The Opposite Of Invisible Part 2

"Excelente, Julian," says Senora Rodriguez as she walks between the desks. Only teachers call Jewel by his real name.

Simon Murphy, who by some miracle is in my group, tries it. "Heh. Julian Julian."

Simon's green eyes are s.h.i.+ning. He's like one of those Greek statues, carved out of fine materials. I think of Mr. Smith introducing the pieces at the museum. t.i.tle, I think, Secret Crush Secret Crush.

Simon came to school here last year, from Portland. He was a soph.o.m.ore then, but he went out with a senior girl. That means she's a college girl now. He can get a college girl. I have to stop crus.h.i.+ng on him.

Molly, the third member of my group, is a soph.o.m.ore like me. She pokes me. "I thought that guy's name was Jewel."

"It is."

I try to say to Simon telepathically, "And don't you forget it." I would never say it out loud.

Molly actually twirls her hair around her finger.

"Anyway." Simon looks at his book. I wish I didn't notice him so much. He's a football player. And he's hot. I don't like football players as a rule, but ... he's so hot.

Our group studies the picture of an elephant in a zoo. "Soy un animal grande y gris," "Soy un animal grande y gris," Simon says: I am a big gray animal. Simon says: I am a big gray animal.

The bell rings and Senora Rodriguez bids us adios adios. People crowd past me as Jewel walks over to my desk. He's in his navy hooded sweats.h.i.+rt and ripped-up olive-colored army pants. Camouflage. He wants to blend into the lockers and desks. To be un-thought-about. He's my little chameleon.

"Friday afternoon," he says. "Is there anything sweeter?"

"Only you," I say to him, batting my eyelashes. He pats the top of my head, messing up my ponytail.

We head for the main doors of the school, not bothering to stop at our lockers. A long time ago Jewel convinced me that homework on the weekends is madness. We work hard all week and our grades keep us both in the top ten percent of our cla.s.s.

Simon is standing with the football crew by the doors. Letterman jackets are their zebra stripes or giraffe spots; these guys are a herd.

Everyone but Simon has put on a dirty white baseball cap. Hats are not allowed in cla.s.s. Putting them on in the hallway is what pa.s.ses for rebellion among these guys. Simon has a more preppy look, clean jeans and sweaters. Black Adidas. He looks like a soccer player. Possibly even a European soccer player.

Miraculously, he waves at me as we pa.s.s. "See ya Monday, Alice." His friends ignore me, except Mike Corrigan, who widens his eyes at Simon, meaning, "Why the h.e.l.l are you talking to her?"

I mimic Simon's wave.

"Why did Simon Murphy just talk to you?" Jewel wants to know.

I feel myself flush. "He's in my group in espanol." espanol."

When your best friend is Mr. Outsider Artist, you can't go on about some cute popular guy.

The world is misting, as usual, as Jewel and I step outside. I squint into the soft raindrops and reach up to redo my ponytail. Jewel starts talking about the Bloodbath.

"It's an excuse for people to wear as little clothing as possible."

"Yeah," I say. "As if black cats and bunny rabbits run around in leotards."

"I wonder if anyone will be something cool, besides you."

"What do you think Simon Murphy will be?"

"Who cares? But if I had to guess, I'd say a vampire or a werewolf. Something that preys on the innocent. Too bad you got stuck in a conversation group with him."

That's harsh, but I nod. Jewel is clearly antipopular, and so am I. Aren't I? Simon's pretty nice. But Jewel would probably never see him that way.

We head for Green Bean, the organic coffee shop where twelve of Jewel's photos will be on the wall for the next two weeks.

Jewel nods to the guy behind the counter, who says, "Nice to see you again, man."

I buy two orange juices while Jewel puts his backpack down and pulls out his photos and a box of thumbtacks.

"High-tech." I hand him a juice. "No frames?"

"You know me," Jewel says, and swigs juice. "I'm a purist. Just the photos."

I pick up the thumbtacks and a photo of Jewel's cat, Grayfur. Grayfur is sleeping and he kind of looks like he's dead, but it's cool because you can tell he's not, really. When we were little, Jewel and I used to dress Grayfur in a cape and pretend he could fly. We dropped him from Jewel's first-floor window. He couldn't fly, but he was good at landing.

I pin the photo between two windows.

"Good," Jewel says.

We keep going. Most of the photos are shots of our neighborhood's quirks. There's one of the rocket attached to the trendy shoe store Burnt Sugar, one of the arrow pointing up by a stop sign and labeled TO THE MILKY WAY. One of the sign reading WELCOME TO FREMONT, CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE: SET YOUR WATCH BACK FIVE MINUTES WELCOME TO FREMONT, CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE: SET YOUR WATCH BACK FIVE MINUTES.

When we're done, we walk toward my house. Traffic zooms past.

It's one of those moments when life feels really ... real. Like, this is who I am: a girl with a fun and talented best friend, walking through her cool neighborhood. It's a nice thought, but something about it is also kind of unsettling.

"What if you got hit by a bus and you were okay but you had to stay in the hospital for months? Then who would I hang out with?"

He looks at me. "I'm glad your big concern would be loneliness if I got hit by a bus."

"You know what I mean."

"If I were in the hospital for months, you'd visit me and we'd hang out there."

"Yeah, but what if you were, like, catatonic?"

We're in front of my house now. He c.o.c.ks his head at me.

"So come by around six for dinner," I say.

Jewel just stands there, looking past the tree in my front yard.

"Jewel? Six?" He keeps on standing there. Oh. "Are you being catatonic?"

He comes out of it to laugh and I punch him in the shoulder.

Chapter Three.

After lasagna at my house that night, Jewel and I ride the bus to Charm of Hummingbirds' all-ages show. I can feel the promise of good music in the air like electricity. We wait in line in a crowd that's mostly older than us, maybe University of Was.h.i.+ngton students. "We're so good at finding teenage-zombie free zones," I say.

Jewel smirks and I know he's antic.i.p.ating a night of happy, loud music. "Remember when we saw Death Cab for Cutie here?"

"Of course I do. Before they played stadium shows."

We enter the s...o...b..x through its wide red hallway. We're immediately part of the pond of bodies, but we stay in the back where there's some breathing room. I look around and take in everything: the people drinking and laughing in the two bars, which are up a level and behind us on either side, the neon signs for the restrooms, the instruments set up for the opening act, the posters on the walls.

The light is purple. I can feel Jewel standing next to me.

The lights dim and the opening band takes the stage. The words are m.u.f.fled and I can't make them out, but it doesn't matter.

The band's faces practically glow, as if all they ever want is this moment.

There's nowhere else I'd rather be.

Jewel points to the men's room sign, heads that way.

I'm alone for two songs, and the band finishes. For about three seconds, I feel awkward standing by myself. Then Simon Murphy walks up. "Hola." "Hola."

He's here? Alone? "Hola," "Hola," I say. Where's his herd? I'm so glad he saw me first, or else I probably would've stared at him all night. But here he is-talking to me! I say. Where's his herd? I'm so glad he saw me first, or else I probably would've stared at him all night. But here he is-talking to me!

"I can't believe I did that thing with the elephant today."

"It's okay," I tell him. "I swear, I totally couldn't remember the word for orange." orange." Which had been a problem because my picture was a basket of oranges. "So, you like the Charm?" Which had been a problem because my picture was a basket of oranges. "So, you like the Charm?"

"Just here to pick up chicks," he says. Then he elbows me in the arm.

It's hard for me to keep my gaze away from Simon's lips. They remind me of candy. That feeling is easy enough to fight off during Spanish, but out here in the real world?

I look at his chin.

"None of my friends are really into this music. Or anything that isn't played fifty times a day on The End or whatever." He rolls his green eyes.

"That," I say, "is tragic."

"You're telling me."

"I am."

He points to his buddies, baseball caps in place, huddled together by the railing that separates the over-twenty-one area from the under. They're obviously staked out in an attempt to get beers. So why isn't he with them?

"Well, whatever," he says. "I'll hang with you, if that's okay."

Is that okay? Jewel will be here any second to find me standing with Simon. Jewel's going to think I'm insane. But how could I get rid of Simon, even if I wanted to? Maybe he's the insane one, coming over here to hang out with me. Did he see Jewel before he came over? Does he think I'm alone?

The crowd is sweaty. The music is about to start. I feel like I imagine I'd feel in the seconds before being kissed.

It's all amplified by knowing how much Jewel is not into Simon's crowd. And how much I've let him think I share his feelings. His repulsions.

I catch him standing by the bathroom door looking at me and Simon. Frozen. I hope he can't read my mind from that far away.

Charm of Hummingbirds comes onstage and everything gets loud.

Guitars, screams, drums, claps.

I am pumping my hands above my head and, before I think about it, grabbing Simon's black-sweater-clad arm.

Jewel walks toward us. I see him in my peripheral vision.

Simon screams into my ear. "Yes! My favorite song!"

I stick my mouth close to his ear to say, "Mine too!"

His hair, or something, smells like strawberries. My nose smooshes into his cheek.

Jewel comes up behind me. He puts his hand on the small of my back.

My center of gravity is off.

Simon is the opposite of Jewel. Isn't he? Jewel hails from Planet Artist/Thinker. Simon? Planet Popular? Planet Untouchable?

I try to pretend it's normal, me and Jewel standing in a crowd with Simon. I try to ignore what's going on in my body. The way I seem to be floating in the s.p.a.ce between two very different guys.

It's the first time I've ever wished Jewel would go away.

I focus on the music and close my eyes. Test if I'll be able to memorize this scene, for thinking about later.

Things to remember: The melodic guitar music. The purple of this place. Simon's intense eyes.

Jewel puts his fingertips on my upper arms, both of them. Holding me apart from the bodies around us. From Simon.

Simon touches my arm too, sort of b.u.mping into me, but I don't know if it's accidental.

I can feel things changing. That makes me nervous.

The photo of this moment would show me keeping my eyes firmly on Charm of Hummingbirds while Jewel stands behind me and Simon leans into me from the right.

After this show, my Dove Girl is in for some serious listening.

That is, unless Simon goes back to treating me like just a girl from Spanish cla.s.s.

I've always got Jewel. But it's not like I've ever wanted to be with him, like a boyfriend. Those hugs lately, though. Those tingles and s.h.i.+vers. They're not just friendly.