The Opposite Of Invisible Part 12

"So how far are you gonna go?"

I'm blushing again. "Let's just say, maybe I should go pick up that pretty bra."

"Ooh-la-la."

I sip my latte and she moves on to telling me about gymnastics.

My mind cartwheels when I realize I've got a new friend.

Chapter Twelve.

I see Vanessa in homeroom on Monday. She's wearing Jewel's Backstreet Boys T-shirt. The one I found with him at the junk store last year.

She makes sure I see, sitting up straight as I come in. Usually, she's bent over her notebook, drawing weird things, like factory buildings with shoelaces.

I want to rip that T-shirt off her. And then what would I have? Vanessa in her bra and me left gripping half a T-shirt. Not a good idea, especially the Vanessa-in-bra part.

I'm wearing my jeans with the new black V-neck, and I swear there are eyes on me. In the same way that Corrigan's been leering at me.

I keep my arms folded across my chest, both hands grabbing my backpack straps under my armpits as I walk to my desk.

Vanessa turns around in her chair, watching me.

I am on exhibit.

James Dill sits in front of me. Silent James Dill. He turns around and looks at me. I look back. He finally asks, "Simon Murphy?"

I c.o.c.k my head.

"And that photo guy," he says. "He used to be your best buddy, right? He's going after Vanessa Almond?" He whispers her name like he doesn't know that the whole homeroom is hyper-tuned to our conversation.

"Kinda."

"Where did you come from," he says, and faces the chalkboard. It's not really a question; he knows I've been here all the time.

This guy named after a pickle suddenly finds me interesting.

Welcome to Popular World, I think.

At lunch, I stare at Simon's lips. I know what they feel like now. I know how he moves them. I know their taste.

I drop my pretzel when he reaches for my hand.

He holds it by the fingers.

"I'm having so much fun with you," he says.

"Me too. With you."

I smile at him. He gives my hand a little squeeze. Something is up.

"Corrigan's having a party this weekend. Want to go?"

"Yeah, sure," I say. That will sort of be my big-time social de-virginization.

"And," Simon says, "he asked if we'd want a room."

Whoa. That could be a whole different kind of de-virgining.

Too fast! Too fast! My brain is screaming. I can't go from gazing at neon condoms from afar to actually needing one. I've just started getting used to kissing. My brain is screaming. I can't go from gazing at neon condoms from afar to actually needing one. I've just started getting used to kissing.

"Um," I say.

Simon's eyes are on his carrot sticks. Notably not on me. What is he thinking?

This is going way faster than I'd expected. But I'm his girlfriend now and people do go there.

What if I'm only a girlfriend until we get there?

"You know?" he asks.

I just kind of nod. What should I do? I know what he means by "want a room." I so don't feel ready. I was a little embarra.s.sed just talking to Mandy about him seeing me in my bra. How to tell him? Will he break up with me? I push my lunch away.

Corrigan and those guys come up behind Simon. "Speak of the devil," I say.

"Coach posted those new plays in the locker room," Corrigan says. "Let's go."

Simon stands, flashes his dimple at me. "We'll talk later."

During English, I doodle. Simon is in every stroke as I fill a page with countless bubbled-up question marks.

I'm kind of mad that Simon brought up the room. Everything was going so well. He said it; we were having fun. Now there's this big thing already.

He did seem ... weird about it. And he said it was Corrigan's idea. Is it possible that Simon's nervous too?

On my walk home, I notice that the junk shop has changed its window display. It's full of fifties-esque clothing now, and rhinestone sungla.s.ses.

The rain falls. I concentrate on the traffic pa.s.sing by, its swishing sound. Like waves.

It's an effort to get through the mile home today. Minimal sleep combined with maximal weirdness has rendered me heavy and slow.

At home, I sink into a nap.

I dream that my Dove Girl has come to life. She's speaking to me, but it's all in Catalan. I have a feeling she's trying to tell me where I belong. But I can't understand.

When I wake up, I work on my art a.s.signment: a still life in charcoal. The rain misses me as I sit under a wool blanket on our front porch in the Adirondack chair and study the tree. The middle-of-the-night tree. The first-kiss tree.

I am beginning to form its trunk when I see someone coming down the street. A guy wearing a black jacket with a hood, moving slowly toward my house. For a second, I'm not sure if it's Simon or Jewel.

When he reaches the porch, Simon stands in front of me, dripping.

"You're soaked." I can't believe he's here. This is what I've dreamed of. It's a boyfriendy thing to do, stopping by like this.

He shakes his head like a wet animal. "I wanted to see you."

I close my sketchpad with the charcoal inside holding my page, smudging my work. "Yeah?"

I put the pad on the wooden deck and sit back to look at him. Before I know it, he's bent over me, kissing me, drizzling rain from his jacket, his face, his hair. I bet this is what it feels like to shower with someone.

The idea of me and Simon naked together upstairs in the shower while my parents are in the dining room, scheming to save the world, makes me laugh. I pull awkwardly away.

He's grinning. "What's funny?"

I consider telling him, but No! Keep that little fantasy a secret No! Keep that little fantasy a secret. "You! You surprised me."

"Ready or not," he says, "here I come."

We kiss again.

The bedroom proposition enters my head and I freeze.

He pulls back and sits down on the porch by my feet, facing me cross-legged. "So."

"I just, um. I was thinking about ... the party?"

He looks down at his sneakers. Is Simon Murphy nervous? About me?

I have to just say what I think.

How to phrase it? "I'm a virgin "I'm a virgin." (Duh.) "No funny business." "Have you been tested?"

Oh, wow. What if the proposition was innocent and he just meant a room in which to ... talk. Party. Like a VIP thing? Yeah, right.

Say something, say something.

He looks at me. "We don't have to."

I swear, my shoulders deflate with relief.

"We don't?"

"Can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"Corrigan and those guys just like to talk big. It's part of why I like you," he says. "You're separate from all that. It's easier ... to be myself around you."

I think I really am dreaming. What movie did he steal that line from, about being himself? Then I see his eyes, aimed up at me. He's sincere.

I want to be with him. I want him to keep looking at me like that.

"Who's gonna be at the party, anyway?"

"Oh, you know. The crowd. Plus usually Nicolai Gregory crashes. People like him. He's fun at parties."

"Plus he's the king."

"Yeah. That too." Simon grins again.

I ask what I really want to know. "Is there any chance that his queen will show?"

"Vanessa? He brings her around sometimes, yeah."

I pull my blanket tighter around myself. "Hey, there's no way Vanessa will bring Jewel to Corrigan's, is there?"

"Would he go?"

"Doubtful."

"So. Probably not. But would you want Jewel there?"

"Jewel at Mike Corrigan's for a social event? That's so alternate universe."

"But he hasn't been hanging out with you lately. What's up with that?"

I look into those emerald eyes. "We're both hanging out with new people."

"Is it ... at all because of me? I don't want to be in the way of you and your friend. Maybe you you should bring him to the party. It's fine by me." should bring him to the party. It's fine by me."

That's so sweet. So impossible, but so sweet. "I'd rather just go with you."

He takes my hand. We stare at each other for a while. I can hear the rain pinging on the porch roof. I'm cozy in my blanket. So I share it with him.

We jump apart when my mom calls me in for clam chowder. Simon walks off in the rain, my kisses on his lips.

Chapter Thirteen.