The Opposite of Invisible

by Liz Gallagher

  I am at this party. I am the life.

  I nuzzle into Simon, leaning on his arm, my head against his neck.

  We drink and talk some more.

  Simon stands up and takes my hand, leads me back to the kitchen. While he’s mixing vodka with lemon-lime soda, Mike stumbles in and opens the fridge. “I gotta find some pepperoni!”

  “Only Corrigan decides to make pizza during a party where everyone is drinking but no one is eating,” says Simon, stirring his concoction. “I gotta pee.”

  “Get in line!” Mike shouts.

  By the time Simon’s back from the bathroom, I’m alone in the kitchen and I’ve finished his green drink. It tasted like melted Popsicle.

  I’ve gone beyond half-drunk. For the first time in my life. My head feels light. I close my eyes and try to get back into myself. I try to drown out the voices, the pumping music, the sway of the crowd.

  Simon grabs me by the waist.

  It feels too good.

  Then I feel like I might vomit.

  Simon burps in my ear. I turn around. His eyes are watery. “I’m pretty gone.”

  “I can see that.” We’re both drunk. It’s a couple of miles from Corrigan’s house to mine. I could walk. “You can’t drive me home.”

  Corrigan comes back to the kitchen, takes his pizza out of the oven, and grabs Simon by the elbow. “Shooting pool,” he says. “You versus me.”

  Simon follows him.

  He actually leaves me standing there.

  I take deep breaths. I could stay; hang with Mandy. But the world is spinning. Simon’s not with me. I feel like I’m falling.

  I slip out the garage door and start walking. Carefully.

  Chapter Fifteen

  •

  •

  •

  Saturday I hear the chimes above the front door when my parents leave for a brunch date with Dad’s old colleagues. I stay in bed until one.

  They know. When I got home last night they were waiting in the kitchen. I was as quick as possible about saying good night but I’m sure they could tell that I wasn’t my sober self.

  I’ve never disappointed them like this before. Or myself.

  I sit up in bed and look at my Dove Girl.

  It’s almost like she’s sending me a message, instead of our usual thing, which is all about me asking her for help.

  I get out of bed and grab my sketchbook from the floor. I sit on the bed. Close my eyes.

  Her face is calmness. She’s only a few lines and circles. She’s barely even there. Nothing weighs her down. She’s light. She can fly.

  Pencil to paper, I open my eyes and start with the bird, her wings. The angles of the feathers are so simple, but I’ve never been able to do them exactly before. Just breathe, I tell myself. Pencil up and pencil down. Just shapes.

  Then I get to the eyes—curved lines with three-quarter circles underneath. The nose, long with only a slight bend. The lips, a straight line surrounded by a heart.

  Pencil up, pencil down. Simple.

  I’ve done it. I’ve copied her.

  And I think she’s starting to rub off on me.

  I need to find my own peace.

  Talking to a poster is so not enough.

  I need to concentrate on friends who talk back.

  The rest of Saturday is filled with cable television and a Nancy Drew book that I found under my bed. Mysteries solved in the span of about two hours. I wish.

  Then I lounge on the couch watching guys who remind me of Simon’s friends try to win a date by bench-pressing the girl, who wears a bikini and doesn’t have tan lines.

  The phone rings as contestant number three lifts the girl. Maybe it’s Jewel calling to … what? Apologize for leaving me to the wolves?

  “Hello?”

  “Hey.” Not Jewel. But I feel a flutter in my middle.

  “Hi.”

  “You said that already.” Simon sounds nervous.

  “Did I?”

  “So, I’m just calling to say I had a good time at the party.”

  I did too. But I have a hangover.

  And what about the way the night ended? That was so not fun. Are we going to talk about it? About Simon’s being too wasted to take me home? My face feels hot.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “You left early.”

  “You remember?” I am harsher than I want to be.

  “Of course,” he says. “I looked all over for you.”

  How can I explain the way I felt at that party without him? “Yeah.”

  Maybe he’ll invite me out and we can talk somewhere. I think there’s a good band at the Showbox tonight. I could invite him.

  “Hey,” I say. “Let’s get a Stranger from the newsstand and check out the shows tonight.”

  He breathes. Then I hear Corrigan in the background. He’s saying something like “Tell your woman you’ve gotta go!”

  Simon coughs. “Actually, I gotta go.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m at Corrigan’s still. Crashed here. We’re going for burritos.”

  I picture them, surrounded by empty bottles and who knows what else. “Sounds good.”

  “Talk to you later.”

  Somehow that sounds even less promising than “See ya.”

  Most people would be getting grounded right about now.

  Maybe a break from Simon would be the right thing.

  At dinner, my parents bring it up. Dad looks at me over his pasta and says, “We need to talk about last night.”

  “I know,” I say. I might cry if I say more, and I really don’t want to do that right now.

  “No more drinking,” Mom says. “None!”

  “I know. I didn’t like it. It felt awful.”

  “Remember that feeling,” Dad says. “Getting drunk is not all right.”

  It was horrible being drunk, and seeing Simon drunk. It made me feel … more alone than ever. Even at a party, I felt … invisible, again.

  “This is your freebie,” Mom says. “Next time we won’t be so easy on you.”

  “I’m done with it. I swear.”

  If only I could get Simon to make the same promise.

  Simon calls after dinner on Sunday. “How was your weekend?”

  He’s being casual. “Fine. Yours?” I hope he can hear that I’m being short with him.

  “After Corrigan’s, I worked at the aquarium. Then today we had practice.”

  “Oh.” I pause.

  “Something wrong?”

  Yes. I’m waiting for him to apologize for the party.

  He left me alone. And then he chose burritos with a beefhead over hanging out with me. It didn’t feel like … what I want in a boyfriend.

  I just blurt it out, “At the end of the party and then all the rest of the weekend, I didn’t really feel like I was your girlfriend.”

  His voice sounds thinner. “What are you talking about?”

  “You didn’t take me home, or make sure I got there, and my parents … then you didn’t hang out with me on Saturday or today. What’s that about?” I’m trying not to boil.

  “I was having fun. It was a party. And the rest of it? I guess … I don’t know. I … feel like maybe I’ve been too into you.”

  I fiddle with the magnets on the refrigerator. “How so?”

  He lets out a breath. “I just like being around you so much. I want you to be happy. I guess that’s part of why I went with Corrigan at the party. I could tell you weren’t really into the party anymore, and I didn’t want you to get angry.”

  “I wasn’t angry. It was more … uncomfortable.”

  “I didn’t know you felt so bad that you’d leave. I feel terrible about that. I’m going to do better. Okay?”

  It’s a dream come true.

  So why don’t I feel lucky?

  Chapter Sixteen

  •

  •

  •

  Monday morning, I reach the scone place and wonder if I have time to grab coffee. I
look in the window and see a blue sweatshirt. That’s what I notice first. Not Jewel. His hoodie.

  Is Vanessa with him?

  God. She lives in Ballard. Of course she’s not with him before school.

  He turns, sipping what I know is a vanilla latte.

  He sees me.

  We’re caught.

  There’s still three-quarters of a mile to school and we’re both headed that way.

  He walks out of the shop and I say, “I liked your photos at the art show.”

  We fall into step together.

  “I didn’t think you were there,” he says.

  Yep, spying through the window. Trying to be invisible. “I helped take down the show.”

  Okay, we’re talking. Just two old friends walking and talking. Except for the elephant walking between us.

  He drinks from his cup and I tug on my non-ponytailed hair.

  “How are your parents?” he asks.

  I think about telling him that my mom mentioned our families doing Thanksgiving together. She frowned when I didn’t say anything.

  “They’re good.”

  We pass the junk shop and its window is done up in pilgrims. Corn husks everywhere.

  “Aliens,” Jewel says.

  I look at him. “Like in the Shyamalan movie?”

  “Yeah.”

  We watched that movie on DVD during the summer. We argued about the ending, where it turns out that God has been planning everything just right so that the family can beat the aliens. Jewel thought it was too easy, a stupid explanation. I just liked seeing that everyone was okay in the end. Is that how this will turn out, with everything okay in the end?

  Jewel looks at me from the corners of his eyes.

  Then he smirks. A tiny smirk, but I know what it means.

  I’m finished with the art portfolio cover. It’s the best I can do with my Picasso Dove Girl. She’s still not quite as angelic as the original, of course. And I’m not at all sure what Mr. Smith had in mind when he asked me to do the thing, so I’m nervous as I walk into art workshop.

  I’m relieved to see Vanessa’s back turned; she’s hunched over some new project involving charcoals and a pile of paper clips. Maybe a gray tribute to the way I’ve destroyed Jewel.

  I drop my backpack on a stool at the table farthest from her, pull out the folder with my drawing.

  Mr. Smith is over by the sinks, washing a lot of blue acrylic from his fingers.

  I walk over and show him.

  “Lovely,” he says.

  I smile at him.

  “Picasso,” he says.

  “Yeah, my favorite.”

  “Not Alice.”

  Well, I did it myself. I colored the eyes green, when Picasso’s are empty circles. It’s a study. Right?

  “I guess not,” I say.

  “I’d rather see your own mind on the page.”

  The Dove Girl is my mind. I mean she’s on my mind. She’s like I want to be. Peaceful. Beautiful. She’s alone but she doesn’t seem to want anything.

  “Give me more of Alice,” he says before he walks to his desk.

  I would if I could! I want to shout. If I knew who that was. If you’re a fish, you can breathe underwater. If you’re Alice, what can you do?

  Simon’s at my locker after eighth period.

  He grabs hold of my hand as soon as I’m within reach.

  He kisses me, there in the hall. The last thing I see before closing my eyes to surrender is Señora Rodriguez walking down the hall with her turquoise rings up near her mouth in apparent surprise at me falling into Simon’s arms.

  We pull away. I look down at my hand in his and say, “I sort of need that to get my locker open.”

  He drops my hand. “I’ll take you home.”

  But there’s something stopping me. I need to admit it to myself. Something’s wrong. He’s Simon, and he’s fun, and he’s a good boyfriend, but he’s not … he’s not my match. The thought makes me a little panicky. Stop thinking! But I can’t help going on.

  Maybe I could’ve had true happiness and all that with Jewel. Maybe I should’ve admitted that to myself earlier. Instead of worrying about who I’d dance with in my perfect make-believe dress.

  That’s not what happened. I’m standing at my locker with Simon and he wants to walk me home.

  So I go. I let him feel me up under the tree.

  He kisses me, gulping.

  I find a note from my mom on the fridge when I get inside, saying, “We’ll be at the library late—you’re on your own for dinner.”

  I settle in under the chenille blanket to watch the Horror Channel. It’s Japan Week. The movies are totally creepy and the subtitles max the creepiness. Like it’s a cartoon or something; like you have to read the words because all that’s coming out of the characters’ actual mouths is blips. The blips are Japanese, of course, but to me they might as well be exclamation points and stars.

  In the movie, a girl is being haunted by a ghost in her new house. The ghost is a milky-white blur. The girl hides under her bedcovers and I drift to sleep myself.

  When I wake up, the girl is strapped to a hospital bed and the ghost is lurking just outside the door, watching her, somehow having traveled with her from the house.

  She’s the only one who sees it.

  My phone rings.

  Simon.

  “Let’s meet up for pho. Have you ever tried it?”

  “Nope.” I try to shake off my nap.

  “It’s super-good. Noodles and broth and whatever meat you want. Perfect for a rainy night. And they give you a free cream puff.”

  Macho Simon is interested in cream puffs?

  The place is in Ballard. “I’ll pick you up.” He clicks off.

  Didn’t I just see him, like, two hours ago?

  I leave a note for Mom and Dad, sniff my underarms to make sure they’re okay.

  I think about changing into my denim mini, but my old jeans feel so comfy.

  In the bathroom mirror, I see me looking as good as I ever have. I see Simon Murphy’s girlfriend. But she’s mad at him. I open the vanity drawer, dig around for an elastic, and put my hair back into its old ponytail.

  “Can we stop at Rain City?” I say as I sit down in the car.

  “Sure.”

  Simon parks at Rain City and gets out first, comes around to my side to open the door for me.

  Chivalry.

  I flash back to the way Jewel and I would joke in the junk shop about being an old married couple. He dug through shoeboxes full of old greeting cards and secretly slipped valentines from the 1950s into my purse for me to find later. He called me honeybunch.

  Somehow, that felt more real than this moment with Simon opening my door and ushering me into Rain City. It’s not the first time I’ve felt that Simon and I are in a movie.

  “Darling!” Tommy calls from over by the comedies.

  He rushes to us and kisses both of my cheeks, Euro-style.

  “Who’s your friend?” he asks, I’m sure knowing full well who this is from whatever Jewel told him.

  “This is Simon.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Simon sounds as if he’s meeting my father.

  “Likewise, I’m sure.”

  “So,” I say. “I was wondering if you have what’s on the Horror Channel right now. I think it’s called Spirit.”

  Tommy goes to check his computer. Simon looks at the new releases and asks if I’ve seen something with overgrown frat boys on the cover.

  Before I answer, Tommy says, “I’ll have to order that movie.” He blows me a kiss and returns to shelving videos.

  Simon gives me a look, all raised eyebrows.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing.” His eyes are aimed toward Tommy’s back.

  He takes my arm, the same fancy way that Jewel did on that night at the Showbox. Then it made me feel safe. Now I feel … like an actress.

  At the pho restaurant, Simon is talking about his friends. Football. Who wants
to hook up with which cheerleader. Apparently, Mike Corrigan has his eye on Molly from Spanish class. He wants to throw another party to try to get in her pants. Something like that.

  “Oh my God.” Simon puts down his Coke. “Did you hear about this? Corrigan wants to get a Udub tattoo. Purple and gold.”

  “Yeah?” I ask, sipping my soup.

  “The only thing he’s not sure of is if he should wait and see if he ends up in a frat, ’cause then he says he’d get the frat’s letters instead,” Simon says. “Anyway, he’s gonna be eighteen pretty soon, so he’s up for it.”

  “What would you get, if you were getting a tattoo?”

  “Huh. Maybe a giant octopus, I guess.”

  I know just what tattoo I’d get.

  “I’d get my Dove Girl.”

  He puts down his spoon. “Your what?”

  I never told him about my poster. How could I be thinking I was getting close to someone and not tell him about my Dove Girl?

  “It’s too strange,” I say. “Forget I mentioned it.”

  “No, come on. I tell you strange stuff sometimes.”

  “Maybe another time,” I say.

  He exhales audibly. “What’s wrong with right now?”

  “Why are you pressing this?”

  “Because. I want to know you.” His eyes are laser beams.

  “You do know me.”

  “I know about you.”

  “Sorry if that’s not enough,” I say. What is wrong with me? Am I ruining everything? I get up to pay at the register, feeling lousy.

  On the sidewalk, I touch his arm. “I’m in a bad mood. I should apologize.”

  “You should apologize or you are apologizing?” he says. “Don’t think so much.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  We walk to the car without meeting eyes. When we get to my house, I open the door and get out as soon as the car stops.

  Chapter Seventeen

  •

  •

  •

  It’s Saturday again, and my second busy one in a row. Mandy and I set up our glassblowing class for today; tonight there’s a party at one of the private school kids’ houses. I don’t know the guy, obviously, but I’m getting a ride with Mandy and meeting Simon there.

  I don’t even shower before I head to Fire Art. I’m just going to get all sweaty anyway.