Hedy leaned into her P.E. locker, eyes fixed on the combination lock as she dialed the secret code – 3 to the right, 17 left, 42 right. She tugged. Nothing. She ignored the giggling from the girls behind her – 3 right, careful, 17 left, slowly, 42 right. She took a breath and pulled. The lock popped open. Smiling, she took out her gym clothes, her sneakers, and finally her blue and gold parasol, the one she’d made in the high school colors.  

Laughter rose all around her. Hedy used to believe what her mother told her about everyone eventually getting tired of laughing at her. She didn’t believe that anymore. She’d be the joke until she graduated and left for college. 

“Predicting rain, Hedy?”

Courtney Mitchell. The same dumb line since they were little, back when Hedy still carried store-bought parasols. But Courtney got laughs, so she’d keep it up. Hedy couldn’t wait for the day when she’d get on the bus and head for New York where she would become a professional parasol and umbrella designer. She’d become so famous that when she came back to visit her mother, Courtney Mitchell would want her autograph.

Hedy stood straight, head high, chin up, and squeezed through the girls in the aisle. No one shifted to make it easier for her to pass. She beelined for the door that led toward the basketball courts. Life was so much simpler when they played something like volley ball. In the gym, she didn’t have to shade herself, so she could at least try to play. She paused inside long enough to press the button on her parasol allowing it to swoosh open. The sound of the runner sliding along the metal shaft and then clicking into place was her greatest joy. 

Her P.E. parasol had been Hedy’s first attempt at making a spirit model. She’d stupidly imagined that showing her school pride might make her seem cool, or at least less freakish. She’d never designed a sporty parasol before. She hadn’t needed one at Christ Will Lift You Middle School because they didn’t change for sports. They didn’t even have a mascot. They just put a picture of Jesus on everything. 

After her dad moved away, she started attending Jefferson because her mom couldn’t pay for private school. Hedy soon realized that her dressier parasols didn’t look right with the shorts and polo shirts they had to wear for gym, so she raced to the fabric store. She’d spent hours choosing just the right materials. Then she went to work. The end result was splendid. The royal charmeuse glistened in the sun, and the sateen letters, TJH for Thomas Jefferson High, looked like they were made of spun gold. 

Hedy glanced up at the lining. She always put a lot of planning and work into the undersides. On this one, she’d embroidered a little chain of balls – basketballs, soccer balls, baseballs – hooked together with a fine vine that made them look like sporty flowers. Hedy wished she could skip PE and spend the period in the art classroom. She could use the time to sketch new designs. But the school wouldn’t approve the accommodation because her doctor refused to renew the note requesting it. So she shielded herself from the poisonous rays of the sun and went to stand at the edge of the court. 

In groups of twos and threes, the other girls meandered from the locker room, their teacher, Ms. Deal, following behind with clipboard in hand and a whistle stuffed in her mouth. Not for the first time, Hedy noticed how even clad in identical uniforms, the girls found ways  to express their style. Some tucked their shirts in. Courtney Mitchell and her friends rolled up the ugly cotton shorts to show as much leg as possible. Girls had their hair in ponytails, pushed back with headbands, braided and draped over one shoulder. She would never understand why they allowed each other to stand out, yet they couldn’t make room for her. 

Ms. Deal blew her whistle, and as if in bootcamp, each girl instantly went to her assigned spot on the blacktop. 

Hedy stood outside the playing area. Ms. Deal led them in their warm-up squats and body twists, and then like every other day, she blew her whistle again, tossed the ball into the group, and never taking her eyes off the action, handed Hedy the clipboard. Given that she couldn’t figure out a way to shoot the ball and keep herself shaded, Hedy had become the team scorekeeper and equipment monitor. 

“Hey Hedy, catch!” Courtney feigned throwing the ball at her.

Hedy flinched.

The laughs died as Courtney dribbled the ball toward the hoop. Ms. Deal had the whistle in her mouth and trotted around, eyes darting as girls passed, pivoted and faked. Heather, the tallest girl and most serious athlete, got the ball, bounced it a couple of times, as if checking to see if it worked properly, and from an impossible distance mid-court jumped into the air and let it fly. Two points! Even girls playing against her cheered.

“Way to go, Heath!” someone yelled. 

“Scholarship in the hoop!” called another.

Whooping and Way-to-go’s filled the air. Hedy beamed. Even though she didn’t care at all about basketball, she admired excellence. Heather wasn’t just the tall girl when she was on the court. She was mythical, an amazon, a girl born to be more. Heather blocked an opponent and reclaimed the ball. Hedy bounced on her toes, jabbing her parasol up and down, the way others fist-punched the air. “Yes!” she called out. “Yes! Go Heath!”

Almost instantly, it seemed like every face turned toward her. Then the laughing started, roaring in Hedy’s ears. She lowered her arm, bringing her parasol closer to her head. 

“Hey! It looks like we have a cheerleader,” someone yelled.

“Our mascot’s a bull not Mary Poppins!”

Hedy kept her chin up but kept her parasol as close to her face as possible. She knew better than to react. They reminded her of the sharks in nature movies when there was blood in the water. She hated herself for giving them another joke to hurl at her. 

“Let’s change the mascot,” yelled one girl. 

“Hedy could make umbrellas for everyone, and we could fly into games.” Someone added.

“It’s a parasol,” Heady whispered. 

Ms. Deal blew two sharp blasts on the whistle, and the game resumed. The sounds of the ball bouncing and feet slapping the blacktop and the intermittent “Here! I’m free!” replaced the taunts. 

Finally the period buzzer sounded, and as if a master switch got flipped, girls dropped balls, straightened up from their guarding positions, and turned for the gym. 

Hedy held back, picking up the balls and dropping them into the bin. Ms. Deal had already gone inside. She’d wait until the locker room was empty and then get dressed quickly. She might get a tardy slip from Ms. Nelson who taught studio art and very much did not appreciate people who interrupted the creative flow by coming in late, but Hedy could think of lots of things worse than a tardy slip. 

Unable to stall any longer, Hedy braved the nearly empty locker room. Ms. Deal walked toward her, checking the aisles for things left behind. Hedy busied herself with the buttons on her blouse.  

“Why do you make it so easy for them?” Ms. Deal asked, thick brows tightly furrowed. 

Hedy didn’t know what to say.

“Put them in their place,” Ms. Deal said, shaking her head. “Or laugh with them,” she continued down the aisle. “Do anything but hide behind the parasol. Hedy, I promise you, the minute you stand up to them, everything will change.” 

Hedy slumped onto the bench. Her eyes burned. She closed them tight and shoved her fists against her eyelids. She refused to cry. Didn’t her teacher realize she’d tried everything? When she was little, she’d yelled back. But they’d laughed louder. She’d told adults, but then the kids hated her more and called her a tattletale. She couldn’t laugh with them. They wanted the sun to burn her up and make her disappear.  

“No!” Hedy said out loud. She held her head up and squared her shoulders. No one understood, and they never would. But when she was on the cover of magazines, they’d be sorry. She finished dressing and headed for class. 

Walking down the deserted hallway, Hedy couldn’t help remembering Ms. Deal’s expression. It reminded her of the way her mother looked at her when she wasn’t aware that Hedy was paying attention. She’d sit with lips thin and eyes narrowed. She looked like she was trying to solve a terrible problem. She’d started making that face after Hedy’s doctor said she didn’t need protection from the sun anymore. 

“Hedy, you don’t need it,” her mother had said the very next morning when Hedy had her parasol in her hand as she prepared to leave for school. “You heard the doctor. The sun can’t hurt you anymore.”

Hedy had clutched her new parasol. She wasn’t sure her mother wouldn’t try to snatch it away. Hedy’d worked on the design for an entire weekend, barely sleeping, eating only a few bites until her mother threatened to lock up her sketchbook if she didn’t come to the table. Then she’d gone from store to store until she found the perfect white linen, crisp and classic. For a week, Hedy raced home from school and hand stitched little lavender and mint pompoms around the edge. Once finished, she hung it opened on a hat rack. She stood back. It was lovely, like Spring and Easter baskets, but it wasn’t right. After hours of pacing her room, standing in front of the mirror holding the parasol this way and that, she realized what it needed, two rings of smaller poms around the tip and 3 individual pompoms hanging in the middle so they would float above her head when she carried it. It was her masterpiece, and now her mother wanted her to leave it at home.  

“I’m not ready,” she finally said. When her mother didn’t speak or even nod, she added, “Anyway, they warn people every day to wear sunscreen because the sun is dangerous.” 

Her mother shook her head. “Oh Hedy. Then just wear sunscreen like everyone else.” 

Hedy understood. Her mom wanted her to have friends and fit in. She’d work football games and school dances into conversations about mashed potatoes or how Hedy needed to bring her grade up in Biology. Sometimes during these conversations, Hedy would try to imagine normal. But she really couldn’t. She could picture her skin bubbling and blistering, but she couldn’t imagine being a normal girl. 

Sometimes when her mother wasn’t around, Hedy would open the front door and imagine herself walking down the path protected only by prescription sunscreen. In her mind, the sun shone onto her face and shoulders. But the pictures always morphed into her turning onto the sidewalk with water-filled blisters blooming all over her. Then, before her imaginary self made it to the corner, puss and blood would be draining down her face, neck, and arms. No matter how much she’d like to ease her mother’s worries, she could not walk out the front door without her parasol.

“Mary Poppins! You coming in or are you waiting for lift off?” Courtney Mitchell called out. 

Hedy snapped out of her own head, finding herself in the doorway of the classroom. She looked from one smirking face to the next. Ms. Nelson stood at the sink washing brushes. Hedy knew she needed to move. But she couldn’t. And the laughter grew.

Finally, Ms. Nelson clapped her hands and said “Artists! Into your work, please.” 

“Hey, Mary? Why don’t you fly over to your desk?”

Ms. Nelson clapped again. “Enough!”

Hedy didn’t hear anymore. She ran down the hallway, one hand clutching her collapsed parasol, the other arm holding her books tight to her chest. She didn’t have a plan. She just ran. 

When she finally stopped, she found herself by the bleachers on the far side of the baseball diamond. She panted and looked around and then up. She hadn’t opened her parasol. The sun’s daggers stabbed her face. She squinted and bolted behind the bleachers where she dropped to the ground and scooted as far under as possible. She tried to brush dirt from the fabric of her parasol. Useless.  

She wiped at the wetness on her face, picturing puss oozing from blisters. She studied her hands and arms. Nothing. She touched her cheeks. No bumps. At least for now. She pulled her knees up to her chest, rested her head against them.

Why was everyone so mean? Her parasols were beautiful works of art. She spent hours on each one. But all anyone ever saw was Hedy the freak, the girl scared of the sun. Her mother used to understand, but now even she wanted her to blend in with everyone else.

When Hedy was in kindergarten, her mother bought her sunglasses, so she wouldn’t go blind from blisters on her eyeballs, and a child-sized umbrella with pink polka dots to ensure that none of the sun’s poison would touch her. When Hedy said she didn’t want to carry an umbrella, her mother explained that it was a parasol, and a long time ago, all the elegant ladies carried them. Hers had, of course, been an umbrella. But even though Hedy didn’t like to stand around in the shade when the other kids were playing, she believed what her mom said. She was a very special little girl.  

She didn’t get made fun of as much back then because a lot of the girls in her class wished they had their own polka dot parasols. It’s easier to fit in when you’re five. Even Courtney Mitchell asked Hedy if she could hold the parasol. When Hedy told her she couldn’t because the doctor said so, Courtney made mean eyes and whispered to her friends. And every year got harder.  

The school bell rang. Hedy squinted to see between the slats of the bleachers. The field was deserted. She didn’t want to go back inside. It’d be pure torture to walk in now, dirty parasol in hand, nose red from crying. She could definitely squeeze out the side gate and go home, but what would she tell her mother? She wondered if the school had already called her house. Still considering her options, she heard talking. She held very still.  

“Hurry,” a girl’s voice said.

“Over here,” a boy said. 

Hedy got on her knees and leaned around the edge of the bleachers. Courtney and Jason, one of the varsity baseball players, walked toward the home team’s dugout. Hedy bit her lip hard. That would put them between her and the door into the school building. She’d even be visible if she tried to make it to the gate. She could crawl from behind the stands and casually walk into the building, acting like she had no idea anyone was hiding in the dugout. She’d hold her parasol tilted to the side to shield her face from them. She nodded and began inching toward the end of the bleachers. 

“No!” 

Hedy stopped and looked around. Was she busted? Then she heard the voices grow louder. At this distance, it was still impossible to make out everything. Jason was saying something, and then they were silent. She figured they were making out. But then she heard Courtney. 

“No. I mean it!”  

Jason’s words were low and indistinct. Hedy didn’t know what to do. It was probably nothing, and she just had to make it to the building.

“No!” the shrill word pierced through Hedy’s dilemma.    

“Bitch!”

Before she had time to collect her thoughts, Hedy ran toward the voices. 

She got to the steps that led down into the dugout. She could see Jason on top of Courtney, holding her wrists with one hand, pinning her legs with his. Courtney cried, thrashing her head from side to side. Jason pulled at his zipper with his free hand. 

Hedy clutched her parasol and like a knight in a fairy tale, she charged ahead. She jabbed the point end straight into the center of Jason’s back. He yelled and jumped up. Hedy jabbed and jabbed. She couldn’t really see what she was doing anymore. She wasn’t even sure she had her eyes open. Her heart pounded through her body, and she jabbed.

“You’re crazy, bitch!” Jason said, grabbing at the parasol. 

Hedy kept poking and jabbing. 

Jason reached out again and this time got a hold. He yanked, and Hedy fell forward, losing her grip. When she tried to stand up, she felt a stunning pain spread from her left cheekbone across her face, and then she heard far away voices. Far away. And dark.

Hedy woke in the ambulance, and then again in the hospital, and then in her own bed, head throbbing, throat dry. She couldn’t remember much. But she felt the pulsing in her face. When she asked what happened, her mother told her to never mind. There would be time enough later. She should rest. And so she did. She slept dark and heavy. It felt like forever and no time at all. 

When she woke again, it was to the sound of her mother opening the blackout blinds that covered her windows. 

“Hedy, what do you think about getting rid of these old blinds? Don’t you think the coating on the glass is enough?”

Hedy’s mouth was so dry. 

“I know it’s a big change, but from what I heard, you didn’t even think about the sun when it mattered. Let’s keep that progress going.”

Hedy finally opened her mouth but realized that only half her face moved.  

“We don’t have to decide now,” her mother said quickly. 

Hedy couldn’t believe her mom would suggest taking down the blinds. She didn’t really remember being in the sun without her parasol, and she didn’t really believe she’d done that. She wouldn’t have, no matter who needed saving. Especially not to save Courtney. 

Her mother brought her frosted flakes and tea with a cinnamon stick. Hedy moved her jaw and winced. That must be why she got the cinnamon tea. It was saved for when she was really sick or hurt, like the time she had to go to the hospital after her mom let her play on the front porch when the sun was out. 

After three days of resting, holding ice packs against her left eye, and getting to eat all her favorite things, even beans with little slices of hotdogs, Hedy had to face going back to school. She didn’t want to. Some memories had begun seeping in. She remembered poking Jason, that was for sure. When she thought of it, she felt queasy like the time when it unexpectedly rained on her crimson parasol covered in embroidered bees and dragonflies. She’d spent so many hours on the ornate design, but she hadn’t known back then to test her fabrics for colorfastness. When she saw the red rain bleeding off the tips of the parasol, she thought she would throw up. 

Her mother insisted that there was no other option but to return. 

“My face is purple,” Hedy said the night before she was to return to school. “I still get headaches.”

Her mother stirred the spaghetti sauce that she’d bought special for the last night of the official recovery period. “I’ve talked to the school nurse,” she said. “If you need aspirin or to lie down, they’re prepared.” Her mother paused, tasting the sauce from the big wooden spoon. “Everyone’s very excited you’re going back.”

All of a sudden, Hedy didn’t want spaghetti. And she absolutely didn’t want to picture what “excited” was going to look like. 

The next morning, Hedy complained of a headache. Her mother gave her an aspirin with breakfast and informed her that she’d be driving her to school. And that was it.  

Tears welled, but Hedy refused to let them spill. She pulled her shoulders back and held her chin up. Even though she’d hoped to delay it, she had already decided what she would wear. She’d show up as nondescript as possible. Navy pants, a white blouse, and a simple white linen parasol with navy grosgrain trim. Classic and understated. 

Hedy beamed when her mother realized she had to stop for gas. She might actually be able to slip into class with little notice. Her mother chattered while she filled the tank and then all the way to school, talking about the “lovely, clear sky” and how great it was that she’d been able to pick up extra shifts at the restaurant. But finally, she eased the car into a slot in the front parking lot. 

“I thought we could get you settled together,” her mom said, smiling like it was her birthday.

“Don’t,” Hedy said. “I can make it on my own.” The only thing worse than facing whatever torture was planned for her was the idea of facing it with her mother there. 

“Don’t be silly,” her mother said, as she locked the car and headed across the parking lot. 

Hedy wanted to turn and run. 

She held her parasol tilted at the precise angle to prevent any sun from touching her face, only closing it when they got to the covered area where the tardy aide checked people in. Before Hedy could say a word, her mother stepped in front of her.

“Sorry to be late,” she said unnecessarily. 

Hedy couldn’t bare to listen to her mother rattle on. She imagined running from the school grounds, through the parking lot, out the gate, and onward to freedom. She’d just pictured herself making it to the end of the street, when she heard scuffling and whispers. She turned her good eye to see better. A handful of girls seemed to be hanging out in the walkway that led to the side entrance of the building. No one seemed in much of a rush to get to class. Courtney with Heather and a couple of their besties stood blocking the door. Of course.

Hedy turned to tell her mom she wasn’t going inside. But her mother had tears streaming down her cheeks. And then behind Hedy, the familiar sound—Swoosh. 

Hedy looked back at the girls. Courtney stood in the middle of the hallway, a light blue umbrella resting on her shoulder. She smiled, but it was a different smile. It didn’t threaten of something more. Courtney seemed to search for Hedy’s good eye 

“Go on, Hedy,” her mom whispered. 

Courtney twirled her umbrella. Hedy couldn’t move. Her face throbbed. The world went silent and seemed to shift, like the ground might fall out from under her. 

“Go, Hedy!” Heather’s voice rang out.

Hedy sucked in air and took a step. Warmth touched her cheek. Her heart beat in her eyes and ears. With a faint inner-vision of blisters bubbling up on her face, she took one more step. 

A whistle blew. “You got this!” Ms. Deal pumped her clipboard in the air. Girl’s started a low chant—“Go, Hedy! Go, Hedy?” 

Hedy steadied her breathing. She clutched her folded parasol in her fist. The slightest movement of her thumb would trigger the release. She focused her good eye on Courtney, still smiling, still twirling her silly umbrella. Her ridiculous, wonderful umbrella. Hedy allowed her grip on her parasol to relax. She took another step. 

Courtney nodded, her smile finally making it to her eyes. 

Hedy squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She took a deep breath. Then one slow step at a time, Hedy walked through the sun’s warmth. 

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