“Let’s go for a walk in the woods behind my house.” Griffin glances around us to make sure no one is listening. 

I’m driven by the pull of desire. The nudge of danger electrifies my need. I’m not allowed to get off the bus at stops other than mine. I’m certainly not allowed to go into the woods. There are mountain lions and rattlesnakes searching for a kill. Yet when Griffin smiles, my insides go haywire and I wriggle against the peeling brown bus seat. My hands hide beneath my butt and the numb sensation is a wonderful distraction. They’re clasped behind my back as we inch toward the unnecessarily large steps and onto his street. He speedwalks ahead of me until the bus filled with kids is out of sight, then slows until we’re inches apart. His pinky brushes against mine, and my heart pounds. 

Within minutes, we’re trudging up a hiking trail, walking until his log cabin of a house is but a memory. My overworn Converse slip on the small rocks, and I’m out of breath. He plucks random plants from the ground and rolls them in a square of paper as we walk. Sitting on a boulder, he says, “this is our spot.” As his eyes drag over my body, I feel naked. The silence makes every word seem louder than necessary. 

He slips a lighter from the pocket of his cargo shorts, and with a flick of his thumb, the copier paper tries to burn the trees down, but he hisses it into a glowing bulb. With a steep inhale, he chokes on the smoke until his face is red as a cherry tomato. His is a blustering cough, and despite the sour smell of his breath, being in his presence makes me feel taller. Like I’ve grown feet above girls like Emily and Stacey. I’ll bet they’ve never been invited to hang out with an older boy. Definitely not one of his caliber. He could change my life with one conversation. 

“Wear a skirt tomorrow for me.” He puts out his homemade cigarette without taking another puff, and I’m grateful he didn’t offer any to me. His comment raises the hair on my arms and quickens my heartbeat. I wipe the sweat from my hands on my thick, rough blue jeans, then twist my unbrushed hair around my finger. I hope to look contemplative. I wonder what my mom would do in such a predicament. My mom with her long fur coats and pristine red lipstick painted over pursed lips. She says I look like my dad. Thick shouldered and a gap between my front teeth. He hunches over newspapers and devours coffee. He smiles at women who don’t smile back. My mom often wonders what she ever saw in him. 

“I don’t own a skirt.” I cross my arms, wishing I could make myself disappear. 

It’s like when I was told to mop the kitchen, but no one taught me how. My mom ripped the handle from my hands and screamed, “You can’t do anything right! I’ll just do it myself!” I sat in the corner, analyzing her every move so I could do better next time. When I cried, she didn’t ask if I was okay.  

I brace myself for his judgment, but instead of a lecture, he calmly looks up at the sky as if being fed the words from an external source. His commands are of an older man. I like being told what to do. Otherwise, how will I learn who to be? 

“You could make one. Other girls do that.” 

I bite my lip and remember the botched pillow case I’d tried to sew in home economics. I kick a rock and it skitters down the steep hill. His dark brown eyes walk all over me, forming new paths. I still don’t understand why he wants me to wear a skirt.

“Will you talk to me in the hallway if I’m wearing a skirt?” 

He grins as if the answer is obvious. “Of course I will.” 

As soon as I speed through the front door of my house, I bolt up the carpeted stairs, slipping and sliding as I do. Then I have to run back downstairs to grab scissors from the kitchen. Then back up to my room again. The scissors struggle against the fabric of my jeans as I construct a skirt from my brother’s hand-me-downs. I’d worn these jeans everyday this month, and now don’t know what I’ll wear next month, but these are perfect for tomorrow. 

When finished, I scan the resulting fashion statement and find no flaws. Griffin will love me in these. He’ll wrap his arm around me like Steve walks with Emily, and everyone will stare because the cutest guy of them all wants ME. Staring in the mirror, it’s so short you can nearly see my underwear, but that’s what guys want, right? Plus, I’ve already cut up three pairs of pants, and there are none left. It doesn’t matter because the power blooming in my chest is worth any consequence.  

As I climb the stairs of the bus the next morning, they’re more manageable. Some kids point and whisper. Others avert their gaze as if staring equates to association. In my skirt, I’ve transformed from girl to woman. I’m on the runway and start down the aisle as such. Griffin’s mouth drops, then he laughs so loud that he snorts. Other people, mostly boys, howl and clutch their sides. Steve rolls from his seat and lands with a thud. 

Rolling my eyes, I see him through a different lens than yesterday. He’s small and childish. Confident, I stand with my shoulders back and my chin up until my gaze lands on Emily. Tucking her blonde hair behind her diamond-studded ears, her face is twisted into the look she gives me when she wants me to stop talking so much. Stacey stacks books in the spare seat next to her and turns away defiantly.  

The bus driver screams, “Let her sit somewhere! We gotta get goin!” 

Griffin fiercely shakes his head as I approach, gripping the back of the seat in front of him. I ball my fists and grit my teeth. I want to kick him. My feet speed up until we’re leg to leg and he’s wide-eyed. I press my mouth into his until he coughs like he did choking on that putrid smoke in the wilderness. His spluttering spit splashes in every direction. Now the other kids are laughing at him instead. My whole body warms in delight. 

“You’re my boyfriend now,” I tell him. Scared, he nods, nods, and nods. My mama says if a girl wants something, she has to take it. Hand in his, I smile and watch as his house flies by.