My Invented Life (23 page)

Felicia came to watch Carmen play Rosalind on the second weekend. Carmen performed magnificently, btw. After the show ended, she let her mother hug her in front of everyone. For a few seconds, I thought Felicia might go misty-eyed. In the end she didn’t, but she came dangerously close to shedding a tear or two.

The best bit is the last bit. Eva and I are real sisters again. My streak of breaking glassware—butterflies, vases, umbrella stands, car windows, and such—ended just like Sierra predicted it would. And though Eva is not yet ready to come out in Yolo Bluffs, she asked for MY help posting her coming-out story online. Good thing she did because a few parts needed editing.

I’m a senior in high school and a very private person. Let me rephrase that. Extremely private. I had my first crush on a girl in the fourth grade. My shyness kept me from admitting it. Even to myself. There was no need to because I liked boys too. A lot. When I understood the truth about myself a few years later, I wanted to confide in my little sister. But she didn’t want me to be anything but perfect. And I worried (wrongly!) that she would tell everyone.

A few months ago, I realized I was in love with my best friend. But I didn’t do anything about it. Until one day I kissed her. When she told me she felt the same, I panicked and left. The next day she invented an excuse to end our friendship. I was miserable. So miserable I decided to risk asking my sister for help. And she got us together again (but that’s another story). I’m so lucky that Roz is my sister.

Beef-witted
—with the wits of a dead cow.

Beslubbering
—like slobbering only worse.

Boil-brained
—with lesions on your brain that make you stupid.

Canker-blossom
—a person like an open sore that pretends to be a flower.

Clack-dish
—someone whose prattle transcends mere loquaciousness.

Clotpole
—blockhead. It sounds much worse than blockhead, I know.

Coxcomb
—a boy who thinks he’s cuter than he actually is. That’s the type I tend to fall for.

Craven
—cowardly in a most contemptible way.

Dankish
—suffering from a coat of mold and mildew.

Dissembling
—lying, cheating, and hypocritical.

Dog-hearted
—cruel, inhuman. This in no way refers to BlueDragon’s loving heart.

Eye-offending
—get-out-of-my-sight ugly.

Fen-sucked
—sucked out from a marsh. I’m not joking.

Flap-mouthed
—verbose, as in talkative (like me).

Flax-wench
—a prostitute.

Flirt-gill
—an empty-headed person who thinks every boy on the planet belongs to her.

Fly-bitten
—bitten by flies, you clotpole (see Clotpole).

Folly-fallen
—victimized by one’s own evil schemes.

Foot-licker
—a suck-up of major proportions.

Gorbellied
—more than just round in the middle.

Harpy
—a ravenous and filthy bird with a woman’s head and a bird’s body. Ouch!

Hedge-born
—a person born under a hedge. Really.

Horn-beast
—a devil, and I don’t mean the sexy kind.

Knavish
—ill-behaved and unprincipled. An adjective you don’t want in front of your name.

Malignancy
—a hideous and incurable disease.

Measle
—an open sore filled with pus.

Mewling—
whiny in the worst way.

Moldwarp
—a mole.

Plume-plucked
—stripped of one’s lovely feathers.

Puttock
—a marshy, mud-besmirched sort of person. Smelly, too.

Rabbit-sucker
—a weasel, and I don’t mean the cute, furry kind.

Rampallion
—something worse than a rapscallion.

Ratsbane
—the trioxide of arsenic. For the chemistry impaired, that means poison.

Scullion
—a kitchen slave.

Sheep-biting
—more annoying than a horsefly.

Simp
—a simple person, and I don’t mean uncomplicated. More like simpleminded.

Sour-faced
—you get like this if you spend too much time sucking on lemons.

Swag-bellied
—paunchy.

Unchin-snouted
—with a nose like an unchin. What’s an unchin you ask? Who knows?

Wenching
—a wormy behavior that involves stringing several girls along at once.

Whey-faced
—pale from fear.

Writing is a solitary occupation. Still, you need a roomful of people to make an actual book. And I’m like a VW bug with an unreliable motor. It takes a lot of TLC to keep me running.

Thank you, Pelle, Drake, and Leif for all your love, encouragement, and patience. Thank you, Dad, for giving me days off from school to write when I was little. Thank you, Deborah Schweninger, for saying, “You wrote a real novel!” Your belief in me fills my gas tank.

Many others have given me a push-start along the way: Jennifer Badger, Elana Lombard, Ana-Ruth Aldana, Hilary Cushing-Murray, John Nichols, Jessica Gormley, Beth Enson, Elsbeth Atencio, Margaret Badger, Madeleine Herrmann, Joseph Hardegree, and Steve Deitsch. Thank you all. And thank you to those I didn’t mention by name.

I’m grateful to A.J. Usherwood, Nancy Jenkins, and the Taos High drama students for inviting me to rehearsals of
A Midsummer’s Night Rave
.

Without my incomparable critique partners—Kimber MacDonald, Jean-Marie Jackson, Miriam Goin, Ellie Crowe, Todd Wynward, and Morgan Farley—I’d still be in the parking lot.

Thank you, Monika Bjorkman, for giving me your birthday wishes.

Hats off to Stephen Fraser for your insightful editorial suggestions when I lost my way.

Cheers and champagne to the hard-working people at Inkwell and Henry Holt, but especially my agent, Catherine Drayton, and my editor, Kate Farrell. And to Robert Boswell for making the introduction.

Hugs to my sister, Jolene Welch, for remaining my friend through thick and thin.