Invincible (Invisible 2)

by Cecily Anne Paterson

  “I’m not really sure,” I say, screwing up my face. “I mean, he really likes me. So maybe it’s my fault.”

  Grandma’s eyebrows are practically on the ceiling. She brings them down to a normal level.

  “Maybe try this,” she says. “I’ll say something, and you tell me the first two feelings you get when I say it.”

  I’m curious. “Okay.”

  She takes in a breath. I wait, suspended and ready.

  “Liam,” she says.

  A rush of grey dread hits my stomach, my back droops and my eyes half close. And then I’m shocked. “How did you do that?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “I just said the word. Your body knows how you feel.”

  “Dread,” I say, slowly. “And really, really tired.” I shake my head. “That’s not good, right?”

  Grandma makes a wry face at me.

  “Not so much,” she says.

  “But I like him,” I say. “I mean, I really do.”

  “But?” She lets the question hang in the air and I feel squeamish in the stomach.

  “You’re saying that because I feel dread and get tired when I think about him, I don’t really like him?”

  “Not at all,” she says. “But if you’re feeling that way, there’s going to be a reason.”

  “He’s been flirting with Angela,” I say, slowly. “And he wants me to always…” I can’t finish the sentence.

  Grandma looks at me directly. “Always?”

  I look down, examine my fingernails. “You know. Do stuff. That kind of stuff.”

  “Do you want to?”

  I shake my head. “No. I mean, at least, not yet, right? I’d rather just hang out. And, just so you know, this whole conversation is really embarrassing.”

  Grandma laughs. “I’m not the one who started it. But seriously. If you say no to, you know, that stuff, what happens?”

  It’s hard to speak. I twist the corner of the rug in my fingers. When I breathe, it’s like there’s dust in the room. “He says I’m not being fair.” And then my voice comes out louder and stronger. “He says I should, that he’s waited heaps, and that’s what girlfriends do. And then he kind of makes me feel sorry for him, like I’m the one being mean to him, when I just want to have a fun time together without all of that kissing kind of stuff all the time. I still do like him, at least I would if he was like he was at the beginning.”

  Grandma puts her cup on the table and rubs her hands over her knees a few times.

  “People do this sometimes,” she says. “They start out really fun and charming and kind. Sometimes it feels like they rescue you out of a bad situation and they do everything to take care of you.” She looks at me closely. “And then they start to want you to do everything they want. If you don’t, they say you’re not being nice, you’re not being grateful. But it’s not true. It’s about control and manipulation. Being in charge of someone rather than loving them.”

  As she talks, my eyes open wide. “It’s just like that,” I say. “It’s like he wants to control everything I do.”

  Grandma nods. “And you never quite do it right, and then he makes it into your fault, when actually, he’s the one who’s not being respectful in the relationship.”

  I can see it all so clearly, but there’s still a nagging feeling, something unexplained at the back of my throat. I take it out, look at it carefully and put it back. It’s fear.

  “I’m scared though,” I say. And now I feel really small and tiny. I can hardly look at Grandma. “Who else is ever going to like me? Liam made me normal.”

  Grandma’s eyebrows are stretched to the curtains on the other side of the room. “Liam made you normal? That’s a joke, right? You are one of the most likeable, normal, clever, sensitive, thoughtful, pleasant…” she stops for breath, “kind, strong, friendly, loyal people I’ve ever met.”

  I’m surprised. But unconvinced. “You have to say that. You’re my Grandma.”

  She makes a face. “There are plenty of people I would never say that about, and that includes family members. Believe me, I am telling the absolute, unbiased truth. There are going to be so many people who like you, and who love you, in your life. Don’t confine yourself to the manipulative loser control-freaks of this world just because you think you’re not good enough for anyone else.”

  She struggles up onto her feet. She’s fired up. I’m half-laughing, half-dying from embarrassment.

  “Yes, okay, you wear a hearing aid. Big, fat deal. Yes, you’ve been through some hard times. So have a lot of people. Yes, you’re a bit shy sometimes. But you’re not abnormal, whatever that means anyway.” She throws her hands in the air wildly. “None of that hard stuff means that other people get to boss you around and control you. None of it gives anyone else permission to treat you like rubbish.”

  She sits back down, puts her hand on my knee and looks straight into my face. “You’re allowed to say ‘no’ if you feel uncomfortable, and no one, not one single person, not Liam, not anyone else, gets to say that you shouldn’t. When people start forcing or manipulating or controlling you to do things you don’t feel happy doing, they are not your friends. And you should get out of there.”

  I’m a rush of feelings, bounding and bouncing up out of my heart, knocking each other over as they come pouring out. I’m relieved, confused, amazed and set free, all at the same time, but all I can say is this. “Really?”

  “Really.” Grandma holds me close.

  “I’m so glad you said that.”

  “I’m glad you told me.”

  “I’m glad you made me tell you.”

  She laughs. “I’m glad you let me make you tell me.”

  I start a sentence but my words get jumbled and I laugh instead.

  “What will you do when you get home, do you think?” asks Grandma.

  I wait for a minute. “I think I’m going to talk to Liam.”

  On the drive home Mum and I are mostly quiet, Sunday sport radio grinding away in the background. It’s all just white noise for me but I think Mum actually listens to the rugby league occasionally.

  “What did you do?” I ask.

  She doesn’t answer. She seems intent on the footy.

  “What did you do?” I ask again.

  “Huh?” Her head jerks around. “Do?” She clicks the sound off.

  “I mean on the weekend. Did you see Geoff?”

  She looks a bit embarrassed. “We went out for dinner. Seafood.”

  “Oh,” I say. I think for a bit. “What did you love?”

  She’s confused. Frowns. “Love? Do you mean, am I in love?” Her face goes pale.

  “No. I mean the food. What did you love on your plate? Grandma always asks me when we go out. ‘What did you love?’ and I think she wants me to say, ‘abalone’ or ‘buckwheat’ or something gross. But I pretty much just can’t get past schnitzel. Chicken and breadcrumbs. Yummy.”

  She laughs. “Maybe you’ll love abalone one day.”

  “Maybe,” I say. “Not.”

  We sit, comfortable for a while longer. I expect Mum to put the radio back on, but she’s forgotten about the game. Maybe it’s not her team.

  “So, it all went okay?” she says, a few minutes later. “With Grandma? The weekend.”

  I nod.

  “School tomorrow? Not going to stay home?”

  I shake my head. “School tomorrow.”

  She shoots a half glance out of the side of her eyes like she’s wondering if she should ask or pry or find out the things mothers are supposed to find out but she obviously decides it might be risky because she turns back to watch the road and lets her fingers find the volume button. We drive home listening to the Rabbitohs thrash the Bulldogs and the distant static of crowds cheering.

  When we pull up in our driveway I take in a deep breath and let it out noisily.

  “Home,” says Mum. “Can you grab your bag?”

  “Okay.”

  Mum’s halfway up the steps with her key out, ready t
o unlock the door while I’m still pulling the bag out of the back. I stop her with my voice.

  “Mum.”

  She turns. Looks at me, expectantly.

  “Are you?”

  She narrows her eyes, waiting. “Am I what?”

  “In love. With Geoff.”

  She swallows, fingers jingle the keys. Her mouth twists sideways. “Just get the bag. Come on, let’s go. I’ve got to get dinner on.”

  Inside, my room is the same as it always was. Blue doona cover, white bookcase, hammock chair and the fake wood desk Mum inherited from her work. I’m home. But it’s different. Can you grow up in just one weekend? Because somehow I feel older, all in one hit. Like everything is smaller now. Or I’m looking at it with different eyes. Or something.

  I sit on the bed and stretch my fingers over the fuzzy throw Mum bought me when I was 10. It’s draped half over the drawer in my bedside table where I keep my phone but I’m nervous to move it. I don’t want to get my phone out and see what’s in it. Messages from Liam. Or maybe, no messages from Liam. I can’t decide which would be worse.

  Don’t look, I decide. Don’t even peek. Just focus. You know what you need to do tomorrow.

  I drape the throw over the drawer, pile books on it and then go outside to pull weeds. No temptation.

  At night, I’m wary of going to sleep. I lie awake and read books and science project information sheets. Anything to keep my mind off tomorrow and the conversation I’m going to have to have. The question I’m going to have to ask. I can’t quite believe it when my eyes open at sunrise and I realise two things. First, I wasn’t awake all night. Second, no bad dreams.

  Yes, I stood in the same clearing as the night before but the hut had gone. Grass and wild flowers had sprung up, hiding any sign that anything had ever been there. Also gone was anything that wanted to chase me.

  “Hello?” I said out loud to the trees but the only answer was the breeze in my hair.

  Chapter 30

  This morning I’m calm on the inside. There’s a deep, quiet stillness at my centre. But it’s not quite making it to the outside of me. When I’m on the bus, a tiny electric current runs and zips in my toes. As I get closer to school it gets stronger, zapping my legs and knees and moving up to my stomach and down into my hands. When we pull up I can hardly pick up my bag for twitchy fingers.

  “Aveagooday,” says the bus driver, and I throw him a half smile and step down onto the concrete, breathing sharp and short up in my chest. I can’t see Liam yet. The crowd of kids is thick and noisy and I’m swinging my head around wildly. If he’s not here, what will I do? I’m all prepared for this moment, this conversation, this time. Will I have to rethink it all? Psyche myself up all over again?

  But it’s okay. I feel him before I see him. It’s a tap on the shoulder and a touch on my back and then I hear his voice.

  “Jaz. You’re here.”

  I swing around. He’s smiling at me, blue eyes clear and sunny and for a second I melt all over again. What was I worried about?

  “Where have you been? Two days away. And all weekend. And I sent you like 25 texts which you didn’t even answer,” he says. His mouth goes from a smile to a half pout. Around us, the swarm of school uniforms is thinning, dribbling through the gate and down the path towards school.

  “Sick,” I say. The lie pops out without even a pause for thought but it kicks me as it leaves my mouth. Tell the truth. “And then I went to my Grandma’s.”

  “Missed you,” he says. He drops his bag and takes both my hands. “Missed you a lot.” He looks at me meaningfully and moves in closer.

  Remember what you’re doing.

  I pull one hand away. Chew my lip.

  “Um. I have to ask you a question.”

  “What?” He goes to grab my hand back. I flip it away and for a second we look like we’re doing some kind of funny dance. I’m confused and then I find my strong centre again. Stand straight.

  “The twins told me something about you.” I look at his eyes, searching. “Something you did? At a party. With Angela.”

  There’s a tiny flash of anger across his face. It’s not big. It probably wouldn’t be obvious to anyone else, but I can see it. I know what it is. “What party? What am I supposed to have done?” He changes his face and holds out his arms. “Forget it. Hug? Come on.”

  I don’t move. “In the holidays.” There’s a calm, clear feeling across my chest. “They say you guys were getting with each other.”

  Fear in his eyes. And then annoyance.

  “That’s stupid,” he says. “They have no right to say that.”

  “I just want to know if it’s true.”

  “Why would you even ask a question like that?” His voice is higher. More intense. A couple of girls hanging around raise their heads in interest, but their friends pull them away and then it’s just him and me, on the concrete, beside the high metal gates. “Are you, like, jealous or something? Don’t you trust me? I’m really hurt that you would even think Caitlin and Olivia are telling the truth. Everyone knows they just spread rumours. They’re like Stupidum and Stupidee. Angela’s right about them.”

  I frown. “What does Angela say about them?”

  He’s angry, suddenly. “Why do you want to know? Forget it. It doesn’t matter. Think about what’s important. You’re accusing me of cheating. That’s not cool, Jaz. Not cool at all.”

  “I’m not accusing you.” I try to keep my voice steady.

  “Sounds like you’re accusing me. Sounds like, ‘waah, Liam, you’re such a cheater, such a bad guy, waah’.”

  “I didn’t say any of those things.” From the corner of my eye I see the last bus pull away. Keep it together. Stay calm.

  “You didn’t need to. I knew what you meant. And I can’t believe you’d think that of me.” His face goes melty and gorgeous again. “I’ve always looked after you. I’m your boyfriend, right?” His blue eyes are pleading.

  I can feel my heart getting pulled along, back to the place where I ask nothing and get no answers. I shut my eyes for a second. Break the spell.

  “I just asked a question. That’s all.” My voice is a hint louder.

  “You don’t have to shout.” He takes a step back. Looks hurt. “Don’t yell at me.”

  “I’m not yelling.” I finger the strap of my bag nervously. “I just want to know if it’s true.”

  “If what’s true? If I’m apparently a cheater, and Caitlin and Olivia, the biggest you-know-what’s of the school are making up rubbish?”

  I’m shocked. Hurt. “Don’t call my friends—our friends—that.”

  “Just saying it like it is. You want me to be honest, right? Since the party those two have been such losers. Total gossips. They just tell lies.”

  Now I’m mad. But I have to stay focused.

  “You’re changing the subject.” I grit my teeth. “Can you please. Just. Tell me. Did you and Angela kiss at the party?”

  “Jaz,” he says. “Jaz, Jaz, Jaz,” and he tilts his head to the side like Dad did the time when I was four and I drew a picture of Mum and me as princesses on the wall in the lounge room. Dad was disappointed. But also amused.

  I lift my chin. Four year olds can win arguments too. “Well, did you?”

  His face goes black. “Stop pushing me. You’re being really mean.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You’re nagging and hassling me.”

  “I’m just asking.”

  “Stop asking.”

  I stamp my foot. Forget calm. Forget focused. The yell comes up from my stomach, furious and strong.

  “No. I won’t stop asking.” There’s an edge of a scream in my voice. “It’s a simple question. Yes or no. Did you and Angela kiss at the party?”

  And then it’s like the world is spinning slower. Two seconds seem to be drawn out to ten. And I’m watching what happens from inside myself, standing on the sidelines, a few steps back. In slow motion, Liam’s fists clench. His chin lifts. And the
n he steps heavily towards me, raising his arms. A breath pushes out of me, awkward and shocked and my feet step back and away, my body caving in on itself in fear.

  Thud, thud, pause, thud thud, pause.

  My heart beats in my ears. From somewhere behind my eyes, I’m looking out at my boyfriend, the one who said he’d always look after me, raising his fists, ready to hurt me.

  And then it comes to me. I know where I am. I know what this is.

  I can choose the ending.

  Time to fight.

  I uncurl from my corner and step out, arms crossed. Taking up space. Breathing fierce. And I see something I’ve never seen before. Liam’s eyes blink, his hands fall and his shoulders drop. And he steps back.

  “Just tell me,” I say. And my voice is as calm and as strong as I’ve ever heard it, like a teacher who expects to be listened to, like a young child who’s never heard the word ‘no’.

  Liam looks away. He’s small, like a little boy.

  “What if I did?” he says. His voice is whiny. “It’s hardly my fault. Angela came on to me and you weren’t there and anyway, you hardly gave me anything for weeks before that. All you wanted to do was hold hands which was, like, so, I don’t know, so young! I mean, if you’re not going to, you can hardly blame me for getting with Angela.”

  When the twins first told me, I’d been shaky. Upset. Devastated. But now it’s different. Hearing the truth from Liam’s own mouth makes me calm. Decided.

  “I want to break up.”

  “What?” He looks like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

  “With you.” I’m firm and strong. “I don’t want to be your girlfriend anymore.”

  “Just because some girl came on to me and I made a little mistake—yeah, okay, I’ll admit it—it was a mistake.” He sounds indignant.

  “We won’t hang around together any more, okay?” I say. I try to move away, but he grabs my hand and doesn’t let go.

  “Jazmine. I’m really, really sorry. I made a mistake. I apologise. What more do you want me to say?” He sounds desperate and I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.