Imaginary Enemy

by Julie Gonzalez

  “Poor Sharp,” muttered Harmony. “He’s in for a shock.”

  “Well, what do you think?” I asked, pirouetting in front of the mirror. I didn’t look remotely like the Jane everyone knew, but I definitely had style for the first time in my life. Not the style Trina or Emma would choose, but style, definitely style.

  “Sharp’s gonna croak,” said Harmony.

  “This is a really bad idea,” said Carmella.

  “It was your idea, remember?”

  My little sister planted her hands on her hips. “This was not my idea, Jane. Don’t try to blame it on me.”

  “Blame? Oh brother, Carmella, you deserve praise.”

  “Just keep my name out of it,” she shouted.

  I blew kisses to Voodoo Raphael, the Barbies, and the Gothosaurs. “Wish me luck,” I sang to them, and left the room with Carmella and Harmony in my wake.

  Zander and Jazz saw me first. “Whoa, Jane, you’re all punked out,” said Jazz as he jumped off Zander’s bed and ran into the hallway.

  Zander dropped his guitar and followed. His eyes bugged out. “Yikes! What happened to the Hollister look?” he asked.

  “I wasn’t feeling it,” I said. “You like?”

  “Fabulous,” said Jazz.

  “Totally awesome,” added Zander. “But I’m not sure Mom and Dad will agree.”

  I walked into the living room. Stupidly, I hadn’t anticipated the family plan. My clan and Sharp’s were gathered there like our date was some newsworthy event. Sharp was standing next to Dad, looking more traditional than he had since the day three years earlier when I’d joined the homeschool brigade’s field trip to the courthouse.

  My mother’s face paled when she caught sight of me. “Her dress didn’t look like that when I saw it,” I heard her explain to Peggy.

  “Nor did her hair,” added Dad.

  For a fleeting moment, Elliot studied me like he’d never seen me before. Then he smiled and winked and I relaxed a little.

  Chord was sitting on the sofa. “Yo, Cinderella, the glass slippers really make the outfit,” he said, gesturing toward my violet patent-leather platforms with five-inch heels. I couldn’t decide if it was scorn or admiration I saw in his eyes.

  Sharp grinned and grabbed my hand. “Wow, Jane. You look great!” And even though I knew everyone else thought I’d gone bananas, I realized Sharp was dazzled. And I was so taken with him that I forget to wonder how Raphael looked that night or what his reaction to seeing me at the dance would be.

  “Hi, Emma.”

  She looked at me for a second, a puzzled expression on her face. “Jane!” She fingered the one sleeve of my garment. “You look…Wow, I’m stunned. I never imagined you dressed like that. And I didn’t know you were coming.”

  “My little surprise. This is Sharp.”

  “Hi. We’ve met before. The homeschool brigade, right?” Emma teased.

  “Homeschool brigade?” asked Sharp.

  I winked at Emma, turned to Sharp, and said, “Let’s go dance.”

  “You sure you want to dance with the ‘little neighbor boy’?”

  “Positive. Come on.”

  Kids from school hardly recognized me with my blue hair and black eyeliner. It made the evening much more adventurous. And the fact that my date was a tall stranger only increased their curiosity.

  Raphael and Trina were suddenly standing next to me. “Rafi,” I said, breezing a casual kiss on his cheek. “You sure look handsome. And isn’t Trina lovely?” She looked like a model in a tight black dress (predictable choice) and stiletto heels, but she must have been trashed, because her makeup was smeared and her face seemed wilted. She kept giggling, stumbling about, and bumping into things.

  “Jane?” Rafi was looking at me like he wasn’t certain who I was.

  “Don’t tell me you don’t remember me?” I teased.

  “Course I remember you. You look different, that’s all.”

  “This is Sharp,” I said. I grabbed Sharp’s hand. “I love this song. See you later, Rafi.” Sharp twined his fingers through mine and I felt tingly all over. You’ve heard that bit about hindsight being twenty-twenty. It’s funny how when you reflect on something once it’s over and done, your perspective is totally different than it is while events are unfolding. Looking back, I’m not sure why I ever thought Raphael was so great. We had fun together, but I don’t think either of us tried terribly hard to really get to know the other deep inside. After he dumped me, it was less his companionship I missed and more the status of having a boyfriend and the fun of hanging out as a foursome—Emma, Tony, Raphael, and me. Of course, my pride was wounded. That was what really stung—knowing that when Trina walked into the picture, I became invisible. I suddenly realized I didn’t care what Raphael thought about my attire or my escort. I only wanted to be with Sharp.

  On the ride home, I kept wondering what to do. Would he kiss me? I hoped so. Should I kiss him? I wanted to. How did people go from being childhood playmates to something else?

  “I had a great time, even if you didn’t really want to be with me,” Sharp said, jolting me out of my reverie.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “Carmella and Harmony told me about your boyfriend.”

  Yet again I wanted to annihilate those two blabbermouths. “Ex-boyfriend. I don’t care about him, Sharp.”

  “It’s okay, Jane. I knew what this date was about. But I hadn’t anticipated having so much—”

  “But you’ve got it wrong,” I protested. Then I did the boldest thing I’ve ever done. I leaned over and kissed him right on the mouth. I felt the car swerve. “I wanted to be with you,” I said, pulling away.

  Sharp watched the road. Silence filled the car. I felt shattered—like I’d been really stupid and once again couldn’t fix it.

  “Sharp?”

  Still he said nothing.

  “Talk to me!” I cried.

  He glanced at me, then back at the road. “I have feelings, you know, Jane. I don’t want you making a joke of me.”

  I touched his arm. “Sharp, I’m not. I wouldn’t do that. I like you. A lot. Please believe me.”

  He turned onto our street.

  “Sharp. I’m serious.”

  “I want to believe you,” he said, pulling over to the curb and turning off the car. “But it scares me. I don’t want to be a pawn in some game.”

  “What?”

  “You know what I mean…. I’m just the boy next door you can use to get at Raphael.”

  “It’s not like that, Sharp. You’re seeing what you want to see. Not what’s really there.”

  He sat motionless, looking straight ahead, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I leaned over and kissed him again. This time, after only a moment’s resistance, Sharp kissed me back. And I’d never been kissed like that before.

  Setting the Stage

  “How was the dance, Jane?” Mom asked at breakfast.

  “Fine.” I rubbed my head. My hair, freshly shampooed, still held a hint of blue spray.

  “Did Sharp have fun?”

  “I guess.”

  “Well, was it a date, or just friends, or what?”

  “Mom,” I said in a bored voice, but my heart was thumping wildly.

  She winked at Dad across the table. “That must mean it was a date.”

  “Sharp must have horrible taste,” said Zander. “He must be desperate.”

  “What would you know, Lysander?” I retorted.

  “I can’t believe you wore that awesome dress. You’re usually so…normal.”

  “Ugh!” I said, leaving the table. Once again, Zander calling me normal felt like an insult.

  “Harmony told me Sharp went off with Elliot early this morning. They went to record waves on the beach,” Carmella said.

  “Really?” I answered with feigned disinterest.

  “Yep. Sharp loves those recording adventures as much as Elliot does. He even
plans some of them.”

  “Figures…. What about Chord?”

  “What about him?”

  “Did he go with them?”

  “No.”

  “So what’s he doing?”

  Carmella looked at me quizzically. “I’m not sure…. Hanging around the house, I guess. Why?”

  “No reason.” I smiled secretively.

  “What’s the deal with you and Chord?” she asked with a hint of disgust in her voice.

  “Nothing,” I replied smugly. “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”

  Chord and I met on the deMichaels’ porch. We sat beside each other on the steps, and he threw his arm around my shoulders. We talked quietly and I rested my hand on his knee. He reached over and stroked my hair. When I got up to leave, he pulled me to himself and kissed my face.

  I listened for the sound of Elliot’s van. Midafternoon, he and Sharp pulled into the driveway. I watched from the porch as Sharp unloaded recording equipment. He carried an armload of speakers and wires to the garage. Then another. And another. He finally closed the van doors and crossed the yard.

  “Hi, Jane.” He looked shy and tenative.

  “Hi. How’s it going?”

  “Okay. Want to go for a walk?”

  “Sure.”

  “Hey, Sharp, do you know what you’re getting yourself into?” Zander called from the doorway. “She’s poison!”

  Sharp laughed. “I’ll take my chances.”

  “This is awkward,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Both of our families are on alert—watching everything we do—speculating.”

  Sharp grinned. “Yeah, I know. All day Elliot kept fishing about last night. Asking all kinds of questions.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “I dunno. That I had a good time. That I liked being with you.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah. What’d you tell your family?”

  “I was evasive.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just weird. You’re like…Sharp. Like the boy next door.”

  “I am the boy next door.”

  “I know. That’s why it’s weird.”

  “Raphael called me this morning,” Emma said when I answered the phone.

  “Oh, yeah. Why?”

  “He wanted the dirt on Sharp.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “Not much. I don’t know much.”

  “Did he roll the R in Sharp?”

  “Actually, I think he did.”

  “Figures. At least he’s consistent. He can roll his Rs til he’s lead dog in the nursing home and I wouldn’t care.”

  Emma laughed.

  “I can’t believe I thought it was sexy. It’s fake, anyhow. He took Spanish One in ninth grade and thinks he’s Antonio Banderas.”

  “Jane, you crack me up. So is your new look a one-time thing, or a lifestyle?”

  “Neither. From now on, I’ll just follow my whims. No point in swapping one label for another.”

  “What label?”

  “Normal. Just ask Zander.”

  “Jane. I’d never have labeled you normal,” she said.

  “Remember when you said I wasn’t a real slacker?”

  “Did I say that?’

  “Yeah. Freshman year. Well, I’ve decided you’re right. I’m not a slacker. I’m simply very efficient.”

  “Efficient?”

  “Right. I don’t waste my time on unprofitable efforts. Like school. I conserve my energy for more worthwhile pursuits.”

  “Hmmm…I think maybe slacker was the right term after all, Jane.”

  “Bye, Emma. Chord’s at the door.”

  “Chord?”

  “Yeah. Long story. I’ll update you later. Bye.”

  Chord waited until Carmella and Harmony left the room. Then he grabbed my arm. “Sharp isn’t suspicious, is he?” he asked.

  “Shhh. Don’t talk so loud.”

  “Well, is he?”

  “Shhh. I don’t think so.”

  Chord took my hands in his. “I don’t want him to get hurt. Regardless of you and me, he’s my brother.”

  “I know. This is difficult.”

  “What are we going to do?” He pulled me against him and pressed his lips to my neck. I felt the warmth of his breath on my flesh and couldn’t come up with an answer.

  Blind Date

  I’d been uncertain what to wear to meet Bubba. I wondered what he was expecting. Glamour and glitz? Leather and lace? Business casual? Punked out? Denim? Waffle House uniform?

  Because whatever Bubba wanted was just the way I didn’t want to dress. I wasn’t the sort of girl who dressed to please an imaginary enemy. So I settled on my favorite worn-out pair of jeans, my Marvin the Martian T-shirt, and my running shoes. Just in case I needed to make a break for it.

  I walked into the library, glancing around. I spied no one familiar on the ground floor. A man walked by pushing a cart of books. “Where’s nonfiction? The one hundreds in the Dewey decimal system?” I asked.

  “Third floor,” he replied, and gestured toward the stairs. “Or you can ride the elevator.”

  I climbed the stairs and looked around. I hadn’t spent much time in libraries. I pulled Bubba’s letter from my pocket. What in the world was the Dewey decimal system? I vaguely remembered my third-grade teacher talking about it. Was it some way of converting percentages into fractions? No. It had something to do with those numbers on the spines of library books, but I wasn’t sure what. Did Bubba think I was a librarian or something? I didn’t even have a library card.

  “Where are the one hundreds?” I whispered to the lady behind the desk.

  “Over there. That entire section.”

  “Thanks.” I walked to the area she’d indicated and followed the aisle to the large plate-glass windows. Six tables were lined up, all occupied. I rechecked Bubba’s letter. He hadn’t specified which table. I stepped back into the narrow aisle between the stacks to evaluate the crop of potential Bubbas. At the first table sat three people who looked like college students. They were comparing notes and drawing diagrams. Next was a frazzled mother with twins sleeping in a stroller. There were several parenting books spread out on the table. At the third sat a woman around my mother’s age typing on a laptop. The fourth was inhabited by two preteenage boys giggling at paintings of naked women in art books. One of them saw me and blushed. At the fifth, a guy in a sloppy hat and tattered jacket sat facing the window. I wondered if he was a homeless person seeking refuge from the world outside. At the final table sat a couple who should have been in the anatomy section, judging by their behavior.

  I reasoned that if Bubba was there, he had to be either the laptop woman or the sloppy hat guy. He’d said nothing about bringing along friends, and the other tables were all occupied by more than one person. I stood between two rows of bookshelves, unsure. The laptop woman looked up and smiled.

  “Excuse me, are you meeting someone here?” I asked her.

  “No, dear.”

  “Sorry.”

  I looked at the sloppy hat guy. The set of his shoulders seemed familiar. I stepped toward him. He was idly flipping through the pages of a book about volcanoes. “Excuse me,” I said, standing behind him. My heart was beating rapidly.

  He closed the book, turned, and removed his hat. “Gabriel, you came. I was afraid you might chicken out,” he said, his smile bright and open. “I’m Bubba.” He extended his hand, and like a fool I shook it.

  “You?” I was confused, embarrassed, shocked. And, I’ll admit, angry.

  “Me.”

  “But…?”

  “Who were you expecting?”

  “I…um…well, I didn’t know who…but I never thought…What are you doing here?”

  “Meeting you face to face, just like I proposed in the letter.”

  “What?” I was rattled, trying to merge the person before me with the Bubba I’d corres
ponded with since childhood. “Nice disguise,” I said sarcastically.

  “I thought you’d like it.”

  “I was lying. It sucks.” I folded my arms over my chest. “Well?”

  “Let me explain,” he said somewhat formally, like this was a business meeting.

  “That might be a good plan.”

  I thought back to when I was little—to the time I got my first kiss, the one Sharp planted on my cheek while Chord ridiculed us with taunts about love. I remembered how I had repeatedly rubbed my face, but that darned kiss just wouldn’t disappear. I had wiped it with my fingers and dabbed at it with my shirt and scrubbed it with a soapy washcloth, but it had remained plastered to my cheek. For all I knew it was still there, staining my flesh with its invisible tattoo.

  That was how I felt standing in the psychology section of the library facing Bubba for the first time. Except instead of a kiss, it was a slap, and nothing could take away the sting.

  “Well, start explaining,” I said, sitting across the table from him. There was not a hint of warmth in my voice or a spark of welcome in my eyes.

  “Keep your voice down, Gabriel. This is a library, you know.”

  I realized I had spoken rather loudly. “Fine. Start explaining,” I hissed in a dramatic whisper. Then I added, “Bubba,” with a sneer as I leaned back and crossed my arms.

  “You’re angry.”

  “Well, duh.” I spoke louder than I had intended. A few heads turned to look in our direction.

  “Maybe we should go to the courtyard. We’re disturbing people.”

  “Don’t you mean I’m disturbing people? Isn’t that what you mean?” I said, my voice rising a pitch with each word.

  “Come on,” he said.

  He walked around the table toward me and reached for my chair. I sprang from my seat. “I don’t need your help, Bubba.”

  I whirled past him and stomped down the stairs, leaving him in my wake. At the back of my mind the strangest thing was happening. I was wondering what numbers the Dewey decimal system assigned to cookbooks. Were there many cookbooks in the library, and did they get checked out often? Maybe food splatter stains embellished their pages. Did they include nutritional facts and calorie counts? Could I find a profitable new dish to prepare for the next fishing tournament? Whoa, I told myself. I think you’ve lost your mind—truly slipped into the twilight zone between sanity and madness.