Invincible (Invisible 2)

by Cecily Anne Paterson

  I pick up my bag and walk. Strongly, quickly, curtly. I walk right away from there. Past giggling groups of year 7 girls, past the good looking Year 10 boys playing football, past the group of boys with their messy-haired leader from my Science class, gazing at me like rabbits in headlights. I walk right through the school. Straight to the bathroom.

  Chapter 9

  It’s easy to be invisible when no-one knows you’re there. It’s a lot harder to hide when people are looking for you.

  When I get to the bathrooms there’s a crowd of year 10 girls in the area near the sinks. They look at me curiously, like there’s something they can’t quite put their finger on, like there’s something they should know. I can’t tell what my face is saying. Sometimes when you try too hard to look innocent you end up looking guiltier than if you’re actually to blame. I’m trying to look like anyone else, a normal person, not the girl who started the fight.

  Not that I started it. But I’ve seen how things go. You can’t escape the gossip and the rumours. They fly around like leaves in a storm, whipped up and frantic. If you fight back the wind stings your eyes and makes you cry. If you don’t fight you end up cowering in the weather, soggy from the rain and covered in dirt.

  The year 10 girls have figured out who I am. I can see an ‘a-ha’ moment spread over one face and then another, and then they are raising eyebrows at each other, making faces and sending looks. I feel my face prickle with embarrassment and make my escape into a stall, sliding the lock over with my still-shaking fingers. I collapse against the wall, half-shuddering, trying to keep my breathing quiet. My chest wants to sob, my eyes want to stream and my voice wants to scream. My hand moves, almost by itself, to cover my mouth, and I sink to a squat on the floor so I can squash the uprising in my stomach.

  I want to shake Gabby. What was she doing? Did she really think slapping Angela in front of everyone was going to help? Standing up to a bully is one thing. I should know. I’ve done it. But I didn’t do it in the middle of the quad. And I certainly didn’t attack first. My thoughts are as shaky as my body. Gabby must have been trying to protect me but surely she’s not stupid enough to think it would help. Or maybe it will. Maybe I’m wrong in always being the cautious one, the one who doesn’t want to make a fuss, the one who gets through life trying to be safe.

  I’m still breathing hard but the shaking is getting quieter until it’s more of a tremor. I look at my hand and concentrate on making it still. I can do it, but only if I hold it against my knee. If I’m pressed in to something I can focus.

  I haven’t heard the bell, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t gone. The Year 10s have gone and I’m alone, cold amongst the tiles and stainless steel. I pull out my phone and check the time. Ten minutes into class. Do I turn up late and make up an excuse that the teacher will believe or do I stay here and skip first period? And what about Gabby?

  I’ll text her.

  Gab. U okay? Are you suspended? What were you thinking?

  The ‘ting’ of my phone goes when I press ‘Send’ and I wait, hopeful, for a reply.

  There’s nothing.

  Three minutes go by and I send a different message.

  Gabby? What’s going on?

  Ting.

  Nothing.

  Gab?

  Ting.

  I put my phone away. Maybe they’ve changed the rules. When I was nearly suspended, I could have used my phone. If I’d wanted. But back then I wouldn’t have had anyone to message. They might be taking phones off people now. Or maybe Gabby’s already in with the principal, Mr Fellowes. I can’t imagine her sitting like me, head down, clinging to the sides of her chair. She’d be commenting on the room decor, asking him questions and trying to convince him to let her sew buttons all over her uniform blazer. Just for fun, sir. We need more fun, don’t you agree?

  I decide it’s too late for class. I’ll have to stay here for another 25 minutes. I shift so I’m more comfortable, without quite sitting on the floor, because it is a school bathroom, after all, but my comfort doesn’t last long.

  There’s a crash outside. A door slams and then I hear my name.

  “Jaz?”

  “Jazmine? Are you…”

  “…in here?”

  It’s the twins. I catch a breath and stand up quickly. On shaky-again legs. I’m not sure whether I should open the door and show myself. I’m half frozen, caught in between yes and no.

  It’s too late to hide though. They’ve heard me.

  “I think she’s…”

  “Did I just hear…?”

  And together, “Oh. In there!”

  There’s a knock on the door of my toilet stall.

  “Jaz, is that you?”

  I can’t not answer, but my mouth can hardly move. I make an awkward sound, somewhere between ‘yeah’ and ‘erm’ but it’s enough for them.

  “Oh my goodness, we can’t believe it. We’ve been looking everywhere…”

  “…for you. Like, in every single girls’ bathroom.” Their voices are high and excited.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Are you coming out?”

  There’s no option. I turn the lock and the door swings open from under my hands. I’m left standing awkwardly in the stall, looking out.

  “Oh Jaz!” Olivia’s face crumples up and breaks into tears when she sees me. Caitlin, on twin remote control, does the same thing. The three of us stand together under the fluorescent lights, them crying and me patting them on the shoulder, trying to be comforting. I dig in my bag for a tissue packet (Mum insists I always have a spare). There’s a manky looking one under my lunch box so I pull it out and hand it to Olivia. She takes it gratefully, gives one to Caitlin and then delicately blows her nose.

  “So, you saw what happened, right?” she says.

  I nod. Glum. Who didn’t see what happened? Who in this school doesn’t know every tiny detail about Gabby slapping Angela?

  “So apparently it was Gabby who was rude to Angela in class,” says Caitlin, mopping at her eyes. “Angela’s friends told Liam that Gabby called her a you know what.” She looks apologetic.

  Olivia carries on. “And then Gabby threatened her and told her she’d come and get her one day after school.”

  I shake my head. “That’s so not what happened,” I say. “They’re making most of that up.”

  “But did you know Angela went for Gabby after she got slapped,” says Caitlin. “She just grabbed her arm and pulled her down on the ground.”

  “Yeah, and she kicked her too,” says Olivia. I shrug. Once the group gathered around them I couldn’t see anything. And judging from this other story going around, it wouldn’t be wise to believe everything. I can’t be sure what’s true or not.

  “Did Gabby do anything else?” I ask.

  “Don’t know,” says Caitlin. “But I know she’s getting suspended.”

  “Like, for a week,” says Olivia. Her eyes are as round as I’ve ever seen them. “Everyone’s saying so. I mean, it’s like Liam says, you can’t just come and slap people out of the blue.”

  “I know,” says Caitlin. “I mean, sorry, because Gab’s your best friend and all that, but really, I think what she did was, like, totally, not cool. Everybody says so.”

  Olivia’s face gets super-serious for a second. She comes in close to me. “Plus, everyone thinks that you should have been the one to sort it out, not Gabby.”

  I step back. “What?”

  “Yeah,” says Caitlin. She half shakes her head. “That’s what everyone thinks. If you’d gone and just even talked to Angela, none of this would have happened. I mean, she might actually even end up with a black eye.”

  My mouth is open. A tremor has started in my top lip. I bite on it to stop it twitching.

  “So people are blaming me because Angela might have a black eye?” I say.

  The twins nod.

  “And Liam thinks that what Gabby did wasn’t cool?”

  They nod again.

  I shake my
head, look around the room and go to speak, but no words come. My neck is twitchy and my arms are jerky. I can’t stop moving my hands.

  “That’s it,” I say. I shrug again. Ferocious. “I can’t do this today. I can’t do any of this.” I grab my remaining tissues out of Olivia’s hand. She gasps and looks shocked. I swing my bag over my shoulder and walk to the door. “Tell the teacher I’m sick and I had to go home,” I say, looking back at the twins who now have eyes like tennis balls.

  “Don’t you have to get a sick pass?” stammers out Olivia, who always knows all the rules.

  “Not today,” I say. “Not today.”

  I turn and stride down the path. Behind me there’s a small bleating of voices, but I’m done. Tomorrow I’ll come back and deal with this. Today I’ve had enough.

  There’s a tiny catch in my heart as I walk out the school gates. No pass. No permission. Jazmine, what are you doing? I push it back down again and keep going, but not in the direction of home.

  I need something. Something sweet. Something familiar. And there’s an ice cream shop down the road. I’ve been there with Liam before. I ordered vanilla and he tried to make me like chocolate. Today I’m done with being told what I should and shouldn’t do. Today I’m having vanilla because I like vanilla and I want to have vanilla.

  The shop woman looks vaguely surprised when I storm through the doors, order a vanilla ice cream, double scoop please, in a waffle cone and slam my money down on the counter.

  “Um, okay?” she says. “Do you want any toppings with that?”

  I’m taken aback by the question for a second and then I think, yes. Yes, I do want a topping. Not because anyone else says I want a topping, but because I will choose my own topping.

  “What kinds do you have?” I ask.

  “Raspberry, Cherry, Caramel and Chocolate,” she says. “Oh, also Ice Magic.”

  “Not chocolate,” I say. “Or Ice Magic. I’ll have raspberry.”

  She shakes the raspberry topping out of a glass bottle and nestles my ice cream in its little holder, standing upright with a napkin wrapped around it. Protecting it.

  It doesn’t need protection, I think, and I take the napkin off, deliberately wiping my fingers.

  “I’ll be outside,” I say, to no-one in particular, because the shop woman has moved out of view.

  I sit on one of the picnic tables out the back in the grassy area reserved for customers. It’s the same picnic table I sat on with Liam. It’s the same sky I sat under with him. The same grass I walked on. And yet everything is so different.

  Then, my new life was just that—new. Tingly. Full of hope. I’d never had a door open for me in my life, and in a matter of weeks, everything changed. I had hundreds of doors to walk through. School, second chances, Mum, drama, feelings, friends. Love.

  Now, it’s not new any more. It’s just… life.

  When I was smaller I thought that at some point in my life I’d reach the place where everything had finally worked out. Where the happiness became permanent. I guess I thought of it like climbing a mountain. You hike and hike and it’s hard, but you’re always aiming for the top. Finally you get there and you’re walking on air. You look at the view and it’s amazing. All the effort you spent getting there is forgotten. You’ve made it.

  No one ever said that you’d have to hike back down the mountain as well.

  I kick my feet against the picnic table bench and screw up my face. The sun is warm on my arms and there are drips forming on my ice cream. I swirl my tongue right around the outside, cleaning it up.

  “Vanilla is good,” I say to myself. “And it will all be okay.” I close my eyes, take a deep breath in. Then I let it out and open my eyes.

  Through the sliding glass door into the shop I can see two people. One of them is a man with a beard. The other one looks just like my mum.

  Chapter 10

  I slip off the picnic table so fast I’m like a lizard darting off the pavement. Before I even realise it, I’m squatting behind the table, trying not to be seen. My heart is beating so hard I can practically hear it in my head. Three facts pop into my head and start a chaotic dance.

  Me not at school.

  Ice cream.

  Mum.

  Is it actually her?

  Yes. It totally is.

  My brain is so busy trying to process the fact that I’m in the wrong place and things could get ugly that I totally forget to look at the person she’s with. ‘Tall’ and ‘beard’ flash in quickly, kind of like when you drive through a new town and see a whole row of new signs. Interesting at the time but they’re gone as soon as you turn the corner.

  I can’t look. I’ve got to work out what’s going on here.

  A) I can’t let Mum see me.

  B) Because I’ll get in trouble.

  C) And anyway, she wouldn’t get why I’ve walked out of school.

  D) The only way out of this grass area is back through the shop.

  E) Therefore I have to wait until she goes.

  F) And seriously hope she doesn’t come out here. Because, like, there is nowhere to hide.

  I have two options, and two only, that I can see. I whisper them to myself.

  Wait. And hope.

  Oh, and then get the heck out of here.

  Three options.

  There’s a drip of vanilla ice cream on my thumb and then another one on my finger. Crouching down behind the table, my ice cream has been in the sun and on a slight angle. I reach my mouth down to slurp up the drops but as I bring it back up I bang my forehead.

  Hard.

  Ow.

  I feel like crying. This is the stupidest day ever. And now I’m getting sticky and sore trying to hide from my mother in an ice cream shop that I shouldn’t really be in. A tear escapes out of an eye but I’m holding my ice cream in one hand and need my other one for balance so I can’t wipe it. It slides down my cheek quicker than I would expect and drops off my face onto my shirt. I blink my eyes tight to try to stop another one that is beginning to bubble but there are too many and when I open them again everything is wet-fuzzy over my eyes so I can’t see anything anyway.

  Mum and whoever-it-is (probably one of the people from work) are still in there. Taking their time. I’m not surprised. She takes forever to decide when we go out for anything to eat.

  My ice cream is dripping again. I look down and see there’s not too much left. Probably about a mouthful? I stuff the whole thing into my mouth and do that loose jaw kind of chewing where you’re trying to manoeuvre it around without letting it spill out of your lips. Also, in the case of ice cream, without it hurting your teeth.

  I don’t succeed.

  The cold hits my sensitive tooth at the back and I nearly let out a yell. I have to keep chewing and swallowing though because otherwise I’ll drop the whole thing out of my mouth onto the grass and the woman in the shop will know exactly who the disgustingly gross customer was who spewed on her grass, and will maybe never let me come back. I manage to swallow it all down after a few gulps but I take some air down with it and then my throat and chest are super-uncomfortable for about a minute while it all settles down. Just when I think my ice cream traumas are over and my tooth has stopped hurting as well, I let out a large, loud, uncomfortable burp from all the air that went down.

  I freeze, terrified. Please don’t let them hear me.

  After a couple of minutes I poke my head up. Gently. Gingerly. Just enough to see into the glass doors. The shop looks empty. I pick up my bag, sneak up to the entrance and stick my head around. I can see the woman who served me but there’s no one browsing.

  I lean back a little to see if I can get a glimpse of anyone through the front entrance but it seems clear. I let out a breath. It might be okay. I slip into the shop and walk through so I’m close to the door but not outside. I incline my head to get the best view possible.

  No one.

  I stick my head out of the door and look back towards the direction of school, which is
clear, and then in the other direction.

  My heart jumps, my stomach drops and I suck in another breath. It’s Mum. And Tall Beard guy. They’re holding coffees in a cardboard tray, walking away.

  Not looking at me.

  I decide to go the other way, back to school. I put a foot out of the shop, launch myself off and run, full tilt, away from my mother. My bag wobbles and skips on my back but I ignore it until I reach the first corner. After I turn, I collapse on the grass next to the path, breathing heavily. I’ve never really been a runner and honestly, I don’t think I’m about to start.

  But the breathing clears my head a little. I lean back and look up above me. The sky is as blue as I’ve ever seen it. Someone’s planted peach trees along this street and the pink blossoms look like fairy popcorn pieces. But instead of it making me happy, I feel annoyed. The whole day seems so unfair. I don’t think you should be allowed to have bad days under these sorts of skies. In the movies it goes cloudy and grey when things are bad. No one suffers when the sun is out. Why should I have to?

  My fingers touch the soil under the grass. I wiggle them down and dig further in. I can feel dirt making its way into the spaces under my fingernails. It’s familiar and comforting, and there’s a shift in my head. It always happens. When I’m outside I see more clearly, breathe more deeply. And I realise that sitting here under a sky that’s crazy-blue makes me smile.

  I’ll go back, I say. Almost out loud, but not quite. I’ll go back and see what’s happened.

  Back in the quad, everything has changed.

  And I mean everything.

  The recess bell has rung and I walk back through the gates, up the path to see something I never expected. There are Angela and her friends, standing, chatting to the twins, Erin and Liam. At our table. Together. And they don’t look like they’re about to punch each other.

  What is this?

  I slow down my steps and look more closely.