by Seven Steps
“You don’t know anything about me,” I threw over my shoulder.
I did not look like a turtle. Cole could jump in a lake for all I cared.
“I know you’re not a quitter!” His loud voice followed me down the hall as I rushed into first period Art.
I slid into my seat, seething. Cole Winsted was the king of all jerks. I imagined him sitting on a tack, leaned back in my chair and smiled.
5
By the time English rolled around, my hands were shaking.
I should have thought this through. I should have had a better plan. I should have run away screaming. But there were only five minutes left in class and if I backed out now, I would never have the strength to do it again. No. It had to happen, and it had to happen today.
My heart banged in my chest, and I took in deep breaths.
I could do this. I could talk to Jake.
The bell rang before I was ready.
No! I needed more time. I hadn’t thought through every aspect. Felt every feeling. Evaluated every angle.
God. I had to pee!
Jake slid from his chair, scooped his book bag off the floor and started for the door. He wore a blue t-shirt that showed off his muscled arms and chest. His hair was smoothed back, his body relaxed.
He was gorgeous. Almost too gorgeous.
My breakfast rose in to my throat, and I forced it back down.
You can do this. Fortune favors the brave, remember?
I grabbed my book bag, forced my way through the students who bottlenecked at the door, and found Jake in the hallway, walking to his next class.
My throat closed and my feet felt heavy. I suddenly wanted to break out in tears.
You can do this. You can do this.
By some strength I didn’t know I had, I forced air in to my lungs.
“Jake Winsted!”
He stopped.
Oh God. I’d said it too loud. I didn’t mean to scream his entire name like that, but if I didn’t, it would have gotten stuck in my throat.
He turned, his eyes searching the hallway for who had summoned him. His gaze swept from one side of the hallway to the other before he raised his eyebrow and turned back around.
He looked right through me. I was standing directly in front of him and he didn’t even see me.
My breath left me. My heart fell in to my knees. My legs felt weak. I’d never felt such crushing disappointment in my entire life.
I was invisible, after all. It was perfectly clear now.
I, Bella French, was invisible.
My will seeped out of me by the second. I put my hand over my heart, feeling the hard beating in my fingertips. Somehow, I stumbled against the wall and leaned against it.
I am invisible. I’m-
“You’re an odd duck, French.”
Cole. Why was he always around? He was like a mosquito that I just wanted to slap.
His body, a mirror of his brother’s, walked around me and leaned against the egg shell colored walls. I avoided his eyes, looking at his sneakers instead. I noticed that they were basketball sneakers. The kind that people wait in lines all weekend for. Not like my nondescript red ones.
God. I was such a loser!
“You parade around like you’re some quasi-genius, then you yell people’s names in the hallway like you’re an escapee from a mental institution. It’s quite confusing.”
I closed my eyes and sunk further against the wall.
“Please go away,” I groaned.
“Why? So you can go lusting after my brother like every other brain-dead Barbie in this school?”
My eyes opened and I glared so hard that my vision blurred.
“I’m not lusting after anybody.”
“So, why were you calling him?”
I looked left then right, assuring myself that no one else was near.
“I was going to offer to tutor him.”
One of Cole’s black eyebrows raised.
“Like an academic tutor? Or a tutor in the ways of love? Because I think you are underestimating Jake in both departments.”
“What does that mean?”
“He doesn’t care about school and he’s a manwhore. Either way, not on your level. Forget him.”
Forget Jake? That was like asking me to forget my own name.
I ran my hand over my face. Why couldn’t the floor open and swallow me? That would be so nice.
“Cole, I’m not in the mood for one of your self-righteous lectures.”
He held up his hands.
“Not a lecture. Just a word of advice.” He scooted closer to me. “Jake is not the greatest of guys. I think you should set your sights a little higher. Someone more academically inclined, maybe more virginal, like yourself.”
“If you’re talking about you, then I’d rather be eaten by a lion.”
He scoffed.
“Hold on there, French. I didn’t say God level. I’m just saying aim for above Neanderthal and somewhere in the realm of educated human.”
I rolled my eyes and pushed off the wall. Why did I talk to Cole? Why did I give him the time of day? Why did Jake look through me? Why was I so invisible?
“Earth to French.” Cole snapped a finger in front of my face, interrupting my swirling thoughts. “You’re doing that thing where you check out again. Am I that boring?”
“Boorish is more like it.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“If you spell boorish, I will give you a cookie. Not homemade, and it may have fallen on the floor, but I think that you’ll enjoy it either way.”
I rolled my eyes so hard that I thought they would pop out.
“Leave me alone, Cole.”
I pushed past him and made my way down the hall.
“So, you don’t want the cookie?”
I ignored him, my mood souring by the second.
One Winsted brother didn’t even know that I was alive and the other got his jollies by mocking me.
What was going on with my life?
6
“He didn’t even say ‘hi?’” Ariel asked, pushing her red hair out of her eyes.
I was presently hunched face down on the table, my arms over my head for extra dramatic effect.
“He didn’t even look at me,” I said, my voice muffled by the table.
“Was the hallway crowded?” Jasmine asked.
“No.”
“Maybe he’s blind or something.”
“Not helping.”
“Aw, Bella baby.” She rubbed my back like my mother used to. By some miracle, I didn’t break down in to sobs. “He’s an idiot if he didn’t notice you. You look great today. Way better than you’ve looked in a long time.”
“Not good enough, apparently.”
“You know what?” Ariel pulled my hair, jerking my face upward. I squirmed. “Jake Winsted is a butt hole. If he doesn’t notice you, then he doesn’t deserve you.”
“That’s right!” Jasmine parroted.
“You deserve someone better than him.”
“Who’s better than him?” I asked. “Jake is the king of the school.”
Ariel and Jasmine looked at each other, then at me. They tried to pretend like they didn’t know what I was talking about, but they knew it. Everyone knew it. Jake was the top of the food chain here. No wonder he didn’t notice me. I was a fool to think he would.
“You don’t need Jake,” Ariel said. “He’s a jerk. There are much better boys out there.”
“Like who?” I asked.
“How about his brother?” Jasmine offered.
I laughed. Though I wanted to fall apart, I literally laughed out loud.
The very thought of Cole and I being anything other than mortal enemies was laughable.
Jasmine frowned at me.
“What? He’s cute and smart.”
“And he remembers your name,” Ariel offered.
“He’s worse than his brother. All he does is make fun of me.”
“Oh, Bella
. That’s what boys do.”
I raised an eyebrow. As if Ariel knew about boys. None of us had had a boyfriend yet. All we knew was what we saw on TV and read in Seventeen magazine.
“It’s okay,” I said, though it was completely, 100 percent not okay. “I’ll just get over it, I guess.”
Newsflash. I was not going to get over it. There was no getting over a boy like Jake Winsted. He was the type of guy that women remembered and talked about in nursing homes. I could see me, Ariel and Jasmine now. Wrinkled, bent over, sitting around a table filled with our knitting baskets.
I’d say, “Remember that Jake Winsted. He sure was a catch. I wonder what happened to him.”
I prayed again for God to let the earth open up and swallow me.
“I think I know something that will cheer you up.”
Ariel pulled out a yellow sheet of paper from her book bag. In big, bold letters surrounded by stars were the words, St. Mary’s Annual Talent Show.
It took me a minute to register what she was alluding to. When I figured it out, I pushed the paper back toward her.
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh. Come on, Bella! You have an awesome voice.”
“Yes. At home. With you two.”
Well, more than with them. When Mom was alive, we sang and sang until we were hoarse. Then we sang some more. She had a beautiful voice. Smooth and powerful. She sang lead in our church choir. When she stepped on stage, everyone teared up. When she opened her mouth, they bawled. Me included. I could only wish that I was as good as her.
“At least think about it,” Ariel said. “It will be good for you to get up there and show everyone how amazing you are.”
“Yeah,” Jasmine agreed.
I let out a groan. Mostly miserable, though a little bit of it was curious.
“I don’t even know what I would sing.”
“Sing that song that we like,” Ariel said.
“Which one?” I sang many songs, including a song book of Disney classics, anything by Adele, and of course, Beyonce. I butchered Beyonce, but it was still fun to try and hit her high notes.
“Sussudio,” Ariel said. “I love when you sing that one.”
A sad smile pushed up my lips, before it disappeared again.
“My mom and I used to sing that one,” I said softly. I could hear her now, belting it out as if she was filled with yearning and missing and wanting. How she could make such a happy song sound so sad and full, I would never know.
Ariel put her hand over mine. She understood what I was going through. Her mom had died too, leaving her dad and seven daughters behind.
“Promise me that you’ll think about it,” Ariel said. “Promise me.”
I hesitated. Getting in front of the entire school and singing? What if they thought I was terrible? What if I was terrible?
“Your mom would want you to,” Ariel added.
And there was the knife in my heart. My mom would want me to. I knew that. In a way, I wanted to, but my fear wrapped around me like a boa constrictor around its dinner. I took a shallow breath.
“I’ll think about it,” I said, plucking the paper from Ariel’s fingers.
She smiled and clapped her hands.
“Whatever you decide, is fine with us,” Jasmine said. “As long as I don’t have to wear one of those Madonna bra cones.”
I thought of skinny Jasmine in a cone bra and laughed. Ariel joined in. Pretty soon, we were in tears and, for the first time that day, I felt the weight of the world lift from my shoulders.
7
I walked in to my apartment, and immediately stepped in poop.
“Mojo!” I cried out, walking on my heels to the kitchen. If Daddy saw the land mines that this dog left, he’d freak. How could one dog miss ten pee pads? It was almost like he’d strategically placed the poop so that we’d step in it. It was in every doorway, every walk way, right in front of the couch. What was up with this dog and his weird pooping habits?
After spending fifteen minutes cleaning up the gross piles and washing the bottom of my shoes with bleach, I put Mojo on a leash and carried him outside. Yes, carried. I wasn’t sure why I insisted on using leashes. The dog obviously preferred for someone else to do the walking.
“There’s more poop in there?” I asked as the dog squatted next to a tree. “What have you been eating?”
As if fed up with my questions, Mojo moved to the other side of the tree, away from me.
“I can still see you,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “You’re going to have to learn how to hold it until we get home like every other dog.”
Two older ladies in dresses passed by me. They stopped and looked at me with confusion.
“I’m talking to the dog,” I said. “He pooped in the house.”
They didn’t respond. Only nodded, looked at me as if I was insane and kept walking.
I frowned and held up the leash. I didn’t need these strangers’ approval, but I didn’t want them to think that there was a psycho in the neighborhood either.
“Look, I have a leash. The dogs on the other side of the tree. He doesn’t like me to watch.”
The women grabbed at each other’s hand and sped up. I didn’t know old ladies could move so fast.
I sighed miserably.
“Don’t break a hip,” I muttered.
Mojo kicked some dirt over his poop and reemerged.
“Now you show up. Where were you when the old ladies thought I was talking to myself, huh? You couldn’t bark or howl or fart or something?”
The dog looked at its pile of poop, then looked at me. An unmistakable sign for, pick up the poop and carry me home.
I’d never seen a more stubborn or sassy dog in all my life. I doubted I ever would.
I did as I was silently told, picked up the poop and carried Mojo home. By the time I arrived, Daddy had already sat down on the couch.
“Is that you, honey?” he asked, cracking open his after-work beer. He allowed himself one per night. Never more. There had been a brief time after Mom died where he allowed himself way more than one. We didn’t talk about that dark time. It was too painful.
“Yeah, Dad.”
“Where’s the dog?”
“Prince Mojo is right here.”
I plopped the dog in Dad’s lap and sat next to them on the couch.
Daddy scratched the dog behind the ears, picked him up under his armpits, and examined him.
“He is kind of cute, I guess,” he said. Mojo squirmed and Daddy lowered him back on to his lap, scratching his ears some more. Warmth filled me. I would have thought that Daddy would still be angry after yesterday. I was glad he wasn’t. He was in a strangely good mood, actually. Not that he was always miserable, but today he seemed to have a little extra pep.
“How many piles of poop did you pick up today?” he asked.
I gasped. “Too many.”
Daddy nodded. “Well, if Mojo is going to stay, he’s going to have to be trained. Crate trained and paper trained.”
I groaned. Crate training was one thing, but paper training could take weeks. Especially since Daddy and I were gone for half the day.
“Can’t we just get a rumba?” I asked. “It could clean up the poop while we’re gone.”
“You want to vacuum up dog crap? Are you crazy?”
“I prefer the term creative.”
He laughed and shook his head. I laughed, too.
I missed my mom, but I’d always been a Daddy’s girl. Some said that I had him wrapped around my little finger, but I thought it was the other way around. From his warm, rich brown eyes to his bear hugs and his rumbling laugh, I loved everything about my father. We fought, of course. I was a teenager, after all, and prone to emotional outbursts, but in the end, I felt safe when I was with him and, since Mom died, he was the last piece of her that I had to hold onto.
“Well, tonight we’ll start on the paper training.”
“And leash training?” I asked.
&n
bsp; “Leash training?”
“He kind of doesn’t want to walk on a leash.”
Daddy looked incredulous. A dribble of beer fizzled in his beard.
“You’re kidding me?”
I shook my head.
“I wish I was.”
“Get me the leash. I’ll have to see this for myself.”
I stood, grabbed the leash from the coat hook by the door, and handed it to Daddy.
He gently attached it to the dog’s collar and stood up.
“All right, Mojo,” Daddy said, his southern drawl thicker now that he’d had a drink. “Let’s go.”
And, like the treasonous pup that he was, Mojo walked on that leash like a trained show dog. The two of them walked and jogged around the apartment like they’d been doing it their whole lives.
It was official. My dog was a traitor.
“I swear, he doesn’t walk for me!” I cried.
Daddy waved the comment away. “Aw. That’s all right. You’ll just have to show Mojo who’s boss. Here.” He handed me the leash, and I jumped up to take it.
“All right. Once around the kitchen and back now.”
I let out a breath and looked at the dog, who was now avoiding my eye.
“Okay, Mojo. Let’s go.”
I wasn’t surprised to see the dog sit on his backside, lay down, and close his eyes.
Daddy laughed until he cried. I saw nothing funny about it. Nothing at all.
8
The next morning, I woke up before the sun in the worst way possible. My mind had decided to jolt me awake by making me dream about snakes. I hated snakes. I’d gotten bit by a snake once, back in North Carolina, while walking across a field to retrieve a forgotten bucket. It wasn’t a poisonous snake or anything, and it scared me more than hurt me, but that one moment did cement my fears.
So, I laid in bed, the snake dream fading, and my worries and insecurities replacing it.
Yesterday had been a complete bust. Jake didn’t even look at me, even though I was standing right in front of him.
Was I that easily ignored?
I planted my feet on the floor, clicked on my bedside lamp and walked over to the mirror that hung behind my door.