My mother was taking a more assertive role in dressing me each day, even though I was twelve, to make me look more “appealing.” Meaning pretty, or at least feminine.
I frowned when she looked at me, her excitement.Very cute!she said, almost squealing.
I felt ridiculous, the little wannabe French girl. I didn’t mind the top, the horizontal stripes, a departure for Mom (she liked vertical stripes on a top, as they “slim you down”), but the skirt was too much. The beret wasn’t my favorite, but I hated when she played with my hair, and it allowed me to let my hair hang just short of my shoulders, as I preferred. It was a compromise, at least slightly less girly-girl than the pink hats she’d been pushing on me.
Hang on. Let me look at you. She sized me up—literally.More vegetables for you and less starch, she said.But there’s hope for you yet.
I brushed past her, then remembered something.Mom, you have to make reservations by today for the state tournament. Scholastic Bowl. You keep saying you’ll do it.
She let out a sigh. I stuffed my backpack with my schoolbooks.
Um, Ally. That weekend’s a problem.
What do you mean?I hiked my bag onto my shoulders.
Well, that’s…that’s when Luke’s playing in that “15 Under 15” game in Texas.
I turned to her.You’re not—you’re not going to my—
We can’t be in two places at the same time, honey.
Well…can’t Daddy go to Luke’s game, and you come to the Scholastic Bowl tournament?
Sweet lid, said Luke, bounding down the stairs in a Cubs jersey and track pants, with a gentle whack of my beret. He bit into a piece of toast and waved.Bonjour, mon amie!
You need to eat more than that, bucko, Mom called to him, but he was out the door.
I looked at my mother.You and Daddy can split—
Oh, come on, Ally. We can’t miss that game. Luke’s being recognized as one of the best players in the—
And we might win the state title in Scholastic Bowl for the first time ever!
Yes, honey. She wet her lips and thought a moment.And it’s really important. And you know how proud we are of you. But that’s a…scholastic event, honey. There will be plenty of those.
There will be plenty of baseball games! That’s all wedois go to baseball games.
Yes, but for Luke, this—
Luke, Luke, Luke!I shouted.All you talk about is Luke!
Now that’s just unfair, Ally—
Would you quit calling me that? I’m Allison! I hate “Ally”! I’m not some Barbie doll!
Now, young lady—
I’m sorry I’m not a cheerleader! I’m sorry I’m not pretty! I’m sorry I have a brain!
I stormed upstairs. I eased the backpack off my shoulders and reached inside for my paper razor, the razor blade folded within the index card. I had to do something, something to make her stop.
I put the blade against my skin, just under my eye.Do it, I told myself.Cut a long ugly scar down the side of your face. Then we can stop worrying about whether a boy will want me.
But I couldn’t do it. It made no sense to hurt myself to hurt her. Tears streaming down my face, panting like an animal, I looked at myself in the mirror.No, I said.No. She doesn’t get to decide. Not anymore. You’re Allison fuckin’ Rankin.
I marched down the stairs and into the garage. I jumped on my bike as my mother came into the garage.Ally, listen—
Don’t fucking call me that!I shouted, my voice choking through emotion.
