Love Me Like I Love You

by Willow Winters

  The instant her eyes flick up to mine, she freezes. Slowly lowering the magazine to her lap, her lips part when she notices the side of my face where Mom slapped me.

  “Hollis?” she breathes out. “You have”—she swallows hard, her throat bobbing—“a handprint on your cheek.”

  I lower myself beside her but avoid her eyes. Staring at a frayed string on my khaki shorts, I can’t say anything. I’m embarrassed, but now that I’m with Magnolia, I’m beginning to wonder if what my mom said is true.

  I mean, she isn’t the only one who’s said it.

  Magnolia’s mom gave me an earful that sounded similar. Not that I’d ever tell my best friend that, though.

  “Hollis.” Magnolia’s voice is gentle. “Please just…nod or somethin’.” She drags in a deep breath. “Did she do this?”

  I mash my lips together and give one brief nod. Magnolia lets out a tiny, painful sound.

  “Whatever she said, whatever she did, you don’t deserve it.” She cautiously moves closer, and I hate that she’s afraid to get closer or touch me. Any other time, she’d hug me or touch my hand or arm.

  I reach for her hand that’s between us and lace our fingers together. Then, I whisper, “But she might be right.” When she starts to protest, I hurry up and add, “You’re smart and your family has money. I’m only smart when it comes to certain things and we both know my family doesn’t have money like yours.”

  “Hollis.” There’s so much sadness in her voice. “You’re smart. Just because you’re better at writin’ and do well in English class doesn’t mean you’re not smart in other ways, too. And I don’t care about money. You know that.”

  She shifts and raises our hands between us. I pinch my eyes closed, embarrassed. When she presses a little kiss to the back of my hand, my eyes sting, and I force back the tears.

  I don’t know what I did to deserve a friend like Magnolia, but I promise to never screw it up.

  “Hollis Barnes, you’re amazin’. You’re the best friend everyone wishes they had. You’re kind and smart, and there’s no way you’re not good enough for me.” She sounds so sure. “If anythin’, I’m not good enough for you. You’ve taught me so much, and all I’ve taught you is how to play Barbies and weddin’ and not to hold your pinky out when you have proper tea.”

  A small smile tugs at my lips, and I brave a look at her. The way she watches me makes it seem like she’s begging me to believe her. To ignore everything else.

  I wish it was that easy.

  Still, I don’t want her upset like this.

  I tease her. “Did you just kiss my hand?”

  Her face relaxes, and she smiles, rolling her eyes with a laugh. I sling an arm across her shoulders and tug her close.

  When she lays her cheek on my chest, I think back to her grandpa Joe’s sermon the other Sunday. He spoke about how true friends love at all times. I admit, some Sundays, I’m either distracted by something Mom said to me or a little bored—no offense to Grandpa Joe—but that bit he did about “authentic friends” stuck with me.

  Magnolia’s a true friend, and I won’t let anyone or anything come between us.

  Ever.

  She whispers, and her words are a little muffled by my shirt. “I love you, Hollis.”

  I freeze, in shock. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s saying that to me or because no one—aside from my dad—ever says it.

  She pulls away, rushing to add, “But not like that.” Her mouth twists into an embarrassed smile. “I mean…you know. I love you as a friend.”

  My throat is tight, and for the second time, I have to fight the tingling in my eyes. No way am I fixing to cry, even though part of me wants to. Not because I’m sad, but because her words mean so much.

  “I know.” I tug her close.

  Magnolia gets me. She’s the one person on this earth who does.

  “I love you, too,” I whisper with a little smile. “But not like that.”

  Hollis

  TWELVE YEARS OLD

  Magnolia’s Pre-braces bucket list

  Summer

  Magnolia: I’m not feeling so great, so I can’t come outside today.

  This text comes in about an hour before I’m supposed to head to the park and help Magnolia with her batting. She begged me to teach her the ins and outs of baseball, especially when it comes to hitting the ball.

  We’ve been getting in some practice at the batting cages behind the high school. I cut grass for the baseball coach, and he seems to like me, so he lets me use it as long as I lock up after we’re done.

  As excited as Magnolia’s been, I know she must be pretty sick to bail.

  Me: You need anything?

  I wait to see those three dots pop up on the screen. They show, then disappear before popping up again. With a laugh, I just press the button to call her, knowing it’ll be faster.

  “Hey.” Her voice sounds weak.

  “What’s goin’ on?”

  “I just don’t feel so great. But I’ll feel better by next weekend.”

  I scrunch my face in confusion. “You don’t think you’ll feel better by tomorrow?”

  “I just have…” She lets out a long sigh. “Hollis, I have girl stuff goin’ on right now.”

  A smirk tugs at my lips, and I tease, “Like, what kinda girl stuff?”

  “Hollis.” Her voice is stern. “Use the sense God gave you and remember our health class and all those changes they taught us about.”

  It dawns on me. “Oh, shit.”

  “Hollis Barnes!” She uses that prim and proper voice I always tease her about and I can’t help but smile. She never cusses, and it’s not like I do it all the time, but man…sometimes, it just fits the moment.

  “What can I do to help you feel better?”

  Magnolia lets out a little sigh. “Not much anyone can do, I reckon. Just have to get through the worst of it.”

  “So…what exactly does it feel like?”

  “I have these awful cramps and just feel gross.”

  “I’ve seen commercials where the lady usually wants ice cream or chocolate.” I mentally tally how much money I’ve saved up from cutting grass. “Want me to get you somethin’?”

  Her tone is soft. “No, but thank you. Mother wouldn’t let me have any of that anyway.”

  “What if it’s somethin’ I can smuggle in pretty easy? And I’d take the evidence with me after we’re done?”

  There’s a pause before she whispers excitedly, “Pop Rocks?”

  I grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She lowers her voice, and it sounds like she’s cupped her hand over her mouth and the phone. “We have to wait until she leaves for her Women’s League meetin’. She’s supposed to be gone in a few minutes. And Roy’s still in Montgomery.”

  “I’ll watch for her car to leave before I head over.”

  “See you then.”

  After ending the call, I change out of my ratty shirt and shorts. The few times I have been inside Magnolia’s house, I felt out of place and underdressed. Even though her parents won’t be there, I feel like I should dress nice.

  I pull on a pair of khaki pants and a polo shirt and slide on my nicer pair of flip-flops. Mrs. Barton’s Audi pulls out of the driveway, disappearing down the street, and I head over.

  When I cross the driveway on my way to the front door, my phone vibrates in my pocket with an incoming text message. I slide it out.

  Magnolia: The front door is open, and I’m in the back den watching TV. Miranda’s gone for the day.

  I quickly send back an okay. Miranda’s the housekeeper, and aside from Magnolia and Grandpa Joe, she’s my next favorite person. She’s not snobby toward me at all.

  Quietly, I open the front door and let myself inside. I can’t help but stop and glance around. This place is always spotless and elegant looking. Not one thing is out of place.

  When I walk into the den, it’s a slightly different story, and it’s easy to see why Magnolia likes this room. Sh
e says Roy calls it his “man cave,” and it’s the one room that’s more mellow than the rest of the house.

  She’s sprawled on the couch, wearing some expensive yoga pants and a T-shirt, and clutching a pillow to her stomach. Her eyes lock with mine. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” I stop at the couch, and she curls her legs up to make room for me. As soon as I sit, I tug her legs over my lap.

  “I don’t need to stretch out,” she protests.

  “It’s no big deal.” I shift, remembering what I’ve brought with me, and tug it from my back pocket. I hand her the packet.

  She smiles. “Thanks.” Not wasting any time, she rips open the Pop Rocks and sprinkles some into her mouth. I grin at the crackling sounds they make and how something so simple can make her this happy.

  I focus on the television. “What’re we watchin’?”

  When she doesn’t answer, I turn and find her studying me while the crackling inside her mouth finally dies down.

  “Why are you dressed”—she waves a hand, gesturing to my clothes—“like that?”

  I shrug, trying to play it off, and turn my eyes back to the TV. “Reckon I fit in better here in these clothes.”

  Silence.

  “Hollis.” I don’t turn to face her. “Hollis. Please look at me.”

  With a sigh, I turn my head. As soon as I see the look in her eyes, I shake my head, my tone sharp. “Don’t. I don’t want your pity.”

  She sits up, shaking her head. “It’s not pity. I just don’t want you to be like them.”

  I frown. “Them?”

  “Everyone else.” Her voice softens. “Don’t be like them. Just be you, Hollis.”

  I huff out a breath. “I put on nice clothes. No big deal. I just want to try to look like I’m good enough to be around you.”

  She tips her head to the side, and it feels like she can read my thoughts. “But you’re already good enough. It doesn’t matter what you wear.” Her mouth spreads into a wide smile. “I love you the way you are.”

  “But not like that,” I finish, grinning back at her.

  “Well”—I reach for what I brought along with me and set it on my lap, on top of her legs—“I could read to you if there’s nothin’ good on TV…”

  Her eyes light up when she sees which book I have. It’s a small, cheap paperback of sonnets by William Shakespeare. We’re in advanced English class together, and the teacher has started introducing us to all sorts of literature. Shakespeare’s work is one.

  I have one page—one sonnet—marked since it’s her favorite. Sonnet 130. She loves it, and even though she’s never actually come right out and told me why, I’m pretty sure I figured it out.

  Shakespeare talks about the woman he’s in love with and how she’s not perfect in the least, but it’s what makes her even more beautiful to him. Her imperfections—how real she is—make him love her even more.

  I know she has a hang-up over her teeth, but if she could just see herself how I see her—especially when she laughs—she’d know not to worry about it. She’d see that she’s awesome just the way she is.

  I read her the sonnet while she finishes her Pop Rocks until it’s time for me to head back home.

  “Thanks, Hollis.” She gives me one of those smiles that makes the corners of her eyes crinkle. That gap between her teeth grabs my attention, and I wish she knew how much I’ll miss that sucker once she gets braces. It’s hard to explain, but it’s just…Magnolia. It’s like she’s being made to get rid of something that’s totally her.

  “Anytime.” I pat her legs before lifting them so I can stand. “Hopefully, you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

  A WEEK LATER

  SUNDAY

  “Hollis, boy! Good to see you!” Grandpa Joe booms, waving me over to him after church service on Sunday.

  He tugs me in for a quick hug, patting my back affectionately. Then, he tips his head to the side, inspecting me. “I reckon you’re even taller than you were last Sunday.” His eyes dance merrily.

  “Yes, sir. Dad measured me and said I grew two more inches.”

  “Boy with such good manners and looks’ll have the ladies swarmin’ like bees to honey.” He grins and ruffles my hair like I’m eight years old all over again. He’s probably the only one I let get away with that these days. Grandpa Joe’s a great guy, and I wish I had a grandpa like him.

  “Where’s Shortcake?” He looks past me. “Y’all are always joined at the hip. Thought for sure she’d be close by.”

  “She’s with her mom.” I lift my chin in the direction of where a very bored-looking Magnolia stands beside her mother, who’s talking with some fancy-dressed woman with perfect hair.

  “Ah, yes. I reckon she’s gotta keep a tight rein on her with you around.”

  I toss him a confused look, and he chuckles. With a wrinkled hand on my shoulder, he steers me closer, then dips his head, lowering his voice. “I may not agree with the way my daughter handles Magnolia’s upbringin’, but she’s no dummy. She can see the writin’ on the wall.” He studies me. “She knows that y’all are close, and that worries her.

  “You’re a part of Magnolia’s future”—his eyes grow squinty, as if he’s trying hard to see something in the distance—“and she doesn’t like that.”

  Grandpa Joe’s words catch me off guard. I’m a part of her future? I have no idea what he means by that. That we’ll always be friends?

  Before I can ask him about it, his attention moves to someone behind me. His entire face lights up, and I know who it is before he even opens his arms. Turning his head, he offers his cheek, and says, “Shortcake! Have you come to give a little sugar to your grandpa?”

  Magnolia’s soft laughter greets me before she darts in front of me and plants a kiss on her grandfather’s cheek and hugs him.

  “You’re just as pretty as a peach, young lady.”

  She blushes, but before she can respond, someone steps up to speak to him. With a wink, Grandpa Joe turns away to greet the others.

  “Hollis Barnes.” Magnolia grins up at me and it’s like the whole world brightens when she smiles like this.

  I can’t help but smile back. “Ma’am.”

  “So,” she starts, then glances around to make sure no one can overhear, “we’re still on for tomorrow?”

  “As long as you feel okay.” She looks better than she did last week, that’s for sure.

  Magnolia makes a face and lays a hand over her stomach. “Ugh. That was awful.” Her face brightens. “I feel much better.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Plus”—she lowers her voice—“I’ve been practicin’ my form in the mirror.” She repeats what I’ve coached her on. “Legs apart, elbows out but not too much. Grip comfortably tight.”

  I can’t suppress a chuckle and lay a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve got this. Don’t overthink it.”

  Something draws my attention, and I find Mrs. Barton’s sharp eyes on where my hand touches Magnolia.

  I immediately drop it.

  Magnolia peers up at me before turning to see where my attention strayed. When she turns back, she looks a little sad.

  “Guess I should get back over there.” She doesn’t sound the least bit excited about it. Her smile isn’t as bright, but it’s still sweet. She lifts to her toes, the corners of her eyes crinkling, and I duck my head for her to whisper in my ear. “Love you, Hollis.”

  We both lean back, and I say what always comes next.

  “But not like that.”

  We grin at each other before she turns away, heading back to her mother’s side.

  “Nope. No girls allowed.” Chase Beckford’s face scrunches up nastily as he eyes Magnolia.

  She tenses beside me and murmurs, “Hollis, it’s all ri—”

  I step toward him. “Bet you she’ll hit a home run.”

  Chase sneers. “Reckon she couldn’t hit much of anythin’, let alone a home run.”

  Magnolia moves forward, fists clenching at her sides. “Re
ady to put your money where your mouth is, Beckford?”

  Chase rolls his eyes and glances around at the other guys gathered around us near home plate. There are always baseball games on this field in the old park down the street from our neighborhood.

  Chase and the others live in a neighborhood not too far from us. They go to our school but don’t talk much to me these days. Mainly, it’s because I hang with Magnolia. But I’m not heartbroken over not hanging out with them, though. The comments they made about me being friends with her, about me being her charity case, really pissed me off.

  Magnolia taps the bat to the dirt at our feet, her lips pressed in a thin line. “If I hit a home run, y’all will let me play another time.” She takes a step closer to Chase. “If not”—the edges of her lips curl up slightly—“then I’ll wait at least a month before I ask again.”

  Chase glances around at the others, and some of them shrug. Finally, he rolls his eyes. “Fine. But no favors. You get the same pitches as anyone else.”

  She grins. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  The guys take their places, Chase taking the pitcher’s mound, and I turn to Magnolia and lower my voice. “Remember, keep your eye on the ball. Don’t chase it. Let it come to you.”

  Her expression is fierce and determined. She nods. “Got it.”

  She walks over to the mound, and I move aside to watch. My palms are sweaty and nervousness spreads through me while she looks calm as can be.

  Chase winds up and sends the first pitch, which is ball one. I study Magnolia’s form and find myself holding my breath on the next pitch. It looks good—Chase is a pretty darn good pitcher—and everything happens in slow motion.

  Magnolia swings, her bat connecting with the ball in the perfect spot, the loud crack echoing, and the ball whizzing through the air. She takes off, running as fast as her legs can carry her, and rounds the bases as one of the outfielders chases after the ball that’s landed on the other side of the fence that encloses the ball field. Her blond ponytail bounces with her movement. The others look stunned, like they’ve never seen a girl do anything like that before.