Free Thirteen Plus One by Lauren Myracle Page B

we’re all human.”
    “I don’t mean that,” she said. “Do you accept my apology for being me ?”
    “Stop,” I said desperately. It was getting harder to shake the feeling that I needed to be apologizing, too. For something. I didn’t know what. Or maybe I did, but I didn’t want to go there?
    Admit it vvhen you’re wrong. That was one of my goals for myself ... but it was hard. So hard.
    “You don’t have to apologize for who you are,” Cinnamon said with rock-solid certainty. “None of us is perfect.”
    “But I’m supposed to be the good girl,” Dinah said.
    “Oh, Dinah,” I said. I recalled Louise’s analysis of the situation, and I just felt worse. I drove my fingernail repeatedly into the pad of my thumb.
    “Only I don’t want to be,” Dinah went on. “Not always.” She trained her eyes on me. “I don’t want to be the girl who does embarrassing things, or wears the wrong pants, or says things that make you say, ‘Oh, Dinah .’”
    My stomach cramped.
    “I don’t want to be the girl you pat on the head, Winnie.”
    This was it. This was why I’d been afraid. And now that it was out in the open, I bore down so hard on the flesh of my thumb that I could feel the bone.
    “I’m not trying to make you feel bad,” Dinah said. “It’s just ... I don’t want to be that person anymore.”
    I felt myself turn bright red.
    “Do you understand what I’m saying?” Dinah pleaded.
    Cinnamon glanced from Dinah to me. When I failed to respond, she said, “Uh ... I sure don’t. Will one of you please explain?”
    Dinah kept her eyes on me. I could feel the weight of her need. But I dropped my gaze, while inside my rib cage, my heart tried to beat its way out. I wanted to flee, or tell Dinah she was full of crap, or burst into tears so that she and Cinnamon would feel sorry for me and worry about me. And if doing so kept them from seeing the real me? That would be fine, especially if the real me was someone who patted her friend on the head and said, so condescendingly, “Oh, Dinah.”
    Understanding dawned on Cinnamon’s face. Maybe she absorbed it from the air, or, more likely, she finally put the pieces together.
    “Oh my god,” she said to Dinah. “You went to the Dark Side to prove you weren’t Winnie’s pet?!”
    I shrunk from the ugliness of it. When I peeked to see Dinah’s reaction, I saw her shrink, too.
    “Never mind, of course not,” she said, her resolve crumpling. “I’m so stupid.” She thwacked her head. “So! Stu pid!”
    It cracked the shell inside of me. I got up and went to her, tears rolling down my cheeks, and made her scooch over so I could share her chair. My pulse was racing, because sometimes I was insanely awkward when it came to showing people I cared about them. Especially when that person was mad at me.
    But I looped my arms around her anyway and said, “You goof.”
    Her shoulders shook, and shame engulfed me as I realized I’d done it again. She’d shared something big and scary, and I’d patted her on her head again.
    “No,” I said. “I mean, yes, but ...”
    Cinnamon stared at us, lost all over again. She actually wasn’t blameless herself; she and I probably egged each other on with the whole “Oh, Dinah” business.
    Not probably. Definitely.
    I’d been friends with Dinah for longer than I’d been friends with Cinnamon, however. Today, right now, the person who needed to apologize was me.
    “I’m sorry,” I said.
    Dinah’s shoulders shook harder. I hated how awful I felt, how sunk in the mire, but I pressed on.
    “I’ll work on it, okay?” I said. “I do know what you mean—and I’ll try to do better.”
    “You don’t have to,” Dinah said thickly.
    “Yes, I do,” I said. “I was wrong, and ... and I stand corrected.”
    “Okay,” Dinah said. She laughed, only with a gulp added in. “Um, thanks.”
    Cinnamon regarded us like we were nuts. “Y’all are nuts,” she said.
    This launched a fresh wave of tears for