Imaginary Enemy

by Julie Gonzalez

  I studied the girl standing before me. “Jenny Danielson?” She was striking, even if it was mostly paint and dye and hair gel. Her makeup made her cheekbones look like they’d been sculpted by Michangelo, and her brown eyes were lined and shadowed like Cleopatra’s or those of some other exotic princess. Her hair was short and spiky and bold. “Didn’t you move away midyear?” I asked after sifting through my elementary school memories.

  “Yeah. West Coast. L.A. and then San Diego. We’re back, though. My dad got transferred with his last promotion.”

  “You look so different,” I said. “So stylish.”

  “You haven’t change one bit. Even your hair is the same. I’d have recognized you anywhere.”

  Self-consciously, I ran my fingers through my hair. “Never really thought about it,” I muttered.

  “Jenny.” Chase McClusky slipped his arm around Jenny’s waist.

  “See you around, Jane,” she said as she breezed away with Chase in tow. A few steps later, they both turned to glance back. I heard Jenny giggling. I blushed and walked in the opposite direction, choosing to take the long way to science class.

  Dear Bubba,

  Not another Barbie girl. Yuck! Even back in second grade Jenny Danielson acted like she was French pastry and I was moldy bread. And naturally, Chase McClusky is following her around like she’s a dog in heat. Barf!

  Still the same,

  Gabriel

  I leafed through the photo album until I found my second-grade picture. My hair hung just past my shoulders, my freckles were scattered across my nose like pepper on a fried egg, my smile was just a little crooked. I stood in front of the mirror. Jenny was wrong. I had changed since second grade. My hair now fell down my back, and my adult teeth had filled in those gaping holes where my baby teeth had once been.

  But I could be more stylish. Who couldn’t? I taped a photograph from Vogue to the mirror. Now, that’s chic, I thought, evaluating the model’s sleek makeup and flirty haircut. With a pair of scissors in my hand, I snipped at my hair and combed through it with my fingers. I snipped again, glancing at the picture. I wanted to look like that girl from the magazine. She was glamorous and mysterious. I cut some hair away from my face and pushed it back. It fell forward again. I slapped some gel into it and spiked it up. It wilted. I cut some of the length from the back. Now one side was longer than the other, just like in the picture. It looked fabulous on the model, but I simply looked bedraggled. It just needed to be evened up a bit. I hacked away.

  The floor was littered with hair. My hair! And when I looked in the mirror, that pitiful girl staring back at me looked like a newly-hatched baby bird. I sat on the edge of the bathtub and wept.

  “Jane?” I heard my father’s voice. I stuffed a washcloth into my mouth to muffle my sobs. “Janie? I’m coming in, okay?” The doorknob turned. “What happened?” he asked, astonished at my tearstained face and my tattered hair.

  “Oh Daddy,” I cried, and threw my arms around his neck.

  He held me there for a long time, stroking my back. Then he quietly said, “Want to go to the hairdresser?”

  “People will see me,” I moaned.

  “Hang on.” He came back with a ball cap, which he placed on my head. “Let’s go.”

  The hairdresser did the best she could to fix the mess I’d made, and my new do actually looked rather flirty. It wasn’t what I’d had in mind, or what I truly wanted, but it was passable. I decided to fake it out. “It’s just the look I was after,” I announced at dinner, and Dad winked at me from across the table. He was truly my hero that day.

  Dear Bubba,

  Remember when I asked you to hook me up with some visibility cream? Well, forget that. I don’t need it anymore. Send vanishing cream instead. I really need to disappear.

  Insincerely,

  Harriet Hairdresser

  (Alias Gabriel)

  Sharp and Jazz were standing on the porch when I opened the door. “Hi, Jane,” said Sharp. He was looking quizzically at my hair but had the grace not to comment.

  I wish I could say the same thing for Jazz.

  “What happened to you?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Where’d your hair go?”

  I resisted the urge to touch my head and chose not to respond. Instead, I smiled at Sharp. “How’s everything?”

  “Why’d you cut your hair?” Jazz persisted. “It’s wild. Really wild.”

  “Shut up, Jazz,” said Sharp. “Did Zander tell you that Peggy’s taking us to the courthouse Friday so we can see how the legal system works? Chord’s ditching his classes to go with us. Peggy said you can come, too, if it’s okay with your parents.”

  Anything was better than a boring day at school, even joining the homeschool brigade. “Mom’s at the grocery store. I’ll let you know when she gets home.”

  Jazz was still looking at me wide-eyed. “You look way different,” he said. “Way different.”

  “Unfortunately for you, you look the same as always,” I snarled, and then I slammed the door.

  “Peggy needs me to go to court with them Friday,” I told Mom, running my fingers through my very short hair. “Course, that means I’ll have to miss school,” I added in an offhand manner.

  “Oh, how tragic!” said Mom. “We all know how you hate to miss school.”

  “Can I go?”

  “You’ll have to make up your assignments.”

  “No problem,” I replied, aware that the odds of that happening were remote.

  Decorum

  Dad told me to wear a dress. “Appropriate attire for the courtroom,” he explained.

  The boys all wore shirts and ties. “I didn’t even know you owned a tie,” I said to Sharp in the deMichaels’ crowded van on the way to the courthouse.

  He laughed. “I do now.”

  “Don’t I look great?” asked Chord, posing theatrically.

  “You don’t want us to answer that,” said Jazz, “because you look like a buzzard.”

  “With that haircut, Jane looks more like a buzzard,” said Chord.

  “As if you know anything about fashion,” I retorted. The boys all laughed, and I found myself wishing for that vanishing cream again.

  “They don’t have hair like that in any fashion magazine I’ve ever seen,” Chord said.

  “Since when do you read fashion mags?” asked Jazz.

  “He keeps Cosmo under his mattress,” said Sharp.

  “No, I don’t,” Chord protested. “But obviously, Jane doesn’t either.”

  Peggy turned from the front seat. “Enough, Chord.”

  “I was only kidding.”

  “Enough. You know better than to be so rude. Now, kids, there are some things we need to establish before we get there. First, who knows what courtroom decorum is?”

  I should have kept my big mouth shut. “That’s the way the place is decorated,” I said brightly.

  “You’re as dumb as dirt,” said Chord with a sneer.

  “Chord, be a gentleman,” chided Elliot as he changed lanes.

  “Yeah, Chord, be a gentleman,” mimicked Sharp, and the boys all laughed again.

  Peggy cleared her throat. “Actually, courtroom decorum is the expected code of behavior. It applies to everyone—the lawyers, the witnesses, the defendant, even the spectators. That’s what we’ll be—spectators.” Peggy proceeded to tell us what to do and what not to do. There were a lot of not-to-dos, especially for Zander and Jazz.

  We watched two fairly short cases. In between, Peggy explained what was going on.

  “Not exactly as exciting as Law and Order, is it?” Chord said sarcastically.

  “But this is real life. The futures of real people are at stake here,” said Peggy gravely. “That man who robbed the convenience store will go to a real prison and leave behind his real family. They have real bills to pay and a real father to miss.”

  “Yeah, well, he was real stupid to commit armed robbery,” said Chord.

  �
��Or real desperate. Not that that makes it right, but have some compassion, son. All of us do regrettable things at times. Some are merely more costly than others.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s not what you’d be saying if I was the fool who’d held up a convenience store,” Chord countered.

  During the next break I thought about what Peggy had said about the cost of regrettable choices. It made sense to me. I sure had a long list of things I wished I could take back, and my pitiful haircut wasn’t even at the top.

  When we were little, Chord liked to tease Sharp and me by saying we were going to get married and have a bunch of dumb but musical children. “Dumb like Jane, musical like Sharp.” All the others would laugh, but it made Sharp and me angry. Sharp would run after Chord. I’d side with Sharp, eager to preserve my reputation. Sharp, always fast, usually tackled Chord quickly. “I don’t love her,” he’d shout as he punched his brother in the ribs or stomach.

  I’d join Sharp in defending our honor. “I’m not dumb,” I would scream, kicking Chord.

  “Sharp and Jane, sitting in a tree…,” Chord would laugh as he fought to escape.

  “Take it back,” Sharp would insist.

  “K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” Chord would chant.

  Then the whole thing would fizzle out without anyone coming to serious harm.

  One day, though, when Chord started taunting us, Sharp didn’t play by the rules. Instead of protesting and launching an attack, he grabbed me and planted a kiss on my cheek.

  “Yuck!” I cried, wiping my face with my shirt.

  “Gross,” said Jazz while Zander, Harmony, and Carmella giggled.

  But it was Chord’s reaction that was priceless. “You kissed her!” he accused Sharp, looking at his brother as if he’d bitten the head from a cockroach.

  “Yeah. What about it?” Sharp smiled big.

  “That’s disgusting!” Chord shook his head in disbelief.

  “Don’t you ever, ever do that again,” I said to Sharp, shoving him in the chest. I rubbed my cheek with my hand. I just couldn’t get rid of that kiss that was stuck to my face.

  Later, blushing, Sharp apologized. “Peggy suggested it. She said something like that might shut Chord up. You just have to act like it’s not bothering you.”

  And Peggy’s wisdom paid off, because Chord quit teasing us after that. But I still didn’t trust Sharp when he got too close to me.

  A Kiss Is Just a Kiss

  “We’ve done great on our goals,” said Emma toward the end of eighth grade. We were making our weekly rounds collecting can tabs. “I just wish I hadn’t gotten that B-plus in math last grading period.”

  “Yeah, a B-plus in math really sucks, doesn’t it,” I replied acidly. I’d been at least as surprised as my parents about my report card. All As and Bs, except for the C I got in PE because I refused to dress out every day. “Geez, Emma, it’s amazing what happens when you actually turn in your assignments.”

  “That’s what I’ve been telling you since we met, Jane.”

  “That was the best report card I’ve ever gotten. I hope my parents don’t do something stupid like raise their expectations. No sense encouraging them.”

  Emma sighed. “Don’t you want to do well? For yourself?”

  “Never gave it much thought,” I replied glibly, dumping a jar of tabs into a plastic bag.

  “You’re as smart as anyone else. Just lazier than an old hound. If you channeled your energy you could do amazing things.”

  “Being a slacker is a practiced art, Emma. Something I doubt you’ll ever achieve.”

  “Let’s hope not.” Emma poured the final jar of tabs into the bag. “This project was a great idea. I’m glad we planned to do it.”

  “You planned, Emma, and drafted me. You deserve the credit.”

  “Teamwork,” she said, slapping me a high five that knocked the bag from my hands. The tabs spilled and scattered everywhere.

  “Way to go,” I said as I swept up a handful of aluminum.

  “I think we’ve had a great year.”

  “It’s been pretty good. I’m ready to get out of middle school. It’s so juvenile.”

  Emma laughed like she always did when I made ludicrous, superior-sounding remarks. “Right, your maturity puts you way ahead of the rest of us.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  “You should be proud of yourself, Jane. You’ve done great on your goals.”

  “But I didn’t meet all of them.”

  “Which ones?”

  “The kiss and the purple room. I can’t go to high school unkissed with a bedroom that thinks it’s a plum.”

  “You’re worried about those goals?”

  “My ‘superficial’ ones, remember?”

  “How could I forget? So paint your room, and as for the kiss, it’ll come when the time is right.”

  “It’s on my list,” I said, tossing my head and walking away as the bell echoed through the hall. “I’m determined. See what your influence has done to me?”

  “Guess what?” Mom asked in an excited tone. I was in a rotten mood. I had only two more weeks of middle school and still hadn’t kissed a boy. Not only was that one of my goals, committed to with my signature, but according to Jenny Danielson, the lack of that kiss also made me a loser. Apparently she had eavesdropped on a very private conversation between Emma and me in the locker room after PE, and Jenny wasn’t the sort to let even the tiniest fragment of gossip go to waste. She said I better head straight for the geek table in the lunchroom when I got to high school. And she said it in front of my entire English class. Most of the kids laughed, but a few sank in their seats. I guess they were afraid they’d be Jenny’s next victims.

  I went back at her with a remark about how she’d kissed every available candidate and then some, so she’d have to sit at the slut table, but somehow my remark didn’t have the same impact as hers.

  “Jane?”

  “What, Mother?”

  “Watch your tone of voice, young lady. What’s got you in such a foul mood?”

  “Nothing,” I snarled. I knew that if I told her what had happened, she’d fill the room with useless platitudes I’d heard a gazillion times already.

  “Well then, cheer up. I’ve got some exciting news for you. Aunt Jane is coming into town for the graduations—yours and Luke’s.”

  “What?” I tossed my head, rolled my eyes, and groaned.

  “I’m putting her in your room. You and Carmella can sleep in the family room.”

  “You’re giving Aunt Jane my room? And letting her come to my graduation? Mom, how could you?”

  “You should be flattered. Aunt Jane wouldn’t do this for just anyone, you know. She seldom travels anymore. It’s only because you’re her favorite niece—”

  “Lucky me.”

  “You are lucky. Honestly, Jane, I don’t know what’s wrong with you. Luke, Zander, and Carmella adore Aunt Jane. Everyone does.”

  “Mom, it’s bad enough that the squabs are coming to graduation. It’ll be the most embarrassing thing in the world having Aunt Jane there. She’ll probably wear some ragamuffin dress she got at a rummage sale. My friends will never let me live it down. People don’t forget things like that, you know.”

  “If that’s truly how your friends think, they aren’t worth a moment’s notice. And your aunt has excellent taste. She’s just not terribly interested in those superficial things. And God bless her for that!” Sometimes I wondered if Emma was Mom’s spiritual daughter—they thought so much alike it scared me.

  “Easy for you to say. My life sucks.” As I stormed to my room, I heard my mother berating me for my behavior.

  Every competent slacker knows how to get just what she wants.

  “Mom, I really think this purple room will be too much for Aunt Jane.”

  “Do you?”

  “It’s awfully bright, and her eyes are sensitive. I remember Dad telling us that when he sent her those rhinestone studded sunglasses last summer.”

>   My mother gave me a look that translated to I’ve got your number. “Your concern is touching. You’re worried about Aunt Jane’s eyes?” she asked mockingly.

  “Exactly. Maybe a nice yellow or blue would be right. What do you think?”

  “I think you regret this hideous purple you insisted on years ago!”

  Mom, Carmella, and I went to the paint store, where we examined all the little paint chips and compared one tint to another. The colors had poetic names like Summer Wheat, Ice Castle, River Moss, and Strawberry Sundae. Carmella wanted a pink called First Love that would have been perfect for cupcake frosting and made me want to puke. “No way,” I said. “Pink is out.”

  “You got to pick the purple,” Carmella replied, crossing her arms and stomping her foot.

  “Compromise, girls,” Mom urged. “Or the purple stays.”

  We finally agreed on a blue called Skydancer that reminded me of a Siamese cat’s eyes. It took four coats of paint to cover the purple. Dad didn’t trust me with a paintbrush (another benefit of being a successful slacker), so he and Mom spent the weekend redoing my bedroom. By the time Aunt Jane arrived, we had fresh paint and new comforters. I agreed to wait until after Aunt Jane’s visit to tack my Godzilla posters back on the walls.

  I dropped my bicycle next to the marina’s main building. My father was standing on the patio talking to some boaters. I wandered off in search of Luke, who was replacing a stretch of worn-out planks on one of the piers. “Hi.”

  He looked up. “You would show up right when I’m driving the final nail.”

  “I’ve always had impeccable timing,” I responded. “Besides, you oughta be glad to see me. I brought food.”

  Luke dropped the hammer into the toolbox. “That changes everything.”

  I unzipped my backpack and handed him a sandwich. “Got a little smashed. Sorry.”

  “Still edible,” he said. “But I’ve gotta go wash my hands.”

  We walked to the workshop. “So Luke, how do you get a guy to kiss you?” I asked.