Smith High 02: Invisible

by Marni Bates

  Not like any of that is a challenge for her.

  “Thanks, Lane.” I put a heavy emphasis on her full name just to annoy her. Lane and Jane Smith. I seriously don’t know what our parents were thinking when they picked out our names. Of course, my sister had found a way to make it work for her. She started signing everything “L” back in middle school. That was it, just one initial. L. Smith. But the abridgment stuck to the point that even my parents found it a more natural fit than her given name.

  Now it feels weird to even think of calling her anything else.

  Unfortunately, my name isn’t quite as flexible when it comes to nicknames. I mean, theoretically I could have started signing things J. Smith. But since my associations with the name “Jay” are restricted to birds or middle-aged men with receding hairlines . . . I wasn’t exactly tempted to make it permanent. Or even temporary.

  My sister has always been the lucky one.

  Elle crossed her arms and smirked. “I’m just telling you the truth. It’s not my fault you look like crap.”

  Definitely time to escape to the privacy of my bedroom.

  “I’m so glad you’re home, Lane,” I called back over my shoulder as I climbed the stairs to my room. “And only two weeks and two days before you leave. Not that I’m counting or anything.”

  And then I slammed my door shut so I wouldn’t have to hear her reply.

  It was only when the lock clicked into place that I was able to release the breath I had been holding and my tension began to ebb.

  I love my room.

  Back when I was six I convinced my parents to let me have my grandma’s bed after she passed away. I risked what the other elementary school kids, including Kenzie, termed “death cooties” because it was the most luxurious thing I had ever seen. The large wooden frame included four spindly posts that spiraled upward before disappearing into a canopy of rich golden-yellow fabric that draped and billowed above me.

  And it was all mine.

  Mainly because by the time Elle realized that “death cooties” weren’t a big deal, my dad had sworn that he was never moving that blasted bed so much as an inch ever again. That was the only time I could think of when my sister had been jealous of me.

  I flopped down on the bed and stared at the fabric pattern I’ve admired every morning for the past eleven years. It was comforting knowing that the exact same view would greet me the next morning. Especially because it felt like nothing else in my life was stable anymore. Not when my friends were on a first-name basis with rock stars, and football players were probably planning on stuffing me into trash cans.

  Which was why I wanted to enjoy the familiar view in peace while I could still see out of one unbruised eye.

  My cell phone started ringing.

  So much for that plan.

  “Isobel told me everything,” Corey announced, instead of saying hello like a normal person.

  “About landing the front page of the school paper?”

  “Yeah. Someone’s been a busy girl. Apparently, you’re working on an article right now. Funny how you never mentioned it.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, ‘oh’ is right! I thought we agreed that when it comes to big news, I’m always your first phone call. What happened to that, friend? Suddenly, I’m not good enough for you?”

  I grinned. No one does fake indignation quite like Corey. “Nope. You’re not important to me at all.”

  “That’s what I thought.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

  “It’s not like I’ve told you all my secrets and embarrassing moments or anything. Oh wait . . . yes, I have.”

  “Well,” he said melodramatically, “I don’t recall my phone ringing this time.”

  I rolled my eyes and instantly regretted it when a jolt of pain shot through me. “Consider me properly chastised.”

  Although I couldn’t help wondering when exactly I had been expected to fill him in on my life. It’s rather hard to connect with somebody who spends the majority of his time waiting for someone else on Skype. Even when he’s away from his computer, he’s always checking his phone to make sure that he didn’t somehow miss a call from his superbusy rock-star boyfriend. Lately, talking to Corey felt like trying to get a six-year-old with attention deficit disorder to put away his crayons.

  But I couldn’t say any of that without offending him.

  And upsetting my best guy friend was the very last thing I wanted to do.

  “Okay, now that we’ve straightened that out, I’m so excited for you! Jane Smith using her skills for the good of all geek-kind. I love it. So, what breaking news are you going to report?”

  “Wow, slow down. I’m not exactly interviewing dictators and presidents here, which is definitely for the best. I would probably choke and somehow wind up serving a twenty-year prison sentence.”

  “Nah . . . forty to life at least. For treason.”

  My fingers itched for a pen so that I could scribble down another fake death. It was almost ridiculously easy picturing myself in a bright orange jumpsuit, insisting that it was all one big misunderstanding as Lisa Anne instructed a guard to return me to my cell. But this time, I did my best to shake off the image.

  “Care to describe those skills you mentioned? My ego could use a boost.”

  “Oh, you know,” Corey said airily, even though obviously I didn’t. “You always know when it’s ‘my friends and I’ or ‘my friends and me.’ ”

  His words brought a sharp, acidic taste to my mouth, but I tried to play it off.

  “Armed with talent like that, I must be one step away from a Pulitzer.”

  Corey laughed and the tension in my shoulders eased slightly. “You know what I mean, Jane. You pay attention to the details and crap.”

  That was one way to put it, but Corey wasn’t finished. “Plus, you’re really good at listening to others.”

  Yeah, well, when your best friends are too wrapped up with their boyfriends to ask about your day, you tend to get a lot of practice listening.

  But I couldn’t say that either.

  “Is that a nice way of saying I eavesdrop?” I joked instead.

  “Yes.”

  “I can live with that.”

  “Look, Jane, you’ll rock the assignment. I’m betting the thing is half written already.”

  I thought back to my failed attempts during detention. “Not so much. The story is proving to be . . . resistant. Maybe I should ditch it entirely and write about your whirlwind celebrity romance instead.” I deepened my voice in a halfway decent imitation of a brusque reporter. “Tell me: What’s it like to date America’s hottest young rock star, Timothy Goff?”

  Corey snorted. “It’s not exactly a ‘whirlwind’ romance when you see him more often on television than on Skype.”

  I could practically feel the exasperation rolling off him. “The long-distance thing not working out so well?”

  “It’s just . . . we’ve spent a total of nine days together, five of which were with Mackenzie and the rest of his band. I mean, he came up to see me over New Year’s, which was . . . amazing. But he’s back in LA working on a sound-track project that’s meant for a slightly younger demographic than their other stuff. I guess there’s a lot of pressure for them to come across as family friendly.”

  “I take it that having the lead singer come out as gay isn’t part of that image?” It wasn’t exactly a difficult conclusion to reach. The frustration in Corey’s voice was a pretty big giveaway that everything here was not okay.

  “Exactly. Tim keeps telling me that the sneaking-around part is temporary and that he wants to take us public. And I believe him. I really do, but . . . I think his definition of temporary is different from mine.”

  “Months?” I asked sympathetically.

  “Try years. And I know it’s stupid, but I want our Facebook profiles to make it clear that we are together. Taken. Committed. Instead, he couldn’t even kiss me to ring in the new year in case someone snapped a picture.�
�� Corey took a deep breath. “Let’s face it: He could date any guy he wants, which eventually he will figure out. And when that happens, well, I’ll probably find out via the front page of People magazine.”

  “You don’t actually believe he’d do that,” I insisted.

  “You’re right.” Corey sighed. “Tim’s too nice to blindside me that way. He’d dump me via Skype instead.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “I’m not so sure, Jane. If you were a celebrity, would you want to date someone in high school?”

  I couldn’t contain my snort of disbelief. “First of all, me, a celebrity? Never going to happen. I’ll leave that to Kenzie. Secondly, if I were to meet an attractive boy who was smart, funny, and kind, who liked me back, then yeah, I’d want to date him. Gee, I wonder who fits that description!”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Sure it is!” I argued, pacing around my room. “You’re just being stupid and insecure. That’s my job, remember?”

  Corey laughed. “Stupid. Yeah, that’s exactly how Mr. Taylor will describe you at our graduation ceremony. Right before you give your valedictorian speech.”

  “I’m not the valedictorian yet,” I countered. “And you know that doesn’t mean anything. It’s not exactly hard to get A’s here. I never speak up in class, and so far that hasn’t made a difference. The only reason you don’t have a 4.0 is because you keep blowing off assignments to go into Portland.”

  “True. Speaking of blowing off assignments . . . got any plans for tonight?”

  “Just homework and nothing that can’t be postponed. Why?”

  “Okay, then hear me out.”

  There was such a long pause that I checked to make sure we hadn’t been disconnected. “Corey?”

  “Look, you’re being such a badass now. I just thought you might want to consider changing up your look. Baggy sweatshirts and ill-fitting jeans aren’t exactly trendy.”

  “Uh . . .”

  “If you want people to take you seriously, you can’t look like your closet has been on lockdown since middle school. Trust me, if you walk into school tomorrow looking like a million dollars, you could easily become Smith High School’s next big thing.”

  His words made my blood run cold. “But—but I don’t want to be . . .”

  Corey just ignored me. “Listen, Jane. You’re going to be the center of attention tomorrow. That’s just what happens when the school good girl sucker punches the bully. The real question is whether you’re ready to make the situation work in your favor.”

  I sucked in a huge breath, while I did my best not to completely freak out. This was what I wanted, wasn’t it? A little more attention from my peers. Some respect.

  That concept had been significantly less terrifying when it was theoretical.

  “Well, I guess if you put it that way . . . I’m not so sure.”

  Corey laughed. “That’s why you’ve got me. Just sit tight, Jane. We’ll be over there soon.”

  I stared at the phone. “Um, are you using the royal ‘we,’ or are other people actually coming over to my house with you?”

  “I’m bringing everyone,” he replied vaguely. “Don’t get all melodramatic about it.”

  Right. Because I was the one blowing the situation out of proportion.

  But Corey wasn’t quite finished. “Stay put, Jane. We’ll fix everything. You’ll see.”

  “Corey, wait, what are you—”

  But he’d already hung up on me. Note to self: Never let the most impulsive person you know shake up your life.

  Even if that person happens to be your best friend.

  Chapter 8

  I’d underestimated Corey.

  That’s what I discovered when he barged into my house while I was loading up the dishwasher after dinner, with Kenzie, Isobel, and their mutual friend Melanie sheepishly trailing behind him.

  Melanie looked particularly uncomfortable entering my bedroom, probably because she was hyperaware of the fact that the two of us weren’t exactly friends—just two girls who happened to know a lot of the same people. And while I knew Kenzie and Corey never would have befriended her if she wasn’t sweet and nice and all that good stuff . . . I couldn’t help feeling a tiny twinge of resentment that she was one of the many reasons my best friends no longer had as much time for me.

  But I couldn’t start obsessing over it since all four of my visitors began dumping bags full of clothing onto my bed. My AP Calculus textbook slid to the floor with a muffled thump while I stared at the growing mountain in disbelief.

  “Um, so what’s going on here, guys?” I asked apprehensively.

  Corey beamed. “We’re here to bust your rut.”

  “A rut? I don’t think I’m in a rut. Well, maybe a small one—actually, now that I think about it, my rut is barely a dip. Not even worth noticing.”

  I slowly panned their faces to see if any of them were buying it.

  Apparently not.

  I fought down a sudden rush of claustrophobia and focused on Isobel, who was shifting her weight uncomfortably.

  “You’re in on this too?” I found that hard to believe. Isobel is even less fashionable than me. Of course, she also doesn’t have a Notable older sister who critiques all her outfits on a scale between hideous and dumpster dive.

  Elle’s words may sting, but she has prevented me from wearing a few things I would have regretted.

  Argyle tights with denim shorts. Not a good look.

  “I’m just here for moral support,” Isobel said, eyeing the pile of clothing warily.

  “Um . . . thanks. But I really don’t think this is necessary.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Corey exclaimed. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this? Don’t answer that. Now sit, and I’ll take care of everything.”

  “But . . . where did all of this come from?”

  “I was famous for two weeks, remember?” Kenzie replied as she tossed a pair of jeans to me. “These are the designer clothes that were too small on me. And since you cowered when Corey gave me my makeover, I’m thinking of this as karmic retribution.”

  I couldn’t help grinning. Kenzie’s the only person who could say, Yeah, I’m throwing you to the wolves and make me laugh while getting ripped to shreds. Okay, gross mental image. But when you’ve been best friends since elementary school, you can’t get mad over one makeover. Especially since she was right: I had chickened out when she was the focus of Corey’s attention. Of course, that was only because I didn’t want Corey focusing on me next.

  Karmic retribution sucked.

  “Now, are you going to put those on or do I have to force you?” Corey demanded.

  “Like you could.”

  He had a few inches on me, but my mom’s idea of good, clean, family fun is to discuss caloric intake while hiking. On the plus side: I know all about weight loss.

  Then again, who really wants to know that much about broccoli?

  He sighed. “Just get in the pants.”

  I waited for him to turn around first, not because I cared if he watched me change since (1) he’s just a friend, (2) he’s in a relationship, and (3) he’s gay. However, my mom is prone to entering without knocking, and I prefer to avoid awkwardness like that whenever possible.

  “So, uh . . . how was detention?” Melanie asked tentatively as she sat down in the chair by my desk.

  Even when she was nervous it came across as sweet instead of geeky.

  “Not bad.” I toed off my sneakers and started unbuttoning my jeans. “Do any of you know Sam?”

  “You’ll have to be more specific.” Corey scrolled through the music on my iPod, which meant any second Lady Gaga would start pumping out of my speakers. I kept her on a playlist just for him.

  “She’s got short black hair, lots of jewelry, compact frame, intense but in a good way. Oh, she also tapes up condoms in the bathrooms.”

  “Oh, her! She’s in my AP U.S. History class.” Kenzie looked t
houghtful. “She seems cool but rather . . . extreme.”

  “Yeah, well, she saved me from boredom.” I zipped up the new jeans. “Okay, so what’s the consensus?”

  Corey pursed his lips. “Well, obviously the shirt has to go. Here, try this one on.” He tossed me something silky and blue.

  “You sure about this?”

  He glowered at me. “Yes! Now, could you please stop asking that and just do what I tell you?”

  “Okay.” Definitely not the time to ask if he thought the shirt showed off more cleavage than our school dress code (strictly speaking) allowed. I just kept my mouth shut as I wrangled it into fitting correctly even as the butterflies in my stomach viciously beat their wings against me instead of fluttering.

  “And . . . how do I look now?”

  Foolish. Gawky. Like I’m trying too hard.

  Kenzie grinned. “You look amazing and nothing like yourself.”

  Corey pushed me across my room toward my mirror. “Meet Jane Smith 2.0.”

  “Great. I’ve always wanted an upgrade,” I said sarcastically before I took a deep breath and faced my reflection.

  The whole look was subtly glamorous.

  The dark gray jeans fit like a glove, and the shirt gleamed a watery periwinkle. The texture of the pebbled silk had me fighting the urge to stroke the material forever. It also showed far more cleavage than . . . oh, anything I’d ever worn before.

  I tugged at the hem. “You guys don’t think I look, erm . . . slutty?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Corey exclaimed. “You look phenomenal. Now try this on.” He thrust a deep purple dress at me. “We have a lot of work to do.”

  “We do?” I traded my outfit for the one in his arms.

  “Shoes, hair, makeup, accessories—the works. What’d you expect?”

  Isobel, Melanie, and I all exchanged nervous looks, although I don’t know why Melanie was concerned. If Scott had spotted Melanie, he definitely would be asking her to model for him. He would probably be tripping all over himself to talk her into it. The only explanation for why that hadn’t happened that I could come up with was that as a transfer student in his junior year, he might not be paying much attention to underclassmen.