Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 124320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
He stops, too, running a hand through his hair.
“Kimba, I…you…” He groans and closes his eyes.
“Just spit it out. What in the world? You tie this jacket around my…” I trail off, my brain finally catching up to wonder why he did that.
“There’s a stain on the back of your pants,” he mumbles, his eyes glued to the floor as he drags the words past his lips.
“A stain?”
Fire ignites beneath the surface of my cheeks. My fingertips go cold. My stomach lurches. I got my period for the first time two months ago. Kayla told me horror stories about this happening at school, and I’ve tried to be so careful. But today, I wore white shoes and white pants. I sit close to the front of Mrs. Clay’s class, so all those students sitting behind me saw…
“Oh, God.”
I take off running down the hall toward the bathroom, tightening the sleeves of Ezra’s windbreaker around my waist. Ezra’s footsteps behind me only urge me faster. I need to get away even from him.
“Tru!” he calls, but I keep moving. He catches up to me and takes my arm. “You okay?”
“Besides being dead from embarrassment?” I mumble, avoiding his eyes. “Yeah. Peachy.”
“Those kids don’t matter,” he says, flicking his head in the direction of the class we just fled. “And you know you don’t have to be embarrassed with me.”
I look up to meet his eyes, and they’re dark blue, almost violet. I love that color so much, but hate that it only comes when he’s upset. “I’m okay, Ezra. Thank you for the jacket.”
I start to untie it, but he places a hand over mine.
“Keep it until you don’t need it,” he says, his voice scratchy with discomfort. “I’ll get it later. I know where you live.”
We chuckle.
“Yup, right across the street.” I smile, but squeeze his hand over mine. “Thanks, Ez. You always take care of me.”
“We take care of each other,” he says, his voice subdued when he looks up from our hands, his eyes intense. “Hazak, Hazak, Venithazek.”
It sounds like Hebrew, but I have no idea what it means. “What’d you say?”
“Be strong, very strong.” His fingers tighten on mine and he doesn’t drop his gaze or slide a hand in his pocket, or any of the other Ezra things he does when he’s unsure. “And we will strengthen each other.”
The words are seeds sinking deep into my soul, into my heart. They take root and bloom. We’ve taken care of each other our whole lives. I don’t know what to do with these feelings. What I feel for Ezra is as old as we are, and yet brand new. It’s familiar, but blushing and breathless.
“Mr. Stern, Miss Allen,” the vice principal calls from a few feet down the hall. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”
“I have a female issue.”
I’ve only had my period twice, but I’ve already discovered you only have to refer to it for men to start stumbling and looking uncomfortable.
“Well, yes.” He tugs at his tie and clears his throat. “You, um, do what needs to be done.”
He points to Ezra. “You don’t have a, um, problem like that, Mr. Stern. Get to class.”
“Yes, sir.” Ezra looks at me, a small smile on his lips. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Yeah, later.”
With one final glance at the vice principal, I push through the restroom door. Thank God I’m the only one in here. I stumble into the very last stall.
Shoot!
I have no supplies. My bag is still in the classroom. I have no quarters to buy a tampon or pad from the machine. Mortification and helplessness bring tears to my eyes, but I swipe at them impatiently. The bathroom door swings open, and I stiffen, listen.
“Kimba?” It’s Mona’s voice. “You in here?”
“Last stall.”
I open the door to find her standing there holding my backpack.
“Thought you might need this,” she says with a tentative smile.
“Thanks.”
I accept the backpack and close the door again, rifling through the bag to find a tampon and pad. Once the business is done, I come out to wash my hands. Mona’s leaning against the counter.
“Everyone was laughing at me?” I ask, rubbing in soap under the water.
“Not really.” Mona shrugs. “I think everyone was just surprised and kind of reacted at first, but then it just died down and we moved on when Mrs. Clay made other people start reading.”
I hold my hands under the forced air to dry them.
“I’m not sure who was more traumatized,” Mona continues. “You or Ezra.”
Our eyes catch in the mirror. By some miracle, our lips start twitching simultaneously. And then the tension that’s held my shoulders stiff and my back too straight for the last twenty minutes snaps, and I’m giggling. Mona giggles, too, hopping up onto the counter and leaning against the mirror.
“He hauled you out of there like he was the Secret Service or something,” Mona says.