The Opposite of Invisible (9 page)

I just look at her. I want to tell her Jewel’s not her friend. He’s mine.

Simon jumps in. “We like yours, too.”

Vanessa ignores Simon. I’ve accidentally forced her into a staring contest. She’s listening, though. “Thank you so much.”

She saunters in the direction of the bathroom. Then she pauses and turns back toward me. She calls out, “Doesn’t Julian look great tonight?”

I stifle the urge to run over and scratch her.

“What was that all about?” Simon asks.

“Don’t ask me.”

“Well, isn’t Jewel your best friend, though?”

“Yeah.”

“So what’s up?”

“With Jewel and Vanessa?”

“With Jewel and you.”

“Nothing. You said it. We’re friends.”

“Definitely not more?”

“No.”

“Good,” Simon says, “’cause I wouldn’t want my girlfriend to be into another guy.”

I’m officially his girlfriend? And he’s on record as being jealous. Of Jewel. Not of Corrigan, who looks at me like I’m something to sink his teeth into.

This is what I wanted
, I tell myself. Dove Girl, help me keep Simon interested. If I don’t, I’ll be alone and that will be way worse than where I started.

I take his hand and lead him to the dance floor.

The music is something I don’t recognize, fast and without words. Very heavy on the bass.

Simon dances like a jellyfish, loosely wiggling in an effortless way like his limbs had evolved to work in this specific environment.

I hop from one foot to the other, trying to imagine how a witch would get down and boogie. It helps that Simon only takes his hands off me for short stints as he turns in circles.

He does that thing I’ve seen in music videos, where the guy bends his knees and, like, works his way up the girl’s body with his head two inches from her. I try not to look too stiff.

The DJ switches to a slow song, something about moonlight. For the first time, Simon seems awkward. He’s bending
his head next to mine, his Nikes only millimeters from my Pumas, his middle somehow not there.

It takes me a minute to realize that he’s all bent on purpose. He’s energized. In that particular male way.

Under my makeup, I’m sure my face is as pink as Vanessa’s dress.

I move my hands to Simon’s waist. I pull his body closer to mine. He lets out a sound between a squeak and a moan.

This is a movie. I am not really doing this.

I’d almost believe that this is not real, because it’s so surreal, me and Simon. Right in the middle of the crowd. But this feels too good. He bends his head so our foreheads touch. I feel like I could fly.

I put my mouth to his neck, leave it there, a twitch away from kissing.

He puts his hand on the back of my head, works his fingers through my hair.

The song fades out. Were Vanessa and Jewel watching us?

“Hey, hey,” says the DJ, “are you ready to crown one lucky lady your queen?”

People do little whistles and whoops.

“I said, are you ready?”

Oh, God. School spirit. People roar, so easily excited. Simon grins at me. He doesn’t know how totally turned off I am by mob mentality.

“That’s more like it! Drumroll, please,” yells the DJ. Feet stamp all over the Bath, creating a thunder.

“And the moment has arrived,” he continues. “You’ve voted for your favorite costumes and here they are …”

A whispering ripple moves through the crowd.

“Your king, Nicolai Gregory!”

Nicolai walks up to the DJ stand, grinning and waving like the President. It’s hilarious.

The DJ continues, “And your queen …”

Simon squeezes my hand.

“… Vanessa Almond!”

Vanessa joins Nicolai. She stands still, her head lolling to one side, her eyes as blank as possible, playing dead.

Their crowns are cardboard covered with foil. Not nearly as cool as the one Vanessa made.

“All right, you two,” says the DJ. “Let’s see what a royal dance looks like!”

There’s no spotlight in the gym, of course, but if there were, this would be the moment when it would shine on Nicolai and Vanessa, as the crowd opens a space for its nobility, then would pan to Jewel across the room as he puts on a smile. He’s the date of the queen.

When he’s really happy, he doesn’t smile. He smirks.

Nicolai and Vanessa sashay around, high drama. If this were the prom, they wouldn’t have won. But it’s Halloween and they are definitely the strangest pair in school.

The crowd has opened a large circle for them, all eyes on their played-up waltz. The dance only lasts a minute, until Jewel elbows his way through the crowd and enters the circle.

He taps Nicolai on the shoulder, something you’d see
in an old movie. He doesn’t, however, ask if he may cut in. He just presses Nicolai out of the way, gently, Nicolai obeying. Then Jewel lays a big kiss on Vanessa.

The crowd, needless to say, goes wild.

Some girl behind me asks her friend, “Who’s that cute guy?”

Someone tells her, “I always thought that guy was into guys. He’s so
artistic.”

I grab Simon and kiss him.

The girl behind me says, “Wait. Who’s she?”

The school might have something to talk about on Monday.

  Simon walks me up to my door. “Let’s talk,” he says, and we sit on the porch swing.

I seriously don’t think my brain can handle some big talk right now.

I sit and look at him.

“I just want to say,” he says, “that I had a great time tonight.”

He’s got that dimple out.

“Me too. It was … amazing.”

“But I’m wondering about why you’re quiet.”

The dimple is gone. I’m not sure what he’s looking for here.

“Am I?”
Definitely not about seeing Jewel with Vanessa
, I think. I sit up and press closer to Simon.

I make a mental note: Be more normal around your boyfriend.

“You should … get yourself to bed,” he says.

I nod, put my head on his shoulder.

“I’m not your bed,” he tells me.

“But you’re comfy.”

He maneuvers to kiss my forehead. It’s so sweet I think I might just crumble right here.

“Night, my little witch.” He stands and goes to his car, walking backward down our path, watching me as he goes.

After he drives off, I walk into the dark house, up to my room, and fall asleep in about two seconds. In my dress.

On Sunday, I sit on the couch in my sweatpants and stripy sweater. My dad is outside raking the wet leaves in our front yard. My mom is sitting across from me in the lounger reading a cookbook, armed with index cards and a fountain pen.

I try to read the latest
McSweeney’s
. It’s a great issue: monster stories. But I’m way too distracted.

The first thing I did this morning was whisper to my Dove Girl.
“Let Simon be worth it,”
I said.
“Let him be worth all this weirdness with Jewel. And whatever is happening with Vanessa.”

I slept well last night, and now it feels like I can’t wake up. I drift asleep on the couch, my book open on my stomach, still halfway sitting up, wedged into the armrest.

  I wake up to the smell of baking and wander into the kitchen. I touch my hair out of habit. But my ponytail’s not there. I never put my hair up after the dance last night, and I think I’ll try leaving it down from now on. I look more like Simon’s girlfriend this way.

“Oatmeal cookies with butterscotch chips,” Mom says, “from a new recipe.”

“Yum.”

“I thought I’d give us a nice fall treat.” She scrapes another cookie onto the plate that already holds a pile. “So, Sleeping Beauty? How was the dance?”

I don’t know how to sum it up. I slow-danced. I kissed my date. Simon was wonderful. Jewel … was with someone else. “It was basically good.”

“Basically?” She scrapes another cookie.

“Just not used to stuff like dances, I guess,” I say.

“What about stuff like dates? How’d it go with Simon?”

“It was good.”

She must know instinctively, or from my face, that I don’t want to say any more. It must’ve been obvious the moment she met him: Simon should be out of my league. Maybe she’s not sure what he’s doing with me either.

“I think I made too many cookies,” she says, running out of room on her plate. “Why don’t you take a Baggie over to Jewel?”

“He’s busy.”

She hands me a cookie and nods.

I bite.

The cookie tastes so good, sweet yet not too sugary, that I want to eat the whole batch.

I stop myself after three, gulp down some milk, and go to sit on the porch swing.

My
McSweeney’s
is on my lap, but all I can think about is: What’s with Jewel and Vanessa? Does he really like her? What is going to happen at school?

I need a girlfriend to gush with. I have a boyfriend! He’s amazing! We make out!

I wonder if my mom would want to know. Or what she’d want to know. Should I talk to her more?

The problem here is: no precedent. Never before have I fought with Jewel. You can’t fight if you’re not talking, though, so that makes it even harder to define what’s happening between us. Never has there been space between us.

Never before have I had a crush that’s turned into something real; never been called someone’s girlfriend.

I need to make up the rules for talking about it.

The making out part feels private.

I sit on the porch and daydream, wishing Simon would show up, or call.

Now Dad’s working on the Chevy. He’s pretty cute out there, wearing a dirty old white T-shirt. I have this image of him putting the training wheels on my first bike, and I swear he was in that same shirt. My dad’s one of those guys who never really ages.

“Hey, sweetie,” he says as I walk to the car.

“Can I help?”

He looks up, greasy-armed. “Oh, I’m just fiddling.”

“Any chance she’ll be running for my birthday?”

He grins at me. “We’ll see.”

My birthday’s not until January. I do hope for the car.

“What are you thinking of doing for your sweet sixteen, anyway?” He wipes his hands with a rag.

“Dunno.”

“But I assume Jewel will be included?”

Smooth, Dad. “I have no idea.”

“What about that Simon? Did you have a good time?”

“He’s … fun.”

“Seemed like a jock.”

“Dad, that’s such an old-fashioned word.”

“So he’s not a football player?”

“He’s more than that. He’s into octopi. He volunteers at the aquarium.”

Dad nods. “Interesting.”

“Yep.”

“But he’s not an artist?”

“So? All my friends don’t need to be artists.”

“Of course not. But I never thought you’d fall for some jock.”

I roll my eyes at him.

Mom finds me in the driveway. “Let’s go shopping.”

“Okay. What are you looking for?”

“Not for me. For you. You could use some new clothes.”

Maybe she wants to bond.

“I saw cute skirts at the mall the other day.” My mom walks the mall during the day sometimes, for exercise.

“You think I should be wearing skirts? No one wears skirts to school.” Except Vanessa.

“You just looked so pretty in your costume. Why not get some new stuff?”

I did look good in the dress. More … grown-up.

I’m into this. Makeover.

  Only a few other people are shopping in this department, so I pretend it’s closed for me, because I’m a superstar.
If Jewel were here, if he were still my Jewel, we’d play out the whole scene. He’d be my paparazzo. Later, we’d laugh over the photos, but I’d keep one and hang it next to my Dove Girl.

As things are, my mom holds up a skinny navy skirt with something shiny—polished shells?—sewn near the bottom. “Cute,” I say.

It’s odd to discover that your mother is a better shopper than you are, when you’re the teenage girl, but it’s fine with me.

I go into the dressing room and put on the skirt. Mom grins when I step out. “Oh, Alice,” she says. “This is how I picture you.”

It feels good to have my mom think I look pretty. “I like it.”

I feel like I’m playing dress-up, though. I would never choose this for myself. I’m not sure why Mom pictures me like this.

“I’m going to look around some more,” I say.

When I have my jeans back on, I poke among the racks. Mom is over by the accessories.

I like the salesgirl’s denim miniskirt. She shows me where it is on the rack and I try it on.

This I love. I look my age, yet more put together. And my legs look good. I go out to find Mom.

I think I might actually be beaming.

“Honey! That’s even better.”

“You like?”

“I like how confident you look in it. Just like you did
last night.” She brushes the hair from my face. “Like I haven’t seen you look in a long time.”

So she has been noticing me. My feeling weird has shown, even before anything happened or changed between me and Jewel. I haven’t been confident. She’s right. “Thanks, Mom,” I say, and not just for liking the skirt. For finally bringing this up.

I change again and meet Mom at the register. She’s holding clingy V-necks in a rainbow of colors. “Those fit tight,” I tell her.

“They’re sophisticated. Not just plain cotton.”

Okay. If my mom wants me to show off my chest, I guess that’s all the go-for-it I need. I do have something to show off.

I notice a rack that I don’t want to explore with my mother: lingerie. There are even some neon novelty condoms on a little spinner.

Just then someone behind me says, “Alice!”

I turn; it’s Mandy. “Hi!” She looks happy to see me.

“Mom, this is Mandy Walker.”

They say hello. Mandy says, “What are you getting?”

I show her the skirt and the three V-necks I’m choosing: light blue, red, and black.

“Cute!” she says. “I want to look for some new jeans.”

Mom finishes paying for my stuff, takes the bag, and puts her hand on my shoulder. “I’ll leave you girls to it! Meet you at the car in an hour?”

She rushes off before I can protest.

“Cool,” Mandy says. “I so need a second opinion.”

I show her some jeans that I thought looked good. Of course they fit her perfectly.