The Me You See

by Stevens, Shay Ray

  A few weeks later, while hanging out with the only group I’d found to identify with, I said, “So. This Stefia girl.”

  The other girls looked at me.

  “What about her?” asked Charlene.

  “What’s her story?” I asked.

  “What do you mean? She ain’t got a story. She’s just…Stefia.”

  “Everyone has a story,” I said. “Everyone has some dirt.”

  “Not Stefia,” Charlene said. “She’s just Stefia. She’s always been Stefia. Parents had a little trouble beginning of this year…I think her mom walked out and left her dad but no one knows where she went. Hasn’t seemed to trouble Stefia much. She lets most everything roll right off her back.”

  “She’s an actress,” another gal named Miggy said. “She got in with that theater on the edge of town and I guess she’s pretty good.”

  “Does she act here at school?” I asked, marveling at the thought that a fourteen-year-old girl would be such an asset in community theater.

  “We don’t do much theater here until high school,” said Charlene. “Don’t have anyone to run the program. Lots of interest, but no one to hold it together.”

  “Well, regardless of what her story is…all I can say is her dad is pretty effin’ hot. Bummer that her mom left, she must not have eyes in her head to see what was in front of her.”

  They looked at me like I had ten fingers coming out of my nose.

  “Stefia’s dad?” Miggy said. “Oh my god!”

  “Oh, come on,” I said. “He’s hot! Tall? Dark hair cut super short? Just enough scruff on his face? Looks killer in a pair of sunglasses…”

  Miggy snorted from where she sat cross-legged in the grass.

  “Stefia’s dad? He’s not tall. Or dark-haired. And he’s definitely not cute. Sunglasses or not.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “I used to hang out with Stefia in third grade,” Miggy said. “Her dad is about five foot ten on a good day and he’s a ginger.”

  “Maybe it was an uncle?” I muttered to myself.

  “Who was an uncle?” Miggy said.

  “I just saw her getting picked up the other day after school and the guy who was driving was drop dead gorgeous. Just assumed it was her dad and figured that’s why she is the way she is. You know, gorgeous and all? My bad, I guess.”

  I finished my cigarette and locked my mind around discovering who the gorgeous older guy was that Stefia got to ride around with.

  As luck would have it, three days later, I was staked out in my hiding spot and the olive green Cutlass pulled up again. I snuck another peek at the guy and thought, man. How come freshman guys can’t look like that? Shit, I didn’t even know many seniors who looked that good.

  I took my phone out of my pocket and zoomed in to get a real good look at this guy. If I took a picture, I could show the girls and they could tell me who it was. Everyone in small town Minnesota knows everyone else, right? I needed to know who this guy was.

  As I zoomed in more and waited for the focus to sharpen, the gorgeous guy leaned over to Stefia to say something.

  Focusing…focusing…

  Then, I kid you not, after he scanned the parking lot to make sure it was empty, he leaned over further…and kissed Stefia.

  On the lips.

  I just about dropped my phone. And I forgot all about taking a picture.

  Okay. Not her dad. And not her uncle.

  Well, hopefully not.

  **

  A week or so later, I watched over Stefia’s shoulder as she concentrated on making a precise incision into the pig fetus our group was dissecting in Biology for our year end project.

  “Stefia,” I said quietly, over her shoulder. “Do you walk home?”

  “Usually,” she said, not looking up.

  “What do you do when it rains?”

  “I get a ride.”

  “From who?” I asked. “Your dad?”

  “God, no,” she said, setting down one scalpel and picking up another. “My dad works an hour and a half away and doesn’t get home until, like, 7:30. He’s not around to give me a ride.”

  “Who gives you a ride?”

  “Why?” she asked. “Do you need a ride after school?”

  “Nope.”

  She set her knife down and turned over her shoulder to look at me.

  “So why were you asking?”

  “Just curious,” I lied. “Thought I saw you yesterday walking by my house after school, but it must have been someone else.”

  “Well, it definitely wasn’t me yesterday,” she said, turning back to the pig fetus on the table. “Yesterday, I got a ride.”

  “That’s weird,” I said, walking around the table to look directly at her.

  “Why?”

  “Because it didn’t rain yesterday.”

  She stared at the table, scalpel in hand, and slowly exhaled through her nose with more force than should have been necessary. Then she looked up at me with an icy glare. Her silence told me I was asking about things I should have known to leave alone.

  It was then, the second week from the end of 9th grade that I decided Perfect Perky Princess Stefia might have been holing up a whole lot of stuff.

  And it was then, the second week from the end of 9th grade that Stefia had figured out that I knew.

  **

  Later that Saturday night, I took my marbled nails, skinny jeans, and almost see through concert tee to Jimmy’s party, fully prepared to have an amazing time. Jimmy said he was going to have a case of birthday cake vodka in honor of turning eighteen and said he’d save a special shot for me.

  “Raynee!” everyone howled when I walked in. It was nice to be liked. It was nice to be the life of the party. It was nice to be the fun girl. I grabbed a beer and headed out to the balcony where Jimmy was sitting on the ledge waiting for me.

  “Happy Birthday,” I said, winding my arms around his waist. We were not dating. But he was hot and we were both there which was sometimes all that mattered.

  “I’ve got something for you,” he said, holding up the shot glass.

  “I’ve got something better for you…” I said, locking my lips on his face and playfully running my fingertips over the front of his jeans.

  “Okay,” he said. I led him into the nearest room and closed the door.

  Five minutes later I walked into the hallway, smoothing my hair in a pathetic attempt to look innocent as I rejoined the crowd. But the balcony was empty and quite a commotion had stirred up below in Jimmy’s huge entry way.

  “Jimmy, come out here!” I called, and then we quickly made our way down the stairs to where a small crowd had gathered.

  I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t fucking believe it.

  Stefia had come to the party.

  No one else could believe it either. Some people were so in shock they didn’t know what to say, others fell all over themselves trying to be the first to bring a her a Solo cup of beer.

  Like a goddamn celebrity.

  I moved over to where a makeshift bar had been set up, with bottles of just about everything you could think of, and downed two shots of birthday cake vodka.

  “Hey! Stefia!” I yelled, waving her over. “Come here!”

  I smiled. I waved.

  But she wouldn’t come over.

  I strained my ears to hear her conversation as she mingled, catching pieces of anyone seen Gabriella and planning to skip town and I need to talk to her as she moved through the crowd.

  Most people ignored her questions and instead offered her a beer. She always refused.

  Bitch.

  She was deep in conversation with some girl when I stumbled on purpose in between them and spilled a whole Jagbomb all over the front of Stefia’s shirt.

  “Oh, god! I’m sorry!” I said. “I didn’t mean to…”

  Someone immediately brought Stefia a towel which she used to mop at her shirt.

  “Gosh, Stefia,” I said, again. “I’m really
, really sorry…”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” she said with a fake smile. “Well played, Raynee. Well played.”

  “Too afraid to come over to our badass bar?” I said. “Can’t even take a shot with us?”

  Stefia glared at me.

  “Oh, that’s right,” I continued, talking to the party goers who had gathered around me. “Stefia’s too good for us. She’s too good to be in a high school play. Why are you even at this party, Stefia? Why don’t you go hang out with your adult friends?”

  Stefia didn’t say anything. She just let her eyes burn into the flesh of my face. Then she turned to walk away.

  But I wouldn’t stop.

  “Stefia!” I screamed at her. “Why are you here! You’re too good for us, remember? You’re too good to be badass!”

  I turned to my friends who all held up their shot glasses in a sort of victory cheer. I’d told off Princess Stefia.

  “Badass?” Stefia said quietly, as she slowly turned around. “Is that what you think this is?”

  She made a circle in front of her with her finger, indicating the people standing around us. And like always, the room got quiet. That always happened when Stefia spoke. It was as if the sound waves from her voice infected anyone within range with a sort of magic dust and they couldn’t not listen.

  “Shut up, Stefia. I don’t even want to hear you. Just shut up…”

  “Badass?” she repeated, this time not any louder but far more intense.

  “Are you deaf?” I asked. “Yeah, that’s what I said. Badass.”

  “You think badass is sitting at a party doing some shots?” she said.

  I shoved my shot glass at her face.

  “Ooo,” she said dryly. “Shots at a party. That’s pretty crazy.”

  And I don’t know what it was, but something inside told me I was about to see Stefia crack. From a stupid comment about taking a shot of birthday cake flavored vodka. And I couldn’t resist. I had to keep going. I had to keep pushing.

  “Come on, Stefia,” I said, soothingly. “Let’s be renegades together. Let’s be rebels. Take a shot with me. You know all the guys here would probably cream in their pants if they saw good little Stefia take a shot. Shit, maybe some of the girls, too…”

  “Renegade?” she repeated, adding a smirk of sarcasm. “Yeah, Raynee. You’re a total renegade. I mean, gosh, this is just an insane amount of rule breaking…”

  “Wait,” I mocked. “You’re right. Stupid shots at a high school party are lame. So very beneath you. What should we be doing, Stefia? What would make our party worth it for you?”

  “You don’t get it,” she said. “You think you’re doing something amazing by drinking at a party? Breaking rules about no drinking? What are you trying to prove, anyway?”

  “Should we get out the harder stuff?” I threatened.

  “Give me a break…”

  “Because we can,” I said, without skipping a beat. “It’s here. If you really want to be badass.”

  “What harder stuff are you referring to? I mean, are you thinking pot is going to elevate you to stardom…or are you going to try meth or heroin or what? I mean, what are you talking about?” Her voice was getting louder and more intense. “If you’re going to argue this with me, stop talking in riddles.”

  A bigger crowd had gathered to see what was going on. The murmurs through the people had changed from an excited oh my god, Stefia is here to holy shit, something is going to happen…

  “Maybe she could step into the rainbow room,” Jimmy offered from behind me, practically drooling at Stefia as he spoke to her. “Ever been to a rainbow party, Stefia baby? I know I’d like to slap some lipstick on you and see how…”

  “How what? How…good I am on my knees?” Stefia finished.

  I heard someone gasp. Someone actually gasped behind me. No one ever thought Princess Stefia would have a clue what a rainbow party was, let alone say something about being good on her knees.

  Wait. She had to be pretending. She was playing along. She was acting. Yes, of course. It was classic Stefia, the actress.

  “Good on your knees?” I laughed. “I bet the director of the next show at the Crystal Plains Theater will know how good you are on your knees.”

  Ah. Fighting words.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Stefia asked.

  “Give me a break,” I said, my courage bolstered by the last shot I’d taken. “Everyone knows how you get the roles at Crystal Plains.”

  “Really? And how is that?” Stefia egged me on.

  “Hey, Stefia,” I mocked. “Come here, you’ve got a little something on your chin, let me wipe that off…”

  “For real, Raynee?” she said. “What makes you think I have to…”

  “Drop the innocent act, bitch,” I said, rolling my eyes. “It doesn’t work for you. Just like most of the roles you get. They don’t really work for you. But I guess when you’re fucking the director, you end up with whatever role you want.”

  “Fuck you,” Stefia said.

  “I’m flattered,” I mocked, “but as far as I can tell, you and I getting together isn’t in your next script.”

  “Fuck you!”

  And that’s when it happened.

  Snap.

  Crackle

  Pop.

  Stefia flew at me, arms reaching, fingers spiked out like claws. She clutched at my neck and kept pushing on my throat until she’d knocked me through the crowd that had gathered and pinned me against a closet door.

  I knew she was mad. But I had no clue how strong she actually was. At first, I thought she’d crack but it would be no big deal to me. I thought she’d pin me to the wall, it would be a good show, people would be shocked, I’d push her off…and then it would over.

  But she wouldn’t let up. And she was way stronger than anyone would have guessed.

  “Stefia…stop…” I gasped, trying to peel her fingers off my neck.

  Why wasn’t anyone stopping her? Why wasn’t anyone pulling her off me? Why were they all just standing there watching?

  “Stefia, I can’t breathe…”

  “I have never slept with any director of any show!” she said, eyes fixed and steely.

  “Okay, Stefia…I can’t…”

  “Never!” She pushed harder at my neck and I could swear I heard something crack. “Do you hear me?”

  “Stefia, stop…” I was starting to black out. I was starting to…

  Stefia released her grip and I slid to the floor, gagging for air. She just stood there staring at me.

  And everyone else stared at Stefia.

  “You don’t know me,” she said. “You don’t know one fucking thing about me.”

  She turned to walk away but I coughed out more words.

  “That’s because you’re an act,” I spat, rubbing at my neck. “Every single thing about you is an act. How are we supposed to know who the fuck you really are?”

  Stefia turned back to glare at me, her eyes digging into mine, blazing their way through the flesh of my face. I felt like a suffocating pile of ashes.

  Stop looking at me, Stefia.

  Stop looking at me.

  She wouldn’t stop looking at me, so I closed my eyes. And then my lips spread into a warm and twisty smile.

  I’d seen Princess Stefia crack.

  **

  People think I’m nuts for going to her funeral. People think I shouldn’t be here because they know we didn’t get along. At all. But even after that night at the party when she sent me collapsing into a heap on the floor, I’ve always kept in the back of my mind the belief that if Stefia could have been more honest, she and I would have been much better friends. Because I totally get being kissed by an older man who shouldn’t be kissing you.

  We could have been friends. Or at least we could have helped each other out.

  See, Stefia wasn’t just an actress on stage, she was an actress in every aspect of her life. But it doesn’t matter now. You see, there’s no prete
nding anymore. Show is over.

  Everybody go home.

  -Elliot-

  Elliot! Run with me!

  I can still see her, nine-years-old, racing down the dark driveway with a lit sparkler in both hands. It was almost midnight and she was still in her swimsuit and a pair of pink denim shorts.

  I remember that 4th of July. Our parents had spent the afternoon laughing, eating, and drinking around the campfire. By the time the sun went down, they were only giving us kids half a glance worth of attention.

  Elliot! Come on!

  Looking back to even my earliest memories, there are always pieces of Stefia that flit across my mind. Her parents and my parents were best friends—our mothers delivered us only two weeks apart—so she and I spent our childhood together. I imagine we started out toddling around in the front yard of one house or the other while our mothers sipped cocktails and complained about the woes of parenthood. Then we grew up and in elementary school attacked the county fair, sped bikes down the alleys in town, waded out way too far in the river, and spent hours slipping down the twisty slide on my tree fort. Such was life when your parents were always together and you looked for ways to waste the day.

  We were happily inseparable.

  Elliot! Come in, the water is so warm!

  I taught her how to bait a hook. She taught me how to skip a rock even if it wasn’t flat on one side.

  No, Elliot. Hold it like this. Now snap your wrist…

  I guess you could say she was like the sister I never had. Stefia’s own sister, Gabriella, was kind of a princess and Naomi spent most of her time playing Pokémon with my brothers Mitch and Michael. But Stefia and I, man…we were going to conquer the world.

  Bring that board over here. It will work better for the front of the raft…

  I won’t lie. I kind of liked pretending she was my sister. Well, at least in the beginning.

  **

  One night, as I was distracted by what video games to add to the wish list for my upcoming birthday, my mom cleared her throat halfway through dinner and announced that Stefia’s parents had split up. Then, without another thought, she asked me to pass the milk.