Resplendent

Olivia Newton-John sounds like she’s trapped in a tin can. Skipping to the shoo-bops and chang chang chang-it-ty changs, Amber dances down the particle-board catwalk, resplendent in her rhinestone-studded denim skirt, fishnet stockings, and Hannah Montana t-shirt. The treble from the tiny iPod speaker distorts and crackles. Her white-blond ringlets bounce with each step.

Wop ba-ba lu-bop.

She sashays to the end of the walk, stomps a knee-high pleather boot, turns with a flip of her Aqua-net powered hair, and blows a kiss over her shoulder.

Wop. Bam. Boom.

Her timing is perfect. The crowd goes wild!

Okay, so it’s more a random scattering of shoppers than a crowd, really, and I think it’s only the creepy-looking guy over by the Glenn Beck book display who’s going wild, but when we get home that’s how my mom will tell it. “Resplendent” is her word. Everything my sister does is absolutely resplendent. I’m still not sure exactly what it means, but I Googled it, and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t mean what mom thinks it means.

”God, she looks like a skank.”

I turn to the sound of the voice. 

“How old is she? Seven?”

The girl beside me is about my age, arms folded, too much eyeliner. She’s staring at my sister, her mouth set in an odd upside down smile. Aside from the blue Walmart greeter’s vest, she’s dressed like she walked right off the set of an old Brat Pack movie. She could be Ally Sheedy’s sister. 

I glance at her name tag: Tina.

”Six.” I nod toward Amber. “My sister’s six.”

Tina snorts.

“My mom’s totally obsessed with making her a star.”

She looks at me sideways. “Lucky you have a sister. Could be you up there.”

“I don’t ‘sashay.’” I’m trying to be smooth… and failing. Epically. Always do when I’m talking to girls.

Raising an eyebrow, she looks at me critically. “I bet you’d be cute in fishnet.”

My face is starting to flush, so I hold out my hand and change the subject. “I’m Huston.”

She looks at my extended hand. Looks at me. Looks back at my hand. Looks at the catwalk. Her arms remain tightly folded. My hand’s just hanging out there in space, so I shove it in my pocket and look away. My mom is jumping up and down with my sister, doing their post-show victory dance. I’m trying to think of something else to say, something clever, but when I turn back, Tina’s gone.

After that, I start going to Walmart whenever I have a chance, hoping I might run into Tina—don’t ask why. I know, it’s weird. I just have to. And yeah, I’m starting to feel like a stalker. I think the staff is getting suspicious, too, because I’m just wandering the aisles day after day. I buy random things so they won’t kick me out for loitering. One day, I work up the courage to ask for her at customer service. I’m standing in line, trying to think of something to say that doesn’t sound too weird, when I feel someone pass close behind me. 

I turn, catching a glimpse of Tina walking around a corner, and hurry after her.

When I catch up, she turns and folds her arms. ”Hey, stalker.”

“Sorry. Sorry, I don’t, I mean I’m not, look, I don’t want to be all creepy and stuff, but I just, you know, wanted to, you know—“

She cocks her head to the side. I think she’s smiling, but it’s hard to tell with her upside down mouth.

“Huston, you have problems.”

Ugh.

“I just, I mean”—my hands are waving around, so I shove them in my pockets—“most girls, you know, they don’t talk to me.”

“It’s cool.” She gives a half-shrug. “Nobody talks to me, either.”

Fast-forward several weeks, and we’re sitting in our favorite booth at the in-store McDonald’s. I’m doodling in my ketchup with a fry. She’s silently drumming her fingers on the table, staring at the ceiling.

I look up at her. “I really think we should do something, you know, outside of Walmart sometime.” She slouches and inspects her split ends. “I mean, hanging out with you here is awesome. But we can’t just sit here forever.”

Putting her hands down on the table, she picks at a cuticle. I reach out to touch her, but she pulls away from me sharply, like she’s been shocked.

Tossing the fry on my tray, I lean back and sigh. ”I’m just getting a little tired of eating McDonalds.”

She looks away. ”You know I can’t.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes. 

This isn’t a new conversation, but this time is different. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I’ve come to a decision. So I stand and walk around the table to her side, holding out my hand. “Tina, trust me.”

She looks at my hand. Folds her arms. Shakes her head.

“Please, just trust me.”

She doesn’t look up from the table, but then, after a moment that feels like forever, she places her hand in mine. Her touch is light and cool, like a cautious suggestion.

I feel an electric charge run up my arm as she squeezes my hand.

She looks up at me. “Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely.”

We walk out of the store, hand in hand, and the sunlight shines through her translucent body, lighting her up in a glowing halo.

“I haven’t seen the sun in, what, twenty years? Thirty?” 

She laughs.

And then, for the first time, she smiles at me. A real smile. An upside-right smile.

I know what resplendent means now.