Connor

Connor

Dormaine G

Copyright (C) 2013 Dormaine G

Layout Copyright (C) 2015 by Creativia

Published 2015 by Creativia

eBook design by Creativia (www.creativia.org)

Cover art by http://www.thecovercollection.com/

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013916717

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

I dedicate this book to my daddy Charles Richmond, who I miss dearly.

I want to say thank you to Kenny, Matt, Sabrina, and Simone. I appreciate you all for your words of encouragement and support, but most of all for pushing me well beyond my limits. Thank you, Megan, Olyvia, Taylen, and Colin Jr. for keeping my inner child alive.

Where do I begin? I can start by telling you how I am a bubbly, courteous, dependable, straight-A student who has the perfect life. Who wants that? I am ridiculously sarcastic, which for some reason tends to get me into trouble; go figure. I love to sleep a lot, am captain on the swim team, and have two wonderful best friends; and this year my favorite word so far has been “seriously,” but recently my life has drastically changed.

I went from a typical teenager, whose biggest concerns were what to wear, taming my obnoxious hair, and avoiding zits, to discovering just how different I was from most people and having to carry that burden of secrecy on my shoulders from the people I most love. I learned the harsh reality that this world is not the safe haven it appears to be and that there are those who help keep such secrets buried. I just became one of them.

Let me back up a few months and start where my life began to unfold, having not a clue on how this day I would come to stand in an old shack deep in the woods, preparing for the fight of my life against the unknown.

First, let me give you some background on my family and myself. I am one of three kids; and yes, as luck would have it, I am smack-dab right in the middle.

There is Ebony, my seventeen-year-old sister who thinks she is perfect in every way. She is the captain of the cheerleading squad, but believe me, it did not go to her head. According to her, she always knew that the “powers that be” made her perfect way before cheer came along. Geez, I just love her to pieces.

She is pretty, petite, and perky, being all of five feet five and a size 2. She has big brown eyes that match her complexion, sexy, full lips, and gorgeously toned legs. At least that is how she describes herself. If you ask me, she reminds me of a horse, a healthy one though, like one of those thoroughbreds. Hey, she has long dark hair that she calls her mane, so it fits.

She is supersmart, as in a genius level, even though you wouldn't know it. I don't get her. She keeps a 3.5 grade average when she could easily have a 4.0. She plays it down to fit in with the cheer team and the jerks, a.k.a. jocks. Don't get me wrong, I don't think cheerleaders are not smart and I'm all for sports, but I swear in my school the cheerleading team is more of a cult. I swear they wear their outfits daily.

All she does is twirl her hair in front of her boyfriend, Robert, and giggle like the rest of the girls on the squad. I asked her once what gives with playing dingy. She told me I wouldn't understand, and maybe when or if a boy would consider me, I might get it. Personally, I thought that was the stupidest answer I had ever heard. Maybe she is not as smart as I thought. As I said, I just don't get it.

At home, she thinks she is second in command to Mom the way she talks to me and tries to give me orders. Sometimes I just want to smack her.

Then there is Kane, my seven-year-old brat of a brother who gets away with murder because he is so adorably cute.
Yeah right!
He does have the cutest smile and the longest eyelashes ever, but that is if you can get past the stench. Half the time, he thinks he's some sort of reptile, and the other half, he smells like one.

He runs around the house and the backyard in a red cape that I am sure can fly on its own by now because it's so dirty. I swear a tornado hits his room every day because it's so messy. There are toys everywhere, and trying to walk in a straight line without stepping on a noise-making gadget is impossible.

He thinks he is this great comedian, but the only joke is he.

He is so funny that the first and last time he sat on my face during my much-needed naptime, waking me to an aroma of severe toxic fumes, I showed him just how comical he was. I picked him up, laughing the whole way to the hall closet, and threw him in. My memory is hazy, but I think a chair was shoved under the handle so he could not get out, maybe. I'm just saying the memory of the chair incident is vague to me.

Anyway, I forgot to let him out when my ride came to go shopping. Sadly for me, right when we made it to the mall, I got a call from my mom telling me I better get home in twenty minutes or else. That is when I remembered Reptile Boy. After that, I was out of commission of any kind of social life for two whole weeks.

Then there is me, Sasha. Okay, it is Connor. Yes, I have a boy's name—might as well be. I am fifteen with no prospect of boobs or curves of any kind.

Whom did I piss off?

I'm bony and flat all over, especially in all the wrong places. I am four feet eleven and cannot gain a pound if I tried, and believe me, I have tried. Most girls would say I should be grateful because I don't gain a pound, but I eat and eat and nothing. I outeat most boys, and it's so embarrassing when we go out to dinner. The waiters usually hands my plate to my dad first until I stop them and point to me. As they politely hand the plate over with a smile, they graciously give me a side order of that ever-so-judging look that says, “You will regret it one day.” Well, today isn't here, so hand it over.

Lately, I have to eat practically the whole house to maintain my current weight. My mom threatens to take me to the doctor if this keeps up. She said something about me having a tapeworm, so now I resorted to hoarding food in my room for a late-night snack before going to bed so I don't wake up in the middle of the night starving.

My dad, the other comedian in the house, makes comments about having to get a second job to support my food habit. Then of course, Kane has his jokes about putting me out to pasture to let me graze.

My mom cornered me one day after dinner and asked me about smoking those “funny-smelling herbal trees.” She actually said that and something about ever needing to talk. I think I stood there with my mouth open until I walked away. Ebony tells me I will never get a boyfriend the way I eat.

You have to love family support.

Then there is my hair. I have big, wild, crazy, curly black hair that half the time I cannot control it, so I stick it in a ponytail with plain elastic; otherwise, it goes every which way.

I'm an undercover science-fiction lover who keeps her collectibles in a wooden mahogany chest at the foot of my bed. The chest was my grandmother's on my mom's side. I begged my mom for it when Nana passed away years back. My mom thought I wanted it for memory's sake, and though part of that is true, I needed a better place to hide my so-called geeky stuff other than under the closet floorboard in my room. If my dad ever finds out about me pulling up that floorboard, yikes.

As far as school goes, I do well enough whenever I seem to care to try. I constantly have to hear how well Ebony does and that I should try harder like her. Personally, I would rather go play in traffic blindfolded than be like her.

Lastly are the parentals, Mr. Blair and Mrs. Elizabeth Esquibel (Es-skwee-bal). What can I say about them other than they feed us? No, seriously, as far as parents go, they are cool, especially when I hear what my friends go through. My parents are still crazy over each other. They constantly have to touch. It's so gross.

My mom doesn't look her age, so no wrinkles at all, and you cannot get her age out of her either. She said the youthful skin is from the melanin in her skin tone and sunblock. Hey, if I look like her when I am her age, I say bring on the melanin.

She has manageable curly hair that she sticks up all the time and lets loose curls fall where they may. She has no grays yet, but I'm almost positive she has a healthy supply of brown hair dye hidden away in a vault. She is about five feet five with a slim, toned built. What I love most about her is the fact that she loves to laugh at her own corny jokes. Wicked smart too; she has her master's in nursing, so that makes her a nurse practitioner. Years ago, she opened a nonprofit clinic that she absolutely loves. She believes in giving back.

Then there is my dad. He is about six feet and has a slim but muscular build. My parents believe in working out. Dark hair and light brown to hazel eyes that represent his heritage. What can I say about my dad other than he thinks he can perform Jedi mind tricks? Honestly, Dad, grow up already. He does something with computers in corporate America. Both of their jobs sound boring, but hey, they provide me with food, and we all know that is priority.

So bottom line, Ebony took after my mom and Kane my dad in the looks department, so what happened to me? Growing up, I would always ask, “Whom do I look like?” They would always say we come in all different shapes and colors or I look like Aunt So-and-So, but we don't have pictures of everybody in the family. It never really sat well, but I would let it go.

We are one big happy family, well, most of the time. We live in a four-bedroom, two-level, colonial-style house with a nice-sized basement, which is the family room. My dad constantly complains when he has to fix anything in this big old house. According to him, my mom would have never spoken to him ever again if they did not buy this house. It is nice, but it looks like all the other houses in the neighborhood, a dollhouse. It is a white house with a gray door and gray shutters to match. Six tall, narrow shrubs are in the front, which are almost as tall as the house with rosebushes across the front below the windows. A white picket fence runs around to the back where it meets up with a six-foot wooden fence for privacy's sake.

The yard is huge, but my dad refuses to buy a pool. He claims it makes no sense to have a pool year-round when you can only use it three maybe four months out of the year, and we can't afford it.

I don't understand because according to my mom, he made some crazy investment before I was born that set us up for life. Technically, my parents don't have to work, and we still would not go broke. I think he is hiding it in the backyard or something. I'm not bitter or anything—okay, maybe just a little bitter—but a pool would be awesome.

The town we live in is uneventful and peaceful. It really doesn't have too much going on other than seasonal town fairs, festivals, and carnivals, a quaint town that fits snuggly in the middle of everything. It is to the right of the big city, left of the water, and almost surrounded by the dreaded woods. Dreaded because I feel someone is always lurking about watching me, like in a scary movie.

My favorite event is our annual summer weeklong fishing event. At the end of the week, the town hosts a huge fish fry contest from all the fish caught during the week, and I'm the first in line to try them all. I know this because the people tell me so, but my shame does not prevent me from stuffing my face. Actually, it got me a spot on the judging panel last year.

The population here is about twenty thousand, so people go to the city if they want some sort of nightlife. I don't know how my parents came to live here, but I actually do love it, and it's home. There is nothing special about the town, except the amazing trick that this town holds is that everyone knows everyone, so trying to get away with anything without getting busted is hard; the chances of getting caught by people who don't know you are virtually impossible.

How great is that?

Even though I love it, it is boring, and there is no privacy. I would love to venture out and explore the rest of the world. Is that not what all young adults want to do?

Oh, by the way, did I mention that I have the ability to become invisible?

No? Guess what, I do.

It's not that I'm such a plain Jane that no one notices me—because people do when they stare at my combative hair or guys come up to me asking about Ebony. I tell them either get lost or she died.

I have the actual no-one-can-see-me invisibility.

The first time I realized it was when we were on a Disney family vacation a few months back. We were at a buffet in Florida, and this cutie started talking to me in line.

He had the nicest eyes. I'm seriously into the shape and color of eyes. He had wavy dark hair and a gorgeous smile, and he was so tall, he towered over me. When he first came up to me, I felt that maybe this punishment of family bonding time might turn out to be fun after all.

Our conversation was going well when out of nowhere, my reptile of a brother decided to give me the wedgie of a lifetime.

I squealed like a pig, grabbed my Wonder Woman boy shorts, tripped into the buffet table, and face-kissed the floor, dragging the tablecloth with me. I tried to catch the food and stop myself from falling, but all I accomplished was taking half the buffet with me and smearing potato salad on my face and clothes. I mean seriously, why me?

As my parents ran over to help, the manager came over, complaining about my behavior and wanting to know who was going to pay for this mess.

It was such a horrible scene. It's hard for me to talk to boys as it is since a lot don't approach me, so I was mortified. My parents were scolding me for my clumsiness while Reptile Boy huddled in the corner laughing. I tried to explain it wasn't me, but they wouldn't even listen. They told me they were going to dock my allowance to compensate them for paying for the mess I made.

I turned around; and my little cutie, who didn't even try to help me, was clear across the room talking to Ebony. She didn't hear a thing or at least pretended not to; either way, they both sucked.

I went back to our room to clean up. I was so upset after what happened but felt worse after I saw what I looked like in the bathroom mirror. I stood there wishing I could just disappear into a black hole.

I hopped into the shower to clean off, and by the time I got out and wiped off the mirror, I couldn't see my reflection. At first, I thought I went blind, but no, because I could see other things, just not me. Then I thought I died of pure humiliation and did a rejoicing jig.

Not that I want to die, but I feel that I have accomplished a lot in my youth, and it was a better option than family bonding time, a.k.a. torture. I started to see my reflection again, and my heart sank so low that I stood there pouting.

Then it hit me—
I was invisible!