AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’m not? What do you mean?”
“You’re not timid. And fading, well, you’re actuallyreallybad at that. In fact, everyone was looking at you last time, even though you were wearing boy clothes. I think it was the headband,” she said. He itched to correct her, to say,There’s no such thing as boy clothes.“But don’t worry, I liked it.”
“I did too, Bron,” said Mr. Edwards without looking up.
“I just don’t like people looking at me.”
“Then you should probably stop dressing the way you do,” Ada replied.
Bron felt the sting of her words, her easy assessment of him. He expected such sentiments to come from strangers, had heardas much from Darcy. But Ada? Is that what she thought of him? That he could turn off his authenticity as easily as a switch? Or that it was something that encouraged attention?
“Ada, I don’t do it for attention. I dress the way I do because it’s, well, it’s me—”
“Anyway, it’s a masquerade party, after all, so it wouldn’t make a difference.”
He would let her comment go. There was not much more he was comfortable saying here. Not in front of Mr. Edwards. He would be sure to teach his lesson at a later date. “Masquerade?”
Ada nodded. “Yes, I’ve decided it just now. With your help.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Mr. Edwards.
“See?” said Ada. “And nobody will even know who you are.”
He had to admit, there was an appeal to dressing up. Of becoming someone else in disguise. Costumes had once enabled him to experiment with clothing. At St. Mary’s, many a bed sheet or scarf had crowned his head, sweeping the dirt along with him as he paced the dorm room alone. He thought himself a princess, like Rapunzel. His experimenting with makeup took an early form of jarring lipstick and eyeshadows, but the coloring in of his plain features blessed him with a reasonable androgyny. He’d escaped to the countryside whenever he could, in this newly put-together costume, away from the boys and the school, for he dare not let them see him. This was a place he could occupy safely, a place between man and woman. Under an oak tree he would sit, his back pressed against the ridges of the trunk, in a dress he hid under his mattress. When, at last, some passers-by would come, a dog ahead of them and sniffing away at the grass, they would smile at him, not a smile of liberal mindedness, but a polite English smile that said they were people of a certain je ne sais quoi, before they clocked him and hurried away. He would notice the stiffness he caused to their bodies, the way he brought them closer together, their leaning fit of whispers. Always, at least one of them would cast a cursory glance back.
“I just don’t think I’m up to socializing.”
“Well, you must. It’s an order.” Ada rose from her seat, and Bron felt her stare suddenly more piercing than usual. “Has anyone seen Darcy?”
“No.”
“I need to tell him about the masquerade theme,” she said, rushing out of the room.
“Ada, you haven’t finished your food,” Clarence called.
And Bron didn’t feel up to running after her.
In the library later that afternoon, Ada refused to complete her homework. She wanted to show Bron the secret passageway hidden inside the room—it was about time he was let in on the secret—and poked at a button near one of the bookcases, which gave way and opened into a door. The hair on Bron’s arms prickled at this, and though it only led to the other wing of the house, working as a shortcut of sorts, it was through here that they spent the rest of the afternoon, to-ing and fro-ing in and out the hall.
“So this is where you hide when I seek?”
“Oh, I forgot. I’m going to have to find a new hiding place.”
Eventually Ada resumed the topic of masquerade, and after Bron made it clear he would not be joining the party, she returned with Mr. Edwards in tow, moaning about how difficult it was to convince Bron to come to her party. Mr. Edwards confirmed once again that it was important he be there.
“It is my dying wish, boy,” he said. “And Ada’s.”
He couldn’t argue with his employer.
“Will there be dancing, Father? Waltzing?”
“There will be only waltzing. We shall waltz the house down if that is what you’d like. Ada, play some music?”
Ada searched for an appropriate record on the vinyl player, and before the scratchings could develop into the melodic shushing of Björk’s “It’s Oh So Quiet,” she’d already rushed back to her father’s side and stepped onto his feet with hers. Arching hershoulders back, she held her arms erect. Allowed him to take them and lead them forward.
Bron watched in fascination as this scene unfolded, father and daughter pacing about the room as though it had been choreographed. When the music sped up and they with it, he suppressed a laugh, equal parts awkward and true fascination. Halfway through the song, Ada cut herself away and ran to the record to stop it.
She pulled Bron up from the chair. “Now you try.”
