“He’s my boyfriend,” I said, smile lingering. She raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Does he know?”
Hostile chuckles greet his mother’s black dress and heels. He squawks: “Stop laughing or I’ll turn you all into toads!”
The piano was solace for her pain. She was too dark to pass, suspect to those she wanted to fool. Finale. She stood to applause, and wept.
“He doesn’t mean it,” she says, pushing the bottle to her lips. “He really does love us.” I push the ice pack against my swollen eyes.
It rained so hard that I was two hours late picking her up. I found her sitting alone on the school steps, in a puddle of her own making.
It was like an escaping prisoner. Some said heat, others said chemicals. But she alone knew that this growth of hair could not be tamed.