Invisible Page 14

  “That’s not what I’m doing. I really am doing all this for me.” I search her eyes for understanding and to make sure she believes me. “It makes me happy to look nice. What’s wrong with that?”

  We’re silent for a moment, then Charlie takes my hand. “Nothing,” she says finally. “Just don’t leave me behind, okay?”

  I give her hand a squeeze. “I love you, Charlie. I really do. You’re my best friend and I will never ever leave you behind.”

  A smile sweeps across her face and tears well in her eyes. She pulls me into her arms and holds tight. Time slowly passes, measured by the beating of our hearts. Then her lips meet mine in a soft, sweet lingering kiss.

  She pulls away. “Oh, my God, Lola, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Her eyes are wide, searching my expression, looking for something… but what? Anger? Shock? Desire?

  Charlie backs away, eyes still glued to mine. Then she turns and bolts up her front steps, leaving me on the sidewalk in front of her house. The door slams shut behind her.

  My walk home is one of dazed confusion and fear. I’m afraid that what’s just happened will change things between us forever. Embarrassment and a peculiar sensation in the pit of my stomach follow me like a guilty conscience.

  When I get home, Jon’s waiting on the front steps of my house. He stands as I approach, and a broad grin spans the width of his face.

  “Hi. I rang the bell and no one was home, so I thought I’d wait. Hope that’s okay and not creepy,” he says.

  I can’t help it. I jump into his arms, nearly sending the two of us backwards into the rose bushes.

  “Whoa, what’s going on?” he asks into my hair as I hug him to me.

  “Nothing. I’m just glad you’re here.”

  “I’m glad I am too.” He holds me at arm’s length. “Are you sure you’re okay? Is it tomorrow? Are you freaked out about it?”

  I nod vigorously. “Yeah, that’s it. I’m nervous about grad and the Nino thing.” I pull him by the hand up the front steps and into the house.

  I make us a cup of tea, even though the last thing I want is another one since downing the extra large orange pekoe Charlie brought me. My bladder is near exploding. I excuse myself and run to the bathroom.

  When I get back to the kitchen, I’m tempted to tell Jon what happened with Charlie, but loyalty to my friend prevents it. I don’t think Charlie would want him to know. It’s kinda like she just hit on his girlfriend and might make things weird between them. But there’s nothing that can take away the weirdness that’s now hanging between Charlie and me. How am I going to face her at graduation tomorrow?

  An odd mix of emotions run through me. Charlie’s kiss was tender and sweet and strangely exciting. For a moment, I consider I just might be a lesbian, after all, but the thought passes when I remember the power of Jon’s kisses  his make me dizzy and knock me off my feet.

  “Where are your parents and sister?” Jon asks.

  “Not home.”

  He throws me a mischievous smile, an eyebrow arches and he slowly rises.

  For the second time in less than an hour, I’m kissed. I throw my arms around the boy I love and kiss him back in closed-eyed ecstasy.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Butterflies rumble uncomfortably, and cramps knife my stomach, sending waves of nausea through me. It’s the morning of graduation and the way I see it, there are only two ways this day can end, with the humiliation of failure, or with sweet revenge. From a place higher than myself, maybe even from God, I get the distinct feeling that whatever this day brings, it will set the tone for the rest of my life. This day will be epic!

  Eva’s in the bathroom. I knock softly on the door and she yanks it open, a toothbrush sticks out of her Colgate-foamed mouth.

  “What do you want?” Her words are garbled.

  “Will you help me today?” I ask with hesitation.

  She spits and rinses, then replaces her toothbrush it in its holder. “With what?”

  “Getting ready for graduation?”

  She studies me for a moment then shrugs. “Why not? When do you need me?”

  Secretly, I don’t think Eva can resist an opportunity for a makeover. She lives for them. “I’ve got a hair appointment at 10:30, the ceremony is at 1:30, but the dance is at night, so could you help me get ready for the dance?”

  “Okay. Come get me when you need me.”

  “Thanks.” Relief fills me. That was easier than I thought.

  Eva gives me a flicker of a smile and steps out of the bathroom. I move forward to enter and she stops me with a light touch on the hand. “You look good lately, Lola. You’ve lost a bit of weight.”

  I beam. “Really? You can tell?”

  “Yeah, sure, but you’ve still got a long way to go.” She continues on her way and my smile goes out. After all the times Eva’s been mean to me, you’d think I would have learned my lesson by now, but I fall into her trap every time. Something in me wants to believe there’s good in her and that there’s hope for us, as sisters.

  After brushing my teeth and dressing, I head to the kitchen.

  Mom’s at the table with her coffee. “Are you excited?” she asks.

  “A little,” I say as I fill a bowl with cereal and milk and sit.

  “Dad will be home early today. He had a couple of things to take care of at the shop.” She wraps her hands around her mug and smiles, eyes trained on me. “This is it, Lola, honey. You’re off to university in September. I can’t believe it. You know you’ll be the first in the family to go.” Now her hands are clasped together in front of her chest and she looks like she’s praying. “Have you decided on a major?”

  I’d been trying not to have this conversation. Mom knows about my aspirations, but I think she’s convinced herself I’m going to change my mind once I actually get to university. If I tell her I’ve decided to major in English so I can be a writer, she’ll think it’s a waste of time and money. Neither of my parents graduated high school and though hard working, their blue collar backgrounds have given them a practical, feet firmly planted on the ground approach to life. They don’t think in terms of careers, only jobs and a great future to them is if I snag an office job at a company with benefits and a pension.

  Dad’s an auto mechanic and Mom used to work at the nail salon until things got slow. Now she’s a cashier at No Frills. But deep inside her lurks the soul of an artist. I’ve witnessed it. As a matter of fact, I see it each and every day right on her face. To Mom, make-up is paint and her face is the canvas. A sudden inspiration sneaks up on me.

  “Mom, you know how you tell me all the time you wished you hadn’t dropped out of beauty school?”

  She nods. “Yeah.”

  “Why is that?”

  She sips her coffee and purses her lips thoughtfully. “I guess it’s because I really loved making women look the best they could.”

  “So, you liked to bring out their best qualities?”

  “I guess.”

  “And how did you do that?”

  “Lola, what’s with all the questions all of a sudden?”

  I heave a sigh. “Just answer me.”

  She throws up her hands. “Okay, okay. Just don’t know what you’re getting at.” She stares off into the distance, as if tugging at the memories, trying to pull them into her mind. “I really loved making their eyes beautiful,” she says finally. “I think eye make-up, if done well, is the most important thing a woman can do to enhance her looks. That and hair extensions, of course.”

  I try not to roll my eyes at the mention of hair extensions. “And when you did their eye make-up, was it similar to painting a portrait? I mean, with all the mixing and blending of the eye shadows? Knowing where to put what color?”

  Her eyes shine and her face breaks into a huge smile. “Yes, that’s a great way to put it, Lola. You’ve pegged it.”

  Bingo! Eva’s not the only one good at setting traps in this family. “That feeling is the creative energy in you co
ming to the surface. I think it comes straight from God, into our souls and we bring it into the world for others to appreciate. We all have that potential. I know Grandma Rose had it.”

  Mom inserts a long-nailed pointer finger into her mop of hair and scratches her head. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this. I’m not so sure it’s all that complicated. Besides what does all of this have to do with your major?” She’s eyeing me suspiciously now.

  “I’m going to major in English so I can be a writer,” I say confidently. “Because writing is what makes me feel the way you did, when you were in beauty school doing makeovers. It’s my creative outlet and it’s what my soul wants to do.”

  “Oh,” she says, disappointment in her voice, eyebrows arching toward her hairline. “Yes, you did mention that before, only…”

  “Only what?” I say flatly. God, is she that dense that she can’t see the parallels between us? I’m trying to connect. I’m trying to make her understand.

  She sighs. “Only I thought you’d have given up on that idea by now. Really, Lola, what kind of a living can you make as a writer? You’ll end up in an office job eventually and it’ll be a waste of an education.”

  A fire springs up in me, and all the years of not being heard and not wanting to be seen or noticed are shed. I stand and fix her with a stare. “Writing is my talent, Mom. It’s the only thing I know how to do and more importantly, it’s what makes me happy. Don’t you want me to be happy?” I stomp away, not waiting for an answer and take my bowl of cereal to my room.

  A moment later, there’s a knock and Mom pushes my door open. “Can I come in?”

  I put my bowl down on my night table and fold my arms tightly across my chest. “I don’t care,” I say with defiant anger.

  She curls her feet up under her at the foot of my bed and gives her head a little tilt. Her mass of unruly curls tumble over her forehead, giving her a childlike appearance. “I know we’re different, you and I. I try to understand you, and I worry that I never will. But no matter what, you’re my daughter and I love you. I do want you to be happy, but I don’t think I realized until right now, until you told me in the way you did, just how much you want to be a writer. I want for you what you want for yourself.”

  My angry resolve melts and I let my arms fall lax, hands settling in my lap. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  I’m shocked but I’m beginning to learn that all it takes to make people understand you is to tell them what you’re thinking and feeling. Running from your feelings and keeping things to yourself only creates more distance. It hits me in that moment, what Grandma Rose meant about letting people see me. If I can accept myself for who I am, then others will too.

  I inch closer and lean into my mother’s arms. “I’ve waited so long to hear you say you accept me exactly the way I am,” I whisper.

  “I’m so sorry, honey. I should have taken you seriously the first time you told me you wanted to be a writer. I shouldn’t ever have expected you to be a carbon copy of me.” She pulls away. Tears stand in her eyes. “Look at me. I know what I am. I’m a middle-aged woman trying to hang onto her youth. My looks were the only thing I ever had. I never had brains like you. I could never make something of myself like I know you will. Yeah, I suppose my dream of being a cosmetician was my creative outlet, and you know what?”

  “What?”

  “I should never have let that dream slip away.” She caresses my cheek and sniffs back tears. “I don’t want you to have regrets like I do.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The hairdresser left my curls, like I’d asked. They’re me. My thick, dark locks billow out from under my graduation cap and I run a hand through them. Good hair runs in the family. I guess that’s something to be thankful for. Lately, I’m finding more and more to love and appreciate about myself, and with that has come a sense of weightiness. Not like a physical heaviness, more like a feeling of being grounded. I’m more present, more here, and more alive, like I’ve actually got a future to look forward to.

  After arriving with our families, we graduates are ushered into the cafeteria where we put on our gowns and caps. Jon and I are only able to spend a few moments together until we’re arranged into a line, alphabetically by last name.

  “You haven’t lost your nerve, have you?” he whispers. His eyes narrow as if he’s studying me.

  “No,” I answer, willing myself to meet his gaze.

  “Got your copy of his speech?”

  I pat my back pocket where one is tucked away.

  “Good girl. Make that asshole pay!” Jon’s voice holds a touch of acid.

  A bad feeling begins to ferment in the pit of my stomach and I open my mouth to speak, to test the waters with a protest, but he’s talking again, “Hey, what’s up with Charlie? She’s acting all… weird.”

  We’re forced apart and ushered into line. With a shrug I mouth, “Don’t know,” and hope he can’t see the lie in my eyes.

  I’m an “S” and he’s a “K”, so we’re too far apart to speak. Charlie’s kept her distance. Every time I look at her, she turns away and when I walked up to her earlier, she brushed me off and found somewhere else to be. Guess she’s happy her last name’s Menardi, only five letters apart but it amounts to too many people between us to be able to chat.

  Nino’s at the beginning of the line, acting all cocky with his friends. Everyone knows he’s a shoe in for the athletic scholarship award, and they’re treating him like he’s already won it, with slaps on the back and mussing of hair. It’s one of the biggest deals in school with the largest scholarship. He glances my way – is that fear in his eyes? His cocky smile goes out as quickly as a candle in a windstorm and he whips his head back around. Someone fearing me feels awkward and wrong. It’s true that Eva’s a little scared of me, but that’s different. She’s my sister and despite sometimes hating her, deep down inside I guess I love her. When I beat the crap out of Nino, it only made me feel mean.

  “Okay, people, settle down.” Mr. Hollingsworth, the head of the science department, yells in his baritone voice over the shouts of four-hundred-and-twenty excited teenagers. “One minute to show time.” The decibel level in the room declines noticeably. Mr. Hollingsworth is a no-nonsense kinda guy and is always the heavy in situations like this.

  We ready ourselves for our entrance – straighten our caps, make sure the tassel is on the proper side and smooth our gowns. Mr. Hollingsworth herds us into the hallway and lines us up outside the gymnasium. Our families are already settled in the gym. The muffled voices of excited family members and the clang of the school band tuning up can be heard through the heavy metal doors.

  The doors swing wide, the band plays and off we march. There’s a swell of applause and though I’m excited to soon be a high school graduate, I’ve got bigger things on my mind.

  We follow Mr. Hollingsworth to a section reserved just for us where a program, setting out the itinerary for the ceremony, lies on each chair. I leaf through, searching for the athletic scholarship. It’s one of the first awards to be handed out and a small wave of relief fills me; at least I won’t have to be nervous for the entire ceremony. I just want to get it over with.

  Principal Harris takes the podium. “Welcome, graduates, family, friends and faculty to Maple Ridge Secondary School’s 2011 Commencement Ceremony. Before we begin, I’d like to take this opportunity to say a little something to our class of 2011.” He’s a small, slight man in his late fifties with a close-cropped horseshoe of gray fringe. Why he doesn’t just shave off that pitiful little bit of hair is beyond me.

  He clears his throat and pulls a small index card from the pocket of his suit jacket. “I hope your dreams take you to the corners of your smiles, to the highest of your hopes, to the windows of your opportunities, and to the most special places your heart has ever known. We are here today to…”

  Principal Harris drones on and nothing more sinks into my preoccupied brain. I’m thinking about when Nino’s name i
s called for his award, and how I’ll have to duck out and quickly vanish so I can follow him to the podium. I’ve got a mental list of things I can call up to help me disappear, from the anger and humiliation of the attack at the park, to the heinous acts Nino had planned for Charlie and me.

  To help settle my nerves, I pat the speech through my gown. It’s still there, but will soon be invisible just like the rest of me. When it leaves my hand and is on the podium in front of Nino, somehow, in some magical way, it’ll be back in the visible realm, staring up at Nino, waiting to be read. If he won’t read it, and that’s what I’m betting on, then I’ll throw the gown over his head and yank down his pants, underwear and all. He’ll look crazy; like he’s just stripped naked in front of the entire graduating class, teachers and parents. Nino Campese will know the agony of embarrassment. The same agony I’ve felt for years. The agony that has made me feel insignificant and has fostered my desire to be invisible.

  A twinge of conscience troubles me. Do I really want another person to feel that way, even if it is Nino?

  The polite applause filling the room tells me Principal Harris’ speech is over and I snap to attention when he and Vice Principal Bevalaqua begin to call our names.

  Diplomas are doled out, accompanied by a quick handshake and a photo op. Family members are told to hold their applause until all the diplomas have been handed out. My turn comes and goes and in less than a minute I’m back in my seat. Danny Zuppatto is last and when he leaves the stage, cheers and hearty accolades ring in my ears.

  We’re all back in our seats now, gripping the fruit of four years of labor  a rolled up scroll tied with a red silk ribbon. Somehow, it doesn’t seem enough. However, I’m officially a high school graduate and I allow a little pride to rush through me. But this day isn’t just about graduating high school, it’s about an act of forced contrition.

  My stomach knots when I think of what’s next on the agenda  the award recipients are about to be announced, followed by the Valedictorian address. That ought to be good and boring since the Valedictorian is Ronnie Smithers, a kid more picked on than even me or Charlie. He’s thirteen, but since he’s a genius, he skipped a bunch of grades. Poor Ronnie. He should be proud, but he’s probably scared shitless right now. He never speaks above a whisper and now he’s got to make a whole speech and a long one at that. Bet he’s wishing he could make himself invisible right about now.