Lily and Dunkin

I seize up, sure I’ll never breathe again. Maybe if I don’t breathe, I’ll faint. And if I faint, I’ll bang my head on Bob’s hard trunk and knock myself out. And if I get knocked out, I won’t have to answer Dunkin’s question.

Unfortunately, none of these things happen. It’s just Bob, me, Dunkin and his impossible question hanging in the humid air between us.

“Yes,” I say, feeling both terrified and brave at the same time. “I was wearing my mom’s dress when you saw me this morning.” Good girl, Lily. Now tell him why.

Dunkin’s eyelids open wider, and he holds the mostly eaten doughnut without taking another bite, so I know I’ve shocked him. I don’t like his reaction. It feels like he’s judging me, and it doesn’t feel good. Could this boy be dangerous? What made me think he was different from everyone else?

I blink a few times, praying the right words will come. True words. But what actually happens is the real part of me closes down. Walls spring up. Doors clang shut. Mental alarms are set.

I hate this feeling.

“Okay,” Dunkin says, I guess to encourage me to explain further.

But the way he says it doesn’t imply that anything is okay. There’s so much judgment in that one word, I know he’ll never understand. I was stupid to hope he might.

Words flow from me like pollution into a stream: “My sister, Sarah, dared me.” I check his eyes to see if they’re little lie-detector machines going off, but nothing in them changes. “This morning, she dared me to wear my mom’s dress and sandals and go outside. Can you believe it?” The lies taste like dirt in my mouth.

“Wow,” he says, letting out a breath, like the lie I told was a relief.

My shoulders slump.

“I don’t know if I’d be brave enough to do that.” He pops the last piece of doughnut into his mouth. “Why’d your sister dare you?”

“Thought it was funny, I guess. It’s been a boring summer.”

He coughs as though that last bit of doughnut got caught in his throat. “That must have been really embarrassing when I walked up then. Huh?”

I swallow hard, as though something’s caught in my throat. “Oh yeah,” I say, “completely embarrassing.” Each lie I utter hollows me out a little more.

Dunkin leans back on his elbows on the pointy St. Augustine grass, as though he doesn’t have a care in the world. I envy him. Why can’t I be relaxed like him? Why can’t things be easy for me, like they must be for him?

I lean back against Bob, hoping he’ll give me strength. But all he gives me is a sharp scratch on my left shoulder from a jagged piece of bark.

For a second, I’m mad at Bob. But deep inside, I know I deserve it.