by Shen, L. J.
I feel invisible. I always feel invisible. As though I blend in with the walls, and furniture, and the clear glass bowl on the counter where my parents keep apples shined by our housekeeper. Apples that I keep finding under my bed, in my backpack, in my shoes. Apples that invade my space, my room, my soul.
By the time Friday rolls around, I’m on edge. All Saints has a football game against Westmount, and we win but not by much. Blythe, who is a flyer and needs to be extra focused, is having a meltdown in the locker room but refuses to tell anyone what it’s about. Esme does her makeup in front of the mirror, and mumbles, “Bitch is probably pregnant with that hood rat’s baby.”
I excuse myself and go throw up in one of the toilet stalls.
“Maybe Dar is preggers, too!” Blythe cries from the bathroom stall next to mine. When I walk out, Esme approaches me and cocks her head with a tsk.
“You look seriously bad, sweetie. Maybe you should sit this one out.”
Maybe you should die.
High school is an aquarium full of sharks. People are always broiling with the need to burst free. Only the strong survive.
On Saturday, we decide to crash a music festival in the desert.
I braid my hair and put flowers and golden stars in it, slipping into a pair of teeny-tiny white Daisy Dukes and a white crocheted bikini top. I tie a flannel shirt around my waist and finish the look with cute gray boots.
When I leave, my entire family and Penn are sitting at the breakfast table, shoving carb-ridden pancakes into their mouths.
“The only place you should be going wearing shorts that short is the OB-GYN for a checkup.” My dad doesn’t even lift his eyes from The New York Times. “Change.”
“Daddy!” I exclaim. “The Lonely Man is like Coachella on steroids. I can’t show up looking like a nun.”
“If you want to show up at all, you’ll put some clothes on,” he repeats.
I shove the Daisy Dukes into my backpack and change to boyfriend jeans, then run out the door and jump into Alisha’s orange Corvette.
Esme and Blythe are retouching their makeup in the back seat.
“The guys are already there. Gus is apparently trashed, and Knight took off with a reality TV star.” Alisha laughs, sliding her sunglasses on.
“I hate guys.” I sigh.
And this brings me to my original point. I really, truly hate guys. Which is why that thing with Principal Prichard worked so well for me until Penn walked into my life and messed it up. People never bother to hit on me because no one wants to compete with the goddamn principal. What they don’t know is that what Prichard and I have is different. Unconventional. But by blocking their way from asking me out and trying to hook up with me, I’m guarding my heart. It’s not that I’m scared of having my heart broken. It’s that I don’t think any boy can truly like me. If my own parents barely tolerate me, then how can I expect a dude to fall in love with me for who I am?
That makes Penn a safe bet. I don’t need to impress him because I know he already hates me. Plus, we have to keep this a secret. Whatever we have, it doesn’t have a pulse, and a life, and a body. There isn’t a beat or a rhythm to our forbidden encounters. They come and go. Like a flash in the dark.
Yeah, Penn is a safe bet. Other than the fact that everything about him feels dangerous to the core.
“Earth to Daria.” Alisha snaps her glittery fingernails in my face when we arrive. We pour out of the car and go in. It’s jam-packed at ten in the morning, so we meet the football team near the stage on dead grass, kicking beer cans out of our paths. Gus is wearing a deep-cut white muscle shirt, slamming his body against others in the mosh pit with a beer in his hand. Knight is nowhere to be seen—probably still with his hookup—and Colin and Will are dragging us by the arm to dance. I go through the motions the entire day, trying to pretend I belong in my own crowd. Feigning happiness is even more depressing than just being your gloomy self. Tears burn my eyeballs the whole time I’m dancing. By the time the sun sets, I feel so empty from all the partying I’m surprised the wind doesn’t blow me over to the other side of the state. Since I’m the designated sober driver, I slip into the driver’s seat of Alisha’s car and start it.
“Who am I dropping home first?”
“Home?” Esme laughs from the back seat, reapplying her gloss. “Followhill, stop being one hundred years old! Let’s go to Lenny’s.”
Lenny’s is a famous diner in San Diego. We usually go there after long nights out because it’s open twenty-four hours, and it’s more upmarket than IHOP. Blythe, Esme, and Alisha will never admit it, but they also like it because it’s a great spot to pick up bikers, pretty fitness instructors on their way to make it big in LA, and other types of handsome, rugged men their parents would never let them hang out with otherwise. Consequently, I hate Lenny’s. I always end up sitting in a red vinyl booth, drowning french fries in different sauces as I wait for my friends to come back from their hookups. I pretend to text Principal Prichard when I see them through the windows coming back and adjusting their skirts.
“Are you sure that’s exactly what your ass needs right now? Fried food?” I’m officially turning into Esme. I’m fat-shaming people to get off the hook.
Alisha snickers beside me, gulping a bottle of Smartwater.
“Life’s too short not to eat greasy food, then starve yourself for a week. Just drive to Lenny’s, Dar. The guys are already on their way.”
As soon as I set foot in Lenny’s, I know I’ve stepped onto a minefield.
It looks like your typical American diner: black and white checked floors, red and white vinyl booths, jukeboxes on every table, and walls crammed with pictures of the owner—you guessed it, Lenny—hugging legendary athletes and local celebrities. The menu flashes in pink and green neon letters above the silver bar. Packed, noisy, and carrying the mouthwatering scent of deep-fried onions and burgers, this place is heaven for our semi-drunken asses. We slip into the guys’ booth, but I can’t shake off the feeling that something terrible is about to happen.
Everyone orders a milkshake. Knight’s hair is so tousled and his lips are so puffy it looks like a bear has assaulted him. Guys are so weird. They can love a girl to death but still mess with other people. The guys order an obscene amount of food. The girls get Cobb salads and french fries. I decide to stick to my vanilla and chocolate milkshake and grin when I think about what Penn would make of it if he saw my choice. Is it akin to ice cream? I would ask Mel if we were still on speaking terms.
Gus makes a police siren noise, sprinkling it with a burp.
“Yo. Loser alert at three o’clock.”
We all twist our heads to the side and see the Las Juntas football crowd sitting in a booth opposite to ours. The only people I recognize are the big quarterback who seems tight with Penn, the handsome African-American dude with the Mohawk, and, of course, my housemate.
Penn is wearing a black shirt with a hole where the heart is and unintentionally baggy Levi’s that’re worn to death. His wallet chain is intact, and he is munching on an unlit cigarette he is never going to smoke. I know he quit; I overheard him telling Melody, who bought him patches and a book the size of my head called How to Quit Smoking—and he is talking to the waitress who is taking their order.
Her name tag says Adriana.
Adriana. Wasn’t that the name of his so-called girlfriend, whose existence I’m trying to suppress?
“Are they still bitter about the loss?” Esme cackles, slurping her milkshake. Blythe is scrolling through the Instagram page of the Italian artist Vaughn went to over the summer, and I know why. There’s a picture of Vaughn on there, sculpting. Vaughn doesn’t have any other social media accounts and never will.
“Dunno, don’t care.” Gus snorts, and I know my instincts about the minefield were right. I don’t want another altercation with Penn. A sad, distant status quo is better than igniting his hatred toward me. His flames of loathing eat at everything in my vicinity once they’re directed at me.
“Scully seems over it. They don’t call it the cave of wonders for nothing.” Esme raises her phone and snaps a picture of Penn and Adriana laughing as she stands over him with the notepad.
“Here, Blythe. I’m sending you a souvenir to the fact that you’re pathetic.” Esme laughs. “Are you still maybe pregnant?”
“Shut up, bitch.”
Blythe goes eerily white. Marx, please don’t let her be pregnant. It’s like an ice pick in my chest, digging deep.
“Don’t be sad, girl. You’ll probably get a round on this stallion when he cleans your pool in oh, about five years or so.” Alisha yawns, examining her pink-tipped fingernails.
Gus slurps his milkshake extra noisily.
“What does Blythe have to do with Scully?”
Blythe flips her hair and pretends to laugh. I can see how badly she wants to cry, and it almost makes me feel sorry for her.
“I may have taken him home after the fight. He was the next best thing after Vaughn.”
The next best thing.
Gus throws his head back and hoots, slapping the table.
“Penn Scully and Adriana are, like, damn serious. The golden couple of Las Juntas. Have been for about two years. Dude. They have a fucking baby together. Congrats, B. You were officially the other woman for half a minute.”
Have a baby together.
I choke on my milkshake, spitting some of it back into the straw when no one’s looking. Gus delivers the news with such casual confidence, and I know he truly believes every word. I look back at Penn and the waitress again. Leaning on his table, she whispers something into his ear, and he lifts his thumb and chucks her nose playfully. He hasn’t noticed me—or if he has, he hasn’t made eye contact yet—but it’s too late to play nice. The Hulk inside me is growing by the nanosecond, and I know I’m about to burst.
He kissed me.
He touched me.
He took a shower with me.
I saw his dick. With my own eyes. My thigh even gave it a handshake.
So many things a guy with a girlfriend and a baby shouldn’t do.
I glance at them again, and Adriana looks left and right, before settling in Penn’s lap. She has long, shiny, straight black hair and big blue eyes. She looks exotic, her skin deeply tanned like honey. Maybe we’re the same age, but I get a feeling she is just…more. The Hulk pierces through my ribs and stretches his fist across my chest. I’m so jealous I can’t breathe. Looking away is a herculean task, but I manage. Somehow.
Gus drums the table and howls like a dog. “Yo, Addy,” he yells.
Addy? He knows this bitch?
“Are you gonna make another baby with this loser in the middle of the diner, or are you gonna give us our food? No jizz in my burger, please. There’s enough protein in the meat.”
Everyone at our table laughs, and my gaze locks with Penn’s. Adriana looks back and forth between us, and something floats over her face. A dark something I know all too well.
You have it, too. A Hulk of your own.
“Who is she?” I read her lips as she ducks her head down to Penn, frowning.
“No one.” I read his lips as he tucks a hair behind her ear. “Just a chick from ASH.”
There’s a stiff ball inside my throat, and I think it might be my heart.
Adriana stands up, flipping Gus the finger. They obviously know each other. Maybe the jocks frequent this place more than we do. I look away before I cry. I was so focused on Penn’s hatred of me that I forgot I hate him, too.
“So, Daria, how’s Prichard?” Knight asks, loud and clear, throwing extra swagger into his cocky smile. It takes me one second, in which his eyes swiftly dart to Penn, then land back on mine, before I understand what he is doing. Getting back at my housemate for me. Saving my honor.
Do I really look like I need this win?
“A lady doesn’t tell,” I purr, flashing a smile and tossing back my flowered hair.
“I’d tap it.” Blythe points at me with her straw, then sucks on its bottom tip. It is clear she has a dog in this fight. She needs to show that she gives no damns about him either.
“I mean Prichard. Not you.”
“Right?” I laugh. “I love that he’s a real man. Not some boy with a chip on his shoulder.”
I wonder if you can rot from within while still being alive. I’m pretty sure if they open me up now, all they’ll see is green goo that the Hulk has left in its wake.
A girlfriend. Penn Scully has a girlfriend. And a baby.
He is such a filthy cheater.
Adriana sways her curvy hips to our table with two trays full of food. She starts distributing them, a chirp in her voice. “Cheeseburger with avocado and blue cheese?”
Colin raises his hand.
“Prime hot meat with extra spicy sauce?”
“You can just call me Knight, baby.” Cole takes the hot plate from her and winks.
She actually blushes. Maybe she cheats on Scully, too. Too bad Jerry Springer retired. They’d make perfect guests.
“Are you waiting for anything, sweetie?” She pops her gum in my general direction.
I flash a syrupy smile, crossing my arms on my chest.
Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it.
“Just for you to take your trailer park ass away from me before I catch a disease.”
Everyone sucks in a collective breath, and the room goes silent. So silent. Too silent. I’m panicking, but no one can see that. I’m still smirking. Knight places his hand on my shoulder as everyone starts glancing at each other, absorbing my words.
“Excuse me?” Adriana’s voice prickles. Her pupils are so big I can see myself in them.
“You heard me. I’m not interested in eating somewhere the waitress is parking her ass on customers. I think you got it all mixed up. This is not your night shift at your local strip club, sweetie.”
“Burn!” Colin cups his mouth with his fist and coughs.
“Daria,” Knight warns. Normally, he’d drag my ass out and give me a piece of his mind. Not today. He and I both know he can’t be that much of a hypocrite. If he saw someone hitting on Luna, he would rip them to shreds and dump whatever’s left of them on the side of the road. I’ve seen him screw people up for less than looking at her. The only problem is, Penn is not my Luna. We don’t have some long, elaborate, angsty childhood friendship that’s dancing on the edge of more.
“Get the hell out of here.” Adriana bares her teeth, and they are white, pearly, and a tad smaller than most people’s. An imperfection I’m sure he admires. She is no longer chewing her gum. It’s just hanging there, stuck to her bottom teeth. I yawn provocatively, staying put. Everyone is salivating over our exchange. Everyone other than her boyfriend, who just stares at me from across the diner with murder in his eyes.
Busted, jerk. I would tell her how good her boyfriend’s tongue felt in my mouth if I didn’t have my reputation to keep.
“I’m a paying customer. You’re a cum dumpster. Who do you think should leave again?” I flip my hair.
She lifts her arm to take a swing at me. I think this will be the day I finally get slapped for being a bitch. But before she can follow through, Penn is standing behind her, holding her wrist in his hand. He lowers it slowly, his eyes hard on mine.
“Get your ass out of the booth, Followhill.” He flips the menu on my cell phone, which I’m pretending to study with interest.
“Sorry, I don’t take orders from lowlifes.” I suck the milkshake out of my straw, batting my eyelashes. My nose is probably red from the sun, and my hair is wild and wavy from the braid I had today. His pupils dilate when he sees my messy, disheveled version.
Penn grabs me by the elbow and hauls me out of the booth. My skin rubs against the vinyl and creates a funny noise that makes me even angrier.
I shake him off. “I don’t want to talk to you.” I’d spit in his face, but I don’t want to make a scene.
“Should have thought of that before you acte
d like a brat. Whoever follows us gets punched in the face. Guys. Girls. Wildlife. Don’t fucking care.” He hoists me over one shoulder and carries me out.
“Penn! Wait!” Adriana lets out a shriek.
I lift my head from his triangle back and watch Adriana jogging behind us before stopping, like she knows she shouldn’t. Gus and Colin stand to interfere, but Knight yanks them both down by the back of their collars. “Sit.”
“Are they, like, happening?” Esme whisper-shouts, her mouth agape.
Knight snorts and throws a french fry at her. “Nah. Just an old childhood beef.”
He doesn’t know anything—he is just covering for me—but he nailed it.
Penn throws the door to the diner open and stalks me into the alleyway behind it, sandwiched between an auto shop and Lenny’s. He puts me down and takes a step back, like he, too, can’t control himself. I lean against a huge Smock Test sign with coffee stains all over it and fold my arms.
He paces back and forth, waiting for me to say something. But I shouldn’t be the one explaining myself.
“You need to apologize to Adriana,” he clips.
“You need to apologize to me,” I say, still tucked firmly in the role of the cold-ass bitch. “You put your hands on me when you had a girlfriend. I’m not that kind of girl.”
“You’re definitely that kind of girl.” He stops, staring at me through hooded eyes. A vicious smirk twists his lips as he sticks it to me.
“You’re the type of girl who would fuck a married man without batting an eyelash just to prove she can. You let me put my hands and tongue on you, already knowing that I have a girlfriend, so don’t play the fucking saint.”
For the first time since I learned how to talk, I’m at a loss for words. I know he actually believes that. He would always think the worst of me. He is slowly morphing into my mother, losing faith in me, too.