The Opposite Of Invisible Part 11

"Yum."

"I thought I'd give us a nice fall treat." She sc.r.a.pes another cookie onto the plate that already holds a pile. "So, Sleeping Beauty? How was the dance?"

I don't know how to sum it up. I slow-danced. I kissed my date. Simon was wonderful. Jewel ... was with someone else. "It was basically good."

"Basically?" She sc.r.a.pes another cookie.

"Just not used to stuff like dances, I guess," I say.

"What about stuff like dates? How'd it go with Simon?"

"It was good."

She must know instinctively, or from my face, that I don't want to say any more. It must've been obvious the moment she met him: Simon should be out of my league. Maybe she's not sure what he's doing with me either.

"I think I made too many cookies," she says, running out of room on her plate. "Why don't you take a Baggie over to Jewel?"

"He's busy."

She hands me a cookie and nods.

I bite.

The cookie tastes so good, sweet yet not too sugary, that I want to eat the whole batch.

I stop myself after three, gulp down some milk, and go to sit on the porch swing.

My McSweeney's McSweeney's is on my lap, but all I can think about is: What's with Jewel and Vanessa? Does he really like her? What is going to happen at school? is on my lap, but all I can think about is: What's with Jewel and Vanessa? Does he really like her? What is going to happen at school?

I need a girlfriend to gush with. I have a boyfriend! He's amazing! We make out!

I wonder if my mom would want to know. Or what she'd want to know. Should I talk to her more?

The problem here is: no precedent. Never before have I fought with Jewel. You can't fight if you're not talking, though, so that makes it even harder to define what's happening between us. Never has there been s.p.a.ce between us.

Never before have I had a crush that's turned into something real; never been called someone's girlfriend.

I need to make up the rules for talking about it.

The making out part feels private.

I sit on the porch and daydream, wishing Simon would show up, or call.

Now Dad's working on the Chevy. He's pretty cute out there, wearing a dirty old white T-shirt. I have this image of him putting the training wheels on my first bike, and I swear he was in that same shirt. My dad's one of those guys who never really ages.

"Hey, sweetie," he says as I walk to the car.

"Can I help?"

He looks up, greasy-armed. "Oh, I'm just fiddling."

"Any chance she'll be running for my birthday?"

He grins at me. "We'll see."

My birthday's not until January. I do hope for the car.

"What are you thinking of doing for your sweet sixteen, anyway?" He wipes his hands with a rag.

"Dunno."

"But I a.s.sume Jewel will be included?"

Smooth, Dad. "I have no idea."

"What about that Simon? Did you have a good time?"

"He's ... fun."

"Seemed like a jock."

"Dad, that's such an old-fashioned word."

"So he's not a football player?"

"He's more than that. He's into octopi. He volunteers at the aquarium."

Dad nods. "Interesting."

"Yep."

"But he's not an artist?"

"So? All my friends don't need to be artists."

"Of course not. But I never thought you'd fall for some jock."

I roll my eyes at him.

Mom finds me in the driveway. "Let's go shopping."

"Okay. What are you looking for?"

"Not for me. For you. You could use some new clothes."

Maybe she wants to bond.

"I saw cute skirts at the mall the other day." My mom walks the mall during the day sometimes, for exercise.

"You think I should be wearing skirts? No one wears skirts to school." Except Vanessa.

"You just looked so pretty in your costume. Why not get some new stuff?"

I did look good in the dress. More ... grown-up.

I'm into this. Makeover.

Only a few other people are shopping in this department, so I pretend it's closed for me, because I'm a superstar. If Jewel were here, if he were still my Jewel, we'd play out the whole scene. He'd be my paparazzo. Later, we'd laugh over the photos, but I'd keep one and hang it next to my Dove Girl.

As things are, my mom holds up a skinny navy skirt with something shiny-polished sh.e.l.ls?-sewn near the bottom. "Cute," I say.

It's odd to discover that your mother is a better shopper than you are, when you're the teenage girl, but it's fine with me.

I go into the dressing room and put on the skirt. Mom grins when I step out. "Oh, Alice," she says. "This is how I picture you."

It feels good to have my mom think I look pretty. "I like it."

I feel like I'm playing dress-up, though. I would never choose this for myself. I'm not sure why Mom pictures me like this.

"I'm going to look around some more," I say.

When I have my jeans back on, I poke among the racks. Mom is over by the accessories.

I like the salesgirl's denim miniskirt. She shows me where it is on the rack and I try it on.

This I love. I look my age, yet more put together. And my legs look good. I go out to find Mom.

I think I might actually be beaming.

"Honey! That's even better."

"You like?"

"I like how confident you look in it. Just like you did last night." She brushes the hair from my face. "Like I haven't seen you look in a long time."

So she has been noticing me. My feeling weird has shown, even before anything happened or changed between me and Jewel. I haven't been confident. She's right. "Thanks, Mom," I say, and not just for liking the skirt. For finally bringing this up.

I change again and meet Mom at the register. She's holding clingy V-necks in a rainbow of colors. "Those fit tight," I tell her.

"They're sophisticated. Not just plain cotton."

Okay. If my mom wants me to show off my chest, I guess that's all the go-for-it I need. I do have something to show off.

I notice a rack that I don't want to explore with my mother: lingerie. There are even some neon novelty condoms on a little spinner.

Just then someone behind me says, "Alice!"

I turn; it's Mandy. "Hi!" She looks happy to see me.

"Mom, this is Mandy Walker."

They say h.e.l.lo. Mandy says, "What are you getting?"

I show her the skirt and the three V-necks I'm choosing: light blue, red, and black.

"Cute!" she says. "I want to look for some new jeans."

Mom finishes paying for my stuff, takes the bag, and puts her hand on my shoulder. "I'll leave you girls to it! Meet you at the car in an hour?"

She rushes off before I can protest.

"Cool," Mandy says. "I so need a second opinion."

I show her some jeans that I thought looked good. Of course they fit her perfectly.

She checks out the lingerie before paying. It's lacy, delicate stuff. Nothing like the cotton I usually wear. Oh, G.o.d. What if things keep going with Simon? And he, like, sees me in my bra? Or less?

"What do you like there?" I ask her.

She holds up a black bra embroidered with soft pink roses, wiggles it around a little. "Ooh-la-la."

"For sure."

She puts it back. "So you're not meeting your mom for a little. Want to grab a coffee?"

"Always."

We get our lattes and find seats at the mall coffee place. "So," she says. "You and Simon looked like you were having fun last night." She raises her eyebrows and lowers them. "Lots of fun."

I'm sure I blush. "He's pretty great."

"Like how great? I mean, in the kissing department? Come on. Girl talk!"

As if I have much to compare him to. "Stop making me blush!"

"Oh, don't kiss and tell, huh?"

I can't believe a cheerleader and I are having this conversation. Is this the kind of friend I can make now?

"Best. Kisser. Ever." There. I said it.

"And it's just kissing?" She sips her latte like we're talking about the weather.

Whoa. "So far." I try to be as casual as she is.

"Not for long, I bet! He seems really into you."

"You know what? I think he is."