Ribs (Then—March 1981)
“YOU WANNA GO ride bikes?”
Holly looked up from her science textbook. Science, which she hated almost as much as math. If there were numbers anywhere near a subject, Holly was already running in the opposite direction.
She and Jessica were sitting at the Coldwater dining room table, Mrs. Coldwater going in and out, constantly busy with something: dusting or cooking or fixing her hair and makeup. She was perfect always, and so was her house—spacious, immaculately cleaned, and decorated tastefully to fit the season. Fresh flowers sat in the center of the table, submerged in an antique vase Jessica had explained was older than the town of Wonderland itself.
The Coldwaters’ house was the nicest in town. It was up on a big hill, far away from where Holly’s house was. They even had a freshly manicured lawn and pretty pink flowers along the porch. Jessica had her own room, painted a light lilac, filled to the brim with clothes and toys and books. She even had her own television.
Holly was jealous sometimes, sure, but it always passed quickly. It was hard to be jealous of Jessica for very long. After that first day, they’d become inseparable—some sort of bond forming between them that neither quite understood the entirety of. It was a pull, a connection; one that couldn’t be severed by the strange glances they got in the hallways or the way teachers, thinking Holly was out of earshot, assured Jessica she didn’t have to befriend that kind of girl. Jessica always smiled politely, the teachers not even realizing she was one of those girls they were warning her to steer clear of.
Jessica had given Holly a ride home after their cigarettes had turned to ash, and then she showed up bright and early the next morning. It became their routine. After school, Holly would sit in the bleachers in the gym, waiting for Jessica to finish cheerleading practice, trying to keep her eyes on her book and not on Jessica’s flipping form.
Holly was amazed by Jessica. The way she threw herself so majestically into the air, spinning and rotating, landing perfectly. Her arms and her legs, always in perfect sync with each other. And when her skirt flew up and exposed her thighs, or her top showed off her toned stomach, Holly couldn’t help but flush as she hastily tried to avert her eyes. She was unsuccessful most times.
Jessica’s boyfriend, Troy, never made an appearance at her practices. Jessica explained that he was busy with his football friends, that he hardly had any time for her. That was music to Holly’s ears. The times that she had to see them together—like in the cafeteria, Jessica so close to Troy that she was practically on his lap, his arms wrapped around her in a way that could only be described as possessive—she felt as if she were going to be sick.
But the drives to school, the long talks she and Jessica had, the time they spent together—it all made up for it. For the fact that Holly knew she wouldn’t ever be able to touch Jessica like that, be seen with her like that.
She thought about it sometimes late at night, long after Jessica had dropped her off. Sometimes Lenora was home, making noise in the tiny kitchen, and sometimes she wasn’t. Holly thought about being with Jessica in the way that Ned Nickerson and Nancy Drew were. She thought about them being together in … other ways. Ways she’d read about in the books she’d read in secret from the adult section of the library. There were never two girls, of course—at least, not in the books in the towns Holly lived in. She didn’t know at first if two girls could even be together like that. Holly had never made any friends—before Jessica. Life seemed to be divided up into before Jessica and after Jessica—but Holly had overheard girls talking about their boyfriends, about losing their virginity to them. Mean things were written about some of those girls on bathroom stalls too.
Could girls lose their virginity to each other? If there was no … thing going in there? And if so, then what counted?
So many questions. And no one to turn to for answers.
It was wrong, two girls being together like that. Or two boys. Unnatural; a sin. Holly had been told that, at least—especially at the two schools she’d attended in Utah. But weren’t there lots of things that were wrong, that were sinful, that went on anyway? Wasn’t it wrong that Holly didn’t know if there would be food in the fridge when she came home, or where Lenora was, or if she was even alive? Once, Lenora didn’t come home for four days, and Holly was sure her mother had died.
What gave Troy the right to be with Jessica, especially the way he treated her? Ignoring her, letting other girls hang onto him at games, not showing her much affection. Holly knew that if she were Jessica’s girlfriend, she’d never treat her like that. She would treat her right. She’d give her flowers every morning, right when Jessica picked her up. She’d remind Jessica how smart she was, how athletic, how beautiful. She’d never look at another girl again the way she looked at Jessica.
It was lonely but also consuming. It brought heat to Holly’s cheeks as she lay in her bed, mulling it all over. The way she wanted to touch Jessica. The way she did touch herself.
There were some mornings that she could barely stand to look at Jessica, knowing the things that were running through her own mind. But if Jessica was onto her, she never showed any indication. They talked in the car and hung out at Jessica’s house, Mrs. Coldwater always there after school with cookies fresh from the oven. It was all so normal—so right.
“Sure,” she told Jessica now. “Bikes sound like fun.” They headed out to the garage, Jessica pulling two bikes from the rack along the far wall.
It seemed there was every kind of machinery one could ever dream of in the giant Coldwater garage: bikes and motorcycles and scooters; giant contraptions Holly didn’t even know what to call.
“Here,” Jessica said, giving Holly a pink bike. “This one’s Sarah’s.”
Sarah was Jessica’s older sister, who was away at college in Colorado, studying to be a doctor.
Jessica pulled out a blue bike, and the girls put on matching black helmets. The garage door rose, and they were on their way.
There wasn’t very far to go in Wonderland—the highway wasn’t an option, and the little side roads that led in and out of town were filled with potholes and animals Holly didn’t care to run into.
They went down the hill from the Coldwater house and into town. It was overcast, but warm enough that they didn’t need jackets. They drove in single file, Holly behind Jessica. A couple of cars passed by, people waving out the windows, likely at Jessica; the only person in this state who would wave at Holly was currently riding up ahead of her.
When they wound their way down the hill and into what passed for downtown Wonderland, Jessica steered toward the two streets of houses. “Which one’s yours?” she called to Holly.
A reply got stuck in Holly’s throat. There was a lot she had told Jessica—the places she’d been, the things she’d seen—but there was also a lot she hadn’t. The fact that it would probably take Lenora a year to save up for a bike like the one she was riding on right now was one of them.
Jessica looked back, blonde hair blowing behind her. It made Holly go speechless for an entirely different reason.
Holly pointed to the house on the very end, and Jessica nodded. They stopped across the street from it. There was no car in the driveway, no indication that anyone was home. No indication that anyone lived there at all, really. It wasn’t a home, no matter how many times Lenora proclaimed otherwise. It was a house, and someone else’s at that.
There was no stopping the flush of embarrassment that ran through Holly’s entire body. Here was Jessica Coldwater, town royalty, seeing her house. The place her mother had dragged her to, another map dot Holly hadn’t ever wanted to be a part of.
And Jessica—Jessica, who would run this town one day; Jessica, who lived in a house fit for a queen; Jessica, who could choose anyone at all to spend time with. Jessica, who was sure to bolt now that she’d seen who Holly truly was.
“It’s just you and your mom, right?” Jessica asked, breaking the silence.
Holly nodded, her eyes on the ground in front of her. Lenora had come up in their conversations frequently, Jessica listening intently as Holly recounted tale after tale of her mother. Nothing too unsavory, but certainly enough to paint the picture.
Jessica didn’t say anything else. She started riding again, back up the hill and to the Coldwater house.
This is it, Holly thought as she got off the bike, helping Jessica put it away without a word. They were both flushed from the uphill terrain. This is the part where she dumps me.
Holly had never had a friend before, and certainly not one that meant something to her in the way Jessica did. Her chest ached just thinking about not getting to spend time with her anymore, no more drives to school and back, no more snacks from Mrs. Coldwater, no more time spent in the bleachers.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to be my friend anymore,” Holly said in a rush.
Jessica’s back was to her, and she straightened as she turned around. “What?”
“I know I’m …” Holly trailed off. There were so many ways that she could finish that sentence: not rich, not right, not good enough. “Different,” she decided on, the sanitized version of her thoughts, the version she was so used to giving.
Jessica’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “Is this because I saw where you live?”
Holly shrugged, avoiding Jessica’s gaze. It’ll hurt less this way, if I convince myself that it was my idea to stop being friends. If I give her an out.
“Hey,” Jessica said, drawing Holly’s gaze back up to hers. They were suddenly so close, close enough that Holly could reach out and touch any part of her. “I don’t care about any of that. I don’t care how you dress or where you live. I don’t care what people at school say about you, or me. I care about the fact that you’re nice and funny, that you tell me these amazing stories of all the different places you’ve seen. I care that you’re willing to help me with math, even though you hate it, and ride bikes with me and show me your house. I care that you’re real, Holly. I care about you.”
Holly recognized all the words that Jessica was saying, but they weren’t computing. How could … how could someone like Jessica Coldwater think those things about her, Holly Prine, who wore thrift store clothes and had lived most of her life making company with her own shadow?
“I care about you too,” Holly said softly, though she meant it in a very different way from how she knew Jessica did.
Regardless, a smile lit up Jessica’s face. Beautiful. “Good,” Jessica said emphatically. “Then let’s go back inside. I’m starving.”