Page 42 of Heartstrings & Horseshoes

Time alone with Connor is my favorite. He always makes me forget about the bad things in my life for a little while.

I watch him closely as he pulls his books from his backpack. He got a lot taller this year, and his arms are bigger. He has fuzzy hair growing on his face and sometimes his voice cracks and sounds deeper.

High school looks good on him. I flush at the thought and cover my face with my hair, digging into my backpack.

I’ve been having these feelings more often lately. I’ve always loved Connor; he’s my best friend in the whole world. But now when I look at him, he’s not just my best friend. He’s my extremely cute best friend who’s becoming a young man…just like I’m becoming a young woman.

One time I thought Connor was staring at my boobs, but then he tripped and fell, so maybe he was just distracted.

“What are these?” Connor asks, grabbing the colorful pamphlets that’ve fallen out of my backpack.

I scramble to gather them up, but he holds them over his head so high I can’t reach.

“Nothing,” I grumble. But Connor never takes that as an answer.

He knows me better than I know myself and I can’t hide anything from him.

He flips through the pamphlets, and I sink deeper into mortification, burying my head in my arms on the sticky table.

Connor gets on his knees next to my seat and pries my head up from my arms. His eyes are shining with tears and seeing him hurt breaks me.

I burst into tears and collapse into his arms, joining him on the pavement.

“Shh, shh. It’s ok, Delilah-doll. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll get you through this, I promise,” he soothes, rocking me in his arms, not caring if anyone’s watching.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, pain lacing his cracking voice.

I can’t bear to look at him, so I burrow into his chest and talk into his tear-soaked shirt.

“You already worry about me too much. You bring me snacks and your parents invite me over for dinner all the time. I didn’t want to bother you…” I admit.

Connor pushes me back by the shoulders and tips my chin up. “Hey. Stop it. You never bother me. I like helping you. It’s always hurt my stomach when you don’t have enough to eat, and my mom and dad hate it too. It’s not your fault your parents…your mom, sucks.”

I huff a laugh through my tears. “Sucks” is the understatement of the year, but he’s right.

“Talk to me. Please, doll,” Connor pleads.

Taking a deep breath, we get off the ground to sit back at the table. He holds my hands atop the worn green diamond tabletop.

“I don’t know how to explain it…”

“Try. You can tell me anything. I wish you hadn’t kept this from me. I could’ve tried to help sooner…” he says sadly.

“It’s not your job to fix me.”

“I know. But I can’t not help…I can’t stand you in pain.” He smiles, perhaps revisiting the day we met, me sitting in the dirt, crying, and him riding up on his bike like a knight in shining armor.

“Mom doesn’t really buy groceries anymore. She used to…sometimes.”

Connor looks so angry, his knee’s bouncing under the table like a basketball.

“I was so hungry all the time, I ate what we had, but lots of times it was spoiled, and I’d end up throwing it up later.”

“Oh, Delilah…” I’ve hurt him by hurting myself and it breaks my heart.

“I hated throwing up, so instead I got more choosey with the foods I ate. I already avoided the rotten and spoiled food at home. But then I started avoiding treats, like I wouldn’t take a cupcake at the class party, or the chips from your lunchbox. Well, when we were at the same school.” I wince, chagrined because it’s not his fault he’s a year older than me.

“Soon I was only eating oatmeal, frozen vegetables if the freezer was running—if we had electricity—or canned. Dried beans are cheap, and they keep me fuller, so I always try to buy those when Mom gives me grocery money.” I’m embarrassed admitting all this out loud.