How the Light Gets In by M. J. Hyland Read Free Book Online

she says.
    ‘What kind of shopping?’
    ‘For clothes ,’ she says. ‘I haven’t got any summer clothes yet. It’s a nightmare! I’m wearing last year’s fashions.’
    This is the kind of ridiculous thing my sisters wouldsay. I frown at her. I do this without thinking. It’s the kind of disdainful look my sisters like to beat me up for. I regret making a mean face, and try to smile.
    ‘I don’t really like clothes shopping,’ I say.
    Bridget sighs and puts one sneaker down hard on the other as though wishing she could kick me. ‘ Whatever .’
    ‘Wait,’ I say, hating the idea that I am responsible for ending what could have been our first real conversation. ‘Do you know what desquamation is?’
    ‘What?’ she says.
    ‘Desquamation.’
    She crosses her arms over her breasts. ‘How do you spell it?’
    ‘How it sounds.’
    She shrugs.
    ‘Why don’t you just look it up in a dictionary or something?’ ‘I will,’ I say, trying hard to smile. ‘Thanks.’
    ‘ Whatever ,’ she says and leaves the room, the door wide open.
    I am terrified of girls in groups; their gossip and treachery. Shopping malls, fashion magazines, change rooms and trying on clothes, they all make me feel angry and dirty. And shop assistants who barge in on you, and girls who like to shop; they always want to see what other girls’ bodies look like.
    I follow Bridget down the stairs, but she is out the door before I can explain. I go down to the basement, where James is playing table tennis with some friends. They stop playing their game of doubles and turn to look at me. Like James, they have oily skin and the beginnings of thin moustaches, conspicuous and patchy. James’ facial hair is the least developed of the four, and he seems younger than them.
    James comes towards me, but not to speak. He is picking up a six-pack of root beer, a big bottle of cola and two large bags of chips. His friends stand and watch.
    ‘This is Lou, our exchange student,’ says James, as though I were the new cat.
    ‘Hi,’ I say.
    They look at me to see if I am gorgeous and decide that I am not. I am too much of an ‘it’; neither boy nor girl. Short black hair, white skin, and thin, without shape. Only older women look at me for long, fascinated by what Mrs Walsh once called my ‘androgyny’. My mum’s best friend, Paula, always says, ‘But with a bit of make-up, some peroxide and a dress, she could be a model like you used to be.’
    My mum is dismayed by my tomboy clothes and leaves her old dresses on the end of my bed with strange notes, like, You would look lovely in this .
    ‘You could be beautiful,’ she says. ‘You could really stand out.’ According to my sisters, however, I have mean eyes. ‘Dark and evil grey,’ Erin says.
    James’ friends say nothing more than ‘Hi’ and get back to their game.
    I go up the stairs, into the kitchen, and stand with the fridge door open, staring inside, waiting for my face to cool down, thinking about what James’ friends will say to him: ‘ Bummer, James. She looks like a choir boy .’ I suppose I do.
    I return to my room by the back stairs, passing Margaret in her den.
    ‘Hi,’ I say.
    ‘Hi,’ she says. ‘Why don’t you go help Henry in the garden?’
    ‘Okay.’
    Henry is dismantling the tree house.
    ‘Hi,’ I say.
    ‘Hi,’ he says, with a busy look on his face, hammer dangling from his hand.
    I lie on my bed for a few hours. Henry comes to my room to ask me if I’d like to go for a drive with him to get some chicken for dinner. His eyes are weepy again and his bottom lashes are sticky. I want to ask him why his eyes are wet like that.
    ‘No,’ I say, ‘I think I’ll stay here.’
    ‘If you like,’ he says.
    ‘I’m tired,’ I say. I want to go with Henry, but I’m nervous about having to find enough to talk about, alone with him, in the car, especially if we were to get stuck in traffic.
        
    We are having dinner at the dining-room table. The front door is