stopping by for lunch tutoring and a place to eat. An informal science fiction and anime club would spring up senior year.

Natasha put everything away and sighed a few times before saying directly to me, "Just...think about what I said. And have a good weekend too." She finished with perfunctory hugs for both Lea and me.

The brightness in her hair faded and her blemishes returned as she slipped through the door. Mrs. Horwitz was already busy with her first requests for tutoring. Lea and I packed up and were ready to go when Mrs. Horwitz leaned over to note, "If you want to have lunch in here, feel free. I just need to run over to the lounge and get something."

It was kind of the same routine every time. She rarely finished her lunch with everyone she tried to help. She expressed the same message to the gathering students dropping off their backpacks on the desks.

Before she left, Horwitz inquired, "Just so I'm not misunderstanding, are you the boy Kenzie was worried about...changing?" She gave a firm squint of scrutiny.

Holding her hands behind her, under her pack, Lea offered a careful nod and said, "I am changed, but I'm still contextualizing what that ultimately means for me."

Offering a warm smile through the creases of her face, Horwitz told her, "Though it may not seem like it now, I'm sure this is a blessing...no matter how disguised. Just have faith and you'll figure it out. And I mean that for both of you."

She let us go with a wave, a jangle of her tangled keys, and a puff of chalkboard dust.

Standing outside, I leaned around to look at what I could see of the dark hallway. No unexpected shadows stalking about.

Lea poked her hand out of the depths of her sweater sleeve and clung to my dangling fingers. It felt a little like grade-school. Find a partner and hold her hand. But not unpleasant.

And it reminded me of a weird little day I had in junior high.

That school was just a street over from where I found Lea at her lowest point. Occasionally, when Gladis had to cancel for some reason, my parents permitted me to walk home. But only with lots of other kids around. And only with the crossing-guards and a phone call as soon as I arrived back at the house.

This particular day, I'd just passed into our neighborhood when I noticed a young girl, no older than sixth grade at most, sitting against a brick wall with her face buried in her lap. It would've been no harm to me to just keep going. But I frowned and crouched beside her to ask if she was alright.

Her face darted up, cheeks red and tear-streaked. A vaguely-familiar face. She wore an oversized t-shirt for the band "Aerosmith". Her jeans also looked like hand-me-downs meant for an older sibling. Same with her half-tied shoes. She drew her legs up like a protective barrier.

Gradually, I learned she was lost. She remembered walking home but then suddenly forgot where she was going. She tried to find something familiar but fell into fear and doubt.

I grimaced. As I mentioned before, a boy in my class who was kind of a prankster had the same thing happen to him because of a brain tumor. What if this young girl had that or worse going on?

I strained for what I could do and settled on taking her to the nearby elementary school. At the very least, they would keep her safe and their nurse could watch her until her parents hopefully came for her.

It took some prodding, but she eventually agreed to go with me. She held my hand the same way Lea did. She clung even tighter. Her face still reminded me of someone but that probably meant she was the little sister of a person I knew or had seen.

She gripped me the whole way to the school. It was almost like I had a little sister for those moments. The silly, stupid daydreams of an only child. But I dropped her off and the staff took care of her. I never saw her again. So far as I knew.

Lea smiled gently as she held my hand in that same way and lightly posed, "Lunch?"

You don't expect much from the cafeteria on a Friday, but it was worth checking out. Lea dipped her head and mentioned, "Umm, I don't...possess my wallet or any rudimentary forms of ID. Or money."

That was important because, back then, to even get the base lunch you needed at least your student ID. Points cards were introduced eventually but they felt like more of a senior year thing.

Without hesitation, I told her, "Breakfast was your treat, lunch is mine."

I had an absurd amount of random, loose change with me because my parents always conjured up reasons why I would need it for basic survival. There would be plenty to cover two lunches and any extras Lea felt like getting.

When I told her this, she tried to downplay what she needed. Just a sandwich and a soda. Better than some people who barely picked at Corn nuts. I assured her that if there was anything she needed then she could just tell me.

Lea’s eyes widened slightly, and she squeezed my hand. “Actually, there is something. Of tantamount importance…”

I anticipated some terrible reveal from her unmentioned class period. She grimaced and confessed, “…I’ve been holding it since this morning…and I’m not absolutely certain I’m doing it right…”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Not exactly what I hoped to hear, but my brain shifted into action. There were two bathrooms towards the center of the main quad, but they were always busy. Anything along the periphery, like the one Sal and Ramirez used, would also be either clogged or have a long line. The office restrooms were always locked during lunch. There were options on the other end of campus near where I’d practiced being Natalie (and failed). But, if you went all that way, your best option was the salvation of the newest restrooms at the edge of the field.

Rarely used, it was cold and echoing on the same sort of platform as the modular classrooms, but it was worth the effort.

Swiftly, I told her where we were going and bolted along. I worried she might not be able to keep up, but I had to hustle to keep pace with her. She had determination.

Luckily, we were the only ones when Lea grabbed the nearest stall and clicked it shut. I thought about asking if she needed any help but the sound that followed told me she had it under control. I took advantage of the blessed opportunity myself.

A relieved Lea joined me at the sink to wash up. She scrutinized her hair and did what she could with her fingers. I tried not to watch her too closely but noticed as she gave a squinting frown. This shifted into a half-smile, then a full smile with a swath of teeth showing. She stuck out her tongue then pouted slightly. She almost got a come-hither look across before she returned to a little snort and a toothy smirk.

I asked, “Having fun?”

She rubbed at her eyes and said, “I must unequivocally confess I spent too much time in front of your bathroom mirror, stretching this face around.”

Chucking a crumpled paper towel beside the can, then beside it again, I inquired, “And it’s a face you can live with?”

Lea watched as I lobbed the paper just over the can, then into a crack just short of it before I dunked it down the abyss of paper and stuff I didn’t want to know about. She tested her smile again and answered, “It’s the one I am living with. Have to live with, unless something changes. And I’m not dispirited with it, at least. Still working on being comfortable with how it feels and what it articulates.”

She brushed her hair again and finished at the sink. Her paper towel wad sunk in a single, straight shot. A smile and a clap from me followed our shared giggles. We weren’t alone for long after that. Other girls came. Some setup their bags on the counter as makeup stations. Their brisk, flowing Spanish cut through with laughter of their own. Lea stayed a little while, checking her hair one last time and glancing over at the others. They didn’t even pivot their heads to inspect her.

On the way down the ramp, Lea asked me, “Do I…look okay?”

I nodded eagerly and assured her she looked fine. Just past the ramp and at the fall-eaten bare end of the field, she persisted, “Is my hair better? You said it kinda needed a brush. I borrowed one from Val last period.”

I hadn’t noticed. But, really, saying her hair needed a brush was my best effort to come up with something to say. That she’d taken it to heart as something to fix was unnecessary. I assured her of this clearly with a soft apology.

She nodded back and asked in a small but focused voice, “And…umm…am I pretty?...Err…I mean do I look pleasant with…all things considered?”

Lea fussed like she needed to use the restroom again. All morning, my main sentiment was that she was a pretty girl now. Cute Lea. Pretty Lea in place of the man I once knew. I told her all this with the confident declaration, “You are beautiful. Pretty and adorable too.”

She receded behind the sharpest blush so far, as she brushed her sleeves together again. Though she accepted my words, she countered, “But…I’m just dressed in what I could find last afternoon which didn’t immediately make me feel distraught and horrified.”

You might be surprised how many girls make their clothing decisions based on those criteria. But I didn’t tell her that, I just said, “The clothes don’t matter. You’ll figure out clothes and better than I have.”

While she swiftly complimented me on my choice of clothing, I assured her it was fine. It was an entirely apathetic choice to make up for the clothes I had to endure yesterday. And it was a Friday.  

My words didn’t slow her down from curious musing. While we passed the shrieking cries of roosters and harsh, groaning moos of dairy cows, she asked me about different kinds of skirts. I did my best. I liked ones that resembled the curtains in an old lady’s house. Crumpled, wrinkled, and lavender. Long and warm. Lea exuberantly cited every memory scrap from an elder sister’s fashion magazine Wes had been bored enough to leaf through long ago.  

Would Wes have recognized the girl standing in his place if I pointed her out to him?

He’d draw his eyes in a squint and look her over. She’d probably look away from his gaze.

“Do…uh…do I know you?” Wes, his voice passing through a kindly puberty.

“Yeah but umm…not yet. I-I-I mean..uh, hi.” Lea, reaching for confident, distinctive words.

“From where?”

Lingering, cringing silence is taken up by racing thoughts for what to say, which could clearly and concisely provide an answer. And each moment making it ever worse that all she could offer was silence…

Oh, wait. That’s actually the shortened version of most of my freshman year knowing Wes. Better not to cast Lea in my role. I didn’t even want to cast myself in it.

But, from that impossible perspective, would he look at her and still see anything of himself?

I viciously hoped so.

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Art by Alexis Rillera/Anirhapsodist