Invisible

by Marni Bates

Which was when Chelsea noticed me from her place on the crescent-shaped cement platform on the quad outside that separates the Notables from the Invisibles. I pulled up short. The Crescent is considered sacred territory by Notables and Not-ables alike. Completely off-limits to all geeks . . . or at least it was until Kenzie started dating Logan.

  Except now I had Chelsea Halloway crooking one perfectly painted fingernail, beckoning me over.

  Ignoring her wasn’t an option. That would be kind of like pretending not to see an alligator munching away on a clown; it’s terrifying, but trying to wish the situation away won’t work. Not if you plan on getting out of there with all your limbs intact. Frankly, I still thought Chelsea was a lot more dangerous than any reptile—regardless of the fact that she lacked the requisite number of teeth. She had acted nice to me yesterday, but that didn’t mean I could trust her.

  Especially since I knew she was gunning for my best friend.

  Then again, maybe it was possible for this particular alligator to change. After all, her lunch invitation was practically unheard-of Notable behavior. So instead of freezing, like I would have done yesterday, I casually waved as if I greeted the Queen of the Notables all the time and then pointed in front of me to the English building with a look I hoped she’d interpret as: Sorry, I can’t stop. I have class. See you later!

  Her nod and expressive eye roll was all the response I needed.

  Fine, geek. I’ll see you later then.

  It was bizarre to find myself carrying on a nonverbal conversation with Chelsea, but I didn’t have time to obsess over it. Instead, I walked right into my journalism class with a goofy grin plastered all over my face. I was slowly getting the hang of this social stuff. Outfits. Concerts. Dating.

  Compared to all of that, this article should be a simple procedure.

  That’s when I spotted Scott fiddling on Photoshop with a picture of my panic-stricken face that he had clearly snapped during the audition.

  Too bad nothing was ever simple when Scott Fraser was around.

  Chapter 20

  “So we’ve got tickets.”

  That’s all I could come up with to say to Scott. Not

  Good morning. Not How’s it going. Those would imply that I might actually enjoy spending time in his company.

  Which I didn’t.

  Well, okay, he could be pretty entertaining around Mrs. Blake. But when it was just the two of us . . . not so much.

  Given that he inevitably insulted me.

  Still, I guess We’ve got tickets was a nicer greeting than Congratulations, jerkwad, you talked your way into going somewhere else with me.

  Although I definitely had been tempted to go with the second option.

  Scott didn’t even look up as he adjusted the color on the photo. “Great. You can give it to me later. Right before your date with Romeo.”

  “You weren’t serious about joining us.” I made it a statement, not a question, simply because I knew he had to be messing with me. No guy in his right mind would volunteer to shadow a nerdy girl on her first date. Not even the one currently tinkering with his computer in front of me.

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah, you weren’t serious about tagging along?” I specified.

  “Yeah, I’ll be coming.” He smiled distractedly as the sequence of commands he entered sharpened the image. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “I mean this as nicely as possible,” I lied. “But you are not wanted.”

  “And I mean this as nicely as possible—you don’t have a choice.”

  I was fed up with hearing that I was all out of options, or maybe I was just sick of saying it to myself. Either way, I couldn’t refrain from snapping, “Oh, really? Since when?”

  “Since Mr. Elliot promoted me or since Lisa Anne gave me free rein to use you for my portfolio. I’ll let you decide.”

  “I told you that portfolio wasn’t going to happen.”

  His grin only widened. “What do you think the chances are of you stopping me?”

  One in a billion.

  I balled my hands in frustration. “Why? Why would you want to observe my date? I honestly don’t see the appeal for you.”

  “Taking photos of Jane Smith and her Romeo? Priceless.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  There had to be an alternative.

  “What would it take to convince you not to join us?”

  He paused as if to give the question some serious thought. “A nude shot. Very tasteful.”

  “You’ll never make it as a stand-up comic.”

  He smirked but looked completely at ease with our back-and-forth, like it was some kind of twisted game we were playing. Weirdly enough, I had become accustomed to it, and with the one Notable exception of Alex Thompson, I don’t fight people. I aim for appeasement or invisibility; either way, I never look forward to a face-off.

  Except neither of those approaches ever seemed like real possibilities with Scott.

  “Eh, I’ve decided to use my talents elsewhere.”

  “Well, don’t give up your day job.”

  “I don’t plan to, which is exactly why I will be seeing you and your Romeo after school.”

  And that was all I got out of him. He went right back to his photography with a single-minded intensity that was impressive albeit annoying. The last time I had been that focused on my writing, I died in a tragic tuna incident.

  That had been a good one.

  Although, I couldn’t help wondering how Mr. Elliot would react if he stumbled upon the contents of my notebook. Most likely he would yell, “This isn’t how you step up your game, Smith!” before shipping me off to spend quality time with Mr. Shelder in the Guidance Office. Not that I had to worry about my teacher reading it, or anyone else for that matter. There weren’t a lot of people dying to sneak a peek at the inner workings of my life. My friends didn’t even care enough to return my calls.

  Okay, that wasn’t exactly true. They cared. Of course, they cared. They just hadn’t asked for an update . . . yet. Not necessarily a bad thing considering I no longer knew how much I wanted to tell them. If they had called me right back I would have felt obligated to share everything.

  Now I could keep some of it to myself without guilt.

  I would still have to tell Kenzie something, because . . . regardless of her shopping spree with her new best friend, I couldn’t keep her in the dark. At least, I wouldn’t have if I had been able to get a word in edgewise over lunch. Corey chattered away incessantly, pausing only intermittently to breathe and to thrust two tickets into my hand.

  “I can’t drive Jane. I know I’m usually the carpool director, but I’m going into Portland in a few hours, which I know is early and maybe a little needy, but I don’t care. I am just one physics test away from more alone time with Tim.” He sighed hugely. “So close! Anyhow, I’m getting there way before any of you. And I also don’t know when I’m going to leave. The concert will probably end around midnight, but I really want to be with him as much as possible, you know?”

  Yeah, we knew. Corey was not the type to nobly suffer in silence about the pain of a long-distance relationship. Not that I could blame him. If Logan were a rock star and Kenzie couldn’t see him on a regular basis, she’d probably be acting the same way. That didn’t stop me from finding it annoying.

  “Sure, we can take her,” Logan said, like I was a sack of potatoes that needed transporting. “No problem.”

  Except with Scott shadowing my every move, it made more sense for me to carpool with him.

  “I don’t think I need a ride, guys.”

  No one paid me any attention.

  “Great! I really appreciate it, Logan.” Corey’s broad smile included everyone in the cafeteria. “Have I mentioned that today is a very good day?”

  Only fifteen hundred times already.

  If I ever became that nauseating in a relationship, I hoped my friends would have the decency to tell me. Or at the very l
east, I wanted them to have to sit there, nodding supportively for hours.

  Payback.

  I frowned. Not payback exactly, because it wasn’t like I wanted to punish my friends. I just needed them to understand that sometimes it would be nice to share the spotlight.

  Not in front of the entire school or anything. But every now and then . . .

  I glanced over at Chelsea Halloway, who was simultaneously ruling over the Notable table and looking like every geeky girl’s worst nightmare. It defied all logic, but our brief conversation after the audition hadn’t felt one-sided to me.

  Maybe Scott had a point about doing stuff unsanctioned by my friends, because there was no way Kenzie would get behind a Notable-related hangout session. Especially one that revolved around her boyfriend’s ex. It just wasn’t going to happen. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t extend my social boundaries.

  I could march right over to the Notable table . . . or I could find my date.

  Throughout lunch, I kept scanning the cafeteria to catch even a glimpse of Miles. I didn’t see him once, which left me with absolutely no idea what to expect for our date. I might be a late arrival to the flirting scene, but I thought a pre-date casual run-in could effectively set the tone. If Miles strode across the cafeteria looking all hot and purposeful and intense , just because he wanted to talk to me, that would be a very good sign. If he studiously ignored me around his friends—not such a good sign.

  It also meant I couldn’t ask him about the level of outdoorsy stuff we might be doing.

  I nearly changed back into my jeans anyway. My sister may have great fashion sense, but I’m still not big on skirts—especially in Forest Grove, Oregon, where the weather is generally cold with a 90 percent chance of wet. Even wearing Kenzie’s textured tights, I wasn’t exactly feeling warm and relaxed. More like chilled and icy.

  I fought the urge to warm up with some jumping jacks while I waited in the parking lot to see if Miles had stood me up. The place was an absolute mob scene with everyone jostling one another in their rush to put as much distance between themselves and Smith High School as they could manage. Impatient drivers stuck their heads out of their windows and yelled, Yo, douche bag! Move!

  Classy.

  All the people scurrying around made it hard to spot anyone, and I was tempted to hide in the background.

  “Hey, Jane. Ready for your lesson?”

  I jerked my head up and smiled at Miles, who looked every bit as cute as I remembered from the audition. It was a relief to know that even with my performance jitters, I hadn’t over-exaggerated his appeal. I might not be fond of Scott’s nickname for me, but I had to admit that Romeo fit perfectly for Miles. His dark-blond hair looked effortlessly windswept.

  “Hey,” I said, unsure how to continue. All this dating stuff was freaking me out, and suddenly flirting sounded like the hardest thing in the world. My newfound confidence evaporated as I stared at him.

  “So . . . uh, two things before we go.”

  He smiled. “Okay. What’s up?”

  “The first is that, erm, Scott really wants to come along.” Some of my words slurred together as I forced myself to spit them out. “He’s taking photos of me for this project, and he’s insisting on following us. I know it’s annoying, and ordinarily I would tell him to buzz off . . . but there’s this girl in my journalism class, Lisa Anne, who would happily stick me back on Grammar Patrol if I so much as blink funny, so . . .”—I sucked in some air—“do you mind?”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. He’ll snap a few pictures and leave us alone.” Miles shrugged. “No big deal. What’s the other thing?”

  “The other—oh, right. I don’t know if you had any plans, but I was sort of hoping we could go into Portland. Again, feel free to say no. Really. I will not be offended.”

  “Portland sounds great.”

  I couldn’t believe my own luck. Although, I don’t know why I’d been expecting Miles to scowl and say something like Portland would’ve been fine if someone had given me advance notice. My Romeo wasn’t a jerk. I smiled up at him as a warm feeling tingled inside me, and I wondered if this was what it felt like to fall in . . . something or other. Love sounded way too intense—not to mention cheesy. But maybe something a bit more comfortable like . . . affection. I could handle that.

  Unfortunately, that’s when Scott showed up.

  “Hey, Miles.” Scott greeted him casually, as if it were totally normal for him to crash a first date. “I’ll be tagging along today with my camera. I hope you don’t mind.”

  He almost sounded sincere.

  “Yeah, man. It’s fine. No problem.”

  “Cool. So where are we headed?”

  Miles simply shrugged and slung his arm over my shoulder. “Anywhere milady wants.”

  Okay, so I had no idea how to respond to that, because being called “milady” was a new one for me. Pet names of any kind sounded strange to me, unless “Grammar Girl” somehow counted. Considering the way everyone in my journalism class used it . . . not exactly a term of endearment.

  “Uh.” I felt incredibly awkward. “Portland. That’s the plan.”

  Scott was clearly amused by my discomfort, but he restrained himself from commenting on it.

  “I’ll follow you guys then,” he called over his shoulder as he opened the dented driver’s side door of his car.

  “Shall we?” Miles looked so gentlemanly and nice that I felt ridiculous for freaking out about the date. It was hard to believe that I had spent hours obsessing over my outfit. No wonder my mom and sister acted like my body had been taken over by a cyborg. I never should have panicked over something so insignificant—Miles wasn’t the type to lose interest because of some ratty jeans. Nice guys who shield awkward girls during theater auditions have way too much substance to only date on a superficial level.

  Which meant that while I had been stressing and overthinking everything, I had somehow managed to overlook the fact that I was going out with one of the good guys.

  One of the best guys.

  Now if I could only bring myself to ignore one persistent photographer, everything would be perfect.

  Chapter 21

  The drive into Portland was great.

  Perfect, actually. Miles turned on the radio so that when we weren’t chatting about the audition, we lapsed into a comfortable silence. And, okay, we don’t share the same musical taste. Not a big deal. It was only a little awkward when he started singing to Taylor Swift’s “Love Song.”

  It was a lot awkward when he suggested I chime in at the part when Taylor starts begging for Romeo to take her away. He even jokingly said the Shakespeare reference made it our song.

  At least, I hope he was joking.

  Either way, he kept insisting that I sing, probably because he thought it was nerves that had tripped me up in the theater. I tried my best to warn him that my voice wouldn’t magically improve in a car, but I didn’t want him to think of me as boring. Bland. Predictable. So I braced myself for some good-natured teasing and began caterwauling along with the radio. Miles winced, but he didn’t laugh it off. Instead, he hurriedly asked for my opinion of the auditions.

  And somehow we never ran out of things to say during the whole car ride.

  Which definitely surprised me, because with the exception of Corey (gay) and Logan (dating my best friend), I’ve never been good at talking to guys. Well . . . okay, and Scott. Although, since his main goal in life was to irritate me, I wasn’t sure if our bickering should count.

  It wasn’t like he took any pleasure in hanging out with me. In fact, Scott looked downright sullen as he dumped change into his parking meter. It wasn’t residual road rage, either. Not when both cars had somehow managed to find an open space only a few blocks away from Pioneer Courthouse Square, in downtown Portland. By all rights he should have been thanking the patron saint of parking.

  “You hungry?” Miles asked, probably because he notice
d where my attention had strayed.

  I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  He grinned. “How does Thai food sound?”

  “Just lead the way.”

  Miles took my hand and began moving faster than anyone else on the sidewalk—the geeky type of cardio speed walking my mom recommends at the gym when people refuse to run. I suspected that Miles probably only kept his speed in check because he didn’t want me to trip in my stupid kitten-heeled shoes. Still, it felt like we were stealing away for a private romantic moment—photographer not included. I had to make a considerable effort to stifle a laugh when I looked over my shoulder and caught Scott’s irritated expression as he increased his own speed.

  About time he didn’t get his way.

  Not that he gave up on his photography. I could hear him snapping away behind us, although when I glanced at him again I saw that I wasn’t the focus of every shot. Instead, he looked intent on capturing everything about the food carts; the supercolorful trailers and signs, the steam issuing from the takeout containers, the blissful expressions of people munching on everything from Mexican to Mongolian cuisine—all of it. The backdrop of Portland’s overcast skies only made the carts feel even more cheerful and welcoming. As far as I was concerned, they only had one downside: the complete lack of indoor seating. Eating takeout on park benches wasn’t exactly romantic, given the way the clouds inevitably led to drizzle. Not unless you wanted the seat of your pants to be wet for the rest of the day.

  Usually, I was game to stand around the carts with Corey and Kenzie while we happily stuffed our faces.

  Although in the past, I was standing—not shivering—in jeans and a sweatshirt.

  Quickly scanning the I Like Thai menu, while I felt uncomfortably aware of Scott’s approach, I ordered some Pad Thai and pulled out my wallet.

  Miles shook his head. “Oh, don’t worry about it, Jane. I’ve got it.”

  Elle probably would have leveled him with her most sultry look and purred something like, Why, thank you, Miles. How thoughtful of you! Then she would graciously accept the food and move on.

  I just stared at him in confusion.