Identity Crisis (4 page)

Hey.

Wassup?

Yo.

That's how most guys at my school talk, as if monosyllabic grunts pass for scintillating conversation.
Except for Cooper
, my inner voice pipes in. He's the only guy I know who's easy to talk to. Then again, he's like that with everyone. If Cooper had a motto, it would be:
I never met a man I didn't like
. And he sure doesn't have any trouble yakking away to Annalise in math every day.

The trouble is I'm a complete novice in the guy department. Eva's been dating Amos forever, and Tori's had guys pursuing her since she was in vitro. I'm the only one who's had practically no interaction with the male species, thanks to my dumb reputation as a brain. Just my crush on Cooper, dating back to when our parents enrolled us in Little Quackers Preschool down in our church basement when we were three. Problem is, in his eyes, I haven't matured any since then. He still treats me like I'm his sandbox buddy, just minus the sand.

“Charm her, tell her she's hot, whatever you have to do,” Eva had instructed me as she flounced her way out the door, probably seeing the look of panic on my face. “This is for you, Noelle,” she pointedly reminded me. “For you and Cooper, right?” So now, like always, I'm doing what she told me to. After dinner with my parents, I escape back to my room and log in again as “Declan.” I send a message saying, you there? to Annalise, then sit, staring at the screen, waiting nervously to see if she will respond. Within seconds, she does. Before I can come up with something else to say, she has a question for me.

KnuckLise99
: forgot to ask before—why didn't *you* get tickets?

Good question, right? If I'm such a Knucklie, why
didn't
I get tickets? I grope around for a reason that sounds legit. Money issues? Scheduling conflict? Strict parents?

DecOlan
: i'm grounded.

DecOlan
: no phone.

DecOlan
: no outings.

DecOlan
: computer for “educational purposes” only. <>

I smile, pleased that I landed on this response, which serves two purposes. This way, if Annalise wants to meet, or get my number to text me, I have a built-in excuse. No cell, no going out for the time being.

KnuckLise99
: aw. what for?

For what? Another good question. I break into a sweat. Lying in real time is harder than it looks. What do guys our age get grounded for, anyway? Downloading porn, most likely. But I don't want her thinking “Declan” is some creepy perv. Smoking? No way, I'm pretty sure Annalise wouldn't go for a guy with stinky ashtray breath. Getting busted for drinking? I decide to play coy until I can think of a convincing misdeed.

DecOlan
: i'd tell you . . .

DecOlan
: but first I'd have to know you better ;)

I hit return and hold my breath. Too bold? Too obvious? There's a pause, while I wait for Annalise to reply. I wonder what she's thinking. Then, she finally types a response:

KnuckLise99
: there's not much to know.

DecOlan
: i doubt that.

KnuckLise99
: trust me.

DecOlan
: ok. well then . . . what's your sign?

KnuckLise99
: gemini.

KnuckLise99
: why? do you believe in astrology?

DecOlan
: nope.

DecOlan
: those were my dad's first words to my mom. true story.

KnuckLise99
: <> hard to believe that actually worked.

DecOlan
: well i'm here aren't i?

KnuckLise99
: theoretically.

DecOlan
: lol.

KnuckLise99
: still, a little dated, as pick up lines go . . .

DecOlan
: i'd call it, timeless.

DecOlan
: and who says i'm trying to pick you up? <>

KnuckLise99
: riiiiight.

KnuckLise99
: so does that line work on all the girls?

DecOlan
: dunno. first time at bat.

KnuckLise99
: <>

DecOlan
: how am i doing so far?

KnuckLise99
: honestly, pretty mediocre. C-

DecOlan
: <>

KnuckLise99
: ok maybe a C+. <> i grade on a curve.

DecOlan
: ooof. tough critic. here's a better question.

KnuckLise99
: shoot.

DecOlan
: is your relationship status really single?

KnuckLise99
: yes.

DecOlan
: i find that hard to believe.

KnuckLise99
: why?

DecOlan
: come on. <> don't make me say it.

Even from a digital distance, I can tell Annalise is smiling. She must be. What girl wouldn't be eating this up? I know I would. Instead, she abruptly changes the subject.

KnuckLise99
: then don't.

KnuckLise99
: my turn.

KnuckLise99
: how come *your* status is single?

DecOlan
: tough to meet cute chicks when you're homeschooled and dad's your wingman.

KnuckLise99
: homeschooled? you're not part of some crazy religious cult, trapped in your basement?

DecOlan
: ha ha, no.

KnuckLise99
: child star?

DecOlan
: i wish.

KnuckLise99
: not dying of some horrible terminal illness before your time?

DecOlan
: nothing that dramatic. my dad can't stand govt skul rules.

DecOlan
: crazy union teachers teaching to the test.

DecOlan
: yadda yadda.

KnuckLise99
: so what do you do all day?

The question catches me off guard. What
do
homeschooled kids do all day? How should I know? I just start making it up, based on the little Eva had told me about Declan and my imagination.

DecOlan
: ya know. worksheets all morning. then freedom the rest of the day. i read. sketch. play online chess. there's meetups, sometimes. at museums and stuff. with other families.

DecOlan
: wow. typing that out makes me realize how completely lame my life is.

KnuckLise99
: no. it just sounds pretty . . . solitary.

DecOlan
: yeah. it's not a bunch of pep rallies and prom committees.

KnuckLise99
: ha! so not my life.

DecOlan
: at least you're around actual humans all day long.

KnuckLise99
: assuming the kids at my school are human. KnuckLise99: plus, ever heard the expression alone in a crowd?

That comment throws me. I pause, startled to hear my earlier thoughts echoed back at me. I know I feel that way around Tori and Eva, but does she really feel that way, too? I mean, true, she's not on the pep squad, but Annalise is not some total outcast. She has friends. Well, a friend. Isn't she always with that tall, sarcastic girl with the glasses, what's her name, Mauve? Maeve. Then again, we had been pretty harsh after the Amos incident and most of the girls in our grade had taken our side. I wonder if she is speaking the truth. Or at least, her truth.

I shake my head, trying to shoo away sympathy like a pesky housefly that won't leave me alone. I know what Eva would say. She asked for it, didn't she? With what she did? And she sure doesn't seem to mind all the male attention she gets as a result. Including Cooper.

DecOlan
: come on. you don't strike me as the loner type.

DecOlan
: you sure don't look like a girl who sits home Saturday night.

There. What girl doesn't want to hear that a guy thinks she's hot? Apparently, Annalise. Because she shoots back a terse reply.

KnuckLise99
: where do you get that?

Whoa. Red alert. Somehow, I have majorly offended her. This conversation is headed in the entirely wrong direction.

DecOlan
: i just meant—

KnuckLise99
: cuz, you don't really know me.

KnuckLise99
: you don't know anything about me.

What happened? I thought this was going so well. If I screw this up, Eva and Tori are going to think I am pathetic. And Cooper is going to slip away. My fingers fly back to the keyboard, but I am too late.

KnuckLise99
: this was a mistake.

DecOlan
: wait.

KnuckLise99
: i gotta go.

DecOlan
: no.

DecOlan
: please.

DecOlan
: i'm—

Before I can type another word, I see her user name has gone gray. She is gone.

DecOlan
: —sorry.

How. Dare. He.

This Declan O'Keefe, making all sorts of assumptions about me, based on what?
You don't look like a girl who sits home Saturday night.
It's obviously code for, you look like a slut. Right? Except, where was he getting that from? I scroll back through our convo, trying to see if I'd written anything to give that impression. Did I miss something? Why did I start spilling my guts to some random guy I don't even know? I should have known better.

Obviously, Declan had wasted no time checking out my profile photo. And all right, sure, I'd done the same to him, but I still can't help but feel a little . . . what? Offended? Invaded? Anyway, the image I'd uploaded was a carefully chosen, casual head shot, nothing racy at all. I enlarge it and study my own face, trying to figure out what Declan had seen. Curly reddish-brown hair. Petite nose. Plump lips. Does something about me give off some slutty vibe? Some Scarlet A, just like in that god-awful boring Hawthorne book—except the “A” stands for Annalise instead of adulteress? Maybe that's why Amos targeted me in the first place.

Well, forget it. This Declan is obviously just like every other guy on the planet. Like my own father, even. Not to be trusted, like my mom is always saying, and—happy now, Mother?—turned out to be right. I had been feeling a smidgeon of guilt for never calling my dad back, but why bother? He has a new family now, a new city, a new life. Spending time this summer with him, my stepmonster, and the toddler twins, a fifth wheel to his perfect new family, made all that perfectly clear. So instead of calling him back, I turn to the only thing that always makes me feel better. I put on my favorite Brass Knuckles playlist, pop my earbuds in my ears so my mom won't complain the music is too loud, and think about Viggo Witts, who would never let me down.

I troll online for anything new on the band and something pops up: a video interview posted on Buzznewz, where Viggo talks in his adorable accent about how the world is full of
bling-bling fakety-fakers
, and how he came up with the idea for his soon-to-be released song “Inner Beauty” after his D-list wannabe ex-girlfriend, Skye, the Abercrombie model, dragged him to New York's Fashion Week. All the other fangirls on the Brass Knuckles feed had been threatened by her freakish beauty, but I never was. It was so obvious that their two-week fling was just a dumb publicity stunt.

When the clip ends, a pop-up ad teasing the latest issue of
Seventeen
online catches my eye: HATE YOUR BODY? LEARN TO LOVE IT!!! I click, and there is the obligatory quiz, which I quickly scan:

1. You are invited to a pool party. You:
   
2. Decline.
   
3. Show up in a tankini.
   
4. Show up in a bikini.
   
5. Show up in a one-piece bathing suit—covered by a burka.
   

Even more useless is the fashion spread, where all the girls have body issues, like a tiny bit of muffin top, or thick ankles, or a flat chest, all one . . . two . . . three . . . presto! fixed with a simple fashion tip (Spanx! gladiator sandals! a Miracle Bra!) from the editors (click
here
to purchase!) that magically cure their perceived flaws. None of which would work on my boob problem.

When I'd begged my mom for a reduction last year, she had sighed and told me that those were only for teens who were grotesquely huge, and whose backs ached all the time, and could interfere with breastfeeding (ick) a baby someday—which as far as I was concerned was a total bonus. You're just on the curvy side, she'd told me. Consider yourself lucky.
Lucky??
She'd told me we could talk about it in another year or two, once I'd definitely stopped growing.
Hold on, I might be still growing??
What she didn't say was that the procedure was crazy expensive and probably wasn't covered by health insurance. I'd started a secret boob reduction kitty, but so far, my stash consisted of about $387 of birthday checks from my dad, allowance, and babysitting money, which wouldn't even cover the cost of the anesthesia.

My mom doesn't seem to get that my boobs have ruined my life. How their surprise appearance in seventh grade tanked my spot on the Flip It! competitive gymnastics team, which I'd only been doing since I was five, sure that I'd grow up to be the next Aly Raisman and win the gold for the US of A. It was obvious, when I saw the lineup of petite flat-chested girls that made the team, that the problem wasn't my technique or my dedication or my flexibility, it was obviously my, ahem, newfound physique.

If only I had a boyish bod like Elena or Maeve, maybe I would have had a shot at the medal by now. But when my body changed, so did my chance of athletic glory. There was no way I'd excel at any other sport, either: forget track, crew, or volleyball. All I can see are the dreams my stupid big boobs have crushed. Imagine the
Seventeen
editors trying to come up with a quiz designed for girls like me: