The Entirely Fabricated Story of Lizzie Nickerson

Chapter 36

Lizzie burrowed beneath her bed, only her legs visible. She emerged clutching a badly-crinkled issue of Girl's Life magazine.

"What else do you have under that bed?" Sonya asked. "Besides the dust bunnies in your hair?"

"Dust what?"

"Clumps of dust. From under your bed."

Lizzie shook her head, dislodging the balls of lint, and watched them drift to the floor. "Why did you say bunnies?"

"It's nothing. Never mind."

"Another figure of speech, I suppose." Seated on the floor, Lizzie leafed through the publication. "Oh, geez. So many stupid articles," she said. "Why do these girls wear so much makeup?"

"It's a fun part of being a teen. Trying new things."

Lizzie rolled her eyes. "Yeah, so much fun. This girl in my class, Olivia, she puts on so much makeup she looks like a parrot. And she sprays herself with more perfume than Ms. Brennan."

Sonya couldn't help but laugh.

Lizzie continued flipping pages, reading the titles of the articles. "What's your bestie vibe? Galentine's Day Outings? Oh, geez. Savage leggings that'll make your butt look 100? That doesn't even make sense. Why do they care about their butts?"

"That magazine probably isn't gonna give you the answer you're looking for." Sonya gestured for Lizzie to relinquish the magazine. "You want to talk about it? I mean unless you're embarrassed."

"I'm not embarrassed." She tossed the magazine on the floor. "I just don't know what to do next."

"Maybe Scooter's embarrassed because he wasn't ready for a kiss. Maybe you just surprised him and you guys didn't get a chance to talk about it. That's all."

Lizzie's foot tapping shifted into a quicker tempo.

"Some people think that boys are supposed to kiss girls," said Sonya. "So when a girl kisses a boy, he might not be ready for it. But there's nothing wrong with that."

Voices from the street below got Lizzie to her feet and drew her to the window.

Scott and Caleb struggled down the porch steps with Mr. Gibbs' old steamer trunk. A gray SUV parked in the street with its flashers blinking. The driver opened the tailgate, and waved them on, encouraging them.

The Patterson brothers lugged the trunk to the SUV and lifted it into the back of the vehicle.

"He doesn't look mad," said Sonya over Lizzie's shoulder.

"He's too busy to be mad right now." She hoped her future with Scooter wasn't disappearing like that steamer trunk into the back of that SUV. She couldn't hear their voices but she caught a glimpse of Scooter giggling at something his brother said.

Lizzie didn't notice a peculiar unshaven man observing from the scraps of shadow across the street. He wore a scuffed leather jacket and frayed, torn jeans, not fashionably ripped but worn out. He stood there passively like a burned-out house left scorched and boarded up. He wasn't watching the boys struggling to wedge the old steamer trunk into the back of the SUV. He was looking up, directly at Lizzie at her window. 

When she felt his gaze, they locked eyes for a moment, before he lowered his head and proceeded down the street out of view.

Back at the SUV, it became apparent that the trunk, as predicted, was too large for the cargo area. Caleb threw his hands in the air while discussing options with the driver. The guy scratched his head and then gestured toward the roof of his vehicle.

Scott shook his head.

Caleb helped the driver remove the cumbersome steamer from the cargo area and set it down in the street and then, with Scott's aid, they muscled the trunk onto the roof and began securing it to the roof rack with bungee cords. After several attempts, they completed their task.

The driver got into his SUV and drove away from the apartment building.

Scott laughed when his brother made a rude hand gesture in the direction of the SUV. As he started up the porch steps, Scott looked up at Lizzie and waved.

Her eyes brightened. She waved back.

"That looks like a smile to me," said Sonya.

"He has a nice smile," Lizzie replied.

"I think it's safe to say he's not mad at you."

Caleb shoved Scott and he stumbled backward down the steps barely able to keep his balance. Scott charged up the steps after his brother, throwing playful, harmless skinny-armed punches against his shoulder.

Maybe it would be fun to have a sibling, Lizzie thought, watching a scene from a kind of life she couldn't imagine. She was almost always tense and rigid, on guard. Caleb and Scott seemed to share an appealing easy, relaxed, fun-loving competitiveness like they came from a distant part of the planet where goofing off was a way of life.

The boys stepped aside when two burly women emerged from the building and clumsily navigated down the porch steps with the late Mr. Gibbs' bulky old upholstered leather chair. The moment they set it on the sidewalk, the larger woman fell into the seat, tilting her head back to catch her breath. Her red-faced friend bent forward at the waist, resting her open hands on her thighs.

One by one, Frederick Gibb's possessions (some cherished, some mundane) were removed from the apartment and on their way to new homes.