The Opposite of Invisible

by Liz Gallagher

  Mandy’s waiting outside.

  “Hey, chica,” she says as I approach. “Ready?”

  “Can’t wait.”

  Jim is ready. The room’s heated up. He hands me a blowpipe and watches as I carry it to the furnace and gather the molten glass. “It’s like picking up honey with your finger,” I say.

  “Except at two thousand degrees,” Jim says.

  “Yeah, except for that.”

  And the lesson begins.

  I’m in the zone as Jim yells out directions. In the end, my piece is very lopsided, but it’ll look cool that way.

  “You’re getting comfortable with this. I can tell,” Jim says as I get ready to leave.

  “I love it,” I tell him. “Even if I suck.”

  “At first, no one is good.”

  Okay, Yoda.

  Mandy’s been doing her own thing. I almost forgot she was there.

  “Wow,” I say as she puts her work away. “I was so in a zone.”

  “Me too,” she says, wiping sweat from her forehead. “I thought that only happened to me in gymnastics. Cool.”

  “Definitely.”

  “So, I’ll see you tonight for the party?” She wipes more sweat, motions to the front door.

  I have an idea. Maybe it’s about time I had something pretty under my new T-shirt. Maybe tonight Simon and I will fix our little fight; the party will be a good chance to make up. “Hey, why don’t we each go home and shower and then meet up to go shopping before the party?”

  “Shopping? For a certain something?” She raises her eyebrows at me in that way she did when we were talking about the black bra. “Yay! And bring your party clothes. We can get ready at my house after.”

  So I’m hanging out with my new friend before the party.

  We meet up at the bus stop by Ladro and take the 28 to Pacific Place, back to the store where I went with my mom.

  “Here we are,” says Mandy, heading straight for the lingerie rack. It’s fun having a girl to do this with. She picks up the black number to try on for herself.

  She gets me the black one and a pretty purple one. “Try these.”

  In the dressing room, both bras make me feel like a pinup girl. I’ve never been so nicely … supported.

  They’re not cheap, but I have enough.

  I find Mandy in the front of the store. “I’m getting it, are you?” she asks.

  “Yep.” I grin. It crosses my mind that she doesn’t have anyone special to show it off for. “If it’s okay to ask … who are you planning to impress?”

  She smiles. “It’s not about some boy. I just like to feel pretty.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “Plus, you never know.” She grabs a pink bra in her size.

  My gaze falls to the neon novelty condoms that are also on the rack. She follows my eyes.

  “Not me!” she says.

  Phew. “Not me, either. Not yet.”

  “You and Simon aren’t there, are you?”

  I think about it. “We probably … could be. But. No.” Something always holds me back.

  “Only do it if you really, really want to,” she says. “Some of my friends have been so destroyed by sex with the wrong guy.”

  “I hear ya.”

  We go to the register, pay, and head back to the bus stop.

  At Mandy’s house, no one’s home, and we go straight up to her room.

  It’s like a sanctuary in pink, kind of like a little girl’s room, which surprises me. The bed is made. Mine never is.

  “Let’s do your makeup first,” she says. “Then mine.”

  “Sure.”

  She has a vanity in her room. Something I’ve definitely never seen before. I sit on the white-cushioned chair and she gets to work on my face.

  Mandy does makeup like a pro, swiftly and with concentration. She has an artillery of brushes.

  When she’s done, I stare at the mirror and see my eyes brighter than usual, my lips more pouty. It’s almost like seeing myself in the witch dress for the first time. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome,” she says. “And you’re hot!”

  It’s seven o’clock by the time we finish getting dressed.

  “Pizza?” Mandy asks. “I’m starving.”

  “Me too. Definitely pizza.”

  I’m supposed to meet Simon at the party at eight. We have just about enough time.

  We take Mandy’s car to Mad Pizza so we can go straight from there.

  We get to chatting about glassblowing and school, and we don’t leave Mad Pizza till eight-thirty.

  The party’s in Ballard, so we arrive at about eight-forty-five. I figure Simon knows so many people, he probably won’t even notice that I’m late.

  It’s a crazy scene at the party. People I don’t recognize are dancing in the living room, with all the furniture pushed to the walls. It’s so loud, I barely hear Mandy when she screams “Bathroom!” in my ear.

  I feel instantly tense as I push my way through the crowd, looking for Simon. Some random guy puts his hand on the small of my back. It feels creepy.

  Simon’s on a kitchen stool. He’s drinking a can of cheap beer. He sees me but doesn’t smile. “Where were you?”

  “I was with Mandy. We got caught up having dinner. I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind if I was a little late.”

  “Wouldn’t mind?” he asks. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Simon was waiting for me? That’s sweet. Somehow I imagined that he doesn’t think about me much when I’m not right in front of him.

  “It’s too loud!” I say.

  He nods, stands, takes my hand.

  We go upstairs and find an empty bedroom. Switch on the light.

  “Sorry,” I say, keeping Simon’s hand. “I just don’t really like big crowds like that.”

  “Now it’s just you and me,” he says, rubbing my palm with his fingers.

  “I didn’t mean to be late.”

  He grabs me by the waist. “Forgiven.”

  I’ve heard about guys getting octopus arms in these situations, eight instead of two, but I’ve never known what it felt like until this moment.

  He is everywhere on my body at once as we kiss.

  I move my hands up and down his back, slip my hands under his sweater, and he takes this cue to ease my top over my head.

  I’m so glad I’m wearing the black bra.

  Somehow, though, I am apart from this scene. I am not in it. I feel what Simon is doing and my body responds, but part of me is above, thinking, This is what it’s like to really go at it, and all I can see is what someone watching us would see.

  It’s exciting; I like it. But it’s weird; it’s kind of funny. And I can’t stop thinking: Am I doing this just because I want him for my boyfriend? What about love?

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  “I’m thinking.”

  “We’ll stop. It’s okay.” He understands. “This is as far as we go tonight. Just this.”

  We keep going. I’m melting. His body there on top of mine, skin on skin. How will I ever want this to stop?

  Then he pulls away. “If we don’t stop now, I don’t think I’ll be able to.”

  Exactly.

  We breathe there on the bed for a while, next to each other.

  “Simon,” I say. “Thanks. You’re a really, really good guy.”

  I stand and find my shirt on the floor.

  He sits on the bed, pulls on his sweater.

  “We’re gonna have to wait a minute.” I know what he means. His, um, parts, were certainly ready for one of those neon condoms.

  “Come sit next to me,” he says. He puts his arm around my waist, nuzzles his head against mine, breathes hard.

  “Thanks for being so understanding,” I say. “I wish …” What? I’m not sure what I want to say.

  This is real. It’s real that I could have sex right now. Simon just breathes there.

  He’s not saying anything. Not trying to make
me do anything.

  Which makes me almost want to do it.

  Back downstairs, I spot Mandy on the dance floor with a tall blond guy. She looks happy, jumping around.

  Simon goes back to the kitchen and gets another beer out of the fridge. He hands me one.

  I think about the last time I drank. “No, thanks. I’m okay.”

  He widens his eyes at me. “No? It’s a party.”

  “I don’t want to today.”

  Does he think I’m lame for not drinking? “Suit yourself,” he says, but his voice is kind of … tight.

  He finishes his beer fast and goes for another. “Sure you don’t want one?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I thought we were having fun tonight. First you’re late. Now you’re being …”

  “Being what?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Just forget about it,” I say. The close mood of upstairs has disappeared. “I’m not really into … this party.”

  “Rather be off with someone else? Sorry I’m not artistic enough for you.”

  “What? That’s not what I mean! Simon—?” He must be getting drunk. This came out of nowhere. “Excuse me? Did what happened upstairs just happen? It was so nice. I

  thought that was you up there. My … boyfriend. The guy I like.”

  He stares straight at my eyes. “I thought so too.”

  I’m beginning to feel like we’ve gone off script. This is not a happy ending.

  Mandy finds me a little while later, after I’ve escaped to the bathroom and then wandered out onto the back porch.

  “Ready, chica?”

  “So ready,” I say.

  We pass Simon on our way out, in the middle of the dance floor. Girls are dancing near him, but I don’t think any are really dancing with him. I fight my way through the crowd and grab his shoulder. “Talk to you tomorrow!” I scream.

  He nods but never stops dancing.

  I spend Sunday on my own around the house, quiet.

  What on earth happened last night? I can’t figure it out.

  The phone doesn’t ring at all, and I barely get off the couch.

  Is this life out of my cocoon? Is this what I wanted?

  Chapter Eighteen

  •

  •

  •

  I walk to school on Monday in a kind of daze. I feel the rain on me and I shiver somewhere deep into my middle, but I’m also on some other planet.

  It’s like I’ve started to molt.

  Out of my old skin, growing my new.

  I left late this morning, to decrease my chances of running into Jewel again. We managed a conversation the other day, but if I talked to him now, I’d be weird. I’d be the girl who wants her best friend back. I’d be the dramatic girl in mourning over the loss of childhood. I’d be mute.

  Simon’s at my locker.

  I walk over, say nothing, and wham, he’s got me up against the row of metal.

  When we come up for air, he says, “Sorry about Saturday.”

  “Me too.”

  But I know it’s not all okay. Something won’t let me let him in.

  I sit in Spanish class with Simon, trying not to watch Jewel in his group with Vanessa.

  I sneak a peek at Jewel and he’s looking out the window. I guess he’s watching the rain.

  We used to joke about counting raindrops, trying to say the biggest numbers in our heads. Googolplexes.

  After class, Simon rushes out to a student council meeting. Vanessa goes to talk to Señora Rodriguez.

  Jewel passes me, keeping three desks away. I say, “Hey.” I have to take this chance. If I fall apart, maybe he’ll put me back together.

  “Hey,” he says. He looks at me. Not past me. It’s like there’s a spotlight again. Like, big moment. Like we should have a billboard.

  “Headed home?” I ask. Vanessa is just past his shoulder, but he doesn’t seem worried about her. He’s over here talking to me.

  He nods and we fall into step together.

  “Jewel,” I say. We’re close to home, but I sit down on the wet curb.

  He sits next to me and waits for me to go on. I do. “Remember the Charm of Hummingbirds show? Why do you think Simon stood with us? Instead of Corrigan and them?”

  Jewel thinks for a minute. “I don’t pretend to understand the mind of the masses, but if I had to guess, I’d say it’s because you’re gorgeous.”

  I blush.

  Now if only I can stop the warmth on my body from Jewel calling me gorgeous. I smirk like he does, trying to hide a huge smile.

  That night, my parents have people coming over for dinner. Dad’s cooking organic chicken with rosemary, and garlic mashed potatoes.

  I help Mom set the table.

  She’s humming as she brings out wineglasses.

  “Mom,” I say. “We should invite Jewel and Brenda for Thanksgiving.”

  She puts down the glasses, smiles at me. “Sounds great.”

  She comes over and we hug. Just that connection comforts me.

  The doorbell rings. The house fills quickly with company chatter as I get my dinner, eat on the porch, and go upstairs.

  I lie in bed and look at my Dove Girl.

  It’s time for things to even out, I think at her. I’ve been on a teeter-totter.

  Simon, up. Jewel, down. Me, up. Vanessa, please stay down. Jewel, up. Would that make Simon go down? I mean descend.

  I remember the game Jewel and I used to play as kids, at that park near school. The one where Simon and I went before the Bath.

  We used to sit on the teeter-totter’s edges and then move forward until we had it balanced in midair. Gentle sway, both of us off the ground, floating. We’d put our feet in front of us and the only thing keeping us up would be that wooden board with chipped paint laid across a rusted metal bar. We could’ve spent whole days like that.

  Simon’s big. If we got on a teeter-totter he’d hit the ground and I’d slide down right into him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  •

  •

  •

  Late for bio already, I stop in the bathroom by the gym.

  Someone’s crying in a stall.

  My first reaction is to head right back out the door.

  I’m intruding.

  But I’ve got to pee.

  The girl flushes the toilet.

  I head into a stall, do what I came in here to do.

  Sitting there, I see boots walking toward the sinks.

  Vanessa’s motorcycle boots.

  I want to sit here all day, in the smelly gym bathroom, rather than face her.

  But I can’t be late for bio.

  What was she crying about?

  I count to ten by Mississippis, waiting for her to wash up and get a move on.

  I can still see her boots shuffling around near the sink.

  I am officially late for bio.

  I head out to the sinks.

  For one moment I wish I could be as invisible as I used to feel.

  Vanessa is leaning over one of the filthy sinks, applying eyeliner.

  She flinches when she sees me coming up to wash my hands at the other sink.

  “Damn allergies,” she says. “My eyes water.”

  I give her a half-smile. “I hate when that happens.”

  “Yeah, well”—she caps her eyeliner—“it’s really none of your business.”

  She brushes by me.

  The rumor mill at school is churning.

  In the cafeteria Mike Corrigan shouts over at me, “Hey, Alice, your bud and Vanessa are over. I heard it from that Amber chick during trig.”

  Simon gives me a look.

  “That’s interesting.” My brain floods. When did this happen? And why?

  I’m napping when my mom wakes me up. I smell beef stew cooking downstairs. I roll over and say, “Dinnertime!”

  “Honey, Jewel’s here to see you.”

  It’s a good thing I just woke up. Otherwise, I’m sure
my face would show that I feel like one of those cartoon Acme anvils has just been dropped on my head. I am Bugs Bunny befuddled.

  “I’ll send him up,” she says.

  I sit, still covered in my blanket, and look at my Dove Girl. Help!

  He’s on my window seat, just looking at me. He doesn’t seem nervous at all. When he’s nervous, his eyes look behind you, not at you. Like at the troll that day. He studied the VW instead of looking at my eyes. He was mad and he didn’t know what to say and I’m sure his heart was like a hammer hitting a nail and hitting it and hitting it.

  Now he’s different. Aside from looking at my eyes, he’s also got messy hair. For Jewel, messy hair is usually an art. He uses mousse, although he’d die of embarrassment if people knew that. Today he’s frizzy.

  Is he jumbled over Vanessa? Or what?

  “Vanessa likes you, you know,” he says. “She’s jealous of you sometimes.”

  This is the last thing I expected to hear. I think about it. Likes me? She can be kind of mean to me sometimes, like when she almost dripped paint on my work that day in the studio. But I can see it, I guess. We’re too similar, really, to not like each other. Even if we might drive each other insane.

  I look at Jewel. “She’s so out there.”

  “Because she’s insecure.”

  I try not to seem surprised. Instead, I pick at the bedspread. Could that be?

  Once you start looking at someone like they’re a real person, it’s easy to see that something’s going on under the surface.

  Jewel fidgets. “I broke up with her.”

  “I know.” Crying in the girls’ room is not a sign of being a dumper; it was about Vanessa being the dumpee.

  He’s silent. Closes his eyes. Opens them. “You know you’ll always be the most important person to me.”

  At that, my heart leaps.

  And then I understand what else he’s saying.

  “And that’s why you broke up with Vanessa?”

  He stands up. “Yes.”

  I watch him leave my room and hear him pound down the stairs in his Jewel way. I want so badly to follow him.

  Now I know. I know I have to undo everything with Simon.

  Simon’s decided to take me for a picnic on Sunday night.

  Here’s my opportunity. I can’t be with him anymore. It’s not right. I’m not ready for something so big. I have to say those words.