Authors: Jeanne Bannon
“
You are shittin’ me!” she exclaims.
“
No, it really happened. Really, Charlie, you’ve got to believe me.”
She leans closer, squinting, as if examining me to see if I’m telling the truth. “People can’t just vanish into thin air,” she says finally.
I exhale, disappointed. “You don’t believe me?”
“
I believe that
you
believe you disappeared.”
Tears spring to my eyes and I walk to my desk, sitting with a dejected thud onto my wheeled chair. The chair and I roll a few feet on the hardwood.
Charlie sits up and crosses her legs. “What does everyone else have to say about it?”
I throw her a look of disbelief. “I haven’t told anyone else. Who would believe me? I thought you would, but obviously not.” I cross my arms tightly over my chest.
“
Well, I thought you’d at least tell your grandmother,” she replies curtly, but then she runs a hand over her face and her voice softens. “Look, if you say it happened, then who am I to doubt you?” She smiles and throws me a wink.
Relief floods through me and I return her smile.
“
Now the question is why and how is it happening?” she says.
I shrug.
“
Can you do it now?”
“
Doubt it.” A frown creases my forehead. “Eight months has passed from the first time it happened to the second. Who knows, it may not ever happen again.” My words are more of a wish than a statement. Despite getting me out of a dangerous situation, winking out into Never Never Land freaked me out. What if I flip into some alternate reality and stay there?
Charlie pauses and taps her pursed lips. The wheels are turning. “Stand up,” she says and I do. “Okay, think about what happened to you today. Bring back those feelings of anger and embarrassment. How did it feel when Nino called you a pig? Or was it a hippo?”
Unexpected tears well in my eyes and I feel my cheeks redden with her words. Right now I just want the feelings to go away, not re-live them. I begin to protest but Charlie waves me quiet.
“
I think it has something to do with your mental state, either anger or embarrassment or both,” she says, pacing around me in a tiny orbit; the wheels still turning.
Maybe Charlie’s looking for proof. She doesn’t really believe me and won’t until she sees it for herself. So, resigned, I close my eyes and sink back into the trauma of the day. The taunts, the vulgar names, echo through my head, as real and hurtful as the moment they were so callously hurled at me, making me want to shrink into a compact ball of nothingness. I feel the blow to the back of my head and my heart jackhammers against my rib cage. I see Jon and that’s the worst of it, because I know he sees me too. He’s witnessing my nothingness, my worthlessness, my shame.
“
Oh my God!” Charlie shouts.
My eyes snap open. “What?”
“
You…you…you flickered,” she exclaims, a hand over her open mouth.
“
I what?”
“
It was like you winked out for just a half a second. But holy shit, I believe you! You can make yourself invisible.”
A half-hearted smile settles on my lips. I shouldn’t have had to prove anything to her. If Charlie was truly my best friend she would have taken me at my word, but I let my hurt feelings slide because an exciting thought occurs to me. Maybe it won’t be so bad if I can learn to
control
my newfound “ability.” My mind reels at the possibilities.
“
You’re a freakin’ superhero,” she says, jumping joyfully into the air.
We spend the rest of the evening talking about the potential of my new power; including the possibility for sweet revenge. Most of our ideas are silly and, invisible or not, I don’t think I’d have the guts to pull them off.
“
You can walk into the guys’ locker room and take pictures of some of the shitheads who make our lives miserable,” Charlie suggests. “Especially that asshole Nino. Then we can post them on YouTube.”
“
Are you kidding? He’d probably love that. He’s so conceited.” Nino’s a star athlete with the body of a Greek God.
“
But we could Photoshop them and give him a small dick.” She laughs wildly. “He probably already has one, that’s why he’s so mean.” Then her expression changes as a sudden thought hits. “But what if the camera’s not invisible?”
“
Hmmm, good point.” I ponder this for a second. “But my clothes must have been invisible when I vanished or else everyone would have seen them.”
“
So then if you’re holding something when you disappear, it must disappear too,” Charlie says, wagging a finger.
A nervous laugh escapes me. “Don’t get your hopes up. Invisible or not, I don’t have the guts to go into the guys’ locker room.” Just the thought of it gives me butterflies and makes me want to puke.
“
Okay, we’ll do some brainstorming and see what else we can come up with.” Charlie sits back down on my bed and leans forward. “Where do you think you go when you vanish?”
I throw my hands up. “Don’t know.”
“
Do you see other beings? Like aliens or ghosts?” There’s a hint of excitement in her voice.
“
No. Everything looks exactly the way it normally does. I can see everyone and everything, they just can’t see me.”
“
I think you’re wishing yourself invisible,” she says with a thoughtful furrowing of the brow.
“
What?” I ask, bewildered.
“
Think about it. Think about what was happening to you when you vanished. You were in situations where you literally wanted to disappear, and so you did.”
I fall backwards onto the bed beside her and stare up at the spackled ceiling. Something inside me nods in agreement. “You may be right,” I say and place Charlie’s idea high on my list of possible explanations.
Chapter Six
It’s Monday morning and despite the horror of the previous day, I’m in a fairly decent mood as I make my way downstairs to the kitchen. A low rumble of excitement stirs in my belly at the thought of my super power. For the first time in my life, I feel special, plus I’ve got one whopper of a secret.
Our house is a reflection of my parents’ messed-up sense of style. It looks like it’s from another time and place; a mix of 70s hippie and 90s new age. The kitchen is mossy green with brown accents as if decorated with bits and pieces of Mother Earth herself.
Wall-to-wall blue shag carpeting covers the floors of the living and dining rooms, and the chrome and glass furniture gives our house just the right hint of crazy. My parents aren’t hippies or new-agers; they’re just weird.
Eva and Mom are chatting and Dad has left for work already. He’s always the first one out the door, needing only his jumbo coffee and a cigarette and he’s good to go.
“
Morning,” I say, filling the kettle and putting it on a burner for my instant oatmeal. Mondays usually start with me on a diet, but by mid-week all good intentions are out the window.
Eva raises a perfectly plucked brow and turns to me. “Why are you in such a good mood?”
She’s two years older than me, and is in her final year of beauty school. Mom dropped out of the Revlon School of Cosmetology in her first year. She said it was to start working so she and Dad could get married, but I did the math and I think it was ’cause she was knocked up. Now Eva’s living Mom’s dream — all the free dye jobs, manicures and facials thrill Mom to no end.
“
I don’t know,” I tell my sister. “It’s supposed to be a nice day. Summer’s almost here.”
“
That reminds me,” says Mom, her ridiculous multi-colored hair piled high in a wobbly tower of curls. “We’ve got to go shopping for your graduation dress.”
My shoulders deflate, along with my mood. The kettle whistles. I fix my breakfast and sit down at the table. “Can we talk about this later?” I ask, avoiding her gaze.
Mom leans forward, resting her still made-up face in her hands. I suspect she either doesn’t remove her make-up at night, or she gets up earlier than everyone else and applies it again. In all my seventeen years, I’ve never seen her without a made-up face. She peers out from her mass of locks and regards me with steely determination.
“
You’re not getting away with this one, Lola. You denied me the opportunity to help you get all pretty for the Prom and you’re not going to do the same thing with your graduation party.” She wags a finger at me.
“
I don’t even want to go to graduation let alone the party. Pleaaassee Mom, don’t do this to me.”
“
Do this to
you
?” Her voice is shrill. “You’re the one robbing
me
of a special moment between a mother and daughter. I’m looking forward to seeing you in a pretty dress, with a little make-up on for a change. And that hair, God, we’ve got to do something with that hair.” She turns to my sister. “What do you think, Hon? An upsweep or something a little wilder?” The way she says “wilder” scares me a little.
I cringe. If only my dim-witted sister hadn’t dropped out of high school in her senior year. Then maybe Mom would have been content with her Prom or grad party. I’m certain Eva would have loved all the attention and being made-up like a ten dollar prostitute.
Eva opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off. “I’ll go to grad, but not the party,” I say with as much authority as I can muster.
Mom stands, all five foot two of her, and peers down at me. Sitting, I’m still almost her size. Both hands are planted firmly on her hips and, even though I could hip check her into next Thursday with little effort, I hang my head.
“
You and I
will
go shopping for that dress and you
will
go to that party, like it or not!” Looking like a child in her bulky terry cloth bathrobe, she stomps from the kitchen.
“
I can’t understand why she’s forcing me to go. What difference does it make to her?” I say with little hope of support from my sister.
“
She wants to know you’re a girl,” Eva says.
I whip my head around to face her, my eyes narrowed. “What the hell does that mean?”
Eva shifts her gaze and suddenly looks sorry for opening her mouth. “You know. She just wants to make sure you … that you like boys,” she says quickly, then gets up and leaves.
I’m left alone with my anger. Why does everyone need me to be something that I’m not? Does Jon think I’m some kind of freak? Or that I’m a lesbian and not for him? I’m starting to feel like I want to disappear again when Mom returns dressed in skinny jeans and a sparkly scoop-necked top; spiky heels click on the ceramic tiles.
“
Get goin’, you’ll be late,” she says coldly and, to my disappointment, I know I’m still visible.
Chapter Seven
I slam the door to my locker and click the lock in place. Hugging my books to my chest, I start for homeroom.
“
Hey, Lola, wait up,” a distant voice calls. I squint and spot Charlie. Right now she’s not much more than a dot on the horizon as she runs toward me.
“
Hi,” I answer when she finally arrives and walks with me. Usually she trudges, playing the brooding emo thing to the max, but today there’s a bounce in her step and a smile on her lips.
“
What’s with you?” I ask.
She bounces in front of me and walks backwards. “Oh come on, you know.”
A smile plays on my lips as I think about my super power, but it fades quickly because I’m still upset about having to go shopping with my mother.
“
Yeah, I guess it’s pretty cool,” I say.
“
Cool’s an understatement.” Charlie stops and I nearly slam into her. She leans in close and whispers, “I’ve got an idea.”
“
For what?”
“
You know,” she says and gives me a knowing look.
“
Oh,” I say as realization dawns. “What is it?” I feel obliged to ask, but don’t
really
want to know.
“
Tell you at lunch.” Her smile is bright as she hops off to art, the only class she likes. I wave and continue on to English lit, wondering about her idea. My stomach tenses at the possibilities.
English is the only class I have with Jon. He sits in front of me, which can be a good thing, because I get to stare at the back of his head every day, but it can also be a bad thing, because he’s a distraction. Mrs. Wright is rambling on about
Wuthering Heights.
I listen with one ear, but both my eyes are glued on Jon. What’s he thinking? How I wish I could read his mind. Or maybe not. What if he thinks I’m a loser like everyone else seems to?
Still, a small part of me wants to reach out and run my hands through his thick curly hair and another part wants to slap him. He’s so cute and usually so nice, but I can’t get the thought of him with Nino and Tyler out of my head. What does he see in them? Have I pegged him wrong all these years?
I pull my attention away from Jon when Mrs. Wright says she’s giving us some class time to begin our essays. I yank my journal from my knapsack and start to write, only I’m not starting my essay, I’m writing my short story. The short story I plan to enter for the Bridgewood High creative writing scholarship award. The winner receives a partial university scholarship. My heart quickens at just the thought of it. There aren’t many teenagers jazzed about writing like I am, but for me the contest is a Godsend. It’s given me something to look forward to and helps keep my mind off my troubles.