Shine - Lauren Myracle [26]
I studied him with the detachment I’d use if I was regarding a pile of deer droppings. He was handsome enough, or would have been if he hadn’t called me what he called me. He was tan, and he had strong forearms under the rolled-up sleeves of his plaid shirt, which he wore unbuttoned over his white T-shirt. His cargo pants fit the right way, and unlike the guys in Black Creek, he didn’t feel the need to let them hang off his butt. Instead of boots or sneakers, he wore flip-flops, which Tommy would have called gay.
I was fairly sure this guy wasn’t, though. Gay.
He caught me staring, and this time I didn’t look away. His mouth twitched nervously.
That’s right, I thought. You should be nervous.
I smiled, and College Boy increased the distance between us, moving from the magazine display to the manga rack. I knew then that I’d shoved my shame down deep enough that I could function without bursting into tears. I knew, too, that he wished he hadn’t gone off on me. I could read it in his face. But too bad.
I went over to him. My heart pounded.
“You owe me an apology,” I informed him.
“What?” he said, startled.
“I said you owe me an apology.” I flicked my hair out of my eyes, which were a tawny brown like my mother’s. They gave people pause if they got a good look at them, and College Boy got a good look at them now. “For what you called me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” College Boy said. Gone was his attitude, whatever that had been about, and in its place was . . . I wasn’t sure what. Remorse?
It threw me off balance, but only for a moment.
“Let me refresh your memory,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “You called me a mountain nigger. Now do you remember?”
Heads turned in our direction. Lots of heads, all with shocked expressions. A young mother over by the picture books grabbed her toddler and hustled him away.
Aware of our audience, I held out my arm and twisted it to show both sides. “I’m actually white, but I guess you’re too stupid to notice?”
College Boy turned as red as the tomatoes in my garden. “W-wait,” he stammered. “No. I just . . .” His eyes darted from one glaring patron to another. “I never said that.”
“You never called me a mountain nigger?” I said, making the library patrons bristle again. Every one of them was as white as I was, because there just weren’t any black people in Toomsboro. But for the most part, these were educated townies, and they didn’t like that word any more than I did.
“Um, yeah, you did,” I said. “It was after I asked you not to cuss at the computer table, and you got mad and told me to mind my own business.”
“What? I didn’t—“
“And then you said you had one special word just for me,” I went on, wanting the people to hear me and not him. “Is it coming back to you? How you leaned down and called me a . . .”
I broke off, because the little hairs on my arms were telling me I’d pressed my luck far enough. Plus, Miz Hetty was out from behind her desk and striding over.
I swallowed. “Well, I’m not going to say it,” I said, even though I already had. Twice. “But actually, it was two words. You really are stupid, aren’t you?”
College Boy looked scared. I thought, Ha. See how it feels? Only it gave me less pleasure than I’d expected.
Miz Hetty reached us, and College Boy’s throat worked. He grabbed a graphic novel from the rack and held it in front of him, as if it would protect him. Fruit Basket, it was called.
“Cat?” Miz Hetty said.
All at once, I wondered what I was doing. I hoped Mama Sweetie wasn’t watching from heaven, because I knew she’d be disappointed.
I covered my face with my hands. My adrenaline drained out of me, and I was just a girl, and it was time to stop. Guys like Tommy, guys like the idiot college boy I’d been so busy humiliating, they did whatever they wanted. I knew that. They said nasty things, and they hurt people, and they never stopped.
But I didn’t want to be like them. I wanted to be like Mama Sweetie.
I dropped my hands. Every single person in the library was staring,