Our eyes catch in the mirror. By some miracle, our lips start twitching simultaneously. And then the tension that’s held my shoulders stiff and my back too straight for the last twenty minutes snaps, and I’m giggling. Mona giggles, too, hopping up onto the counter and leaning against the mirror.
“He hauled you out of there like he was the Secret Service or something,” Mona says.
“I know, right?” I chuckle and shake my head. “That’s Ezra.”
The air dryer stops and I grab my backpack and head for the door. The hall is empty, a stretch of muted voices behind closed doors.
“I saw him as he was coming back to class.” Mona lets the bathroom door swing closed behind her. “Told him this was girl stuff and I got it.”
“Bet that went over great,” I say dryly.
“I know you guys have been friends a long time.”
“Literally since we were babies,” I say, smiling as memories over the years run through my mind. I’ve always had Ezra and he’s always had me. I can’t imagine it any other way.
“Yeah, well, he’s a guy, and he’s gonna have to get used to sharing you with friends who are girls. I mean, he’s got Hannah now, and you don’t have a problem with it, right?”
“Hannah?” My smile dims then fades to nothing. “Ezra barely knows her. They don’t have any classes together or anything.”
“Weren’t they in that Bar Mitzvah thing, or whatever together at the synagogue a lot?” Mona nods even though I don’t respond. “That’s when it started. He didn’t tell you?”
“Um, well, I’m not sure there’s anything to tell.”
“From what I heard,” Mona says, looking around like the empty hall might be bugged before looking back to me, “her brother was mad about it.”
Stay away from Hannah.
That’s what the boy yelled that day they attacked Ezra.
“Ezra better be careful,” Mona says. “He might be all ‘Bar Mitzvah,’ but this is still Georgia, and Hannah is still white and Ezra is still black.”
Mona’s grin tips to one side, and she leans against a locker. “Well, semi-black. Her daddy would say he’s black, though I doubt she’ll be taking him home to meet the parents.”
“He’s black when it’s convenient for other people, and white when it’s not,” I say. “If Hannah can’t introduce Ezra to her parents, then she doesn’t deserve him.”
She doesn’t deserve Ezra, period.
“I’m gonna go.” I shift the backpack on my shoulder and tug on the sleeve of Ezra’s coat. “I need to call Mama and have her pick me up. These pants are ruined.”
“Okay.” Mona’s mischievous smile returns with a vengeance. “What are you gonna tell Jeremy?”
An image of Hannah comes to mind, a memory from Ezra’s Bar Mitzvah. Hannah dressed in pink, her face pretty and smooth and sprinkled with freckles. Her long, curly hair had been loose and hanging down her back. Is that what Ezra wants? Someone who looks more like his mother than like me? A lump burns in my throat like lit coal, and I have trouble swallowing past it.
“Yeah.” I turn and head toward the office to call Mama. “I’ll go to the dance with Jeremy. Whatever.”
I call and leave a message at the elementary school front desk since Mama’s teaching.
How long will she take?
In the hall, I lower my eyes every time a student walks by. Even seated and with the safety of Ezra’s jacket, it feels like they can see my stain.
“Kimba,” Mrs. Stern says from the office door. “You ready?”
I grab my backpack and tighten Ezra’s windbreaker at my waist. She climbs behind the wheel of her green Camry and I take the passenger seat. Mrs. Stern pulls carefully out of the school parking lot like she’s testing for her driver’s permit.
“Your mom’s in class, obviously,” Mrs. Stern says. “So she asked me to come.”
“Thanks,” I mumble.