The Opposite Of Invisible Part 13

At lunch, I sit with Simon's friends now. The girls compliment my hair. "Who does your highlights?" asks Mandy.

"No one."

"You do that yourself? What, drugstore box stuff? Brave girl."

"No. Mother Nature did it." Mother Nature? What kind of freak am I? Mother Nature? What kind of freak am I?

"Natural?" She squeaks. "Whoa."

The guys mainly talk about sports.

"So, Friday night?" Mandy looks at me over cold veggie burgers. "Corrigan's party!" She pulls sesame seeds off her bun. "You're going, right?"

"Yeah, we're going."

Corrigan grins at Simon and I want to puke. Is that about the room thing?

Mandy looks at me. She's looking at me ... almost like she's ... jealous? "This party's gonna rock. I'm so glad you're coming."

Mandy's blond streaks make her look like a model, seriously. "Thanks," I say.

"Hey," she says, "want to do a pairs cla.s.s with Jim?"

I wonder if people think it's weird that we both take gla.s.sblowing cla.s.ses. But who cares?

"Let's set it up."

On Wednesday, Simon picks me up after dinner.

We drive around for a while and decide to park and look at the view of downtown from the little park on Queen Anne Hill. The s.p.a.ce Needle looks truly alien.

I try to concentrate on what I'm seeing. The sense of Simon, so close, makes it difficult.

My favorite part of the view is that you only know that Elliott Bay is down there because it's the absence of buildings, of lights in the nighttime. Darkest blue. You can look from downtown, over that almost-black water, all the way to West Seattle, knowing that between the pieces of land, another world lives. Orcas.

We stand at the fence, Simon's arm around my waist. His fingers press in and out, so lightly. I can't see anything.

"Are there wild octopi down there?" I ask.

"Sure," he says. "Lots."

"Tell me more about the aquarium," I say.

"The sea otters are fun," he says.

"They're cute, huh?"

"And they eat twenty-five percent of their body weight per day. Kind of like Corrigan."

I smile at that. "You're so informed," I say.

"I don't talk about that sea life stuff with everyone, you know."

"Why not?"

"I guess people would think it's weird."

"I don't."

He looks out across the sound. "I know you don't."

The breeze gets chilly. I don't want to go home yet, so I concentrate on not s.h.i.+vering.

"Let's head out," Simon says.

When we get back to the car he unlocks our doors and puts his keys in his pocket. Not in the ignition.

Literally, we steam up the windows.

Our bodies stretch around the stick s.h.i.+ft, the empty travel mug. Simon breathes slow and heavy, and I match his rhythm. It feels crazy, making out like this parked on a street in the ritziest neighborhood in town.

We kiss, rocking. He moves his hands under my tank top, just on my back.

I let him slip his hand under my bra. It feels so amazingly good.

How far am I ready to go? How much do I trust him? Right now I think I'd do anything.

I say, "Let's move to the backseat."

He rests his head on my chest, his hair up under my chin.

How to put this? "More comfy." I kiss his cheek. He leans into my neck, nibbles. He lets out a grunt.

That's when I realize. That grunt. I am so not ready to do this. Like an animal. It kind of makes me feel like I could be just any girl, not special; to Simon, is the physical stuff really only just physical?

I can't believe that, for a second, I was forgetting that when you have s.e.x, you're supposed to be in love.

He moves his head to look at me, eyelashes like curtains. "Are you sure?"

Thank you, thank you for asking. No, I am not sure. Of anything. When he tells me he loves me, and I believe it, maybe that's when I'll be sure.

I just kiss him again. And again.

I guess he gets the point; no one is moving toward the backseat.

For tonight.

I haven't seen much of Jewel since the Bath, even from a distance. In Spanish, he faces the wall. But I do know that he and Vanessa are glued.

I do my best not to think about exactly what body parts might be coming into contact between the two of them.

I have no right to be jealous that Vanessa is with Jewel. I know that. But I thought I broke his heart at the troll.

Now does he even care about me?

Of course, I see Vanessa in art workshop. She's been doing a series of hearts. Not lovey-dovey bubble ones, but anatomic hearts. Organs. With valves. She's painting them onto canvases, every heart a different color.

Is that her way of falling in love?

Today she works in red.

I focus on my Christmas portrait of Mom and Dad. It's their faces against a red background, which represents our kitchen. My mom's nose is too long, so I get to work on fixing it.

I zone out as I create a better world on canvas.

Chapter Fourteen.

Friday I take my parents' portrait out of my cubby. I ended up making it more impressionistic because I couldn't quite get their faces right. It's done, I decide. Best I can do.

I walk back to my seat. How much do I wish there were a gla.s.s studio at school? Working with gla.s.s is all I really feel like doing. After just one lesson it feels more exciting to me than anything in the studio. Plus it's not in the studio. It's my own thing.

My mind wanders. It occurs to me that these are probably the stools that were used in the Bloodbath box room. I could be sitting where spaghetti-brains sat.

As I take out my drawing pad to work on the showcase cover, I smile, thinking of being in that room with Simon. The way he kissed me.

I draw an elephant, huge, his trunk raised.

I go into an art trance as I work on filling in the beast's body.

My mind is blissfully blank until the bell rings.

When it does, I walk out into the hall. Jewel stands there, waiting for Vanessa. He doesn't even look at me as I pa.s.s.

My brain spins.

I didn't factor in that gaining a boyfriend might mean losing a best friend.

I barely make it to my locker before I start crying. I bend down and root around in the pile of junk at the bottom of my locker, hiding.

I'm wearing my new denim mini and the light blue s.h.i.+rt my mom chose. The top brightens my eyes.

I have no idea how Simon's friends dress for parties. I can imagine some of the girls in clothes they consider rebellious, from Hot Topic in Westlake Center. Every time I go by there, I think it's where quirky, cool things go to die.

Jewel and I joked about that. It started when we saw a Gremlins Gremlins T-s.h.i.+rt hanging in the window, l.u.s.ted after it, and then saw Christy VanSant, head cheerleader, wearing it under her J.Crew blazer. T-s.h.i.+rt hanging in the window, l.u.s.ted after it, and then saw Christy VanSant, head cheerleader, wearing it under her J.Crew blazer.

At eight o'clock, Simon's honk comes: three short bursts.

"Hey, good-lookin'," he says as I open the car door and climb in.

He's wearing the same outfit as the day at Pike Place Market. The turquoise sweater, Adidas vest, and his best faded jeans.

I wonder if he knows how much I wanted him that day, before I actually had him. If that's why he's wearing it.

"You look good," I tell him as we zip over to Mike's house.

"It's fun when Corrigan's parents skip town," Simon says as he finds a spot for the car.

People I don't recognize stand on Corrigan's small front porch, drinking out of red plastic cups and laughing too loudly.

"Private school," Simon whispers into my hair as we approach. They all seem to know him, waving and even whooping as we approach.

"Who's your girl?" asks a guy wearing a white baseball cap over his buzz cut.

"This is Alice," Simon says.

This is me, I think. I am Simon's girl.

Inside the house, someone props a stereo speaker on a window ledge.

Some rap song thumps onto the porch.

"Woo-hoo!" screams the guy, raising his drink above his head.

"Let's go in." Simon gives my arm a squeeze.

I follow Simon inside. He acts like it's his own place.

I realize that I've never felt as comfortable even at Jewel's house as Simon seems to feel here. And come to think of it, he has a way of owning whatever s.p.a.ce he occupies. I guess that's confidence.

Simon heads directly for the kitchen counter, stocked with a variety of alcohol. Every kid in this place, except for Simon and me, must've raided their parents' stash.

I guess I realized that a party at Corrigan's would mean alcohol, but this is really a lot. Simon seems fine with it, though, even excited about it. I've never really had the desire to get drunk.

He hands me a red cup that smells like raspberries and nail polish remover. I step out of my frame. I take a drink.

Simon pours his own cup to the brim and we move to the couch.

I give myself over, drinking up, chatting with strangers about pop music, borrowing lip gloss from Mandy. As she hands me the tube, she says, "What's mine is yours."

I am at this party. I am the life.

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