Invisible (22 page)

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Authors: Marni Bates

BOOK: Invisible
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Chapter 30
I
set a new personal crying record in my bedroom.
Not exactly a goal of mine. In fact, I spent the first ten minutes ordering myself to snap out of my pity-fest and pull myself together. But I wasn't physically capable of stopping, not when five seconds after my first kiss the boy openly admitted to regretting the impulse. I figured that, on top of everything else, warranted some time sobbing into my pillows.
I kept torturing myself with replaying snippets from the car ride.
The resigned look on Scott's face when he said, “You're not worth it” had me curled in the fetal position under the covers for hours. Maybe Kenzie was right to call me a hopeless romantic, but I always thought my first kiss would be sweet and tender and make me go all mushy inside.
I thought it would feel like forever and that afterward I'd call up Kenzie and Corey and the three of us would analyze every detail.
Not that he would turn around and call me pathetic.
Actually, to be fair, the word he used was “sad,” not pathetic, but I didn't consider that much of an improvement. Especially since he also implied that I was a calculating tease. I found that part patently ridiculous.
So he was wrong about everything.
Except . . . I had definitely jumped to some conclusions about his interest in Kenzie. And his comment about settling for a life of mediocrity struck painfully close to home. Even after the kiss it was hard for me to fathom anyone choosing me over my best friend—for anything. I was too used to thinking of myself as second-rate, because life was safer for me once I accepted that status. Nobody could disappoint me if I went into most social situations with low expectations.
But it was a really crappy way to spend my life.
My cell phone wouldn't stop beeping, so I sat up, instinctively wiping my cheeks, before I began scrolling through my four new texts.
Isobel:
How are you, Jane? I'm worried about you!
Chelsea:
Lunch again tomorrow?
Sam:
Heard you took on Alex T again. Badass! See you in detention?
Miles:
Hey, hope you are ok.
My lips curved into a watery smile—it was nice to know I hadn't managed to alienate
everyone
at Smith High School. I planned on using the same response for everyone:
Hey! I'm fine, but suspended. I don't know when I'll be back. See you then!
After briefly debating the exclamation points, which I decided might sound chipper enough to fool people into thinking that I hadn't been bawling my eyes out for hours, I pressed send.
Then I composed a special text for Corey:
I'm sorry. It was an accident. Anything I can do?
His response was equally fast and straightforward:
Leave me alone.
Okay . . . that sucked.
Things only got worse when my parents came home and heard the third message on our answering machine.
Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, this is Rob Shelder from the Smith High School counseling office calling in regards to Jane Smith's current academic suspension. We believe that her recent problematic behavior requires parental attention and hope that spending two days at home contemplating the consequences of her actions will help. Don't hesitate to call if you have any questions.
He rattled off his school extension number before hanging up.
“Jane Elizabeth Smith. Get down here right this instant!” My dad didn't look even remotely moved by my red-rimmed eyes. “Explain. Now.”
I didn't even know where to begin, but I instinctively skirted the whole Alex Thompson debacle. No need for me to dig myself even more deeply into trouble. So I kept things as simple as possible.
“I accidentally outed Corey's relationship with a rock star when Lisa Anne printed something I wrote in
The Smithsonian
. Then I, uh, yelled at her about it. In the guidance counselor's office.”
My mom sighed. “We never had to deal with anything like
this
with your sister.”
I bit down on my tongue to prevent myself from pointing out that Elle's friends also weren't YouTube sensations. That wouldn't help matters.
“This isn't like you at all, Janie.”
My dad shook his head. “I'm not so sure, honey. Remember the time you forgot to pack her favorite blanket? She wouldn't calm down until we retrieved the damn thing.”
I stared at him. “Really? Are you seriously bringing up Binky
now?
”
Elle couldn't resist hollering her opinion from the kitchen, where she was shamelessly eavesdropping. “Well, you still act like you're five, so . . .”
I forced myself to stay calm as I concentrated on my dad. “Look, I'm sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen.”
“ ‘Sorry' isn't going to cut it this time, Jane.”
“And where's
my
apology? I'm the one who drove all the way over there just to find you plastered against your new boyfriend!”
Thanks, Elle. Thanks a whole lot.
My dad's face darkened, if that was even possible. “You found her doing
what?
”
“It wasn't like that! Scott walked me to the parking lot and then gave me a ride home after Elle freaked out. Nothing happened.”
It didn't seem like a good time to mention that he'd pulled off to the shoulder of the road and kissed me.
“You never got into trouble before this boy.” My dad turned to my mom for confirmation. “I don't think he's a good influence.”
My mom chewed on her lip thoughtfully. “He has a point, sweetie.”
“This has nothing to do with Scott! I make my own decisions, and some of those landed me in trouble. But you know what? You don't need to worry because he dumped me.
Dumped me.
Right before he dropped me off. Happy now?”
My parents traded looks, but my dad did a poor job of disguising his relief.
“Of course we're not happy about it, Jane. But your mother and I also can't just ignore the gravity of the situation. Consider yourself grounded for—” He turned to my mom. “Two weeks?”
She nodded.
“Two weeks. Got it?”
I nodded, but I couldn't help wondering if they realized they weren't dealing with Elle. I didn't have an active social life for them to interrupt, especially now that two of my friends were no longer speaking to me. In fact, I doubted that my grounding would have even the slightest impact on my daily routine.
But I certainly wasn't going to suggest more creative ideas for punishment.
I ate dinner in silence before retreating back to my room . . . only to have Elle barge in.
“Hey! Seriously, Elle. Try
knocking!
Everyone's doing it.”
Elle just ignored me and concentrated on twirling one of her rings around her finger instead. “I'm . . . uh, sorry.”
I would've choked if I had still been eating. “You're
what?
”
Her eyes narrowed into a glare. “I said, I'm sorry.”
“Okay. Um, for the knocking thing or what?”
“I, uh, probably shouldn't have ditched you in the parking lot earlier.”
There was no
probably
about it, in my opinion, but by Elle's standards even that small admission of imperfection was huge. And judging by the way she continued twirling the band of silver on her index finger, she wasn't done.
“And I'm sorry to hear about your breakup. You guys made a cute couple.”
“Yeah, well.” I shrugged, because I didn't know what else to do. Thankfully, I was all out of tears. “I'm sure he'll find someone else better. It's a miracle it ever happened in the first place, right?”
She didn't smile at my joke. Maybe because it wasn't funny.
Elle took a deep breath. “I should have been more supportive about your first date. I'm sorry I was . . . jealous.”
I stared at my sister in disbelief. “You? Jealous? Of Scott and me?”
“I just—look, I'm not proud of it, okay? I didn't want to be overshadowed by my little sister. Seeing you wrapped around your perfect little boyfriend rubbed me the wrong way.”
It was surreal hearing Elle describe any aspect of my life as “perfect,” let alone my relationship with Scott.
She couldn't have been any farther from the truth.
“Well, it's over now,” I said bitterly. “You're still the perfect daughter and the popular one and . . . everything else, okay? So you can relax.”
Elle shook her head in disbelief. “I'm not the perfect daughter.”
I snorted. “Right. Sure you're not.”
“Seriously. I'm not. I put Mom and Dad through hell.” She grinned wryly. “The drinking, the parties—they hated it. Why do you think they are so worried about you now? It's because they don't want you spending high school the way I did.”
“Captain of the dance team, lead in the school plays, admit it: You were the most popular girl in school, Elle.”
She shrugged. “For a while, yeah. Then again, I was also the girl most likely to get hammered at a party too. I'm not exactly proud of that.”
“But everyone wanted to be just like you.” I pitched my voice higher to really nail my imitation of Fake. “
You're
Elle Smith's
sister? No. Freaking. Way
.”
“Most people just liked the gloss, Jane. Hell, I didn't want to be myself for most of it.” She glanced at the clock on my wall, obviously looking for an excuse to leave. “I have to get back to my forms.”
“Elle?”
She paused at the door. “Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“Love you too, punk.”
I fell asleep thinking that maybe the day hadn't been a complete bust.
Chapter 31
R
eadySet dominated the media all the next day.
They dominated pop culture Web sites, trended on Twitter, and even made it as a breaking news story on the entertainment channel, where an “expert” examined pictures of Tim's facial structure to speculate on his sexual identity. And everyone kept referencing my article as if it were undisputed fact, because the truth didn't matter as long as the lies captured attention.
Everyone wanted to know all the details on the dirt, including me.
Not that I had anything more important to do than watch the news cycle I'd accidentally created spin out of control, especially since I was both suspended
and
grounded. At least I could wear whatever I wanted again. Flipping through channels looking for good ReadySet coverage in my rattiest sweatpants and my dad's college sweatshirt felt more like a vacation than a punishment. Although it was kind of weird having Elle nearby filling out her paperwork, especially after our talk last night. Technically, I could have hidden in my bedroom, but I didn't want to look like I was making too much out of our brief bonding moment.
I forgot all about my sister when new headlines started popping up everywhere.
“I'M OFFENDED!” GOFF STRIKES BACK!
Timothy Goff, the eighteen-year-old lead singer for rock band ReadySet, just released a statement to squash the rumors about his sexual orientation. Goff denied ever dating high school student Corey O'Neal, and has gone on record saying, “I'm offended by the way people have jumped to conclusions about my personal life.” The person responsible for these rumors? Mr. O'Neal's fellow high school classmate Jane Smith, whom Goff described as “a lonely girl using my love life as a cry for professional help.” Smith is currently under school suspension due to her history of violent behavior. “I wish her the best,” Goff offered magnanimously. “Hopefully, she will realize that spreading rumors isn't a good way to get attention. Maybe she'll get her medication straightened out.”
I stared at the screen in horror as I processed the jabs embedded in the story.
 
Jane Smith needs professional help. Jane Smith is a liar. Jane Smith is a pathetic, spotlight-grabbing psychopath who should mind her own business.
 
Those were the comments right under the article.
 
Jane Smith needs to get a life.
 
“I've got to see Corey.”
Elle looked up from her mountain of paperwork and eyed me warily. “What's going on?”
“I have to set the record straight, whether he wants to hear it or not.” My legs trembled as I stood. “Right now. And if this doesn't work, I'm done.”
“Jane, that's not a good idea,” Elle warned. “You're grounded
and
suspended. Not exactly the time to visit someone who hates your guts. Just wait it out, and I'm sure the whole thing will blow over.”
I nearly laughed. “That's exactly how I got into this mess in the first place! I waited for things to get better, and I didn't speak up because I
hate
confrontations. But I'm not going to keep doing this. I can't.”
“Yes, you can. It's easy. Sit down, turn on the TV, and wallow while some overly tanned people scream.”
“I'm going to Corey's. If Mom and Dad ask . . .” I shrugged. “I don't know, tell them I took a walk to clear my head.”
Elle's look was one of pure disgust. “I'm not your jailer. You're old enough to make your own stupid decisions.”
Not quite the way I would've liked her to phrase it, but at least my sister wasn't treating me like a kindergartener.
That counted as a slight improvement.
“Okay then,” I said, opening the door. “If you drive, you can get a good up-close look at this disaster in progress.”
“You're baiting me for a ride.”
I didn't so much as blink. “Yes.”
“Will it make a difference if I say no?”
“Nope. It just means it'll take me a little longer to get to his house.”
Elle sauntered over to the door, looking every inch the Notable queen, as she snatched her keys from the hook. “Fine. But if anything happens to my car, you're paying for the damages.”
 
Not that she was willing to risk it as soon as she saw the paparazzi swarming Corey's house.
“You're on your own, punk. Try not to do anything I wouldn't.”
“Too late.”
I didn't give her a chance to issue any other warnings and began shoving my way toward the house. Nobody gave me so much as a second glance. At most all I earned was a few glares, probably because in my dad's ugly gray sweatshirt I didn't exactly look newsworthy . . . at least until I started pounding on the front door.
That's when some of the cameras started flashing at me.
“Corey!” I yelled out. “Let me in!”
Nothing happened. Well, except that a whole bunch of the reporters started hounding me.
Do you believe he's still dating Timothy Goff?
Why all the secrecy?
Can you comment on O'Neal's state of mind?
So I did what any irate teenage girl would do after she has been besmirched by the press, alienated by her friends, and generally treated like crap: I whipped out my cell phone.
All I had to say on the O'Neal family answering machine was, “It's Jane. I'm at your house, and unless you let me in, I'm telling the press everything” to get Corey's dad to open the door and allow me inside.
The reception I received once the door slammed behind me was less than friendly. Both of Corey's parents must have taken the day off work, just in case he needed their support. I always liked that protective streak in them, although it was harder to appreciate it now that I was on the other side of the barrier.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. O'Neal,” I said politely.
“Jane.” Coming from Corey's dad it was more of a statement than a welcome.
“I need to talk to Corey.”
I thought they might refuse me until Corey's mom spoke up. “He's in his room, but let's make this clear: If you do anything to hurt my son, I will sue you for harassment. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
“Okay then.”
And on that note I went to confront my ex–best friend—only to find him hanging out with Kenzie and Logan, as if it were a normal day after school. As if they hadn't recently cut me out of their lives.
“We need to talk.”
Their heads swiveled at the sound of my voice, and all three of them looked appalled to see me standing in the doorway.
“Get the hell out of here!” Corey yelled. “Mackenzie, please make her leave.”
I stepped farther into the room and shut the door behind me. “Hear me out. Give me five minutes. After that, I'm gone. I won't bother you again either.”
There was a long, painful silence before he finally nodded. “Fine. Five minutes.”
“Okay, here it is: I'm sorry, Corey. Something I wrote in my notebook, which I never intended to publish in a million years, was
stolen
and printed without my permission—and that landed you here. I'm so sorry, Corey. I never intended to hurt you. . . . I hope someday you will believe me that it was an accident.”
Corey's expression never altered. I took a deep breath and braced myself.
“That said: All of you suck.”
Shock and disbelief flashed across their faces.
“Hey!”
“I'm
not
finished! I still have four minutes to explain.” I rounded on Kenzie. “Let's start with you. Makes sense, right?” I concentrated on forcing the right words past the lump in my throat, which was trying to choke me. “We've been best friends since elementary school, but it never occurred to you that I was hurting. None of you gave me the benefit of the doubt. No phone calls. You couldn't even be bothered to
text
me. Guess who did, Kenzie?”
She shook her head mutely.
“Chelsea Halloway. Your nemesis. The Queen of the Notables.
She
has been a better friend to me than any of you!”
Kenzie's mouth fell open, but I wasn't ready to hear any of her protests.
“Ever since you started dating Logan, our friendship hasn't been a priority. You guys never invite me to do things. You don't call me. You just go off and have your little shopping sprees with your
new best friend, Melanie,
and then conveniently forget to mention them to me.”
Kenzie reddened, and I knew that I was right. She hadn't been planning on inviting me to go with her to whatever party she'd been shopping for with Melanie. The invitation hadn't just slipped her mind the way I'd wanted so desperately to believe. I dug my nails into my palm and forced myself to continue instead of bawling my eyes out as I ran as fast as I could away from them.
“You act like you're ashamed of me now. Now that you have your precious boyfriend and more glamorous friends, you don't want me tagging along.”
Kenzie shook her head violently “Jane, that's not—”
“That's how it feels! That's how it feels every single time you guys blow me off. And I can't keep waiting on the sidelines for you to notice that maybe I don't want to be treated as
Invisible
by my
best friends!
”
I raked back my hair, knowing that I probably sounded every bit as mentally unhinged as Tim had described me in his interview. The ache wouldn't go away. No matter what I said, my heart continued breaking farther apart until I started to believe that soon I'd be left with nothing more than bloody goop.
Death by best friends' betrayal.
I wondered why it had never occurred to me sooner.
“Let's look at the facts: When Kenzie became the laughingstock of YouTube, everyone supported her.
I
have an accident, and suddenly our friendship is terminated,” I croaked hoarsely. “Did any of you consider that this media attention is destroying
my
life too? My academic suspension is going to be discussed on the news tonight, along with a whole bunch of insinuations that I'm off medication that I never took in the first place! Universities might like Kenzie's essay about becoming an overnight Internet sensation, but I doubt they will feel the same way about admitting students who have been publicly condemned as attention-seeking liars.”
I glanced down at my watch. “Thirty seconds left. I'll leave you with this then: I can't seem to stop caring about you guys. Even after all of this . . .
crap,
I can't erase what we've been through together. Trust me, it would hurt a hell of a lot less right now if I could. But apparently there is something even worse than losing the three of you. And that's losing myself.”
On that final note, I finally gave in to my instinctive flight response and made a mad dash out of the house, ducking my head until I cleared the paparazzi, as an emotional numbness began to sink in. I didn't even realize hot, angry tears kept spilling down my face until I tasted the bitterness on my lips. The sting was nothing compared to realizing the people who had once been the very best parts of my life were gone.
But it was a cold comfort knowing that at least I had finally told the truth.
Elle didn't say a word when I climbed back into her car. She drove me straight home in silence, while I contemplated my options. I wanted to fight this new media image of myself as a violent, publicity-obsessed psychopath-in-training. To set the record straight publicly, even if that meant writing an insider's look into Timothy Goff and Corey O'Neal's relationship. Now that our friendship had been terminated, there should have been nothing holding me back. It wasn't like I had anything to lose by telling my side of the story for a boatload of cash . . . except my own self-respect. That was one trade-off I wasn't willing to make.
The truth might set me free, but in this case it wasn't my truth to tell.
It looked like Scott's assessment of me was right: I wasn't reporter material, certainly not by Lisa Anne's standards. A true journalist was someone determined to give people the latest news with his or her name attached to the byline.
But there are some things the public just doesn't need to know, because it is none of their business.
Still, I did know one person who might be able to help me fix what I had accidentally broken. Someone with the power to change the news cycle. Once again I pulled out my cell phone.
Only this time it was to call a rock star.

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