My Invented Life (17 page)

Eva cups my chin with her fingers. She looks at me long and hard.

“Thanks for taking my side against Bryan today,” I say.

“You’re welcome.” She spins me around and bumps my backside with her knee. “Go hang with your boyfriend and your girlfriend.”

Andie looks at me expectantly when I get back. “Who did you go to the peach orchard with? Bryan?”

“The dog,” I say. “I took the dog for a walk in the peach orchard.”

Andie hoots with laughter. “You don’t even have a dog,” she shrieks.

“I didn’t say it was MY dog.”

Nico retreats behind his hair.

When Eva calls us to start again, she still looks pale. She massages her forehead. “I have a headache,” she says.

“You should go home,” I say. “Carmen can fill in for you.” Everyone stares at me in disbelief, like I just morphed into a five-foot-ten-inch hot dog. Especially Carmen. “I’m serious,” I say. “Carmen did great last Friday.”

“Okay,” Eva says. She picks up her bag and leaves.

Carmen immediately goes on a rampage against me. I can hardly blame her for mistrusting my motives. “Is that gum concealed in your mouth?” she asks.

It is. Andie gave me a second gumball during the break.

“No.” I swallow hard. “I don’t believe in gum.” I open my mouth wide and pat my chest like I’m choking on a huge wad. Everyone laughs, even Carmen. After that I behave in an exemplary manner. Twenty minutes later, Carmen stops eyeing me like a brown paper bag left on a subway seat by a terrorist. It feels good to swap out my usual cloak and dagger for a halo and scepter.

When Andie and Nico are offstage together, they whisper like lovers or thieves. It reminds me of how they acted before the Great Dog-Doo Incident. I leave them alone. After rehearsal they take off—hand in hand—without saying good-bye. I stay behind to tell Carmen what a good job she’s doing as director. She stares at me like I’ve turned into the giant hot dog again.

“Truce,” I say, making my hands into a T.

“I guess,” she says. If a psychic had predicted this scene a few days ago, I would’ve called her a fraud and demanded my money back.

The next day in homeroom Nico stares straight ahead when I say hi to him. Mr. Beltz has his back to us, so I tap Nico’s shoulder. He ignores me even when I walk my fingers down his spine.

“What’s with him?” I ask Eyeliner Andie.

She shrugs like she doesn’t understand. Her bangs are gelled into sideways spikes. She looks like a novelty coat
hanger, a cute one. We exchange notes to pass the time. Class ends without Nico budging from Roz-is-less-than-nothing mode. He hovers some yards down the hall, waiting for Andie to stop talking to me.

“Is this part of some new scheme of yours?” I ask her.

“Brilliant observation,” she says.

“But you won’t tell me what it is.”

“You are so right,” she says. “Don’t bother your pretty little head with it.”

“As long as it doesn’t involve eating any unidentifiable objects.”

The second bell rings. “Shall we be sunder’d, shall we part, sweet girl?” she says.

“Never.” I sling my arm around her waist. She pulls away and bats her false eyelashes at me. Why does she court me with words and looks, only to run away whenever I get close?

At lunch I go to the cafeteria to serve as Felicia’s kitchen slave. But really I want to be part of the new daytime drama series—
Secrets and Lies and the People Who Tell Them
. My ulterior motives include a mother-daughter reconciliation. I know that I should repress thoughts like these, but they won’t go away any more than my nervous mannerisms just because I tell them to. Besides, meddling could lead to a happy ending.

Felicia shows me the frozen vegetarian lasagna she plans to serve tomorrow.

“On behalf of all the bunny people at Yolo Bluffs High,” I say, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Her smile contains less scary irony
than usual. The perfect time for the subtle opening I spent hours preparing has arrived.

“I know about Carmen,” I say, “that she’s your daughter.”

Frailty, thy name is Roz. Translation? Bulldozers act with more subtle grace than I do.

Felicia looks angry. If eyes could chop vegetables, the carrots in front of her would be minced by now. She turns her back on me.

“She’s very talented,” I say. “You should be proud of her.”

“I am proud of her,” she says. “She’s the one who’s ashamed. And no wonder. You students treat us like maids.”

Just like that, the chance of a lifetime waltzes into the kitchen on a platter (a terribly mixed metaphor, I know, but I’m that excited). Felicia confided in me. If I tell her that Carmen’s a lesbian, I will save the two of them from years of misery.

“Did you know . . . that your daughter is in love with my sister?”

As much as I want to say it, I do NOT
.

BigMouth to mission control—thank you for finding the impulse-control button in time. Inflammatory and indiscreet announcements are so last week for me. I’m still the same Roz, of course, but with an updated spam filter.

“I don’t think of you that way,” I say to Felicia instead. “And Carmen brags about you ALL the time.” Okay, she brags about her pretend mom, but still. My new spam filter works to block uncomfortable truths. Friendly fibs can still slip through.

“I’ll bet,” Felicia says.

“Carmen’s been doing an excellent job directing the play,” I say to distract her. “She’s a natural.”

The crease between Felicia’s lovely brows deepens. “She said she dropped out of the play.”

Oops. There are still a few kinks in the system.

Just then BlueDragon gallops through the kitchen toward us. He slams into a plastic bucket and knocks it over. Frozen peas scatter across the floor. The qualities that the two of us share go way beyond questionable social skills. We both suffer from spastic body movements and bad timing, although I welcome the pandemonium right now. When I go to grab him, he slips out of my hands and leaps into a sink. It’s full of water. Thoroughly panicked, he bounds out again and shakes water all over Felicia.

“Here, boy.” Felicia waves a cooked chop in front of him. It must be something she brought from home because it doesn’t resemble the mystery meat served at the cafeteria. BlueDragon inches toward the chop. When he gets the meat between his teeth, Felicia uses it as a kind of leash to drag him outside.

“Good work,” I say.

My compliment fails to distract her.

“What’s this about Carmen directing?”

“Well,” I say to give myself time to invent a lie that is close enough to the truth to evade detection, “she dropped out of the play like you told her to. Only Sapphire begged her to direct this week because she would be away.”

Gauging from Felicia’s frown, few untruths slip past her. She strikes me as someone who missed a brilliant career as a spook.

“She promised to work on her scholarship essays after school.”

“It’s only for a few days,” I beg. “The play will collapse
if she’s not there to direct.” I’m ready to offer anything. Like scrubbing the entire cafeteria floor. On my hands and knees. With a toothbrush. Carmen will kill me if she finds out I blabbed the truth to her mom. Slowly. And. Painfully. There has to be a way to undo my mistake.

Felicia notices my desperation. “Tough break,” she says, consolingly.

“If you let her direct the play, I’ll help her with her scholarship essays,” I say.

“You,” she scoffs.
Sinister violin music swells
. “Start by cleaning up this mess. When you finish, I’ll think about it.”

I
miss fifth period
to chase down all the peas to Felicia’s satisfaction. I slip in little hints as I work. For example, there is no reason she has to tell Carmen who ratted her out. Felicia plays impassive well, an effective foil to my pathetic grovel. I have the sense that I’m gliding backward on a conveyor belt. After a while I give up. To ensure that there will be witnesses when Carmen strangles me, I show up late to rehearsal. When I arrive, Eva isn’t there, and Carmen looks happy—bordering on self-satisfied—so my betrayal is still a secret. For now.

The first scene on the rehearsal schedule won’t be easy for Carmen. I wonder if she’s nervous. She meets me in my manly disguise and falls into a deep passion for me. Though it’s all pretend, she’ll have to seduce an alleged lesbian (me) in front of everyone after working so hard to look heterosexual.

Carmen is not up to the challenge. Her attempt to swoon while praising me, “Sweet youth . . . I had rather hear you chide than this man woo,” is a ghastly flop. She sounds like a girl cooing to an adorable baby bunny rather
than flirting with the man she lusts after. And normally I’d tell her so in those exact words.

“Madam director?” I say instead. “I need to use the bathroom. Nico can fill in for me.”

Nico fumbles through the script to find my next line. As I pass Andie below the stage, she grabs my wrist and appraises me.

“Where’s the real Roz? And who the hell are you?”

“I’m just making nice like I said I would.”

She lets go of my wrist. “Okay, but I’m watching you.”

By the time I return, the cast has moved on to a scene I’m not in. Bryan looks like a hairball the cat coughed up. He drags himself through his lines with zombie-like tenacity. Maybe he’s pining for me.

“He looks lovesick, don’t you think?” I ask Andie.

“Men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but not for love,” she replies. Translation? Boys are a lower life-form than worms.

I know what she means. For Bryan—as an example of a boy below worm level—the desire for sex trumps his need for a deeper connection. Girls are interested in fooling around too, but most want love to be a part of the equation. That makes girls choosier. I’m hoping my choosy side kicks in soon.

“Roz,” Carmen calls out, “do you think Orlando should walk quickly cross-stage for this scene? The extra movement might enhance the illusion of anxiety.”

She’s thanking me for my timely bathroom break by asking for advice. I jump at the opportunity to be her assistant for the day. She treats me with respect for once,
and I am careful not to touch her. By the end of rehearsal, we are a team. I find myself enjoying her ideas and her company despite our ugly past.

When Carmen dismisses everyone, Andie waves at me from a distance. “Got to go. See you,” she shouts my way. She drags Nico with her. Our chummy threesome days are over.

Their departure gives me a few more friendly minutes with Madam Director before she goes home to the lion’s den. I know what will happen after that. Felicia will yell at her for lying about the play, and Carmen will go back to hating me. I see now that we are twins in a way. We each play a role at school, trying to fake out the whole world about our identity.

“Want to go for coffee?” I ask, shocking us both.

“Another time, perchance?” she says.

After we part ways, I scoot to Yolo Bluffs’ consignment shop and select a tight-fitting black dress with a scoop neckline. The dressing-room mirror talks to me when I try it on. Roz is a dish fit for the gods. Translation? I like myself today.

In the secrecy of my room, I cut out the back of the dress and sew two straps across like an X. After I’ve shredded the sleeves, added snaps around the neckline, and slit the skirt, the dress is perfect. My soft eyeliner pencil substitutes for black lipstick since the local drugstore failed to provide. I slather my eyes with outlandish eyeliner.

“Food!” Gethsemane yells through my door.

The look on her face—if I showed up in the kitchen dressed like this—would be worth a thousand laughs. I
wash it all off. Long and misleading explanations about my appearance make for stressful dinner conversation. One scrubbed face and clothing change later, I finally make it to the table. Eva’s seat is empty again.

“Has my sister joined the breathairians?” I ask. The breathairians claim to get all their nourishment from sunlight and fresh air.

“Ha ha. She caught a nasty bug,” Mom says. “I want you to stay away from her.”

“When’s opening night?” Dad asks. He fills my plate. The spaghetti sauce has an odd texture to it.

“In ten days,” I say. “We’ll be rehearsing like crazy. Lucky for Eva she was born reciting Shakespeare. She’ll catch up.”

It turns out that tofu does not go well with marinara. I feel bad that Dad and Mom have to eat it too. Let’s just say that no one pigs out tonight.

After jamming the red-smeared plates into the dishwasher, I obey Mom’s edict to leave Eva alone. More or less. I can’t catch the flu spying through her bedroom window, right? And the universe grants me a boon. There’s a wedge-shaped gap where she didn’t close the curtain all the way. I watch her kneeling on the floor and whispering. Maybe she’s rehearsing for a scene in the play. She leaps to her feet and waltzes a pillow around the room.

The next morning, I enter homeroom with fear in my heart. When Carmen smiles at me, I know that Felicia has granted me a second reprieve. But for how long? Eyeliner
Andie distracts me from my worries with her style du jour. Her cheeks are contoured with blue blush—if you can call blue powder blush—and her pigtails have been moussed into insect antennae. She’s holding hands with Nico, who has a fat rubber band around his wrist like a bracelet. This must be part of her scheme.

“Everyone quiet for announcements,” Mr. Beltz says.

When Nico whispers to me, “I don’t believe in announcements,” Andie snaps his rubber band. “Ow,” he says.

Andie puts her notebook in her lap, scribbles on it and tilts it toward me.

Jonathan survived the visit with parents so far
.

I flash her a “great news” smile. Though the news IS great, jealousy interferes with my happiness. Jonathan used to be my friend, whereas he and Andie barely know each other. Why did he tell her and not me? True, their characters fall in love and get married in the play, but off-stage they’re practically strangers. Why am I always the last to know every single significant thing? Maybe the TV commercials are right. Everything would change for the better if I just switched brands of deodorant.