Summer in the Invisible City (11 page)

When I wake up again, my mom has gone to work. I roll out of bed and head to Willa's, stuffing a change of clothes in my backpack. We're going to spend the day at her apartment and then go to Allan's opening together.

On the subway ride, I know I should feel tired since I basically didn't sleep, but instead, I feel energized. My night with Sam is a good secret, something that gives me strength. I keep reliving all the ways we did and didn't touch. The only thought gnawing at the edge of my mind is why he didn't kiss me. If he liked me, wouldn't he have tried?

As soon as I walk into Willa's room, I sit down at her computer and open it up to Amanda's Facebook page.

Willa watches with her hands on her hips. “What are you doing?”

“Do you think this girl is pretty?”
I demand.

Willa looks at the screen, and then at me.

“Who is this?” she asks suspiciously.

“Sam's ex-girlfriend,” I reply.

Willa reaches out and snaps the computer closed.

“Okay, fine, I know, I'm being bad,” I say. “I just wanted to know if you think she's prettier than me.”

“Of course I don't,” Willa says gently. “Obviously I'm gonna think you're prettier than some stranger.”

“
I don
't mean it like
that
,” I protest. “I mean, like objectively pretty.”

Willa doesn't answer me. She turns, crosses to her bed, flops down on the mattress facedown, and screams a muffled scream into her pillow.

I can't help laughing. I climb up on the bed next to her and poke her pale arm with my pointer finger so it turns pink. Willa bruises the easiest of anyone I know.

“Please. Just tell me.”

She rolls onto her back, her glasses are crooked on her face.

“I refuse to condone this crazy behavior,” she says, staring straight up at the ceiling. “First of all, if she was his girlfriend, I think it's safe to say he thinks she's pretty. And guess what else? There are probably a lot of other things about her that he likes, too. Maybe things that matter to him even more than what she looks like.”

“I know.” I sigh. “I'm just curious about her because I'm curious about him. I think I like him for real. He came over last night, and we stayed up for hours, just talking and doing nothing.”

Willa looks at me and her eyes grow enormous. “Wow! Really? He came over? What did you guys do?”

“
Nothing,
” I say. “I can't explain it. We just talked and then, like, didn't talk. He's just really comfortable with himself. He's just easy to be around.”

I picture Sam in my bedroom and my body turns hot at
the memory. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes. I don't know if I can stand not knowing what's going on between us.

Willa takes her glasses off and rubs the bridge of her nose. “I'm so tired from this week. I hate my science class. My teacher is a fascist.”

“Why do you have to do this to yourself?” I ask. “You know you're going to get into Yale. You're a genius
, plus you
're a legacy. You'll be fine. “

“
I don
't want to go to Yale,” Willa says. “Yale is just a party school for rich city kids.”

I groan. “Now who's the one being crazy?”

“I'm not being crazy. Everyone knows it's true,” Willa insists.

I slap her arm affectionately. “You don't honestly believe that.”

Willa lets her eyes meet mine and all the laughter drains out of them. “
Fine. I don
't want to go to Yale because I don't want to go to college with my sister.”

“Really? Why not?” I ask.

“I just know how it will be.” Willa sighs. “I'll end up writing her papers for her, like I did in high school. Besides,” she says softly, “if I go there, I'll be ‘
Danielle Davis-Spencer
'
s little sister
' for the rest of my life.”

Willa and I are lying side by side and now I wrap my feet around her ankles.

“You'll never be Danielle's little sister to me,” I say. “She'll always just be Willa Davis-Spencer's big sister.”

Willa smiles.
“Aww. Thanks, Boo.”

—

Later, we are making pancakes, trashing Willa's kitchen, when Izzy texts me.

Where and when r we meeting?

“What does Izzy want to know?” Willa asks, glancing at my screen.

“She wants to know what our plan is for tonight,” I say. “You know, for going to Allan's show.”

Willa drops the spatula and pancake batter splatters in a ring around it on the floor. She crouches down quickly and picks it up. Then, she tosses it in the sink, grabs a paper towel, and starts wiping up the mess.

“I'm surprised you invited Izzy to your dad's opening,” Willa says, rubbing too hard on the floor. “It seems, like, kind of personal.”

“It's no big deal. They wanted to come,” I say.

“They?” Willa repeats, still looking at the floor. Her tone is fake-natural. “You mean Phaedra is coming, too?”

The mess is totally cleaned up. So I say, “I think you got it all.”

Willa stands up and starts doing dishes, her back is to me.

“Are you okay?” I ask, turning off the faucet.

Willa hovers over the sink, still not looking at me.

“Maybe I'll just skip tonight,” she says softly.

I laugh. “Come on. You're kidding, right?”

She shakes her head no.

“What are you saying?” I ask, stunned.

She looks up at me. She has a smear of pancake batter on
her forehead. “It just doesn't seem like you need me there.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You'll have Izzy and Phaedra there. I'm sure you guys will have fun.”

“But it's my father's show,” I protest. “You've never even met him. You were going to meet him.”

Willa sighs, choosing her words in her irritating, measured, Willa way. “If having me meet your dad was so important to you, then why are Izzy and Phaedra coming?”

“'Cause they're my friends, too,” I say, getting annoyed.

Willa rolls her eyes. “Come on. Those girls are not really your friends. You know that, right?”

Humiliation rises in my chest, like a wave swelling in the ocean before it crests.

“That's not true,” I protest. “They are my friends.”

Willa lets out an exasperated groan. “Ugh, you're driving me crazy. It's obvious they've decided that being into art is cool, so now they're trying to adopt you like you're a pet or something. It's all so fake and I don't know why you're pretending it's not.”

Willa makes my friendship with Izzy and Phaedra sound small and pathetic. I feel like she always does this: she sucks all the fun out of my life and spits it back onto the floor.

“Whatever,” I say. “You're just jealous that they want to be friends with me and not you.”

“Jealous? I am not even the tiniest bit jealous,” Willa says, rolling her eyes. “Those girls are gonna ditch you the second they realize you don't even know him.”

She doesn't have to say who “
him”
is.

Dizzying hurt crashes on top of me, flooding my brain with blinding heat. “You don't know what you're talking about,” I snap. I leave the kitchen, rushing down the hall to Willa's room. Hot tears streak my face. I'm crying. And it's the bad, embarrassing kind of tears that I can't make stop, like when you're crying in front of a teacher or on the street and everyone is trying not to stare.

I can hear Willa following behind me and I whip around so we are face-to-face.

She reaches out to touch me but I push her away.

“Don't,” I manage through my sobs. “Don't pretend to be a good friend.”

“I'm sorry if I sounded mean,” she says. But she doesn't sound sorry at all.

“You'
re just bitter,
” I spit, “because Danielle is your sister and you're nobody.”

Willa halts. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” I say, with more certainty now. “You're jealous. You're jealous of Danielle because she's so much prettier than you. That's the real reason you don't want to go to Yale. And now you're jealous of me because I'm making new friends. You're just a bitter, jealous loser.”

Willa's face goes white.

We stand in silence for a moment, and the horror of the mean things I've said settles on my heart like dust after a burst of wind.

Then, I'm on the street outside of Willa's. I slip into the narrow alley between her building and the building next door and clutch my backpack to my chest like a shield. Our
fight exploded so fast. I wipe away tears and lean against the brick wall. My mind is zinging and bruised from all the insults Willa and I just threw at each other and I can't make sense of any of it.

I stare up at the seam of blue sky between the two buildings. I wish I could be up there, far away, somewhere deep in outer space. If I were looking down at the city right now, I wouldn't see me, or my problems, or any of the mean, crooked, shameful things in my heart.

Three hours later, I'm back at home getting ready for Allan's opening. I have to keep suppressing the memory of my fight with Willa, stomping down on it hard like crushing an empty soda can. I change into the outfit I've been planning to wear. It's a simple pale blue cotton dress that belonged to my mom. Then I put on dark red lipstick that flattens my mouth and looks dramatic with my pale skin. I think Izzy would approve, since it's the kind of anti-fashion fashion move that she likes.

I don
't need Willa
, I think, as I walk toward the West Village under a smudge of pale clouds. It's better this way. A new life is emerging out of my old one, and it might even be an upgrade.

Phaedra lives in the prettiest part of Manhattan. The cobblestone streets are lined with unbroken rows of manicured redbrick brownstones and each perfect, cozy home promises to contain one equally perfect family. The people in these
houses seem out of reach of the rough, dirty grasp of the city, as if the whole neighborhood floats above the rest of us.

I text Izzy when I get there, and she comes down and lets me in.

“Phaedra used to live on the second floor with her little sister, but last year she moved to the top floor which is basically an attic,” Izzy explains as we walk up the Bishops' winding marble staircase.

“Hey,” Phaedra says when we reach her room. “I'm just about ready to go.”

Phaedra's room is darker than the rest of the house. The floors are made of planks of worn, dark wood, and the walls are papered with patterned wallpaper that looks Indian or Thai.

“I'm excited about your dad's show,” Phaedra says, slinging a super-soft-looking leather tote bag over her shoulder. “I love going to openings.”

“Me too,” Izzy says.

Izzy perches on the edge of Phaedra's king-size bed, texting. Phaedra's bed is unmade in a way that looks inviting and sexy, not sloppy like mine or Willa's. Instead of a closet, Phaedra has a free-standing antique wardrobe. I'm trying to memorize everything I see. These are the choices that Phaedra Bishop makes in her own space. And I'm surprised by how much I like Phaedra's style. Her taste is so rustic. It occurs to me that my mom would fall in love with this room, too.

“Oh, and by the way, my mom wants to meet you, Sadie. It turns out she used to know your dad or something,”
Phaedra says, checking out her reflection in the mirror. Then she turns to face us. “Ready?”

—

“Mom! Mo-om!” Phaedra calls as Izzy and I follow her down the
stairs
.

On the third floor, Phaedra knocks on a door and screams, “
Mom, don
't be naked, we are coming in!”

The master bedroom looks like a hotel room, all matching and bland.

“Stacey! Wonderful to meet you!” Phaedra's mom says, stepping out of her walk-in closet. She's wearing a black dress and high heels.

“It's Sadie,” Phaedra corrects.

“Nice to meet you,” I say.

“I'm Lucy,” she says, clasping my hands in hers. She looks exactly like Phaedra, except older. The diamond studs in her ears are so big they sag a little. “We are huge fans of your father's work. We've met him a few times over the years because we are collectors. We know Michael Meyer well. I used to work in a gallery ages ago, long before you girls were born. It doesn't even exist anymore.”

“Oh, wow,” I say. “So you know him?”

“Listen, Stacey,” she begins.

“Mom, I just told you, it's
Sadie
.
” Phaedra rolls her eyes.

“Right. Of course. Sadie,” Lucy tries again. “I'm on the board of City Art Works and our annual fund-raiser gala is next week. It's a really wonderful organization and we raise a lot of money every year at the event. This year it's being held at the Park Avenue Armory.”

I don
't answer because I don't understand anything she just said. It takes me a minute to realize she's waiting for a response. So, I venture, “Oh, really?”

“We'd love it if you and your father would come,” Lucy continues. “There are two seats available at one of the best tables.”

“One of the best tables?” I repeat, trying to keep up.

“You have to come,” Izzy jumps in. “It's gonna be amazing. And I'll be there. And Phaedra obviously. You'll know people.”

“It's been sold out for months,” Lucy continues. “But we'll make room for Allan Bell. It would be such an honor to have him. Ask him about it tonight.”

“Ask him what?” I ask.

“Mom, no, we're not going to ask him at his opening,” Phaedra whines. “That's embarrassing.”

“Fine. I'll send you an e-mail and you can forward it along,” she says to Phaedra. Then, her blue eyes flick back to mine and she smiles. “Lovely to meet you, Sadie. I'll be looking forward to seeing you next weekend.”

—

We get off the subway at Eighth Avenue and walk west. The street is busier than when I came last week. People linger in front of the big metal doors of warehouse buildings, talking to one another softly, the smoke from their cigarettes unfurling extra slow in the muggy summer air. A woman in high heels walks straight down the middle of Twenty-Third Street, as if this whole block were her private driveway.

I catch my reflection in a window and I feel a jolt of pleasure. I feel powerful walking with Phaedra and Izzy. I wonder if maybe it's a good thing that Willa didn't come tonight, after all.

Now, I lock eyes with my reflection. I look like the kind of girl who never gets hurt. Not the pathetic kind I was earlier who cries when her friend flakes on plans. I never want to be that girl again.

—

The gallery looks different than it did the other day. All the boxes have been put away and the lighting is brighter and more direct. Allan's photographs hang in small black frames on the wall.

Allan's photos are just pictures of computer printouts full of text. You can see the texture of the crinkled page and the three-hole punches along the left edge. The text looks like words but up close it's just scrambled letters—nonsense.

We're nearing the back of the gallery when I see Allan. He's sipping wine from a plastic cup and wearing the same boring clothes I've seen him in both days, a Windbreaker and jeans.

He sees me and waves, beckoning us toward him.

“It looks amazing in here,” I tell him.

“Thank you,” he says. “Where's your mom?”

“She's at home,” I say, confused.

“Oh. Did you show her the e-mail? I was hoping she would come,” he says.

“
I don
't remember,”
I lie.
“But, I want you to meet my
friends.” I'm careful not to address him as Allan in front of them. “Phaedra and Izzy, this is my father.”

“Phaedra,” Allan says approvingly. “Interesting name. Daughter of Minos.”

“That's right.” Phaedra beams.

“Phaedra's mom thinks she might know you,” I say. “Lucy Bishop?”

Allan thinks. “Sounds familiar. Is she an artist?”

“No, she's crazy, you'll never remember her,” Phaedra says. “She worked for Michael Meyer in the nineties.”

“Oh, right. I know those people pretty well. Lucy . . . Lucy . . .” he says. Then he scans the room behind us. “Have you seen Marla?”

“No,” I say.

“She wanted to say hi to you,” he tells me. “I thought she was just right there . . .”

“I'm Jen,” a blond girl who has been hovering just behind Allan interjects. “I was a student of Allan's at IACA. How fantastic to have Allan Bell as your father. What's that like?”

I look at Allan, unsure what to say, and he looks back at me blankly.

“Tell her,” he says.

I stare at him. What am I supposed to say? The only word that pops into my mind is
nothing
. That's what it's like having him as a dad.

“It's cool,” I say dumbly.

“You girls are all so chic,” Jen continues, blathering on as if any of us want to talk to her. “You're in high school? I was so not as stylish as you guys when I was in high school.”

A hand on my shoulder gently pushes me aside, and a tall, bony-faced man steps in and gives Allan a hug.

Allan turns to me, his eyes not focusing on mine as he says, “Great to see you, Sadie. Don't leave without saying good-bye.”

Don't leave without saying good-bye?
I've been dismissed, and it feels like a slap.

I walk through the crowd, my face burning with shame. I can't believe how much time I spent looking forward to tonight. Choosing the right outfit and planning exactly what time we'd arrive. And none of it mattered anyway because Allan barely looked at me. His eyes skimmed across my face like a stone skipping on water.

I'm pushing through the crowd when Izzy grabs my hand and pulls me to a stop. “Omigosh, Sadie, Look who's here!”

“Who?” I ask.

“Benji!” she squeals.

Benji steps forward out of the crowd, a beer in his hand. He gives me a warm, crooked-tooth smile.

“It's so great running into you girls here,” he says. “I love seeing students out and about. Especially doing artistic ‘horizon-rising' things.”

“Yeah,” I agree vaguely.

“Sadie, can I ask you . . .” Benji smiles shyly. “Are you related to the artist? Bell and Bell?”

My eyes snap up to meet Benji's.

“Um, yeah,” I say, hoping he won't ask me to introduce them. “He's my father.”

“Wow,” Benji says. “Interesting.”

“You didn't know that until just now?” Izzy asks Benji.

“Well, I had wondered,” he says. “I wasn't sure. I thought Allan Bell lived in LA, so . . .”

“Yeah . . .” I say. “I need to get some fresh air.”

“Okay, take care,” Benji calls as I walk away.

—

Outside, I lean against the exterior wall of the gallery.

A man and a woman with matching shaved heads and minimal outfits stroll past me into the gallery holding hands. Each person I see looks more fashionable than the last. Earlier, that made me excited. But now I can see the way I look to the people here: I look like a nobody. I must have seemed liked a nobody to Allan, too.

“There you are. I thought for a second you'd left,” Izzy says. She's talking to me, but her eyes are drifting around behind me, people-watching as newcomers arrive. “This show is so amazing.”

Phaedra arrives beside Izzy. She doesn't stare at people as they come in like Izzy does. Instead, everyone who comes in stares at her. I watch her for a second and I almost can see her enjoying the attention.

Izzy pulls out her phone and takes a selfie, angling the camera so that the gallery is in the picture behind her.

Suddenly, I wish Willa were here instead of these two. But then our fight spins through my mind, the dial landing on the mean things I said to her, and my stomach seizes with guilt.

“Are you okay?” Phaedra asks me, sensing the shift.

“Yeah.” I swallow. “I just . . . I was supposed to call my mom. I think she's waiting for me.”

Even though it's a lie, as soon as I've said it, it feels true. And thinking about my mom widens the toxic pit of anxiety that's growing in my chest. I lied to her about coming here tonight, and for what? So that I could get in a fight with Willa? So that Allan could blow me off? So that I could linger around the gallery like a pathetic hanger-on? I miss her so much it aches. Now, I'm terrified I'm going to cry for the second time today.

“I have to get home,” I blurt.

“Already?” Izzy asks, looking perplexed.

“I promised my mom I'd get home early.” I try to smile. “I'm just gonna walk to the subway. You guys should totally stay, though.”

Izzy shrugs and looks at Phaedra. “What do you want to do?”

“I could stay a little longer,” Phaedra says casually.

—

On the walk home, the sky is clotted with clouds, reflecting the orange and yellow lights of the city back onto itself. Rain is coming, if not tonight, then tomorrow.

Today feels like it was ten days combined into one. I can't believe that it was only last night that Sam stayed over. All day, as the hours slid by, I could feel the memory slipping steadily away from me. Sam never called or texted to see how I was. What if it didn't mean anything to him?

When I get home, my mom is sitting on the couch watching TV and eating frozen yogurt. She seems normal, which is weird for her.

“How was your night?” she asks. She's wearing glasses
instead of her contacts, which she almost never does and they make her look older than usual.

“Okay,” I say.

“Did you do something special?” she asks. “You look nice.”

I should tell her the truth. I should tell her I saw Allan earlier in the week and that he invited me to his opening. But then I'd have to tell her how he treated me, and the fight with Willa, and the pain and humiliation is too fresh to relive.

“I went over to this girl Phaedra's,” I say. And then I quickly change the subject, adding, “Is there more froyo?”

She blinks. And then she smiles.

“Yup,” she says. “In there.”

In the freezer, I find the frozen yogurt. She got my favorite kind: vanilla with rainbow sprinkles and cookie dough.

I sit down next to her. “What are you watching?”

“Some detective show.” She sighs.

“Can I watch with you?” I ask.

“Of course,” she says, and then adds with a laugh, “
I
'm not following any of it. Maybe you can explain it to me.”

My mom presses play and I've just sunken into a comfortable position on the couch beside her when my phone vibrates. I snatch it off the coffee table and read the screen. My insides somersault in a tumble of relief and joy when I see that it's a text from Sam.