Becoming A Butterfly (The Butterfly Chronicles)

by Castile, Mia

  It wasn’t too long before my dad walked through the door. He always came home first. Mom usually worked into the evening. He went straight to the kitchen to decide what we were eating for dinner. My dad had short, light brown hair. He always wore a polo shirt and khakis. He owned his own insurance company on Main Street across from my mom’s salon. Everyone liked my dad. He always said the right thing, whether it was a joke or an encouraging pep talk. I was glad he was my dad too. He finished the Hoarders marathon with me just as Mom arrived. She ranted about her last two appointments cancelling. We grilled out and ate on the patio. In the summer time the patio is my parent’s favorite room. They sip their coffee from lounge chairs in the morning, read the paper or novels, or just sit out there and talk. They entertain company out there, and I think they would sleep out there if we’d let them. As Lana and I did the dishes, my friends arrived. Our house wasn’t fancy; it was an older house that my parents had rehabbed. They had improved on the updates too, like the gourmet kitchen, and giving me a connected bathroom. A lot of the homes in our neighborhood were rehabbed historic homes. My parents had also put a pool in the backyard like many of our neighbors. We had a large front porch with a swing and tall windows that were gorgeous in the winter time when they showcased our large Christmas tree. They both grew up in our town and knew everyone just as their parents had, and as I imagined I would.

  As my friends piled their bags in the entry way, their attention was drawn to the boxes sitting there.

  “What are these?” Tasha asked.

  “Mom, Nana brought your stuff from the attic.” I remembered that I’d forgotten to tell her or my dad. Mom appeared in the doorway, eyebrows furrowed.

  “Why?” She approached the boxes and opened the top one.

  “She cleaned out her attic.” I shrugged. She began lifting out dusty, stale clothes.

  “OH. MY. Gawd!” Tasha exclaimed, and then quickly covered her mouth. My mom rolled her eyes and lifted out a studded, stonewashed denim jacket. Lana appeared in the doorway and squeezed her way between us to peer into the box. She elbowed me out of the way, and I returned the favor.

  “These were tough!” Mom defended. She lifted leg warmers, pleated jeans with narrow ankles, layered skirts, lacy gloves, and tons of scarfs and bandanas. Then she pulled out fists full of beads of all sizes in florescent colors, turquoise, hot pink, lime green, and neon blue. She plopped everything on the dining room table.

  “Mom, those should be against the law!” I said between gasps.

  “Vintage, this is all making a comeback. You watch, in a few years you’ll be begging me to borrow these.”

  “If I do, you have permission to lock me up in the attic with your boxes,” I teased. She rolled her eyes and opened another box. It was full of notes on hot pink paper, old textbooks, and notebooks.

  “My Trapper Keeper!” she squealed and pulled out a green binder with a flap on it. There were puppy dogs on the cover and in the corner were the words Trapper Keeper.

  “Calm down; it’s just a binder,” I said.

  “JUST. A. BINDER? I think not. This kept everything together and in its place.” I had seriously offended her. She squealed again and grabbed a picture.

  “Eric, look at this!” She waved a picture as if he could see her from the great room.

  “What is it?” Tasha asked.

  “Eric, Megan, Melissa, Billy, and me.” My mom and dad were friends growing up. They didn’t start dating until after he was a junior in college. She used to do his hair. Then she pulled out a poster of a woman in an orange swimsuit.

  “Who is that?” Jade asked. Mom held the poster to her heart as if it were an old dear friend.

  “Farrah Fawcett. She was my idol growing up, one of Charlie’s Angels.” She looked dreamily at the poster again and continued, “Every guy wanted to date her, and every girl wanted to be her.”

  “Amber, can we use some of these outfits?” Jade asked, fingering the beads on the table. Tasha and I both raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Why?” Mom asked cautiously.

  “I want to take some pictures tonight.” She shrugged.

  “We’re in for it,” Tasha whispered to me under her breath.

  Chapter 3

  When I smiled at myself in the mirror, I looked like a completely different person. Tasha had curled my hair, (though I knew it would fall soon) and I put on some dramatic makeup. I watched intensely as Jade put blue, green, and yellow on her eyes with thick angled black eyeliner lines. I couldn’t understand how she did it.

  “I make a thin line first,” she said, as she started in the corner of her left eye and drew a line to the outer corner.

  “Then I make a thicker line halfway to the outer corner and finally blend it to the inner corner.” I was amazed.

  “Here, you try it.”

  “I have; you know I can’t do it!” I exclaimed, refusing to take the liquid liner brush she held out to me.

  “Try once more for me; if you can’t get it, I’ll do it for you, but at least try,” Jade coaxed. Tasha watched my reaction in the mirror as she worked on her face.

  “Fine.” I took it from her and tried. I didn’t get the first one quite right, but the second was almost perfect. I impressed myself. Jade fixed the other eye for me and then we went to wardrobe. Lana snuck in behind Jade and watched us for a few minutes before disappearing into my closet. She returned holding a really pretty gray top my mom had bought me at the beginning of school, but I’d never had the nerve to wear it. It was silk and flowing.

  “Can I borrow this?” she asked.

  “Why?” I narrowed my eyes. She was getting ready to go to her friend Amanda’s house for a sleepover.

  “You guys have inspired me; I want to play dress up tonight.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Yeah, whatever, just don’t get anything on it!” I waved her off, and she disappeared as fast as she’d arrived.

  We each mixed my mom’s pieces in with stuff from my closet and put together outfits, tying scarfs around our wrists. Then we took pictures. We were making such noise that my mom came and checked in on us, as Lana returned and hovered in the doorway watching us with wide eyes. They had their own giggle fit at the sight of us, but then my mom said, “I know what will make these outfits complete.” She left and returned with handfuls of wigs, a long black straight one, a blond bob, and curly burgundy one. Jade picked the black one, shocker there; Tasha took the blond one, leaving the burgundy curly locks for me. We pulled our hair up and put on the wigs. We looked like completely different people. It sounds silly, but I felt glamorous. I felt beautiful. After we were done, we washed our faces and changed into our pajamas. Then we crowded around my laptop and went through each picture. They were really good, and Jade got us in some cute poses. She even took it a step further and photoshopped us beside ourselves so the wigged versions of us stood with our normal versions. I had to admit the girl had talent. We decided to upload the pictures to Status Quo. It’s the social network everyone at my school uses. We tagged ourselves. But then Tasha smiled wickedly at Jade and me, reached over, tagged my face with “Farrah Leevar,” and lost it in a giggle fit.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “You… don’t… look… like… yourself,” she said in between giggles. She took a deep breath and continued, “Let’s see if anyone notices.” I looked at Jade, but she only raised her eyebrows. Tasha tagged the rest of the pictures of me wearing the wig with the same name.

  “So waddup with the name?” I asked furrowing my brows. I wasn’t sure I was crazy about it.

  “Your mom idolized Farrah Fawcett. Faucet, lever, Lee-vv-aarr, get it? I just switched it up a little.” Before she was done tagging we started getting comments like “looking good,” “I want Farrah’s number,” “Where’s her page?” “Where’s the party?” and similar comments by boys I’d never even talked to. We were only friends on Status Quo because we went to the same school.

  “Farrah needs a page,” Jade
said, taking control of the computer and pushing Tasha out of the way. I leaned back and looked out my window into Henry’s room. Yeah, our rooms were side by side. He never covered his windows. I didn’t either, so I sometimes watched him, but he never noticed. I’m sure if he did, he’d call the police and have me arrested for stalking, or convince his parents to sell their house, or at least lower his blinds and close them. His room was dark though. He was probably out causing a ruckus with Byron. I return to the computer. Jade first set up a profile picture for Farrah. It was one of me leaning against the door frame, my arm over my head and my eyes looking down. It was really pretty, but it took them, like fifteen minutes to pose me. She made the profile ridiculous! She listed the home town as Columbus, Indiana, in the network of Columbus East High School, and a sophomore like us. “That’s a safe distance away from us; no one should check up on her from here,” Jade reasoned as she made the birthday November 1. “The Day of The Dead” she continued darkly, but not enough to keep Tasha and me from a giggle fit. I became suddenly really nervous; this was my face she was putting to this. What if it blew up in our faces? What if someone, namely me, got hurt? I tried to put those reservations aside while we picked our favorite music, liked our favorite show and movie profiles, and put some random quotes up like “We are the weirdos Mister–Nancy from The Craft.” “Moolee-moolee-mole–Austin Powers.” Even before the profile was finished, we began to get friend requests from kids in Columbus.

  Jade went to accept them, but I threw my hand over hers. She paused and looked at me. “What if those kids figure out that she-er-we-er-I don’t go to their school?” I asked, terrified.

  “Then we tell them, that she—or rather you transferred,” she said as if I had asked the stupidest question in the world. I took my hand off hers, and she clicked “accept all.” Then she put the three of us on the friend list. That meant the name tag on all the pictures went live in that royal blue color. My heart pounded in my chest.

  Chapter 4

  I woke up Saturday morning to the smell of sausage and pancakes wafting from the kitchen. Tasha and Jade slept on either side of me. I stared at my ceiling and wondered if last night really happened. We’d stayed up watching our favorite three movies, The Craft, Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead, and Go, and giving each other manicures with little diamond stickers on our nails. It was the first time I had actually let them put stickers on me, but I kind of liked it. I lay there realizing that part of me was always afraid to take risks. It’s hard to be rejected when you’re the one rejecting. Maybe sometimes I was afraid of taking the chance. Jade stirred next to me, and Tasha yawned. I wondered if they had a secret connection that I knew nothing about.

  “Your dad made breakfast,” Tasha said in her scratchy morning voice.

  “Your house is my favorite,” Jade added, almost in a whisper. I knew my house was her favorite because of the security my parents exuded. Finally, we rose and clamored downstairs. The table was set, and we each took our usual places. My dad poured us fresh juice. He loved making special meals when it was my turn for sleepovers. We always had a big breakfast on Saturday mornings. After breakfast, Jade and Tasha changed, helped me pick up my room, and packed up their bags again. After they left, I returned to my room and spent the afternoon playing my games. I kind of have a Play Station addiction, as well as a whole other group of online friends that Jade and Tasha don’t really know about. I sometimes code when I’m nervous, and I’ve hacked the school system a few times. I don’t really do anything, but I like to know that I can. I didn’t check Status Quo until the sun was about to set. I only checked it then because I got a text from Tasha telling me to. When I logged in, I saw that the profile had over fifty friend requests. A majority of them were from my school, among them Bea, Byron, and Henry. I accepted and was bombarded with their statuses and picture uploads.

  Bea Dyson is so ready for summer break.

  Tyson Does-da Tango thinks he couldn’t agree more.

  Britney EEEE. Says I second that motion.

  Evey Lynn wishes it was now.

  Farrah Leevar refuses to wish my life away.

  It was a bold statement, but I couldn’t pass it up. I had this image of Farrah not taking any crap from anyone and speaking her mind freely. She wouldn’t let someone bully her, nor would she be invisible. She also would have a positive outlook. I scrolled on.

  Derrick Chandler needs to get sum.

  Farrah Leevar says the sum of two sides equals the whole.

  Smart-assed move I know, but I couldn’t resist. I pictured the school’s biggest jock scratching his head trying to figure that one out. Then something crazy happened. Both of my comments were quoted by Henry. I was literally bouncing out of my chair. I looked over to his room out of habit, but it was dark. I continued on my rampage of commenting on all the statuses of kids that I’d never had the nerve to talk to. What did it matter; I wasn’t a real person as Farrah. For every comment I made, Henry quoted me, like within minutes of me posting it. Then:

  Henry Emmitt is waiting.

  Was that directed toward me? I thought for a moment and wondered what would be a witty good response. My hands trembled as I typed,

  Farrah Leevar says doing is more fun than waiting.

  He quoted it and then the light came on in his bedroom. I looked over as discreetly as I could. I felt like Bella trying to hide behind my hair and watch him out of the corner of my eye. He tossed his phone on his desk by his computer and sat down. So that was how he was keeping tabs on my comments.

  My computer dinged, popping up a chat box. It was Henry. It simply said:

  Henry Emmitt: Hi.

  I looked over at him with his back to me at his computer, fingers laced as his thumbs thumped his head in a rhythm. What would Farrah say?

  Farrah Leevar: Hi yourself ;)

  I ran my fingers through my hair, gripped it at the roots, and leaned into the computer.

  Henry Emmitt: So you know Lacey, Jade and Tasha?

  Farrah Leevar: Yea, Lacey and I go way back,

  Henry Emmitt: Cool, I live next door to Lacey.

  Farrah Leevar: So you go to school with her?

  I had no idea what I was doing. How do you talk to a boy you already know like the back of your hand as if you don’t?

  Henry Emmitt: Yeah, she’s cool.

  There you have it folks! Proof from his fingertips; I wanted to take a screen shot and make it my profile picture.

  Farrah Leevar: Yeah.

  Henry Emmitt: Do you ever hang out with them?

  Farrah Leevar: Sometimes I come up to visit her like the other night.

  Henry Emmitt: It would be cool to hang out the next time you’re in town.

  Did he just ask me out?

  Farrah Leevar: Sure.

  Henry Emmitt: I should text you.

  I looked over again at his window. He was leaned back again, casual, like he did this every day. Hands on his head again. Now I was in trouble; how would I get past giving him a 317 area code? I logged off before I thought about if he’d notice or not. I looked over at him. He was leaning over his computer. I guessed he noticed. Then it hit me. I went to Google and set up an internet phone number with the area code 812. I set it up to forward to my cell phone and tested it for texting. In ten minutes, it was up and going with voicemail and everything. I logged back in with shaking hands.