Be Real, Macy Weaver: Chapters 13–27

“I didn’t see you in the girls’ locker room,” Macy said.
“That’s because I used the gender- neutral bathroom to get changed.”

Much to Macy’s dismay, Grace immediately said, “See! Do you see how that made you feel? Words do hurt, Brynn. They do.”

Little toy dogs barked faintly and bounded from doggy doors as kids stepped onto freshly manicured yards.

Any minute now, the bus would pull up to the faded yellow curb next to her building and out her as a complete and total fraud.

Macy hoped her urgent fumbling inside her backpack would send the message that she was far too busy to chat.

She just wasn’t interested in becoming best friends with a grown-up.
PJ paid no attention to her frosty demeanor and waved her over anyway.

So Macy made a different pile for jewelry. Rings, bracelets, and other expensive accessories, all left behind.

Then one day, when Macy wore a stack of her mother’s chunky metallic bangles, Grace said something that got under Macy’s skin in the worst way.

“I just—um—didn’t want to risk getting a snag or something—but if you don’t believe me, I’ll wear a designer sweater to school on Monday, just to prove it.”

“Hey. You don’t have to prove anything to me. I don’t own any designer sweaters. My mom shops exclusively in the Target sales section.”

She cracked her door open and peeked through the little sliver of space.

“Aw, it was nothing,” PJ said, grinning and playing bashful.

PJ stopped reminiscing long enough to lean back in her seat and rub her full belly.

“But you have to watch those older Singer models. A battle-ax like the one you’ve got back there’s liable to take your hand off if you aren’t careful.”

Picking up a green sweater with intricate crocheted designs along the front, Macy thought, I could pull this thread and unravel it to nothing.

With the help of a YouTube tutorial, Macy unraveled a bit of white thread from the spool, put a little spit on the thread tip, and eased it through the eye of the sewing needle.

Well, maybe she should learn to bring the important things with her instead of letting them collect dust in a stuffy old apartment.

Macy put down a book and quickly tucked her little makeshift shirt under her desk.

“It’s probably on purpose. I read all the fashion blogs, and all the style icons find obvious motifs to be rather—boring. I personally think a little out of the ordinary is more interesting.”

Macy forced back a smug look. Told you so, Miss Know-It-All, she thought.

Tati knew everything about everyone—and sold it all for one measly dollar.

Macy could picture the headline now: “The Girl Who Sewed Fake Tags on Her Shirt for Clout.”

Pax had drawn a bunch of labels hanging on to a shirt by the corners—all of them crooked. Unconventional Couture was the caption.

Macy looked down at her cheese sandwich in disdain.

She didn’t realize how much she liked rectangular-shaped slabs of school pizza, until the other option stared up at her in defiance.

“Because I’m using gym mod for more useful things.” She shuffled her papers around. “Like finding a law loophole that will get me out of going to gym class.”

Macy’s loud, hacking cough noises bounced off the bathroom’s cinder block walls.

“I don’t charge for info. Sure, I would like to get paid for my journalism someday, but if I’m being honest here I...I have to admit that you’re the only kid to ever pay for my service—and you’re new—and you don’t know that I usually hand out info for free. So, taking your dollar—no, two dollars—when I’ve been a member of the free press for as long as I can remember...is just unethical.”

Macy ripped the packing tape off another one of her mother’s boxes, then sifted through wrinkled sweaters and graphic tees before she spotted the perfect pair of jeans resting near the bottom.

“Well, no one was here when I got home—like always. You were working late. And Mom said she was coming...and then she didn’t.” Macy’s shoulders slumped.

Macy discussed her Pax predicament with Charlotte while she threaded.

She worked quietly until she had enough thread connecting the delicate tag to the tough denim material.

Without looking up, Pax replied, “I’m here early every morning. I use the environment for design inspiration.”

Macy stewed over her Brynn-ship dilemma the entire bus ride home, so much so that she didn’t notice when the bus driver pulled up to Brynn and Grace’s stop.

Pax stood up in the bus aisle and flung his arms out wide, causing the bus driver to give him a stern look in the rearview mirror.