Watch Me Disappear

man himself, I don’t know if I mentioned that, so he’s not your typical soldier.”
    “I see,” my mother says, sounding unimpressed. She doesn’t have a lot of use for psychology. She thinks it’s all a bunch of garbage that makes people self-obsessed. I think that’s because she knows any shrink would say she’s an insane control freak.
    At last we reach the entrance to the park. My dad pulls out of traffic and lets us out, handing me twenty bucks with a wink and telling us to have fun.
    “And no mischief!” my mother calls out the window as Missy and I walk through the brick archway that marks the main park gate.
     
    *          *          *
     
     “They seem really nice,” Missy says, nodding toward my parents’ car.
    “Yeah, they’re ok. A little uptight.” I wonder how she could have noticed they’re nice, considering she was doing all the talking.
    “I’m so excited,” she says, clapping her hands in front of her as we walk.
    I feel like a midget beside her and self-consciously tug at the hem of my shorts which seem to be creeping up as I walk. “Yeah, it’s going to be fun,” I say, trying to sound like I believe it.
    Missy unexpectedly hooks her arm through mine and starts skipping, dragging me along with her.
    “So what kind of music do you like, anyway?” she asks when her burst of exuberance calms down and she lets go of my arm.
    I brush sweat from my forehead and upper lip. “I’m not particular, I guess. A little bit of this, a little bit of that.” In truth I mostly listen to whatever Jeff listens to. At the beginning of the summer he sent me a Mumford & Sons CD, so I’ve been listening to that.
    “Did you check out any of the bands?” she asks.
    It never even occurred to me to do so.
    “You really are sheltered at home, aren’t you?” she asks. She, of course, checked them all out on YouTube and Facebook and determined that the one called Volume of a Cube is the best because they have a singer who sounds like Pink.
    “Do you ever listen to Ani DiFranco?” she asks.
    I shake my head. “You really should!” she says. “Her lyrics are, like, amazing!”
    I don’t ask what makes her think I will like Ani DiFranco, but my cynical side is tempted. I mean, she doesn’t know me at all. As smart as she sounds on Facebook, she seems like a real flake in person.
    There’s already a crowd forming at the pavilion where the stage is. The Girl Scouts have a table set up with a bake sale, and the Boy Scouts have hot dog and popcorn stands going. A few kids dressed mostly in black lurk in the back corner of the pavilion, looking like they are trying to seem nonchalant, occasionally laughing in a conspiratorial way. A number of others, mostly girls, are gathering up near the stage. Some of them have on homemade T-shirts supporting their friends’ bands. Missy and I stand near the middle of the concrete floor, looking around, wondering what to do.
    “Want to sit at one of the picnic tables over there?” I ask, pointing to a row of tables near the back on the opposite side of the pavilion from the too-cool kids.
    “What’re we going to do all the way back there? I think we should go up by the stage where we can dance and have fun,” she says, doing some funny little dance move with her shoulders. “And meet more people, like maybe some boys,” she adds.
    I debate whether or not I should point out that there aren’t many boys up there, but before I can object, Missy once again hooks her arm in mine and drags me toward the stage.
    While the first band plays, Missy and I stand in the middle of the pack of girls who have gathered near the stage. Missy claps and cheers and sort of bops and bounces to the music. Every now and then she nudges me and says something like, “Come on! Move those hips!” The music, I have to admit, is pretty good, much better than I expected from amateur bands. Standing there, smack in the middle of a growing crowd, with all eyes on the stage (and therefore no one noticing me), I am even able to start to relax a little. Then, all of a sudden, just after the first band announces their last song, Missy grabs my arm and yanks me out of the crowd to the edge of the pavilion.
    “How do I look?” she asks, brushing some stray curls from her forehead.
    “What?” I say.
    She pulls me further out of the pavilion so that we are behind one of the pillars. “Okay, I didn’t mention this before because I was afraid you’d think I