The Opposite Of Invisible Part 9

Now she's wearing an all-white sweat suit and fairy wings.

The shoes are on. "Okay, eye shadow," I say. "Make me look ... smoky."

Mom stands up and when I close my eyes to let her transform me, she says, "You're beautiful. Your date is one lucky boy."

I blush.

"How come we've never met him before?" She finishes my makeup and I open my eyes.

"Because I didn't know him before."

"Well, your dad and I will meet him tonight." She untwists the cap of my lipstick: Cherry Pop, the closest thing I own to blood.

"Yeah," I say. "That actually makes me think of something."

"Hmm?" She hands me the lipstick tube and a square of toilet paper for blotting.

"Don't mention Jewel tonight, okay? When Simon is here." I put on the lipstick and blot. "They're not really friends."

"What's going on between you and Jewel lately?"

I wish I knew. "We kind of had a fight." I throw away the toilet paper.

"About ..."

"I think I was feeling kind of stuck, just having one friend."

"That's understandable."

"I guess."

"But just because you want to have more friends, that doesn't mean you can't still be close with Jewel."

"That's the thing. My new person to hang out with is someone Jewel would never be friends with."

"That sounds pretty closed-minded. Not like Jewel."

"Mom, it's high school. There's popularity stuff."

"Well, I miss Jewel."

"Me too." My eyes immediately start to tear and I have to take a deep breath. I really do miss him.

Tonight is about me and Simon, though. And that's exciting.

She hands me the shiny satin witch hat she made for me, and we pin it on.

The doorbell rings and I hear my dad stomping to the door, being Frankenstein as he does every Halloween. Trick-or-treaters scream out their line.

My mom leaves the bathroom to join him, hugging me quickly and then plucking her fairy wand from the sink.

No more missing Jewel. Tonight is about a Dove Girl wish come true.

In my witchy mind, I am kissed.

The doorbell rings again and I catch myself holding my breath. Is it kids or-?

"You must be Simon," Mom says. I breathe, stand up, smooth my dress, adjust my hat, check the mirror one last time, and head downstairs.

Simon's wearing his football uniform. He hands me a ghost-shaped box of candy. "Like my costume?"

I glance at Mom. Is she thinking I'm crazy for going to the dance with some football player instead of Jewel? "Is that a costume?"

"I'm Mike Corrigan." Simon turns around. "Number twelve, see."

"Oh," I say, my eyes lingering south of his number twelve. Then remembering Mom. "Yeah. Thanks for the candy!"

My dad comes out of the kitchen with a huge bowl of peanut b.u.t.ter cups.

I take a step and clutch the banister. Whoa. Careful not to fall right out of Mom's heels. They're already starting to hurt, too.

I hand her the ghost candies. I'm sure she thinks it's the cutest gesture ever. Score one for Simon Murphy, he of the unimaginative costume who brings thoughtful gifts.

"Mom, Dad, this is Simon Murphy."

"Trick or treat." Simon grins and his little half-moon dimple almost does me in.

Dad hands Simon a peanut b.u.t.ter cup.

I a.s.sure my parents that my cell phone is with me, and then Simon and I are out the door. I'm still walking awkwardly in the heels, but that's more witchlike, anyway. Crotchety. But, G.o.d. I wanted to be pretty tonight. Still do. And how will I dance if I can't even walk to the car? "Hold on, I gotta go switch shoes."

I replace the heels with my Pumas and take off again, pa.s.sing my parents in the kitchen. They stand at the counter, arms around each other, chomping chocolate, and smile at me.

Simon leans into me as we walk across my yard. "You're hot, even if you are a witch."

This dance is going to be perfect.

At school, we park on a side street. I'm careful of puddles as we come together at the front of his car. It's not raining, thankfully, but the sidewalk is its usual wet self.

"Let's make a quick stop first," he says.

"Okay."

I follow Simon to the park. I can feel how damp the gra.s.s is even through my sneakers. It's refreshing. Something about this is so quintessentially fall. Running through the wet gra.s.s on a semi-chilly October night, all dressed up.

He sits on a swing even though it's wet. "You said you wanted to play."

He remembered.

"Let's swing!" he says.

I step up to the swing next to his and grab the chain. "I can't believe you remembered I thought about coming here."

"I remember everything you've said to me."

Is that a line? Do I care? This is so sweet.

"The swing's wet," I say. "I don't want my dress to get wet." It crosses my mind that he might ask me to sit on his lap. Then he gestures to his lap.

This is so like a movie.

I walk over to him. He reaches for my waist and pulls me down to him.

"This isn't how kids play," I say.

"You're gorgeous."

He digs his feet into the gra.s.s below us and we sway. I feel his breath on my neck. I feel gorgeous.

His eyes are closed. His hands are on my hips. This might be the most rewarding thing ever: wanting a guy and getting him.

Our reverie ends when a truck pa.s.ses.

"Race ya to the slide," he says.

Simon wins. When I get up the ladder and reach the slide's platform, he's waiting for me, kneeling. I kneel in front of him, careful of my dress.

"I've never kissed a witch," he says. And then he does, over and over.

"I've never kissed Mike Corrigan," I finally tell him.

"And you never will."

"No!" We're laughing.

On our way to the Bath, he holds me like I am a prize, arm all the way around my middle, frequently squeezing. It's like he's making sure I'm real. I squeeze him back.

Jack-o'-lanterns with jagged mouths grimace on the steps of the school.

When we reach the door, Simon holds it open and ushers me in, his free hand between my shoulder blades. People definitely notice us. A devil holding the hand of a genie waves to Simon.

It still smells like chalk in here, but the school feels different tonight. Magical? Okay, that's going too far. But special. The school's all dressed up for Halloween too.

I'm not the only witch in the lobby, but one of the two others just has orange yarn stapled to the inside of her pointy hat, something you'd get at the drugstore. The other witch has green warts all over her face. Not attractive.

I spot Clara and Jeremy walking through the lobby, dressed as salt and pepper shakers.

Corrigan is over by the boys' bathroom, talking to Molly from Spanish cla.s.s. She's dressed as a purple fairy and he's got Simon's jersey. Her back is turned toward me; her wings shimmer. Corrigan catches my eye. The look in his eyes is ... I don't know, something like I'm steak and he's really, really hungry.

It's gross. I grab on to Simon's hand.

A guy standing by the water fountain has loads of that fake cobwebby stuff taped around himself and he's got a jump rope sticking out of his white turtleneck.

"Who's the tampon?" asks Simon.

"Eew. I don't know."

Mandy comes out of the bathroom; her b.u.t.terfly costume isn't s.l.u.tty like I imagined it might be. She looks really cute in a black minidress with wings and antennae. She waves h.e.l.lo.

Nine Inch Nails is blaring from the gym. I thank my Dove Girl that I have been spared Monster Mash-esque torture.

Again Simon ushers me through the door. It takes my eyes a minute to adjust to the dark.

Smoke fills the corners of the room, from what must be dry ice inside trash cans. The cans have shovels next to them and mounds of dirt, like someone has been digging graves all around the dance floor. Nooses hang from both basketball hoops.

"What's that box by the locker room?" Simon points. It's loud in here.

I can't tell, so I grab his hand and lead him.

I'm pretty sure a football player winks at us.

The box turns out to be a room created from the tall corkboard dividers where our art show was displayed.

Simon pulls me through a black curtain into the box.

We're alone; no teacher. The room is lit by black light. Simon looks like a bright white football ghost with too many teeth.

Stools are scattered around the s.p.a.ce with glowing bowls resting on them. I get it. The old Halloween joke, peeled-grape eyeb.a.l.l.s and spaghetti brains.

"Hey, Simon, go feel what's in that bowl."

He grabs me by the waist. "I'd rather feel what's in this dress."

Again we kiss like a storm.

It occurs to me that kissing him no longer makes me nervous. It feels natural somehow, like something I just know how to do. I might be growing up after all.

A mermaid and a vampire come through the curtain, he already starting to work on her neck.

I am so not making out in here with other people, even if Simon is breathing into my neck like he never wants to stop.

I grab his hand to lead him back to the dance.

We go toward the entrance, where there are ballots to vote for Halloween Queen and King. We don't vote.

Vanessa is standing by the punch bowl with Nicolai Gregory. He's dressed as a preppy guy: hair bleached blond, gelled back, argyle sweater, khakis. Boat shoes. All-out fabulous.

She's in a totally eighties hot pink dress. She's wearing a sash that says PROM QUEEN PROM QUEEN 1980. Black fishnet tights that look like spiderwebs are ripped across her legs. Her face is the color of my watercolor brush cup after I finished my dad's eyes, gray with blue tones. Blood drips at the corners of her eyes. She's a dead prom queen. Her hair is ratted; bed head from the coffin. She holds an empty bottle of Budweiser, like a public service announcement for not drinking and driving. 1980. Black fishnet tights that look like spiderwebs are ripped across her legs. Her face is the color of my watercolor brush cup after I finished my dad's eyes, gray with blue tones. Blood drips at the corners of her eyes. She's a dead prom queen. Her hair is ratted; bed head from the coffin. She holds an empty bottle of Budweiser, like a public service announcement for not drinking and driving.