My Invented Life

by Lauren Bjorkman

  I roll off my quilt and bury the remains of Bryan in a brown paper bag at the bottom of my wastebasket. The quantity of broken glass in my life keeps mounting. I wonder what Sierra would make of it.

  After dinner I attempt oblivion through chemistry homework. Minutes later, I hurl the offending textbook across the room. My computer signals an e-chat in progress. Tempting, but I must decide something first. I prop my elbows on either side of the keyboard and stare at the blackness outside. To be or not to be (a lesbian)—that is the question. Translation? Even occasional acts of insanity require preplanning.

  Mom says to create a list of pros and cons when making a difficult decision. I bet she’s never imagined one like this.

  THE PROS AND CONS OF COMING OUT

  Con: potential razzing by classmates

  Pro: paving the road for others

  Con: no new boyfriends

  Pro: revenge against previous obnoxious boyfriends

  Con: lying

  Pro: opportunity to hone acting skills

  Con: Eva furious at first

  Pro: will show Eva the way (if she is a lesbian)

  I’m an intuitive person, a person ruled by my heart. And at this precise moment my heart churns with resentment. Eva has Bryan wrapped around her petite little finger. Sapphire will give her the lead in the play. Eva will cut me out of her life forever; when I visit her on her deathbed, she’ll refuse to see me. Her condescending dare this afternoon grates against my one last nerve. I know this is the right moment to press my impulse-control button, but I can never find it when an impulse has me in its grip.

  I ball up the list and toss it into my wastebasket. It hits the inner rim and bounces out, an omen I choose to ignore. I log on to the chat. Eva is there.

  Isis (me): just so u heard it from me 1st, i have a grrlfriend

  Not the full coming-out I planned, but oh well. The cursor blinks as the stunned theater geeks take in the news. I’m about to exit when a reply pops onto the screen.

  D-Dark-O (Nico): cool

  And more follow.

  DulceD (Carmen): go for it

  SkateGod (Bryan): got a webcam?

  The worm!

  ItGirl (Eyeliner Andie): grrl from YBH?

  Eyeliner Andie usually lurks in the background during chats. I’m flattered to hear from her.

  Isis to SkateGod: i don’t believe in webcams

  Isis to ItGirl: UCDavis freshgrrl, ttfn

  After exiting, I don a sexy nightgown from Victoria’s Secret and throw on a Fountains of Wayne CD. Dancing calms me. Besides, it’s almost impossible to bite your nails while doing the pogo. I picture P. Tom at my window and wonder why the poor guy doesn’t hitch south to Los Angeles where he’d be better rewarded for his efforts. Our town motto reads: Orchards, orchards everywhere, dropping rotten fruit.

  When Chris Collingwood belts out “Stacy’s mom has got it goin’ on,” I turn up the volume. You can write a song about lusting after your girlfriend’s mother. My imaginary grrlfriend at UCD is small potatoes by comparison. When the song is over, I surf the Web to research my role tomorrow. Yes, I’ve watched Ellen reruns and seen Melissa Etheridge on the music video channel, but they’re middle-aged lesbians. I need to know how young, hip lesbians dress. While I get nowhere on fashion, Eva IMs me.

  Her: what the hell r u doing?

  Me: accepting your dare. *thumb on nose and fingers wiggling*

  Chapter

  7

  At four in the morning, the cockroaches and I are awake. The cockroaches, btw, are having more fun. When the sky lightens to pale gray, I revive myself with minty toothpaste and a pathetic fantasy. After my heroic coming-out, Eva sees that the whole enchilada is no big deal. She breaks up with Bryan and tells the world that she’s the lesbian. For the encore—Bryan serenades me with a ballad he wrote in my honor, begging to be my boyfriend.

  Today the curtain will go up on my play, The Lesbian of Yolo Bluffs High. Time to resurrect the floral miniskirt and velvet leggings I rejected on Monday. I can be a femme lesbian, at least. Except for the hair. The hours before an opening are always the hardest. Maybe I should invent a new nervous mannerism—a sexy one for a change—like running one finger under my bra strap or licking my lips. Just kidding. Or not. I shake my bosoms at the mirror. I don’t like the way they jiggle back at me.

  Things get worse. At school someone has scrawled ROZ IZ A LEZ across the front of my locker in dark plum lipstick. Gossip—defying the laws of physics—travels faster than the speed of light. People look at me as if I made a full-blown announcement over the PA rather than a quasi announcement in a locked chat room.

  Then things get better. The grind of skateboard wheels on pavement alerts me to Bryan’s approach. He slaps my backside in a flirty way as he passes.

  “You’re still cute, queer,” he says. A bluebird of happiness rises in my chest. Bryan Fantasy Land is open for business as usual.

  Some things remain the same, only more so. When I plunk down in the seat next to Carmen, she cringes like I’m a half-eaten mole Marshmallow dragged in and plague-infested fleas are about to spring on her.

  “You told me to go for it,” I say, patting her arm.

  “Unhand me, you uncouth maid,” she says.

  RoZ haZ cootieZ.

  When the lunch minute rolls around, I fly down Main Drag Street on my scooter, painting a trail of chrome across the storefront windows. At VideoCorral I ask the twenty-something employee to suggest a lesbian film. I refrain from adding a stupid remark like, “It’s for a friend.” She scrapes her teeth across her tongue stud while she thinks. Only good recommendations will come out of a mouth like that. She pulls down Better Than Chocolate.

  I tuck the DVD safely in my bag and roll over to visit Zip-Stop Jenny, a convenience store owner and overt lesbian. We happen to be on a first-name basis because of Mom’s moratorium on junk food in the house. I grab some chips from the rack and pour myself a cup of gnarly coffee. I scrutinize Jenny with new eyes while I pay.

  “Any gum-buying, Birkenstock-wearing customers lately?” I ask. “P. Tom must have to stock up now and then.”

  “Just you Peterson girls buy Juicy Fruit these days,” she says. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Learned any ‘juicy’ secrets about your neighbors?”

  I raise my foot to show off my stylish winter boots. “These feet have never touched Birkenstocks,” I say.

  Jenny leans toward me and waves a hand over my head. “You are one of us, now,” she whispers. “We meet after midnight at the stone circle.”

  Another mythical incident in my invented life.

  I wish someone would invite me into a secret lesbian club. When I show Jenny my winter boots, she leans in and lowers her voice.

  “The Peeping Tom hit Harrison’s place. He must’ve gotten pretty bored watching reruns of old game shows.” Lesbians like to gossip as much as everyone else. Big surprise.

  Fifteen minutes into fifth period—it’s not my fault the lunch minute passes too quickly—I skirt the soccer field, where Jonathan cuts a sad figure on the damp grass. He looks like a well-dressed version of the Thinker. I veer from the path and drop down next to him.

  “Hi,” I say.

  He scoots away from me like I’m depleted uranium.

  “My father was no prostitute,” I say.

  He cleans his fingernails with the blade of a small pocketknife.

  I bottom crawl two yards in his direction. “Did you do theater at your high school in Bakersfield?”

  He stabs the blade in the grass between us. “I told you to stay away,” he says.

  Coming from him, the gesture doesn’t seem particularly threatening. I take some nail polish from my bag and touch up a few chips to prove that I’m not the backing-down type. As I blow on my fingertips, BlueDragon ambles over, wagging both head and tail. A gentle elbow to the ribs keeps him from jumping into my lap. Jonathan scowls at me. Obviously he’s never experienced the trauma of dog hair in wet nail polish. Wh
en BlueDragon curls up next to Jonathan, I leave.

  I dash over to the theater after my last class. Still no playbill, but there’s a note tacked to the Barn door:

  Greetings, aspiring thespians,

  I will post roles tomorrow morning.

  First rehearsal tomorrow after school.

  Thank you for your patience,

  Sapphire

  P.S. Carmen and Roz, please come see me today

  at 3:30.

  I look at my watch. That’s in five minutes. Bryan skids to a stop behind me and props his skateboard against the wall. I ignore him until he grabs me around the waist and lifts me off the ground. “You don’t like boys anymore, huh?” he breathes into my ear.

  “I didn’t say that.” We stare at each other.

  His eyes are a little too close together for perfection, but who cares? It gives his face character. And it won’t interfere with his future as an underwear model. Before anything happens Oak-Tree Nico, Eyeliner Andie, and another girl who acts like Mandy Moore come around the corner. Bryan puts me down—the wimp.

  Mandy Wannabe comes right up to me and pumps my hand. “It’s so cool that you’re, you know, out in the open,” she says.

  “There’s plenty more where I came from,” I say, launching my program to eradicate ignorance. “Ten percent of people are GLBT.”

  “Geebee what?”

  “Gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender,” I say.

  Mandy Wannabe lets go of my hand. “Whatever.”

  Eyeliner Andie has her arms twined around Nico’s waist in a girlfriendy sort of way. This casts some doubt on her alleged lesbian status.

  Bryan points his chin at Sapphire’s note. “What’s that all about?”

  I shrug. “I guess I’ll go in and find out.”

  Sapphire is at her desk munching on a Greek sandwich, two braids coiled into buns over her ears. I leave the door open like she tells me to. “What’s up?”

  “We’ll see. Carmen requested a meeting.”

  Just then Ms. Strumpet herself strolls in wearing a skintight top zipped low to reveal cleavage, a miracle of Wonderbra enhancement. I run my palm across my hair spikes.

  Sapphire throws her gyro wrapper into the waste bin. “Sit down, girls,” she says with unfamiliar gravity.

  “I came to rectify an iniquitous injustice,” Carmen huffs.

  “Come again?” Sapphire says.

  “The audition wasn’t fair because someone,” Carmen rolls her eyes in my direction when she says this, “messed with my script. I demand a second chance to read for Rosalind.”

  So. Despite their fight, Eva told Carmen about Sapphire’s phone call. The room fades to gray and breaks into dots. I’m hyperventilating again. I hold my breath until the world bursts into color.

  “You’re right, Carmen,” Sapphire says. “And though Roz read beautifully, I have no choice but to give you the role. You’re prettier than her. Petite, too.”

  Welcome to Roz Nightmare Land.

  Fortunately, nothing of the kind happens. Sapphire lets Carmen finish her screed on fairness—which goes on far too long, if you ask me—before saying a word.

  “You read well, Carmen,” she says at last. “Very well. But Roz has blossomed this year. I want to give her a chance this time.”

  Carmen jumps out of her seat. “This is my last opportunity to be the lead. I’m a senior. Roz can try again next year.” She’s annoying, and not just because she can French-braid her own hair.

  “You can try again in college,” I say.

  “It wouldn’t be the same without Sapphire’s superb directing.”

  Unchin-snouted foot-licker. Sadly, Sapphire doesn’t approve of epithets. So although this one is brilliant, I keep it to myself.

  “Girls.” Sapphire stretches her arms wide. “You both have long and successful lives ahead of you. This is just one play out of many.”

  She is so wrong.

  Crocodile tears slide down Carmen’s cheeks. That girl will stop at nothing to win. Still, I can’t help but admire her skill.

  “It’s my mom,” she says. “She believes that cheerleading and drama are interfering with my schoolwork. She said that if I don’t get the lead, I have to drop out of the play.”

  Ouch. Poor Carmen. I mean it sincerely. I’d rather die a painful death than quit drama. If Mom made demands like that, I’d be forced to sneak around behind her back. More than I usually do.

  Sapphire hands Carmen a tissue. “You’ll get a good role in the play. I can talk to your mom, if you like. Tell her the play will be a flop without you.”

  “She’s not stupid. Just because she didn’t graduate from high school.”

  That’s weird. Carmen often brags about her mom’s meteoric rise in high tech. She emigrated from Mexico as a teenager and now works as a software engineer for a major computer company. She must be a poster child for night school.

  “We’ll think of something,” Sapphire says.

  When Eva the Diva comes home after cheerleading practice, I drag her into my room before she can lock herself in hers. I close the door behind us. She refuses to sit down even after I’ve dumped the stuff from my chair onto the floor. Instead she stands in the middle of my rug with her arms crossed. I feel like a fisherman that’s just reeled in a moray eel by mistake. But it’s too late to throw her back.

  “Are you trying to piss me off? Is that why you’re pulling this stunt?”

  Not exactly. I’m doing it because you dumped me. Because Bryan chose you. Because you dared me to.

  “I’m just having fun,” I say.

  “The great activist and champion of causes,” she says, “trivializing gays. For fun.”

  I need a cogent response. “Am not,” I say.

  Logical arguments are not my forte, especially when I do something I can’t explain. She opens my door and makes as if to leave.

  “Today wasn’t easy for me,” I say.

  She hesitates, her hand still on the doorknob. “Oh yeah?”

  “None of my friends hugged me, not even once.” We theater geeks touch a lot—hug, polka around the room, and smoosh cheeks together for pictures.

  She shuts the door again and looks at me curiously. Maybe I’ve turned into a species of arachnid with multiple heads.

  “They probably thought I would fondle their breasts,” I say.

  “You could come clean,” she says.

  “What if no one believes me?” This doesn’t seem like the right time to mention that I’m enjoying the role. Just a little.

  “I have an idea.” Her eyes glitter with mischief like the old Eva. “Tell everyone that when you were making out with your girlfriend you made a discovery.”

  I rise to the bait. “What did I discover?”

  “Your girlfriend is actually a boy who dresses like a girl. For fun. So you’re hetero after all.”

  I crack up because she’s being the old Eva and it feels good. She starts laughing too, but stops so suddenly that I have to wonder if she made a pact with herself never to giggle with me again.

  “Just tell the truth,” she says in a hard voice.

  “Forget it,” I say. “I’m not a coward like you.”

  I feel a déjà vu coming on, at least that’s what Sierra would call it. Once Eva and I dyed our hair blue for a football game. Afterward she freaked and washed her hair for two hours straight. We missed the game. She wanted me to wash mine out too before Mom got home, but I said no. I told her I wasn’t a coward like her. The shiner she gave me that day matched my hair perfectly.

  This time she exits my room like I don’t exist. I prefer her fists to her silence.

  Chapter

  8

  T hursday morning before the first bell, the theater geeks—minus Eva—gather in front of the Barn waiting for the long-anticipated playbill. Carmen bumps my shoulder hard like I’m in her way. Lately she’s the pimple on the butt of my life. I move over to a spot near Andie where I can study her eyeliner. She has thick lines of in
digo around her eyes, and she brushed her lids with two shades of gold. She could be an Egyptian goddess. Note to self: Buy makeup after school.

  Jonathan stands apart from the crowd. “Hi,” I say to Andie. “Let’s go talk to the new guy.”

  “Let’s not,” she says.

  I drag her over anyway so she can be my shield. “Meet Eyeliner Andie. She’s my twin sister,” I say. Jonathan looks confused. “Fraternal twins.” I turn to Andie. “Did you know that Jonathan hosts his own MTV show?”

  He doesn’t run away from me this time, and I am grateful.

  “Don’t look so worried,” Andie says, shifting into rare social-butterfly mode, though her ripped jeans say more wind-battered moth. “Roz always acts like this.”

  I take offense. Andie barely knows me.

  “I hear you’re into music,” she says to him.

  “I do a little guitar.”

  Within seconds, they’re gabbing like old friends. Worse still, they don’t include me in their conversation. Before I figure out what to do next, Sapphire emerges from the Barn. The throng falls silent. She passes around a box of tissues.

  “Take one just in case,” she says. “And be nice.”

  She tapes the playbill to the door, and we all rush in to look. Seeing my name at the top of the list in black and white fills my heart with whipped cream. It’s official. Before I can do a victory dance, I notice Carmen’s tragic face. Two puddles of black sludge are forming under her eyes. Despite the butt pimple thing, I feel sorry for her.

  “You should’ve gotten the lead,” I say. The insides of my cheeks stick to my teeth when I lie. I sling my arm around her shoulders to show I care. She shakes me off.

  “It’s just an arm,” I say. “Not a python.”

  She smears the wet mascara around her face and joins the group paying homage to Bryan. I follow her. He got the lead, Orlando, who happens to be Rosalind’s love interest in the play. Could life get any more perfect?