Love Me Like I Love You

by Willow Winters

  FOURTEEN YEARS OLD

  Church has always been okay. Not great, but it’s also not torture. It’s just…church.

  Normal Sundays involve my mother having to give the final approval on my outfit and hair after I get ready—because image is everything to her and Roy—and then we drive to Holy Cross Church.

  Before Hollis moved into the house behind us, I’d attend Sunday school and suffer through sitting near Lora Ann Bayer and her minions. They always preened and said all the right things in front of our Sunday school teacher, who also happened to be our school librarian, Miss Dunkirk.

  Of course, when the woman was out of earshot or not paying attention, Lora Ann would toss out the zingers.

  “If you smile on a windy day, does the wind whistle through that gap in your teeth?”

  “Y’all, how much food gets stuck in there?”

  Sometimes, they’d draw a stick person with a shaded-in rectangle between the front teeth. And then they’d be so kind as to give it to me. Like it was a precious gift.

  When Hollis started coming to our church—or more importantly, when I’d conned him into coming to Sunday school with me—things changed.

  Not immediately, though, but the change was noticeable.

  Back then, I’d vaguely recognized that he was a cute boy. It wasn’t something that nagged at me every second of the day, but more of a Sure, he’s cute. Now, can we get back to playin’ Barbies? kind of thing.

  When I showed up at Sunday school that first time with Hollis in tow, I remember how surprised Lora Ann and the others had been. Like they couldn’t understand what he was doing with me.

  The first time they’d made a joke about me and my teeth and looked at him, waiting for Hollis to laugh along with them, his angry glare was so harsh, it’d even had me rearing back.

  He’d shut them down every single time they tried to say something mean.

  I never told him, but that day, Hollis became more than my friend. He became my very best friend. And my hero. Someone who wouldn’t let anyone hurt me. At least not if he could help it.

  Now, six years later, not much has changed.

  I grin as Hollis strides up to me with his dad a few steps behind. I stand here, with my parents on either side of me, inside the entrance to the church hallway leading to where all the Sunday school classes are held, greeting everyone.

  He draws to a stop in front of me after he shakes Roy’s hand. Holding out a hand to me, I roll my eyes with a little laugh and shake it. He winks and moves on to my mother.

  “Good mornin’, Mrs. Barton.” He flashes her a polite smile, and she begrudgingly eyes his nice dress pants and button-down shirt.

  “Good mornin’, Hollis.” Her tone is cool, which is the usual for her when it comes to anything related to Hollis.

  He tips his head to the side. “Would you mind if I walked Magnolia to class?”

  My mother’s mouth parts, and I know even before she says a word that she’s about to say no. But Roy beats her to it.

  “That’s nice of you to offer, Hollis.” My stepdad grins at Hollis’ dad. “Fine young man you’re raisin’, Jay.”

  I slip past my parents and out of the greeting line before my mother can protest. Grabbing Hollis’ hand, I practically drag the poor boy down the hall to our class.

  “Where’s the fire, Barton?” He laughs, tugging on our joined hands to slow me down.

  I glance at him with a smile. “Thanks for savin’ me.”

  “Anytime.”

  We enter the room and take our usual seats, and the relief at having him by my side is replaced with something that makes my stomach churn. The other girls start flirting with him, and it makes me really uncomfortable.

  “Y’all are just friends, right?” Lora Ann asks with an overly sweet smile.

  Hollis eyes her cautiously, much like one would watch a rattlesnake a few feet away from where they stand. “You know Magnolia and I are friends.”

  She lays a hand on his arm. “Of course.” She laughs even though she didn’t say anything funny. “Silly me, thinkin’ anyone would have a crush on her.”

  Hollis’ lips part—probably to defend me—but then Miss Dunkirk announces the start of class, and everyone quiets down.

  I work hard to shove that entire conversation out of my mind, but the thoughts linger, taunting me.

  It hurt when Lora Ann acted like no one could have a crush on someone like me.

  Even more than that, though, is how I find a tiny part of me wondering if Hollis agrees.

  “What’re you doin’ after the game on Friday?” Lora Ann asks Hollis after Sunday school’s over and we’re all headed to the church for service.

  He shrugs, his tall, lanky form towering at my side. “Usual.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Her condescending tone gets on my last nerve. “You meet Magnolia Mae at the diner afterward, don’t you?”

  Her smile is snide. “Aren’t you just too precious for words?” Her tone has my spine stiffening. Someone needs to lay hands on her and exorcise the evil. “Shame you can’t find anyone else to hang out with you.”

  Hollis’ jaw clenches while he slides his hands in the pockets of his slacks. The edges of his lips curve up, but it’s humorless.

  Not that she’s smart enough to pick up on it.

  “The lesson today was about not judgin’ others.” His smirk widens. “Wouldn’t want you to be one of those weeds instead of the good plants, now, would we?“

  Lora Ann’s mouth drops open in either shock or surprise—no telling which. He takes advantage of her lack of response to pick up our pace. His hand is at my lower back as he guides me to the section of pews where we normally sit.

  “Hurry up,” he mutters under his breath, “so we can get a seat and pray for her black soul.”

  I bite my lip to stifle a laugh and breathe a sigh of relief when there’s still no sign of Lora Ann once we take our seats.

  When my mother slides in beside me, I refuse to let it stifle my happiness. As long as I have Hollis by my side, everything seems that much easier.

  Simpler.

  Happier.

  An hour and a half later, we file out of the church—quicker this time since Roy has meetings first thing Monday morning and needs to head up to Montgomery—and my mother tells me she has plans for the afternoon.

  “Now, remember you’re not to have anyone over while I’m gone.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Not even that Hollis boy.”

  I barely restrain my face from screwing up when she says “that Hollis boy.” I wish she’d just accept that he’s my friend and stop being so judgmental. Heck, she goes to church right along with me each Sunday. How she comes away from it and does nothing to change her ways burns me up.

  “Did you hear me, young lady?” my mother prompts when I don’t respond.

  Internally, I roll my eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

  With Mother gone, this means I’ll get a tiny bit of freedom without her constantly assessing and critiquing me.

  This is what has me moving to the car much quicker and with more pep in my step than before.

  “Hi there. No… Hey, y’all! No, no, no,” I correct my reflection in the mirror. I sound like a crazy person, talking to myself in my bedroom like this.

  Flipping my long hair back over my shoulder, I pose in front of my full-length mirror. With a hand on my hip, I thrust my chest outward. The crop top I have on is really just a cotton shirt I’ve gathered and tied up to bare my midriff. The cotton shorts are a pair of my sleep shorts, but all the girls wear them when they want to get a boy’s attention. Especially in PE.

  I jut out a hip and attempt a pouty look like the models on the covers of magazines in the grocery store checkout lines. I don’t look sexy when I try that kind of expression, though.

  I heave out a frustrated breath and throw myself back on my bed and stare up at my ceiling. I’m doomed. No boy will ever find me the least bit pretty. My braces are a hug
e strike against me. My lack of sexiness just increases my chances of winning the I’ll live alone the rest of my life and die a virgin award.

  My phone vibrates with an incoming text. I groan and snag it from my bedside table.

  Hollis: You celebrating having the house to yourself?

  Me: Not even. I’m way too lame.

  Hollis: Do I have to come over there and cheer you up?

  Me: I can’t have anyone over while they’re both gone.

  Hollis: If I sneak through the window, and no one sees me or hears me, then did I really ever come over there? Kinda like the whole “if a tree falls and no one’s around to hear it” thing.

  I hesitate because I don’t want to get into trouble, but I could also really use some time with Hollis right now. Maybe he can tell me what to do to look prettier even with my brace face.

  Me: If you come over, you have to promise two things.

  Hollis: What things?

  Me: You have to promise not to laugh at my question and promise to help me.

  Hollis: Yes, ma’am.

  My best friend’s response brings a small smile to my lips. Even though we’re the same age, he always treats me with respect. Mr. Jay sure has raised him right.

  I walk over to lift the blinds and open the window for Hollis. Less than a minute later, his hands reach up to grip the windowsill. He lifts himself up and inside and dusts off his hands with a grin.

  As soon as he notices what I’m wearing, his smile drops. He immediately turns around to lower the window and adjust the blinds before closing them.

  With his back still to me, he asks, “Can you put on some clothes?”

  I scrunch my face in confusion and glance down at myself. “Hollis,” I start. “I am wearin’ clothes.”

  He waves a hand dismissively, still refusing to turn around. “I mean, clothes that actually cover your body, Magnolia.” He sounds exasperated.

  I plant my hands on my hips. “But that’s what I need your help with!”

  He heaves out a breath and slowly turns around. His eyes don’t veer from my face.

  “What do you need help with?”

  I gesture to my body. “I’m tryin’ to figure out what I need to do to look pretty like the other girls. Boys seem to like this kind of outfit, but I don’t have boobs yet and—”

  “Magnolia.” Hollis’ voice sounds tight, almost like he’s being strangled.

  “What?” I peer at him in confusion before pointing my index finger at him accusingly. “You said you’d answer my question and promised to help me.”

  He scrubs a hand down his face, eyes closed in a wince. “I didn’t expect you to be half naked, for cryin’ out loud!”

  I growl in aggravation and toss myself facedown onto my bed.

  “Shit,” he whispers, and I don’t have it in me to call him out on his cussing.

  After a beat of silence, the mattress shifts with his weight. I turn my head and find him sitting at the far corner of my bed, his gaze focused on the wall. With my cheek against the comforter, I study his profile, realizing I never really take the time to look at him.

  It’s funny how I’m just now noticing the faint stubble along his upper lip and jawline. When he rakes a hand through his hair, the scar that bisects his eyebrow catches my attention. I’ve overheard other girls whispering about him in the locker room while we change for PE. They always wonder about his scar and think it makes him look dangerous.

  He doesn’t look dangerous to me, though. He just looks agitated, but I’m not sure why.

  My voice is a whisper. “Hollis, I’m just tryin’ to figure out how to look pretty.” I swallow hard, trying to get past my insecurity somehow. “Like the others.”

  His head whips around so fast, I stiffen, my eyes going wide. His expression is fierce as he forces his words between gritted teeth.

  “Don’t ever try to be like the others.” He shakes his head. “Ever. Because you’re perfect the way you are.”

  “But the other boys don’t—”

  He shoves up off the bed and starts pacing. “The other guys are jerks. You’re amazin’. Smart and—”

  “Oh my gosh, Hollis. You don’t have to say that just because I’m your friend. I know I’m not pretty with a mouth full of metal. I’m just…” I’m unsure of how to put it into words. “I just want to learn how to be.”

  I scramble off the bed and stop in front of him, forcing him to look me in the eye. I gesture to my chest. “I don’t have anythin’ here yet, but I don’t know if that’s a deal breaker or not.” I wave toward him. “You’re a guy, so can you tell me what I should do to make myself prettier?”

  His expression looks pained, and it confuses me. “Magnolia.” He says my name on an exhale. Stepping closer, he rests his palms on my shoulders. A shiver runs through me at his touch, which is…an odd reaction.

  I shove it aside.

  His dark eyes hold mine. “If you change to be more like someone else, you’ll lose what makes you, you. And I don’t want you to be different.”

  I frown. “But you don’t understand what it’s like. They have”—I glance down at my pathetic excuse for a chest—“boobs that aren’t microscopic.” He makes a choked sound, but I continue. “And no one with half a brain would want to kiss this.” I point an index finger at my braces.

  A tiny sigh spills from Hollis’ lips before he tugs me close, wrapping his arms around me. I hold him tight, his soft, well-worn cotton shirt at my cheek, and breathe him in. The scent of Hollis’ body wash fills my senses.

  “Promise me you won’t change. Not for anybody.”

  My shoulders slump slightly in defeat. I’d hoped he’d help me. Maybe give me pointers or something. “Fine,” I say begrudgingly.

  “Because if you change, then you’re not my Magnolia anymore.” His hand at my back glides over me in a soothing way. “My favorite person in the whole world.” When I don’t say anything, he prompts, “Promise me you won’t change?”

  With a sigh, I let my eyes fall closed and whisper, “I promise.”

  In typical Hollis fashion, he coaxes a laugh out of me a moment later. Convincing me to change and put on my usual pajama pants and matching button-up top, he sits beside me on the carpeted floor of my room, our backs against the bed, and we time each other’s crackling mouthful of Pop Rocks.

  He somehow got the best batch because his crackles for fifteen seconds longer than mine.

  When my mother’s text comes in that she’s on her way home, Hollis tucks both of our Pop Rocks packets in his pocket and gives me a hug before sneaking back out the window.

  I’m about to lower it to lock it when his voice carries over to me.

  “Love you, Shortcake.” For some reason, Grandpa Joe’s nickname for me sounds even sweeter coming from Hollis, and it brings a small smile to my lips.

  As usual, I finish with, “But not like that.”

  After I lock the window and close the blinds, I quickly delete the texts from Hollis in case my mother decides to look through my phone. The agreement we have is she’d pay for it as long as it’s understood she has the right to go through my phone at any time. I don’t want to give her more ammunition to feed her dislike for Hollis.

  I brush my teeth, crawl into bed, and say my prayers.

  And just like I always do, I thank God for Hollis Barnes.

  Hollis

  SIXTEEN YEARS OLD

  “Barnes’ll tap that soon if he’s smart.”

  I whip my head around to pin Ashton with a dark glare. “What the hell are you runnin’ your trap about now?”

  I tug a plain cotton T-shirt down over my head and run a hand through my damp hair, waiting for him to stop grinning and answer me.

  We’ve just showered after football practice, and I have to rush out of here so I can head to my job at the country club.

  “Your girl, Magnolia.” As soon as he says her name, conversation in the locker room immediately stops.

  Because he’s broken rule nu
mber one: Don’t talk shit about Magnolia Barton.

  It’s not like I’m cool with guys talking out their asses about girls, but let’s be real. Guys can be douchebags and run their mouths about “hittin’ it.” It’s disrespectful, and I do my best to shut that shit down.

  Luckily, I’ve gained about fifteen pounds of muscle and stand a half a foot taller than most of these big talkers, and usually that’s enough to intimidate them into shutting up.

  It’s getting harder, though, because I know what’s gained their attention. Hell, it’s gotten my attention whether I want to admit it or not.

  Magnolia’s no longer the thin blonde who’s been my best friend since I moved here. Over the past few months, somehow, her chest grew more noticeable. And her legs are even longer.

  It sucks because it can be distracting. It makes me feel weird, and I’d like nothing more than to beat the ever-loving tar out of these guys when they start talking about her tits and how they’d love to get their hands on her ass.

  Even with braces, nothing can put a damper on Magnolia’s beauty. She’s had to wear them longer than expected since apparently her teeth were “stubborn,” as she likes to say.

  I’d never tell her outright, but I hate that her mom made her get braces to correct that gap between her front teeth in the first place. I’d grown to love it. It was just…Magnolia. Somehow it made her even cuter.

  I grit my teeth and shove my locker shut. Sliding the strap of my bag over my shoulder, I step closer to Ashton.

  My voice is low, menacing. “Stay away from Magnolia.”

  As I hover in his personal space, his features tighten. “You think you’re so big and tough, but you’re nothin’. You don’t fit in with us.” He moves so our chests are nearly touching and his eyes turn cold. “You’ll never be good enough for her.”

  I clench and unclench my jaw, hands fisted at my sides. I’d like nothing more than to knock him on his ass, but I know I’d end up facing the brunt of the punishment in the end.

  Ashton’s dad is a big deal at the country club, so he could easily make my life hell if he wanted.