The Opposite of Invisible (14 page)

I worry about it getting caught under the brake pedal when he drives me home in a few minutes.

He takes my cup, sets it on the dash.

I never wanted to be getting it on in some car.

I never wanted to be drinking to get myself there.

“Come here,” he says.

How do I say this?

“Simon, I … I need to go home.”

He looks at me.

I can’t face his eyes. I look at the dashboard.

How can I explain that I’m not this girl now? That I need something else? That I had a great time with him, but he’s not … who I need? I’m not ready to be his girlfriend. Or anyone’s.

He’s listening. “Simon … you’re … amazing. When we fool around, I love that. I do. I’m sure you know. God … the way you kiss.”

He squeezes my hand. “So what’s the problem?”

“It’s … I like … how you see me. I thought I was invisible before you.”

“No way. I wanted to talk to you for so long before we ever did.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“It’s true.”

“I believe it now.”

He’s still holding my hand, stroking it with his thumb.

“What I didn’t realize is that having a boyfriend isn’t enough to make me …”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know. It’s like I’m always trying to figure out how to be comfortable with myself. And dating you has been amazing and I’ve loved it. Which is good. Which is what I wanted a month ago. But I still don’t feel … right.”

“But what did I do?” His thumb is still.

“You did everything right. You’re amazing.”

“So …”

“It’s just about feelings that are … hard to explain. Like I hesitated to tell you about my Dove Girl.”

“I guess I’ve noticed that you don’t always let me in. That’s why I thought I was the one more into it. But things seemed okay after we talked on the phone after Corrigan’s party.”

“She’s a poster.”

“The Dove Girl?”

“She’s who I talk to. She’s like my symbol of peace. I talk to her because I don’t think I have anyone else to talk to.”

“That’s crazy. You’ve got …”

“Jewel.”

“And me.”

“I did. But now I realize that I can’t force it. The connection, I mean. I had a crush on you. A huge crush.”

“So …”

“I’m just not melting with you anymore. I’m not … ready. Or something.”

He’s silent for a full minute. “Melting? Alice.” He looks at me. “You’ve been kind of … my best friend lately.” His eyes start to water. “I meant it when I said I’m not into the whole football scene. I’m … I want to keep seeing you.”

I’m tempted to touch his cheek. But I can stop that impulse. I can resist him; that’s the problem. I’m being pulled another way.

“I wish I could be what you want, Simon. I really do. But I just … I just can’t.”

Then he drops my hand.

I know that was the last time.

The weirdest part of Monday is art workshop. Vanessa smiles at me as soon as I walk in the door.

It’s not her usual thing either. The smile’s somehow sympathetic.

We could be a photo. Vanessa with that smile, me with a mirror image.

Girls bonded by broken hearts.

Even if I’m the one who ended things with Simon, my heart
is
a little broken. I’m back to being alone. At least, that’s what I think when I feel insecure. Then I tell myself I have a new chance with Jewel, a new friend in Mandy, and maybe even … a nonenemy in Vanessa.

  I’m deep inside my sweatshirt hood, hoping Mr. Smith will realize I don’t feel like being talked to.

I haven’t finished the new art portfolio cover yet.

Okay, I haven’t even thought of an idea for it.

My sketchpad is in front of me, open to the first blank page. The page after my last, best attempt at my Dove Girl.

I need to do something new. Absolutely.

Mr. Smith wants more Alice in my work.

If I close my eyes, I can see colors swirling on my closed lids. Shapes that pulse, glide, and fade. I can see glass, heating and cooling.

I see a series of tiny glass globes. What colors? I’ll ask Jim when I can start learning to add color. I slip my hood down and begin to draw.

  Vanessa’s watching from across the room, always watching when I talk to Mr. Smith.

Her latest work is clay sculptures of tiny animals. They’re beautiful.

Mr. Smith is working with the letterpress.

“I don’t want to do the portfolio cover,” I tell him. “I’m just not really into it. I’ve got some good ideas for other things.”

He runs his fingers through his hair, the way he does when he realizes that he’s a teacher and not just an artist who happens to work in a school.

“Let Vanessa do it,” I say. “She’ll do a better job.”

  I walk home alone. The rain is heavier than usual and I can hear it pinging my hood. I’ll have to change my jeans when I get home.

Just as I’m passing John, the homeless guy, sitting outside Caffe Ladro getting soaked, Jewel comes up beside me.

He doesn’t say anything.

We walk a whole block with both of us looking down at our sneakers.

“Troll?” he says, and I follow.

It’s drier up by the troll, under his bridge. I take down my hood.

“Hey, your ponytail’s back.”

For just a second, it’s like we’ve stepped back in time, to another day at the troll. Maybe even to our kiss day. The graffiti on the VW is gone now; the troll’s back to normal.

I take three steps to cover the distance between us and sink into a Jewel-hug. I tingle. That old tingle. Should I act on it? Should I kiss Jewel?

No. I just want to be friends again, at least for a while. His hands feel strong. He smells so good, familiar. That’s what I really need.

“It feels great to be friends again,” I say. “I never stopped feeling like you’re my best friend.”

“You said the F-word.”

Oh, no. Is he going to explode because I only want to be friends?

He narrows his eyes. “I’ll accept that for now.”

We climb up the troll’s back and sit.

The news of me hooking up with Simon and Jewel hooking up with Vanessa was huge. My reunion with Jewel is nothing. Only, it’s everything.

  When Vanessa sees me in art workshop the next day, she kind of smiles, but her eyes look sad.

She doesn’t roll her eyes anymore.

She closes them.

Jewel and I are halfway through root beer floats with chocolate syrup when I shift on my kitchen chair and tell him what I think. “Vanessa really misses you.”

It’s not until then that I realize that Jewel and I have totally avoided the subject of Vanessa.

“I know,” he says. “Because of the string.”

I chew on my straw, waiting for him to explain.

“She wears strings around her wrist.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve noticed that. Never really thought about it.”

“It’s a cool idea, actually.” He sips his float. “They’re color-coded depending on her mood.”

“Oh, so like red might be ‘happy.’”

“‘Happy’ is purple, but yeah.”

“So, what? She’s been wearing something bad?”

He sucks the dregs of his float before answering.

“Black.”

“Bad.”

“It’s the worst.”

  That night, the phone rings. “Hi.”

“Mandy?”

“Hey,
chica.”

“Hey.” I picture her sitting on her pink bed with fluffy covers.

“So you and Simon are over?”

It’s nice of her to call.

“Yeah.”

“I just wanted to say that, you know, you could still sit with us at lunch.”

“Thanks,” I say. “That’s really sweet. But I don’t think I want to be around Simon for a while.”

“Oh!” She sounds surprised. “I didn’t mean
that us
. I’m so over those boys, with all their macho-macho stuff. Do you know Corrigan expected me to let him go under my skirt at that party last Saturday? We’re not even dating. I’m just supposed to be in awe of his football-hero thing because I’m a cheerleader.”

“Eew. Somehow I’m not surprised. But eew.”

“Yeah, so I just mean me and my girls. For lunch.”

“That sounds great.”

  In Spanish, I see Simon. “Hey.” I smile at him.

“Hi.” He nods. It’s weird how so much can turn into so little.

Luckily Señora Rodriguez announces that we’re switching conversation groups today.

My new group: two sophomore friends of Molly’s, and Vanessa.

She’s sitting right in front of me, that black string tied around her wrist. Double-knotted.

In our books we’ve moved on from colors to foods.

The
“yo quiero Taco Bell”
jokes are never-ending and Molly’s two friends are two of the biggest perpetrators.

“Taquito!”

Pink fingernails tapping on the desk.

“Gordito!”

Cackle.

“Muchos nachos!”

Vanessa winces.

“Um,” I say. “Let’s do breakfast.
Yo quiero a comer huevos
. I want to eat eggs.”

  Vanessa and I are both good in this class. Really good.

So I get it when she tells me in Spanish that what she wants to do with the
huevos
is crack them in the loud girls’ pretty hair.

My turn to cackle.

Vanessa approaches me at my locker, almost smiling. She’s holding a paper lunch sack. The string around her wrist is blue.

She hands the sack to me. “Open that.”

It’s a white dove, clay.

“I hope you like it,” she says. “Jewel told me a couple times about your poster.”

“Wow,” I say, holding it carefully. What a present!

I love it. She gets me. Vanessa
is
someone I could be friends with. Who knew?

“You’re not mad, are you?” she asks. “I know it’s private, but Jewel only told me ’cause he thought it was cool. I think it is too.”

“Mad? No way. This is … lovely. Thanks.”

Now that I’m out of my cocoon, and past being a girlfriend, I’m just me, finding my way through the halls. Eating lunch with Mandy and her friends. Talking about art with Vanessa. Doing what I do.

  Friday at the end of
la clase de español
, Simon’s off to football practice without a glance in my direction. Vanessa’s headed to put some finishing touches on something in the art studio. Otherwise, maybe we’d hang out after school today. We’re about at that point.

After she walks away down the hall, Jewel appears right behind me.

I turn around. “Let’s go get a movie.”

So my best friend and I head home.

On the way, I feel static between our bodies. Maybe we’re just getting used to each other again. Maybe we’re charged with some new feelings.

Does he still want to kiss me? The idea makes me smile. I might soon decide to attack him with my own kisses.

But for now, just walking to Rain City is enough.

I reach out and take Jewel’s hand.