The Me You See (19 page)

Someone immediately brought Stefia a towel which she used
to mop at her shirt.

“Gosh, Stefia,” I said, again. “I’m really, really sorry…”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” she said with a fake smile. “Well played,
Raynee. Well played.”

 “Too afraid to come over to our badass bar?” I said.
“Can’t even take a shot with us?”

Stefia glared at me.

“Oh, that’s right,” I continued, talking to the party goers
who had gathered around me. “Stefia’s too good for us. She’s too good to be in
a high school play. Why are you even at this party, Stefia? Why don’t you go
hang out with your adult friends?”

Stefia didn’t say anything. She just let her eyes burn into
the flesh of my face. Then she turned to walk away.

But I wouldn’t stop.

“Stefia!” I screamed at her. “Why are you here! You’re too
good for us, remember? You’re too good to be badass!”

I turned to my friends who all held up their shot glasses
in a sort of victory cheer. I’d told off Princess Stefia.

“Badass?” Stefia said quietly, as she slowly turned around.
“Is that what you think this is?”

She made a circle in front of her with her finger,
indicating the people standing around us. And like always, the room got quiet.
That always happened when Stefia spoke. It was as if the sound waves from her
voice infected anyone within range with a sort of magic dust and they couldn’t
not
listen.

“Shut up, Stefia. I don’t even want to hear you. Just shut up…”

“Badass?” she repeated, this time not any louder but far
more intense.

“Are you deaf?” I asked. “Yeah, that’s what I said.
Badass.”

“You think badass is sitting at a party doing some shots?”
she said.

I shoved my shot glass at her face.

“Ooo,” she said dryly. “Shots at a party. That’s pretty
crazy.”

And I don’t know what it was, but something inside told me
I was about to see Stefia crack. From a stupid comment about taking a shot of
birthday cake flavored vodka. And I couldn’t resist. I had to keep going. I had
to keep pushing.

“Come on, Stefia,” I said, soothingly. “Let’s be renegades
together. Let’s be rebels. Take a shot with me. You know all the guys here
would probably cream in their pants if they saw good little Stefia take a shot.
Shit, maybe some of the girls, too…”

 “Renegade?” she repeated, adding a smirk of sarcasm.
“Yeah, Raynee. You’re a total renegade. I mean, gosh, this is just an insane
amount of rule breaking…”

“Wait,” I mocked. “You’re right. Stupid shots at a high
school party are lame. So very beneath you. What should we be doing, Stefia?
What would make our party worth it for you?”

“You don’t get it,” she said. “You think you’re doing
something amazing by drinking at a party? Breaking rules about no drinking?
What are you trying to prove, anyway?”

“Should we get out the harder stuff?” I threatened.

“Give me a break…”

“Because we can,” I said, without skipping a beat. “It’s
here. If you really want to be badass.”

“What harder stuff are you referring to? I mean, are you
thinking pot is going to elevate you to stardom…or are you going to try meth or
heroin or what? I mean, what are you talking about?” Her voice was getting
louder and more intense. “If you’re going to argue this with me, stop talking
in riddles.”

A bigger crowd had gathered to see what was going on. The
murmurs through the people had changed from an excited
oh my god, Stefia is
here
to
holy shit, something is going to happen…

“Maybe she could step into the rainbow room,” Jimmy offered
from behind me, practically drooling at Stefia as he spoke to her. “Ever been
to a rainbow party, Stefia baby? I know I’d like to slap some lipstick on you
and see how…”

“How what? How…good I am on my knees?” Stefia finished.

I heard someone gasp. Someone actually gasped behind me. No
one ever thought Princess Stefia would have a clue what a rainbow party was,
let alone say something about being good on her knees.

Wait. She had to be pretending. She was playing along. She
was acting. Yes, of course. It was classic Stefia, the actress.

“Good on your knees?” I laughed. “I bet the director of the
next show at the Crystal Plains Theater will know how good you are on your
knees.”

Ah. Fighting words.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Stefia asked.

“Give me a break,” I said, my courage bolstered by the last
shot I’d taken. “Everyone knows how you get the roles at Crystal Plains.”

“Really? And how is that?” Stefia egged me on.

“Hey, Stefia,” I mocked. “Come here, you’ve got a little
something on your chin, let me wipe that off…”

“For real, Raynee?” she said. “What makes you think I have
to…”

“Drop the innocent act, bitch,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“It doesn’t work for you. Just like most of the roles you get. They don’t really
work for you. But I guess when you’re fucking the director, you end up with
whatever role you want.”

“Fuck you,” Stefia said.

“I’m flattered,” I mocked, “but as far as I can tell, you
and I getting together isn’t in your next script.”

“Fuck you!”

And that’s when it happened.

Snap.

Crackle

Pop.

Stefia flew at me, arms reaching, fingers spiked out like
claws. She clutched at my neck and kept pushing on my throat until she’d
knocked me through the crowd that had gathered and pinned me against a closet
door.

I knew she was mad. But I had no clue how strong she
actually was. At first, I thought she’d crack but it would be no big deal to
me. I thought she’d pin me to the wall, it would be a good show, people would
be shocked, I’d push her off…and then it would over.

But she wouldn’t let up. And she was way stronger than
anyone would have guessed.

“Stefia…stop…” I gasped, trying to peel her fingers off my
neck.

Why wasn’t anyone stopping her? Why wasn’t anyone pulling
her off me? Why were they all just standing there watching?

“Stefia, I can’t breathe…”

“I have never slept with any director of any show!” she
said, eyes fixed and steely.

“Okay, Stefia…I can’t…”

“Never!” She pushed harder at my neck and I could swear I
heard something crack. “Do you hear me?”

“Stefia, stop…” I was starting to black out. I was starting
to…

Stefia released her grip and I slid to the floor, gagging for
air. She just stood there staring at me.

And everyone else stared at Stefia.

“You don’t know me,” she said. “You don’t know one fucking
thing about me.”

She turned to walk away but I coughed out more words.

“That’s because you’re an act,” I spat, rubbing at my neck.
“Every single thing about you is an act. How are we supposed to know who the
fuck you really are?”

Stefia turned back to glare at me, her eyes digging into
mine, blazing their way through the flesh of my face. I felt like a suffocating
pile of ashes.

Stop looking at me, Stefia.

Stop looking at me.

She wouldn’t stop looking at me, so I closed my eyes. And
then my lips spread into a warm and twisty smile.

I’d seen Princess Stefia crack.

**

People think I’m nuts for going to her funeral. People
think I shouldn’t be here because they know we didn’t get along. At all. But
even after that night at the party when she sent me collapsing into a heap on
the floor, I’ve always kept in the back of my mind the belief that if Stefia
could have been more honest, she and I would have been much better friends. Because
I totally get being kissed by an older man who shouldn’t be kissing you.

We could have been friends. Or at least we could have
helped each other out.

See, Stefia wasn’t just an actress on stage, she was an
actress in every aspect of her life. But it doesn’t matter now. You see,
there’s no pretending anymore. Show is over.

Everybody go home.

Elliot! Run with me!

I can still see her, nine-years-old, racing down the dark
driveway with a lit sparkler in both hands. It was almost midnight and she was
still in her swimsuit and a pair of pink denim shorts.

I remember that 4th of July. Our parents had spent the
afternoon laughing, eating, and drinking around the campfire. By the time the
sun went down, they were only giving us kids half a glance worth of attention.

Elliot! Come on!

Looking back to even my earliest memories, there are always
pieces of Stefia that flit across my mind. Her parents and my parents were best
friends—our mothers delivered us only two weeks apart—so she and I spent our
childhood together. I imagine we started out toddling around in the front yard
of one house or the other while our mothers sipped cocktails and complained
about the woes of parenthood. Then we grew up and in elementary school attacked
the county fair, sped bikes down the alleys in town, waded out way too far in
the river, and spent hours slipping down the twisty slide on my tree fort. Such
was life when your parents were always together and you looked for ways to
waste the day.

We were happily inseparable.

Elliot! Come in, the water is so warm!

I taught her how to bait a hook. She taught me how to skip
a rock even if it wasn’t flat on one side.

No, Elliot. Hold it like this. Now snap your
wrist…

I guess you could say she was like the sister I never had.
Stefia’s own sister, Gabriella, was kind of a princess and Naomi spent most of
her time playing Pokémon with my brothers Mitch and Michael. But Stefia and I,
man…we were going to conquer the world.

Bring that board over here. It will work better
for the front of the raft…

I won’t lie. I kind of liked pretending she was my sister.
Well, at least in the beginning.

**

One night, as I was distracted by what video games to add
to the wish list for my upcoming birthday, my mom cleared her throat halfway
through dinner and announced that Stefia’s parents had split up. Then, without
another thought, she asked me to pass the milk.

Split up?

Stefia’s parents?

“You’re kidding, right?” I asked. “Like...the Stefia we
just went to the Granite Ledge parade with last week?”

“Son,” dad said, scooping a second helping of macaroni and
cheese onto his plate, “do you know any other Stefia?”

I set my fork down and stared at the globs of cheesy
noodles on my plate. Part of me said the news didn’t matter. Like, why should I
care? People split up all the time.

But a bigger part of me knew it did matter.

“Like…they are getting a divorce?”

“Yes. I believe so,” my mother said, pouring herself a
glass of milk and then refilling mine. “I’m sorry.”

It seemed to me that my parents were oddly detached from
the situation. It was almost as if the fact their best friends had split up
would force them turn inwards and reflect on the state of their own marriage,
chalking up how we are not like them in one column and how we are more similar
to them than we’d like to admit in another. They didn’t want to make those
lists, and so they just ignored the situation all together.

I put my napkin on the table, pushed my chair away, and
stood up.

“I think I’m done eating.”

It really shouldn’t have mattered to me. It’s not like they
were my parents.

“Elliot,” my dad said. “Look, it’s gonna be okay…”

I held my hand up to signal he should stop talking.

He did.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just…I need to go for a walk.”

**

I found Stefia alone at the park on a swing. She was
barefoot, twisting her big toe into the trench underneath the swing made by
years’ worth of kids dragging their feet to slow themselves down.

I took a seat in the swing next to her, smirking to myself
because at almost fourteen and pushing five foot nine, I was sort of like the
giant in
Gulliver’s Travels
. My butt barely fit in the swing and the
seat was too low, which made my knees sit parallel with my shoulders. She
didn’t say anything, just stared at the hole her big toe was making.

The park was surrounded by spindly pine trees that rose
around us like sharpened pencils poking at the sky. Kids had made hiding places
at the bottoms of the trees, using the heavy, low branches as shelter during
their games of Ghosts in the Graveyard or Bloody Mary.