I'm Not Her (4 page)

Kristina refuses to go to school on Monday. I don’t really blame her. Far as I’m concerned, she deserves time to mope. Time to contemplate her abandoned virginity and the fact that a disease is eating away at her bones. She deserves whatever she wants right now.

And honestly, I don’t really want to face her, and even though my lameness offends even me, I skedaddle out the door while she’s arguing with Mom. Mom is blabbing on about keeping up appearances.

I should go back inside and yell at her to leave Kristina alone to chill and watch TV all day if that’s what floats her boat. Instead I clutch my backpack, run to the garage, take out my hot pink bike, and hop on it, zipping off down the road, not wanting to pick sides or face my sister and everything that’s happened.

My shame turns to anger and it propels me along, and for a while I forget how much I hate exercise as I pedal. Soon my butt is aching, but at least the wind dries my damp hair. I consider it a free blow-out without having to deal with Mom’s annoying hairdresser in her clothes two sizes too small and two decades too young.

I finally reach the school just as my legs are telling me to stop pedaling already. I’m about to pull into the parking lot when a horn honks behind me. I almost fly off the seat of my bike. A car streaks by and through the rear window I see Bree, one of my sister’s teammates, giggling in the passenger seat. I recognize the driver too. Drunk Pimple Guy from the party.

His car is a Pile, capital P. Rusting and dented, an ugly thing from the 1990s. I want to give them both the one-finger salute but I’m afraid to take my hand off the handlebar in case I wipe out.

I drop one foot to the ground, watching as they squeal into a parking spot. I could waste more energy being mad at them and their low IQs and thus low form of seeking entertainment, but my heart isn’t in it. I don’t even bother to watch them get out of the car.

Instead I picture my sister’s face. Her bitter and broken laughter. The way she stepped on the gas pedal on the way to Devon’s, drove like she was Thelma or Louise in the movie our mom made us watch on an imposed “Girl’s Night.”

In my daydreams I never get as far as having sex, but when I imagine kissing, it’s like licking my favorite ice cream on the hottest day in summer, not dropping the entire scoop on the ground and watching it melt.

I hop back on my bike and head to the almost empty bike racks. Riding a bicycle to high school is apparently a faux pas. Especially a bike like mine. It’s expensive of course; Mom picked it out—only the best for the Smiths—but who buys pink bikes after their ninth birthday besides my mom? I’m not crazy about my mode of transportation, but it beats the bus.

A lump clogs my throat. I won’t cry. I won’t. Not only would it be humiliating, but Kristina would kill me. I agreed to her cone of silence. Bawling in public wouldn’t be a great way to keep her secret.

“Hey, Tess, right?”

I turn and the kid from the frosh party is standing behind me, an inquisitive look on his babyish face. I try to remember his name.

“Jeremy,” he supplies.

“Oh yeah. Clark Trent’s friend.” My lips turn up as I think about his friend’s name. “Are you going to be in the Honor Society too?”

Jeremy stares at me. “No, I’m not smart enough.” He glances around. “Uh, where’s your sister today? Don’t you usually get a ride with her?”

Thunk. The mention of my sister sends spikes of pain through me.

I turn and concentrate on opening my bike lock and unraveling the chain from around the bike seat. When I peek up, his cheeks are practically smoking, they’re so red. He looks guilty, like he’s been caught browsing a girly website or something.

“Why are you so interested in my sister?” I ask, redirecting my anger at him for reasons not his fault.

“I just noticed her car is all.” His cheeks stay red. “She always parks in the same spot. And you’re usually with her.”

I wind my bike lock through my bike wheels.

“No, seriously. Because of her red Toyota. My friend has the same one in black. I’m into cars. I noticed Kristina drove a red one.”

Great. Kristina has a stalker. The car was Kristina’s sweet sixteen present. At the time I didn’t think she’d done anything to deserve it, except have rich grandparents, but Mom thought it was the best thing since leopard-skin spankies. And now, under the circumstances, spoiling Kristina doesn’t seem so bad.

“I don’t think I’d ever buy a red car, the cops tend to pull over more drivers who drive them. I can’t remember where I heard it, but it makes sense, you know? Not that I think it’s bad your sister has a red car. I mean, it suits her. She’s doesn’t seem like the type to speed or anything.”

For some reason, Jeremy’s still talking.

I stare at him, wondering why he’s going on and on. I shrug. “I just decided to ride my bike today is all.”

“Is Kristina sick?”

Man, I’ve been at school for less than five minutes and I’m already getting quizzed about her whereabouts and her health. It’s not a good sign. I don’t want to explain things all day. I want everyone to ignore me like they usually do.

“She’s fine.” The lie makes my insides percolate like Mom’s morning coffee.

His cheeks recharge with color as if he feels my mood. “I just thought, you know…I wanted to ask Kristina if she saw the pictures I posted on Facebook. From the party. It’s no big deal.”

He’s obviously nervous and it makes me a little less annoyed by his intrusion. The thing is, a few days ago she would have been all over his pictures. He would be the happiest guy on the planet right now, because Kristina would be giving him props for the cool pics of her. But even though he has no idea, it’s all changed.

“She hasn’t seen them.” I start to walk away but he follows slightly behind me. I take a quick look over my shoulder and his whole body is deflated. He looks so sad that guilt nibbles at my crusty core. “I mean, I doubt she’s had time to look them up. We had a really busy weekend.” I want him to go away, to stop making me feel bad about being creepy to him, but most of all to quit reminding me why Kristina’s at home.

I swallow another big lump, desperately wishing for my self-centered and carefree sister back but I’m afraid that girl is gone forever and I’m not sure what to do about it. When we reach the front doors of the school, Jeremy darts ahead of me, opens the door, and holds it while I pass by him. At least her stalker has nice manners.

“I have to get to class,” I tell him, and practically run to get away. I keep my head down as I pass a group of kids in the hallway and wind my way past bodies until I’m almost at my locker.

Melissa leans against it, her eyes on the floor. Even though we don’t have any classes together, she checks in at my locker almost every morning before we face our school day.

Her long hair hangs in front of her face and it almost looks like she’s praying. She’s wearing an oversized yellow T-shirt, probably her dad’s. She’s always raiding his closet instead of wearing the plus-size clothes her stepmother buys for her. A long blue skirt covers her flip-flopped feet like she’s trying to hide.

“Hey,” she whisper-calls in her soft voice when she spots me. Her eyes dart around as if to make sure no one is paying attention to us. As if anyone cares what she and I discuss before we rush off to class.

She pushes her long bangs behind her ear. “I tried calling and texting you all weekend but you didn’t get back to me.” I hear hurt in her voice. “What happened?”

Melissa’s parents finally allowed her to get a cell phone for high school this year, though she has to pay for it with the money she earns helping out her church’s secretary. Her social life is even worse than mine. Church both days on the weekend, Saturday for work, Sunday for services. And she has strict weeknight curfews.

“Oh, you know. My mom had all sorts of family stuff lined up and another one of her stupid parties on Sunday.” I glance over my shoulder as if someone called my name or I heard something interesting. Avoiding her eyes, I add, “Anyhow, I didn’t have my cell phone charged.”

That much is true at least. I always forget to charge my phone.

When I look back at her, Melissa rolls her eyes ever so slightly. “I don’t know why you even bother with a phone. Except you get it for free. Like everything else in life.” She says it lightly and smiles, but I’ve heard it a million times before and barely register it. She’s always teasing me about the things I have. It’s not my fault my family can afford things and my mom loves to spend.

She pushes away from the lockers and I step forward to get my stuff.

“So…” she says, her voice soft but excited. “Tell me about the party. Did anything happen? How was it?”

The party. It seems so distant, like it happened or even mattered a lifetime ago. I grab the books I need for the morning from my backpack and blow out a deep breath of air, wishing I could confide the truth. The party is old news. My sister’s cancer is new.

I’m torn by my promise to my sister and my friendship with Melissa. We’ve always shared things. Melissa narrows her eyes when I say nothing, a slightly resentful expression on her face. Her parents don’t believe in parties and she’s not allowed to go to any.

“It was lame,” I finally say to throw her off the scent. I can’t stir up the energy to tell her anything else. It strikes me how much time we spend discussing the lives of others. She’s dying to find out if anything scandalous or exciting happened.

“I took off early.” I shove my backpack into my locker and stand on my tiptoes to reach my sketchbook off the top shelf. My elbow knocks my blown-up picture of Randy McGovern, a wildlife artist I scanned off the Internet. I automatically straighten it out, taking care not to wrinkle his face.

“How early?” The way Melissa bobs her head around reminds me of an agitated burrowing owl.

Blushing, I close my locker door. “Early. I just had to get out, you know?”

Melissa glances around to make sure we’re still alone. “Kristina must have been pissed off. She really wanted you to make an effort.” She snarls her lip. “To
socialize
.” She makes it sound like a curse word.

It’s my cue to make snide remarks about Kristina, or boast about how we’re too intellectually superior to care about stuff like that. Even I know we make fun of my overly gorgeous sister to burn off our own insecurities. I can’t do it though. I can’t play along today, no matter how much I know I should, to keep up appearances. It’s too much work, so instead I shrug.

“What was she wearing?” Melissa demands, pushing back bangs that refuse to stay behind her ear.

For a moment I have an image of Kristina’s low-cut tank top with the push-up bra, but it’s replaced by the picture of her distraught face in the car on the way home from Devon’s. Who cares? I lift a shoulder. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

Melissa clucks her tongue on the roof of her mouth, sounding more like an old woman than a high-school freshman. An old woman disappointed in me.

“Well, were her and her friends all drunk?”

I shake my head.

“Was Kristina all over a guy trying to make Devon jealous?” Melissa won’t stop and the mean streak in her voice makes her sound harsh. I wonder if it’s always been there and I never bothered to notice before. I wonder if I sound the same way.

I shake my head again and press my lips tight.

“Were the volleyball girls doing the girl-kissing-girl thing?”

I regret telling Melissa about the time Kristina and her friends dared each other to kiss at a sleepover at our house. Mom and Dad went out to a university party and one of the girls brought wine coolers and they’d knocked them back and got silly. I’d spied the kissing when I’d gone to the kitchen for a snack.

“No.” I snap and slide my lock in place and shut it. “It’s not like she’s a slut. And she doesn’t get drunk. A waste of her precious calories.”

Melissa sucks in a quick breath and stands straighter, tugging on the strap of the backpack slung over her shoulder. She carries it around all day instead of ditching it in her locker, mostly I think because she keeps stashes of chocolate bars and snacks in it. It doesn’t seem fair the way our metabolisms work, but we don’t really talk about it. Her stepmom is on her case about losing weight, even in front of me. She tells Melissa to ask God for help controlling her appetite. I haven’t seen God giving out helpful diet advice though. Melissa also has a skinny little stepsister, which doesn’t help. She can’t stand her sister and I think weight is half the problem.

I glance away from Melissa. Of course the first thing I spot on the wall is a poster for a rally in the gym, featuring an action shot of Kristina. She’s high off the ground, her arm high in the air, about to spike a volleyball over the net.

“The party was stupid,” I say to end the conversation. For the first time in my life, I lie by omission to my best friend. I don’t mention how Kristina dragged me around the party like a loser. I don’t tell her about Jeremy taking our picture or how he kind of stalked me in the parking lot on Kristina’s behalf. It seems trivial now.

Melissa stares at me, as if I’ve somehow betrayed her. But I can’t play the game.

She finally says, “Oh,” and glares at me as if trying to snap me out of my quiet mood. Then she frowns. “Well, I have to get to class.” She spins away from me and marches off, getting caught up in the crowd of kids rushing around, without even checking in to make sure my homework is done. My stomach flutters with dread because, for the first time ever, the answer to Melissa’s question would be no. I’ve actually come to school with an assignment only half-finished.

I wait for a break in the swarming bodies and then jump in, joining the flow toward my art class, and realize I didn’t even tell her about the Oswald Drawing Prize, knowing she’d moan and groan about how with my family money, I shouldn’t go after scholarships or awards. I imagine explaining it’s not about the money, but that winning will change my life. But now, even without the Drawing Prize, that’s already happened. It doesn’t mean I should give up my dreams too, does it? I head down the hall contemplating it, and spot the gaggle of volleyball girls surrounding the water fountain outside my classroom.