Identity Crisis (6 page)

KnuckLise99
: is this their new song?

DecOlan
: oh, ho ho. so now you're speaking to me?

KnuckLise99
: how did you get this??

DecOlan
: i have my sources.

KnuckLise99
: COME ON! dying here.

DecOlan
: ok. yes, it's their new release.

DecOlan
: some guy in london bootlegged their recording session.

KnuckLise99
: how'd you get it?

DecOlan
: sent him $5 bucks on paypal.

KnuckLise99
: seriously?

DecOlan
: i don't joke about cross-atlantic financial transactions.

KnuckLise99
: ha ha. you rock!

DecOlan
: soooo, does this mean i'm forgiven?

DecOlan
: If not, this message will self-destruct in 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . .

How can you stay mad at someone who's just given you a bootlegged copy of the new Brass Knuckles song before it's even been released? You just can't, that's how.

KnuckLise99
: you are totally forgiven! <> i'm sorry i tore your head off.

DecOlan
: no, it's all on me. <> i should never have paid you a compliment. what was i thinking?

Pause. He is right. I feel like such a fool for overreacting like that. Over a compliment from a guy. Why hadn't I told Maeve? She would have given me perspective.

KnuckLise99
: what can I say? i've got issues.

DecOlan
: there's gotta be a course for that. compliment taking 101.

KnuckLise99
: i'm messed up.

DecOlan
: who isn't?

KnuckLise99
: lets just say i've been burned before. by the male species.

DecOlan
: men are dogs. or so i've heard.

DecOlan
: so what happened?

Pause. I want to tell him why I'm such a nut case, about my dad, about Amos. I want to tell him everything, want to finally tell someone impartial, who would believe my side of the story, unlike most of my classmates, who mostly believed
them
. Eva. And Amos. But I can't. It all still hurts too much. So I fall back on the words he'd used on me.

KnuckLise99
: i'd tell you . . . but first I'd have to know you better ;)

DecOlan
: touché, m'lady. touché.

I can't go there with Declan. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

It's funny how the one thing you dread doing at first can sometimes turn into something you can't wait to do over and over again. Like the time I was nine, and terrified to cannonball off the high diving board at the town pool for the very first time. After I took that first dizzying leap, you couldn't drag me away the rest of the summer. So even though I could never, ever confess this to Eva and Tori, talking to Annalise every night, which once filled me with dread, has now somehow become the highlight of my day.

At school, I'll hear something funny or weird or odd, and instead of wanting to tell Eva, I find myself filing it away to tell Annalise later that night. We talk way late, even until 1 A.M., typing away in the dark after my parents have gone to sleep. There's literally nothing we don't discuss: Knucklie news, of course, but everything else: presidential politics, our crazy parents, the It Gets Better campaign, which is more addictive, Candy Crush or Words With Friends, where we were the day of the Boston Marathon bombings, whether teachers should be armed with semis, how the Baby Boomers have totally screwed up the planet, Disney versus Universal, whether to stockpile bitcoins, the possibility of an afterlife, and how we wouldn't be caught dead twerking.

Sometimes, it gets confusing, like this one time we were playing “Marry Bang Kill” and I forgot for a half-second that I'm supposed to be a guy, and almost came up with the completely wrong list of celebrities, but so far, she hasn't caught on. And it's hard not to feel like a double agent, trying to reconcile two people in my life—the Annalise I'm supposed to hate by day, and the Annalise I can't wait to talk to online each night. At times, my head feels like it's going to explode.

Still, I thought I'd completely nailed impersonating Declan, studying up on Brass Knuckles trivia, so Annalise wouldn't catch me unawares of some arcane band factoid. That's how I stumbled upon a tip on some UK message board for scoring that advance version of “Inner Beauty,” which was a bit trickier and costlier than I let on.

And then I slipped up. Big time. It started when we were talking about some reality TV star and her bafflingly dumb decision to dry hump her microphone onstage during the Golden Globes.

KnuckLise99
: what was she thinking?

DecOlan
: beats me.

KnuckLise99
: people are so random.

DecOlan
: unfathomable.

KnuckLise99
: mindboggling.

DecOlan
: and yet we all share 99.99999% of the same genes.

KnuckLise99
: i'd rather share DNA with an ape than that mutant starlet.

DecOlan
: lol.

KnuckLise99
: and yet . . .

DecOlan
: and yet?

KnuckLise99
: someone said the other day that deep down, we're all the same.

KnuckLise99
: we may look different.

KnuckLise99
: but we all have the same wants, desires, needs.

I carefully consider that notion. I think of the people I know: my outgoing mom, the cosmetics executive who loves schmoozing people, and my introverted dad, a financial analyst who'd rather deal with numbers than human beings. I think of Eva, who invites attention, auditioning for and winning the lead in the school play, and me, who shuns it. I think of Cooper, who says every thought passing through his head, while I over-think everything I say.

DecOlan
: i disagree.

DecOlan
: completely.

DecOlan
: have you taken a look at humankind? the crazy variation?

DecOlan
: chatters and lurkers.

DecOlan
: optimists and pessimists.

DecOlan
: exhibitionists and prudes.

KnuckLise99
: but isn't it true we all want the same thing?

DecOlan
: like what?

KnuckLise99
: love, respect, security.

DecOlan
: then how come we go about getting it in completely different ways?

Further debate is cut off by a knock at my door. I quickly write her a “be right back” and close the browser window.

“Noelle?” It's my dad. “You going to bed anytime tonight?”

Soon, I tell him.

“What were you doing? Talking to Eva?” He frowns, eyeing the blank computer screen, and I mind read what he is thinking. My parents don't particularly like Eva. They say she “pressures me into making bad choices.” And that's just based on the things they
know
about, not all the things they don't—the time we jumped off Nook's Bridge and my toenail caught on a rock and got ripped clean off. The night we borrowed an unlocked dinghy and went out to the spit to drink wine coolers and almost capsized. I can't say I entirely disagree with them.

“No, Tori,” I say, knowing his opinion on Tori is more neutral, still unformed.

His tie is loose and there are tired shadows under his eyes.

I'm dying to get back to my discussion with Annalise, but I feel compelled to ask, “Is everything okay?”

He smiles, and the wrinkles around his eyes grow crinkly, to go with the newish flecks of grey in his dark sideburns. “Just a rough day at work.” I know what he means. He's looked this way ever since he got this new boss last winter. I spent a few days in his office this summer, and I couldn't believe how rude he was—screaming over any screw up, no matter whose fault it was. He's always calling my dad at night, even over the weekends. You can hear the shouting reverberating through the tiny cell phone speaker.

I wish he would just tell this evil overlord to suck it. Tess McDonohue told me she's quitting her job at Au Bon Pain because her assistant manager is a petty, power-drunk tyrant who docks her pay every time she gets an order wrong—but forgives every screw up of her skanky coworker, SaraBeth.

“Can't you just quit?” I ask him, although I think I already know the answer.

He smiles ruefully. “Just like that, huh?”

“Why not?” I reply boldly. “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent. Know whose motto that was?”

He smiles and tousles my hair like he did when I was eight. “Eleanor Roosevelt. When did you get so smart?” But then he sighs. “When you're an adult . . . it's not so simple.”

“Maybe it should be.”

“Maybe.” He stands up and stretches his spine. “But it'll be fine. I'll be fine. Just need a good night's sleep. You, too. Not too late, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Love you.”

When he leaves, I check to see if Annalise is still there. She picks right back up where we left off, as if she too has been eagerly waiting to continue.

KnuckLise99
: then what makes us so different?

KnuckLise99
: nature or nurture?

DecOlan
: false question.

DecOlan
: it's both. little of each.

KnuckLise99
: ok. name one moment that's defined you. made you you?

I don't even have to think hard, my hands are already typing away.

DecOlan
: easy. choking at my 6th grade concert.

KnuckLise99
: choking?

KnuckLise99
: Like Heimlich choking?

DecOlan
: no, like freezing.

DecOlan
: messing up.

Mrs. Byrd, our music teacher, assigned us all a singing part during our rendition of “Twelve Days of Christmas.” Me and Tamara Winger were supposed to sing together, which was fine in rehearsals, because she was really loud so I could just chime in softly along with her. But then she ended up with strep that December morning and I had to sing the line by myself. When it came time to sing
fiiiiive gol-den rings
, I just froze. Completely froze. Every time the verse came around to me, it was like I had instant laryngitis.

Afterwards, some of the boys in the class started this dumb joke called Noelling, where they'd gape for air like a goldfish on dry land. Until Eva came to my rescue. She hauled off and smacked their ringleader, Tyler Walters, just really smacked him across the face with the side of her hand, leaving a red mark. After that, no one said another word about it, and I made sure I never got up on a stage again. And for the rest of middle school and beyond, I always knew that Eva had my back.

I feel a familiar twinge of guilt over this late-night bonding with her sworn nemesis. Then the words pop up on my screen:

KnuckLise99
: wait. what do you mean 6th grade?

I stare at them, realizing my mistake. Ack! I panic at this amateurish flub. I'm supposed to be homeschooled. How could I forget? I scramble to issue a retraction.

DecOlan
: my bad.

DecOlan
: meant, when I was 6. last year I was in school. first grade holiday concert.

DecOlan
: left me with a serious case of stage fright.

Have I covered myself? I pray Annalise buys it. Quickly, I turn the tables on her.

DecOlan
: how about you?

DecOlan
: what moment changed you forever?

Brief pause. Typing. Then she pops out with something that jars me back to real life. The one where I'm supposed to hate her.

KnuckLise99
: i guess . . . what happened at Freshman Fling.

DecOlan
: let me guess. trust issues? hating the entire male species?

KnuckLise99
: <> something like that.

Once again, I have to steel myself, remind myself what I'm doing here. Annalise is
not
my friend. She is someone who can't be trusted. Someone who cornered my best friend's boyfriend when he was drunk and vulnerable, not caring that he had a long-time girlfriend. Talking with her like this, I've let my guard down. Almost. But no. I have to stay focused on my true mission: keeping Cooper far away from her. Even if I never get him for myself, I know one thing for certain. A girl like Annalise Bradley would only break his heart.

Still, there's one thing I would like to know.

If she regrets what she did.

DecOlan
: would you change it?

DecOlan
: if you could go back in time?

KnuckLise99
: oh yeah. big time.

KnuckLise99
: i'd see that asshole crying

KnuckLise99
: and keep on walking.

Thursday morning, I'm lying in bed, semiconscious, bargaining with my alarm's snooze button for fifteen more minutes of sleep, when I hear my phone vibrate under my pillow. Groggily, I reach one hand out from under my covers. What I read makes me bolt up, wide awake. If I were a cartoon character, my head would hit the ceiling and be haloed by tiny revolving stars. It's an alert marked Urgent! from the Brass Knuckles fan page-- a rare message from the band itself.

KNUCKLIES: WANT TO SING WITH THE BAND? WE'RE RAFFLING OFF THE EXCLUSIVE CHANCE TO SING ONSTAGE WITH VIGGO WITTS AT OUR UPCOMING BOSTON SHOW! RAFFLE TICKETS ARE $10; ALL PROCEEDS GO TO VIGGO'S CHARITY, CHANGING FACES, AN ORGANIZATION SUPPORTING CHILDREN WITH FACIAL DISFIGUREMENTS. THE LUCKY WINNER WILL RECEIVE TWO FRONT-ROW VIP TICKETS AND HELP SING A DUET OF “IDENTITY CRISIS.” BE AT THE SHOPS AT THE PRUDENTIAL CENTER TODAY AT 4 P.M. TO ENTER! BONUS PRIZE FOR THE FIRST 500 PARTICIPANTS.