Pietr’s hand rested on my shoulder, a temperate reminder of the heat his body used to harbor. “Are you certain this is the most productive use of our time?”
“There is nothing more productive on a snow day than making time to have fun.” I turned to him, pressing my body against the length of his and waiting for a reaction.
None came.
Sighing, I said, “Look at it this way. We take the day off, relax and have some fun, and tomorrow we go back to school refreshed and more able to pay attention and focus on our schoolwork.”
He weighed me with his eyes, considering my words. He could surely see through me—in that moment I didn’t give a rat’s ass about being more focused on schoolwork, I just wanted Pietr more focused on me. But he chose not to second-guess my intentions and simply nodded, following me down the stairs to pull on his boots and coat as he waited for me to make one last stop.
I pounded on the basement door. It didn’t open. Instead a loud growl rose from far below—the only invitation I’d get into the space serving as Amy’s bedroom now that her father was in rehab and she had no desire to return to the trailer she’d grown up in.
The same trailer where her boyfriend attacked her.
It was a thin invitation, but I did what I always tried to do now and made the most of whatever I was given.
“Morning, Sunshine,” I greeted, pounding down the long line of wooden steps.
Her long red hair a mess of tangles, she looked as if she would have been just as well rested if she hadn’t bothered sleeping at all. Dark spots like thumbprints rested right below her bloodshot green eyes and shadowed her even more than normally pale complexion.
Unable to help myself, I sprang forward and hugged her. “Hey,” I said. “We’re going to have a snowball battle. An epic snowball battle. Max has this idea that he’s going to kick some major ass.”
“So, Sarah’s here?”
“What?” I pulled back and looked at her. Maybe she wasn’t fully awake.
“You said Max was going to kick some major ass, so I presumed that the major ass had to be Sarah.” She stuck out her tongue, and I knew she was more than conscious. She was even briefly verging on dangerous. And seeing that attitude of hers thrilled me—even if the joke came at Sarah’s expense.
I laughed. “No, Sarah’s not here.”
“Maybe it’ll be a good morning after all.”
“Of course it’s going to be a good morning. I’m here.” I did a little spin, as if my presence were all that was needed to rally a celebration. “Now get dressed. You can’t go out for a snowball battle wearing those pajamas.”
“These pajamas?” She pressed down their front with her hands. “I have other pajamas.”
“Ugh.” I rephrased: “You can’t go out for a snowball battle wearing pajamas.”
“I can’t, can I?” she asked, a note of challenge rising in her voice.
“Okay, okay—you can, but you really shouldn’t. How’s that?”
“Better,” she said, a touch of the old fire burning in the depths of her eyes. “I like to think I can do whatever I want,” she reminded me.
But as quickly as it had sparked, the fire in her eyes smothered out and I wondered if she’d realized that although she liked to think she could do what she wanted, some things were still too difficult.
“If anyone can, Amy, you can. You’re a tiger.”
“Glad you still think so,” she muttered, turning her back to me and straightening out her bed. She fluffed the pillow by whacking it hard against the bedpost and admitted, “Most days I just feel like a pussy.”
“It’ll get better,” I assured her, although I wasn’t certain it would.
“How do you know? You haven’t been through what I’m going through.” Crossing to her dresser, she tugged open a drawer so it squeaked in protest. Clothing was shoved aside and shaken out as she rifled through the drawers.
“You’re right,” I conceded. “I have no idea what you’re dealing with. Or how. But by the same token, you understood what I went through losing my mom the way I did and yet your mom is still alive.”
“Might as well be dead to me,” Amy said firmly.
My fists clenched at my sides. “But she’s not. She’s not dead. But you understood; you felt my loss and my pain even though it was totally different from your own.” I glared down at the floor, toes in my mismatched socks twitching in frustration. “Give me a chance,” I requested. “I’m trying to understand what you’re going through. And to support you. The way a good friend should.”
She nodded, a stiff yank of her head, keeping her back to me as she meekly pulled off her pajama top and replaced it with a loose-fitting sweatshirt that would have never before found a place in her wardrobe. Amy never claimed she had a perfect body, but once she’d been proud even of her small imperfections.
And certainly proud of her generous curves.
Lots of girls who ran cross-country and track, like Amy did, complained the first thing to shrink was their boobs and the last was “asses and ankles.” Amy maintained her shape and flaunted it.
At least she had.
But since Marvin’s attack, things had changed. Before, she’d worn tight tees, halter tops, and belly shirts, making her a frequent violator of Junction High’s dress code; now her wardrobe was mostly turtlenecks and baggy sweats. Before, she’d walked with her shoulders back and her boobs out, enjoying the attention. Now it seemed the less attention she drew to her body—to her existence—the more comfortable she felt.
She dug around for socks and sat on the edge of the bed to tug one on. She didn’t look at me. “How bad do I look?” she finally whispered. “I didn’t sleep.…”
“You’re fine.”
Finishing with her second sock, she stomped her foot. “I thought you were done lying to me.”
“I…” I shook my head. “You look rough.”
Her head lolled forward on her neck. “I know.” She heaved a sigh. “He’ll notice.”
There was only one “he” she could mean. Only one guy she still cared about looking good for. Max.
“Look. We’ll brush out your hair, put it up in a ponytail.…” I grabbed her brush off the card table that acted as her nightstand now, but she raised a hand between us.