I grew up in this city, with its dirty alleys and cracked pavement. I was lucky, though; no dark side-streets for me. My ma worked hard to keep me and my brother in school and with a roof over our heads, scrubbing floors in a better part of the city. My dad-well, we didn’t see much of him. I didn’t notice, though.

My ten-year-old world was absorbed in playing. Not that is was playing to me, of course-every game of cops and robbers was deadly serious, every baseball game was the start of the World Series. We blocked cars in the streets. It’s a miracle none of us got hit, actually; we were gleefully oblivious to everything around us. Kids in that city had to be, or they had to notice the way their fathers were never home until long after the factory closed, and that when the did return, they smelled like cheap liquor. The way their mother’s faces looked sometimes, when the money was tight and the rent was due, and they would clench all their muscles to prevent any expression but their eyes would give it away, that worry. We didn’t want to have to see it, any of it-the drinking, the fear.

So we didn’t. So we played our games and went to our run-down school, didn’t notice anything we didn’t want to.

My ma was always after me to stop playing with the boys, go out and make friends with the other girls. But I didn’t want to. I liked running and shouting and playing rough-I didn’t want to wear pretty dresses and play dolls.

In a couple years, there were other things to notice, to distract ourselves with. Namely, girls. It seemed like overnight, they went from being part of the scenery to being the main focus of our attention. They were everywhere-walking to school, back from school, standing on the sidewalks on the streets where we played ball. We were desperate for them, and they knew it. I never really thought about the way that I was just as desperate for them as any of the guys. Oh, I got some strange looks over it, of course, and there were some people who had a problem with it-but after I got the first couple kids who called me a dyke and knocked them down hard, they stopped.

Of course, I couldn’t do anything about the parents-some of them still wouldn’t talk to me, and some of them didn’t want their kids playing with me. But, true to my childhood experience, I ignored this, and it stopped bothering me after a while. I fit in fine with the other boys, even during their boastful conversations about girls.

For me, it was always Becky. She was quiet but not shy, with shiny brown hair reaching just past her shoulders. She had these big green eyes that always seemed to focus entirely on one thing at once-like her whole world had narrowed down to whatever she was seeing. I whispered her name to myself in school, watched her when I should have been keeping score of the game. It was an unspoken agreement between me and the other guys that they wouldn’t make a move on her. She was mine, as far as they were concerned.

Unfortunately, no one seemed to have told Becky this. The first time I tried to talk to her, it failed completely. It was after school, when the kids were forming little mobs, and she was just walking towards her own group. I walked quickly to catch up with her, and blurted out a hurried “hey”, before she could walk away again. She glanced over at me.
“Hello.” She replied, sounding slightly annoyed. She paused then, and smiled. I swallowed.
“Aren’t you that girl who thinks she’s a boy?” Becky asked sweetly.
“I don’t think I’m a boy!” I replied, stung. I wasn’t really sure how to react to this; I knew I couldn’t hit a girl, and I couldn’t ignore her like I did everything else.
“Well, you dress like one.” She replied, glancing at me. “And you chase girls like one.”
I blushed unhappily, and was silent. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and walked away. Humiliated, I walked over to my group, who had been quietly watching the exchange.
“Tough luck.” Ted said sympathetically, and there were nods of agreement. I shrugged.
“Could have been worse. I didn’t really like her all that much anyway.”
“Yeah.” Ted agreed quickly. “Forget about her, she’s not worth it. C’mon, let’s go play ball.” I grinned, and nodded. We ran after the rest of the group, who had walked ahead of us. Feet pounding the pavement, I looked down at my shoes and repeated it quietly to myself “I didn’t really like her all that much anyway.”
I was lying, though, and everyone knew it. I guess even Becky did, because she was standing on the side-street I walked home through. I didn’t notice her at first. It was starting to get dark earlier, then, and she was in the shadow of the wall. I walked by her, then, hearing the slight noise she made, spun around. She stepped away from the wall and looked at me with those eyes. I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at her.
“What do you want?” I snapped, swearing I wouldn’t blush this time.
She looked guilty. “I just wanted to…I don’t know. Say that I was sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you today, I swear.”
I felt awkward, and shrugged. “Forget it, I don’t know why I bothered talking to you.”
She looked like she might cry. “Well, fine-if that’s how you’re going to be!” She snapped, turning to leave.
I reached out and grabbed her arm. “Geez, I’m sorry, I…I’m sorry too, okay?”
We froze like that, for what felt like almost a minute, me with my hand on her arm, her half-turned away from me. Then she took a step forward, and her lips brushed my cheek. I raised one hand to my face, staring at her.
She blushed unhappily “I’m sorry.” She said quietly. “I can’t…my friends would never speak to me again. And my mother…she’d kill me. She told me she didn’t want me to be anywhere near you.”

She turned, and walked quickly away, leaving me standing with one hand still on my face, staring after her.
It was all over school the next morning. The whispers.

“Did you hear about Becky?”

“The dyke?”

“Yeah, I never figured her for one.”

I don’t know how they found out. But she got it way worse than I ever had; no one was startled with me, so it was easy.
I left school that day, intending to find her, ask her how they knew. But she found me.
My face stung, and I took a step back, as much from shock that she had slapped me as from the force.

“I never liked you.” she spat. “I should have known you’d tell.”

Those green eyes were focused on me, and they were furious. She turned, and walked quickly away, leaving me standing with one hand still on my face, staring after her.

For the last time. We never spoke after that. I still don’t know who found out, told on us.
We graduated, and I moved out of town. When I come back to see my Mum, I’ll pass her house sometimes. I was at the store with my girlfriend, once, when I saw her. We made eye contact, and she gave me the slightest nod and smile. My girlfriend asked who she was.
“No one. Just someone I used to know.”
I heard that she married. John. He was never one of the ones in my crowd-too rough even for us.
I heard that she had to hide the bruises.