The Opposite of Invisible (12 page)

Jewel looks at me from the corners of his eyes.

Then he smirks. A tiny smirk, but I know what it means.

  I’m finished with the art portfolio cover. It’s the best I can do with my Picasso Dove Girl. She’s still not quite as angelic as the original, of course. And I’m not at all sure what Mr. Smith had in mind when he asked me to do the thing, so I’m nervous as I walk into art workshop.

I’m relieved to see Vanessa’s back turned; she’s hunched over some new project involving charcoals and a pile of paper clips. Maybe a gray tribute to the way I’ve destroyed Jewel.

I drop my backpack on a stool at the table farthest from her, pull out the folder with my drawing.

Mr. Smith is over by the sinks, washing a lot of blue acrylic from his fingers.

I walk over and show him.

“Lovely,” he says.

I smile at him.

“Picasso,” he says.

“Yeah, my favorite.”

“Not Alice.”

Well, I did it myself. I colored the eyes green, when Picasso’s are empty circles. It’s a study. Right?

“I guess not,” I say.

“I’d rather see your own mind on the page.”

The Dove Girl is my mind. I mean she’s on my mind. She’s like I want to be. Peaceful. Beautiful. She’s alone but she doesn’t seem to want anything.

“Give me more of Alice,” he says before he walks to his desk.

I would if I could!
I want to shout. If I knew who that was.
If you’re a fish, you can breathe underwater. If you’re Alice, what can you do?

  Simon’s at my locker after eighth period.

He grabs hold of my hand as soon as I’m within reach.

He kisses me, there in the hall. The last thing I see before closing my eyes to surrender is Señora Rodriguez walking down the hall with her turquoise rings up near her mouth in apparent surprise at me falling into Simon’s arms.

We pull away. I look down at my hand in his and say, “I sort of need that to get my locker open.”

He drops my hand. “I’ll take you home.”

But there’s something stopping me. I need to admit it to myself. Something’s wrong. He’s Simon, and he’s fun, and he’s a good boyfriend, but he’s not … he’s not my match. The thought makes me a little panicky.
Stop thinking!
But I can’t help going on.

Maybe I could’ve had true happiness and all that with Jewel. Maybe I should’ve admitted that to myself earlier. Instead of worrying about who I’d dance with in my perfect make-believe dress.

That’s not what happened. I’m standing at my locker with Simon and he wants to walk me home.

So I go. I let him feel me up under the tree.

He kisses me, gulping.

  I find a note from my mom on the fridge when I get inside, saying, “We’ll be at the library late—you’re on your own for dinner.”

I settle in under the chenille blanket to watch the Horror Channel. It’s Japan Week. The movies are totally creepy and the subtitles max the creepiness. Like it’s a cartoon or something; like you have to read the words because all that’s coming out of the characters’ actual mouths is blips. The blips are Japanese, of course, but to me they might as well be exclamation points and stars.

In the movie, a girl is being haunted by a ghost in her new house. The ghost is a milky-white blur. The girl hides under her bedcovers and I drift to sleep myself.

When I wake up, the girl is strapped to a hospital bed
and the ghost is lurking just outside the door, watching her, somehow having traveled with her from the house.

She’s the only one who sees it.

My phone rings.

Simon.

“Let’s meet up for
pho
. Have you ever tried it?”

“Nope.” I try to shake off my nap.

“It’s super-good. Noodles and broth and whatever meat you want. Perfect for a rainy night. And they give you a free cream puff.”

Macho Simon is interested in cream puffs?

The place is in Ballard. “I’ll pick you up.” He clicks off.

Didn’t I just see him, like, two hours ago?

I leave a note for Mom and Dad, sniff my underarms to make sure they’re okay.

I think about changing into my denim mini, but my old jeans feel so comfy.

In the bathroom mirror, I see me looking as good as I ever have. I see Simon Murphy’s girlfriend. But she’s mad at him. I open the vanity drawer, dig around for an elastic, and put my hair back into its old ponytail.

  “Can we stop at Rain City?” I say as I sit down in the car.

“Sure.”

Simon parks at Rain City and gets out first, comes around to my side to open the door for me.

Chivalry.

I flash back to the way Jewel and I would joke in the junk shop about being an old married couple. He dug
through shoeboxes full of old greeting cards and secretly slipped valentines from the 1950s into my purse for me to find later. He called me honeybunch.

Somehow, that felt more real than this moment with Simon opening my door and ushering me into Rain City. It’s not the first time I’ve felt that Simon and I are in a movie.

“Darling!” Tommy calls from over by the comedies.

He rushes to us and kisses both of my cheeks, Euro-style.

“Who’s your friend?” he asks, I’m sure knowing full well who this is from whatever Jewel told him.

“This is Simon.”

“Nice to meet you.” Simon sounds as if he’s meeting my father.

“Likewise, I’m sure.”

“So,” I say. “I was wondering if you have what’s on the Horror Channel right now. I think it’s called
Spirit.”

Tommy goes to check his computer. Simon looks at the new releases and asks if I’ve seen something with overgrown frat boys on the cover.

Before I answer, Tommy says, “I’ll have to order that movie.” He blows me a kiss and returns to shelving videos.

Simon gives me a look, all raised eyebrows.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.” His eyes are aimed toward Tommy’s back.

He takes my arm, the same fancy way that Jewel did on that night at the Showbox. Then it made me feel safe. Now I feel … like an actress.

At the
pho
restaurant, Simon is talking about his friends. Football. Who wants to hook up with which cheerleader. Apparently, Mike Corrigan has his eye on Molly from Spanish class. He wants to throw another party to try to get in her pants. Something like that.

“Oh my God.” Simon puts down his Coke. “Did you hear about this? Corrigan wants to get a Udub tattoo. Purple and gold.”

“Yeah?” I ask, sipping my soup.

“The only thing he’s not sure of is if he should wait and see if he ends up in a frat, ’cause then he says he’d get the frat’s letters instead,” Simon says. “Anyway, he’s gonna be eighteen pretty soon, so he’s up for it.”

“What would you get, if you were getting a tattoo?”

“Huh. Maybe a giant octopus, I guess.”

I know just what tattoo I’d get.

“I’d get my Dove Girl.”

He puts down his spoon. “Your what?”

I never told him about my poster. How could I be thinking I was getting close to someone and not tell him about my Dove Girl?

“It’s too strange,” I say. “Forget I mentioned it.”

“No, come on. I tell you strange stuff sometimes.”

“Maybe another time,” I say.

He exhales audibly. “What’s wrong with right now?”

“Why are you pressing this?”

“Because. I want to know you.” His eyes are laser beams.

“You do know me.”

“I know
about you.”

“Sorry if that’s not enough,” I say. What is
wrong
with me? Am I ruining everything? I get up to pay at the register, feeling lousy.

On the sidewalk, I touch his arm. “I’m in a bad mood. I should apologize.”

“You should apologize or you are apologizing?” he says. “Don’t think so much.”

“I’m sorry.”

We walk to the car without meeting eyes. When we get to my house, I open the door and get out as soon as the car stops.

It’s Saturday again, and my second busy one in a row. Mandy and I set up our glassblowing class for today; tonight there’s a party at one of the private school kids’ houses. I don’t know the guy, obviously, but I’m getting a ride with Mandy and meeting Simon there.

I don’t even shower before I head to Fire Art. I’m just going to get all sweaty anyway.

Mandy’s waiting outside.

“Hey,
chica,”
she says as I approach. “Ready?”

“Can’t wait.”

Jim is ready. The room’s heated up. He hands me a blowpipe and watches as I carry it to the furnace and gather the molten glass. “It’s like picking up honey with your finger,” I say.

“Except at two thousand degrees,” Jim says.

“Yeah, except for that.”

And the lesson begins.

I’m in the zone as Jim yells out directions. In the end, my piece is very lopsided, but it’ll look cool that way.

“You’re getting comfortable with this. I can tell,” Jim says as I get ready to leave.

“I love it,” I tell him. “Even if I suck.”

“At first, no one is good.”

Okay, Yoda.

Mandy’s been doing her own thing. I almost forgot she was there.

“Wow,” I say as she puts her work away. “I was so in a zone.”

“Me too,” she says, wiping sweat from her forehead. “I thought that only happened to me in gymnastics. Cool.”

“Definitely.”

“So, I’ll see you tonight for the party?” She wipes more sweat, motions to the front door.

I have an idea. Maybe it’s about time I had something pretty under my new T-shirt. Maybe tonight Simon and I will fix our little fight; the party will be a good chance to make up. “Hey, why don’t we each go home and shower and then meet up to go shopping before the party?”

“Shopping? For a certain something?” She raises her eyebrows at me in that way she did when we were talking about the black bra. “Yay! And bring your party clothes. We can get ready at my house after.”

So I’m hanging out with my new friend before the party.

  We meet up at the bus stop by Ladro and take the 28 to Pacific Place, back to the store where I went with my mom.

“Here we are,” says Mandy, heading straight for the lingerie rack. It’s fun having a girl to do this with. She picks up the black number to try on for herself.

She gets me the black one and a pretty purple one. “Try these.”

In the dressing room, both bras make me feel like a pinup girl. I’ve never been so nicely … supported.

They’re not cheap, but I have enough.

I find Mandy in the front of the store. “I’m getting it, are you?” she asks.

“Yep.” I grin. It crosses my mind that she doesn’t have anyone special to show it off for. “If it’s okay to ask … who are you planning to impress?”

She smiles. “It’s not about some boy. I just like to feel pretty.”

“That’s cool.”

“Plus, you never know.” She grabs a pink bra in her size.

My gaze falls to the neon novelty condoms that are also on the rack. She follows my eyes.

“Not me!” she says.

Phew. “Not me, either. Not yet.”

“You and Simon aren’t there, are you?”

I think about it. “We probably … could be. But. No.” Something always holds me back.

“Only do it if you really, really want to,” she says. “Some of my friends have been so destroyed by sex with the wrong guy.”

“I hear ya.”

We go to the register, pay, and head back to the bus stop.

  At Mandy’s house, no one’s home, and we go straight up to her room.

It’s like a sanctuary in pink, kind of like a little girl’s room, which surprises me. The bed is made. Mine never is.

“Let’s do your makeup first,” she says. “Then mine.”

“Sure.”

She has a vanity in her room. Something I’ve definitely never seen before. I sit on the white-cushioned chair and she gets to work on my face.

Mandy does makeup like a pro, swiftly and with concentration. She has an artillery of brushes.

When she’s done, I stare at the mirror and see my eyes brighter than usual, my lips more pouty. It’s almost like seeing myself in the witch dress for the first time. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” she says. “And you’re hot!”

  It’s seven o’clock by the time we finish getting dressed.

“Pizza?” Mandy asks. “I’m starving.”

“Me too. Definitely pizza.”

I’m supposed to meet Simon at the party at eight. We have just about enough time.

We take Mandy’s car to Mad Pizza so we can go straight from there.

We get to chatting about glassblowing and school, and we don’t leave Mad Pizza till eight-thirty.

The party’s in Ballard, so we arrive at about eight-forty-five. I figure Simon knows so many people, he probably won’t even notice that I’m late.

It’s a crazy scene at the party. People I don’t recognize are dancing in the living room, with all the furniture pushed to the walls. It’s so loud, I barely hear Mandy when she screams “Bathroom!” in my ear.

I feel instantly tense as I push my way through the
crowd, looking for Simon. Some random guy puts his hand on the small of my back. It feels creepy.

Simon’s on a kitchen stool. He’s drinking a can of cheap beer. He sees me but doesn’t smile. “Where were you?”