Invisible (9 page)

A flicker of regret passes through me. “I… I’m sorry.” My gaze falls away.

She takes my hand and pats it. “It’s all right, just don’t tell anyone else, okay?”

I nod. I’m relieved she’s not mad. Upsetting Gran is the last thing I’d ever want to do. “So, who did you tell besides me? Do Mom, Dad and Eva know?” I ask, figuring I should know whether to keep my mouth shut around my family – not that I’d tell them anyway.

Gran gives her head a solemn shake. “No. Your mom and Eva don’t have the ability, so there was no sense in telling them. And your dad, well it’s none of his business and besides he wouldn’t believe it, so why saddle his tiny brain with the knowledge.”

Despite Dad saying he loved Gran this morning, I know there’s no love lost between them, although I never understood why and never asked. Some things a person’s better off not knowing.

“
I’m pretty sure I can trust Jon and I
know
I can trust Charlie,” I say, trying to look confident. “I haven’t told anyone else.”

Gran cups my face in her hands. “It’s my fault. I should have told you to keep everything quiet last week when we first talked about The Vanishing.” She cocks her head and makes a
tsk
sound. “This is all so new to you. I should have taken more time to explain. But, what’s done is done and there’s no use worrying about it now. Besides, I’m sure your boy’s a good fella and I know Charlie’s a true friend.” She smiles, throws her hands in the air then resumes her search for an age appropriate Cha Cha Cha costume.

The saleswoman appears and helps Gran find the perfect ensemble with matching shoes. It’s a tasteful dark blue dress with a slit up one side, but not as high as most of the others. The shoes are navy leather with a sturdy one-inch heel. It’s the first and only dress Gran tries on.

“
I love it,” she declares and, before I know it, we’re done.

Shopping with Gran is a whole lot simpler than with Mom.

“
Do ya want something new to wear for your date tonight?” Gran asks with excitement in her voice. “I’ll treat ya.”

“
No, it’s okay. I’ve already picked out something to wear.” Gran’s always trying to give me things or buy me stuff.

“
Ah come on, lemme do something nice for my darling granddaughter.” She pulls me into the first store she spies that looks like it’s for teenagers.

I relent, knowing it’s a losing battle anyway and pick out a couple of tops. Not T-shirts, but real tops with buttons. I’d never really considered anything like this for myself before. Suddenly they seem pretty.

“
Do ya want to try them on?”

“
They’re an extra-large, they’ll fit,” I say flatly, holding one up against me.

Gran pays and I take the bag. I’m already carrying her bags from “Step-in-Style.”

“
I’m starvin’,” Gran says. “Let’s go to the food court.”

“
It’s only 11:00,” I say, but realize Gran probably didn’t have breakfast. “On second thought, I’d love a tea and a muffin.”

Grandma Rose sits in front of me with a heaped Styrofoam plate of Chinese food. I’ve already started in on my blueberry muffin.

“
How’s your story comin’?”

I tell Gran about everything I write. She’s my biggest fan and greatest supporter. “I’m having a bit of trouble with it. But it’ll work itself out.”

“
Good attitude. I know it’ll be fantastic when you get done with it. You’re going to be a best-selling author someday.”

Hearing those words, I feel my heart doing a little dance. It’s what I want more than anything. “Do you really think so?”

“
I’ve read everything you’re ever written and I’m not just saying it ’cause I love you. You’ve got talent! Don’t you dare let it go to waste. You better let me read this one as soon as you’re done.” She narrows her eyes in mock threat.

“
Don’t worry; you’ll be the first person I let read it.”

“
How ’bout your parents? Are they warming up to the idea of you wanting to be a writer?”

I shake my head and think about what my parents want for me. They’d probably be fine with me having a regular-type 9 to 5 job, working in an office somewhere, but they’d never support my dream of being a writer. It’s too foreign to them.

Gran shovels in a huge forkful of moo guy chicken and continues to speak despite her full mouth. “You’ve got to do what you love.”

Her words are garbled, but I understand her perfectly.

“
Don’t be what your parents want you to be. Follow your dreams, Lola. Now’s the time – when you’re young.”

“
I know, Gran. I’ve also got to decide on a major.”

“
You didn’t pick one yet?” Concern tinges her voice. “I think that’s a no-brainer … English literature.”

She’s right. It’s what my heart wants, but it’s not what’s expected of me. “How do I tell Mom and Dad? I feel like I owe them, they’re paying my tuition.”

“
Honey, they’re your parents, what do you think they’re going to do? Keep you from going to university just because they don’t like your major? Besides, whadda they know about university, neither of them dodo birds finished high school.”

We laugh until we cry. It’s so wonderful to have Gran on my side. It’s as if we’re the same soul living in separate bodies.

Gran throws a hand in the air, a finger extended. “I’ve got an idea,” she says, her eyes bright.

I lean forward. “Lay it on me.”

“
A tattoo,” she says.

“
What?”

“
You need to get a tattoo. Nothing too big, mind you. I don’t really like tattoos, but this would be a symbol, something to remind you of your passion and your dream of becoming a writer. Like a book, or a pen or even a typewriter.”

I shake my head. “That’s crazy.”

“
No, it’s not. You can have it put in a place where you’ll always see it. It can be a constant reminder to never give up on your dream.”

The idea rolls around in my mind for a moment. If it were coming from anyone other than Gran, I’d reject it without a thought, but she does have a good point, and it wouldn’t have to be big, just something small, maybe on the inside of my wrist where I’d see it every day.

“
There’s a tattoo parlour in the mall. Ya wanna do it?” Mischief plays in her eyes.

“
My parents would freak. Especially Dad – you know how old fashioned he can be when it comes to his girls.”

Gran gives a throaty laugh. “Good Lord. He doesn’t have a leg to stand on with all those damn tattoos he’s got. Besides, Eva’s got one, hasn’t she?”

“
Yeah, but he didn’t like it. She was grounded for two weeks. Besides, she’s over eighteen. Don’t you have to be eighteen?”

“
I’ll tell them you’re my granddaughter and it’s my present to you for your eighteenth birthday. And don’t worry about your parents, they’ll get over it.” Gran’s eyes flash with excitement. “If all else fails, I’ll give them a little extra dough.” She winks.

Excitement is starting to build and I let myself believe it’s possible. “I think I’d rather have a capital letter A, you know how they do letters in fancy script? The A would stand for ‘author’.”

“
That sounds like a fine idea.” She leans closer and whispers, “So, do ya wanna?”

A part of me wants to say yes, but I think about my date tonight. Getting a tattoo just might get me grounded.

“
It’s a great idea, but let’s do it the next time we’re here.”

Gran digs into her purse and pulls out her wallet. She holds a clenched fist out over my hand. “Take this and next time you’re here, do it.”

She stuffs a wad of rolled up bills into my palm.

“
There’s a little extra in case you need to bribe ’em,” she says with a giggle.

“
I can’t take your money, Gran…”

“
Why the hell not? Who else am I gonna give it to? It makes me happy so see you happy. Go ahead, take it. Make an old lady happy.”

Seeing how much it means to her to do this for me, I take the money. “Thanks. I promise I’ll do it.”

Gran scoffs down the rest of her lunch in record time, even before I finish my tea.

“
We’d better get back. I’ve got to get ready for my Cha Cha Cha class and you’ve got a date.”

Chapter Sixteen

I eat my beef stir-fry with enthusiasm. I’m actually enjoying my dinner tonight because it’s a nice change from the chicken stir-fry Mom makes at least three times a week.

“
Thanks, Mom,” I say, rising.

“
Not so fast,” Dad commands from his post at the head of the table. “You and Eva have to help your mother with the dishes.”

Eva sighs.

My lips twist into a snarl and I want to say to Dad, “Why don’t
you
ever have to help Mom with the dishes?” but instead I move at top speed, clearing, scraping and rinsing, finally piling all the dishes into the dishwasher. Eva and Mom watch wide-eyed and no doubt delighted by the one-woman show.

“
Okay? Can I go now?”

Dad nods and I make my escape only to freeze when I hear Eva speak.

“
Lola has a date,” she announces loud enough for me to hear from the hallway. I try to creep away on tiptoes to the safety of my room.

“
Lola!” Dad calls. “Get back here!”

Shit, shit, shit.

I slink back into the kitchen, cringing.

Despite his funky appearance, Dad’s old fashioned. He points to my chair. “Sit down.”

I sit.

“
Is it true?” he asks. “You have a date?”

“
With a boy?” Mom adds.

My gaze drops to the floor and I steel myself for their reaction. “Yes,” I whisper.

Then the unthinkable happens. They laugh, but in a good way. Dad’s hands come together in a big clap and Mom’s bouncing with joy. I look up, unbelieving.

Eva sits sour-faced and disappointed.

“
Finally,” Dad says, smiling.

“
So, what’s his name?” Mom asks. “How old is he?” Her voice drips with gratitude and relief.

“
He’s a senior like me. His name’s Jon.”

“
Is he Italian?” Dad asks with genuine excitement on his face.

“
No, Dad, he’s not Italian,” I say flatly. For some reason, Dad’s got it in his head that if you’re not Italian, then you’re just not as good. Don’t know why he married a woman of Irish descent.

Dad’s shoulders deflate. “Oh well, not everyone can be Italian.”

“
Where’s he taking you?” Mom is on her feet and standing behind me, fluffing my hair. “Can I help you get ready?”

“
Ah, no thanks. I’ve got it covered.” I try to look grateful. “And we’re meeting at the movie theater.”

“
Well then, get going, don’t keep the boy waiting,” Dad says and I’m gone before another thought can hit their heads.

The fact Dad doesn’t seem to mind that Jon’s not coming to the front door to pick me up like boys did in the old days, shocks me, but I guess he’s just relieved I have a date, and that I’m not a lesbian.

I shower and shampoo my mop of dark curls. The way I wear my hair’s never really been a concern before, but tonight I pull out Eva’s assortment of brushes and hair products. After spritzing on something that claims it will make my hair shine, and rubbing in a palmful of mousse, I blow dry my hair with the aid of a big round brush. I yank and pull until my curls are now shiny, straight locks. Then I use Eva’s flat iron to straighten it further and get rid of any leftover frizz.

“
Shit,” I mutter when the iron touches my forehead, leaving a tiny puckered burn. Thankfully, it’s close enough to my hairline; I don’t think anyone will notice.

I make a mental note

be careful of straightening irons in the future
.
They’re pretty damn hot!

Once back in my room, I slide my iPod into its speaker base and crank the tunes while surveying myself in the dresser mirror.
Not bad
. My hair is shiny and very, very straight. It’s a nice change.

Since this is all new to me, I don’t know whether to dress first or put on my make-up. I decide on the make-up and take out my tiny zippered pouch. It contains a black eye-liner, mascara and two light pink lip glosses. Not much of a selection.

I creak open my door and look across the hall to Eva’s room.
Should I chance it or not?
Eva’s got enough make-up to stock a cosmetics store. I cock my head and listen. There’s still conversation and noise coming from the kitchen. I tiptoe across the hall. Eva’s coming up the stairs.
Ah hell
, it’s like she’s got some kind of radar or something.

“
What are you doing, freak?”

“
Nothing,” I say and slam my door.

A moment later, there’s a knock and Eva pushes my door open. “Thought you might want to borrow this,” she says and walks in with what I can only describe as a suitcase of make-up.