Watch Me Disappear

Greg to make sure he won’t miss us,” my mom said.
    On the one hand I was glad she had just rescued me from having to answer. On the other hand, I knew this meant she was going to get her way. Once Mrs. Morgan was gone, she’d tell me in no uncertain terms that we were going and I was going to like it, and that would be that. I put my snack on a plate. I wasn’t even hungry, but I’d made a pretty big project of putting a snack together, so I had to keep up the show. I took it to the den, where I could call Missy in relative privacy.
     
    *          *          *
     
    The second time I heard about Maura’s party was from the birthday girl herself. She wasn’t talking to me, but she was talking so loudly I hardly think she was trying to keep her conversation private. I was out on the deck with the last of my summer reading books when I heard her.
    “Whatever, my mother can’t stand the idea that I might have outgrown theme birthday parties,” she said. “The upside is I’m going to get an amazing dress out of it… Yeah, the challenge is going to be avoiding the adults… Uh-huh, John is bringing it… He says you can’t smell vodka, so that shouldn’t be a problem… If it’s anything like last year, my mom will be so lit up she won’t have a clue what I’m up to... Nope, she doesn’t give a shit… Mr. Recovering Alcoholic? He’s not my father. He knows he can’t control me. Hang on, I got a beep.
    “Hey… No… Yeah, I’m talking to Jess… Do me a favor, don’t tell her about the pre-party stuff, ok?... No, she’s just been driving me nuts lately… Uh-huh… Okay, see you at six.
    “Jess?... I gotta go… Okay, tomorrow.”
    A minute later I heard the slider open and shut and I was left with the quiet of the neighborhood. I wonder whose account of Maura’s elaborate theme birthday parties is true. Mrs. Morgan said Maura insists on keeping up the tradition, and Maura said her mother keeps it up. For some reason, I’m inclined to believe Mrs. Morgan. Enormous parties at which she gets to dress up and be the center of attention sounds to me like Maura’s lifeblood.
    I wonder if Maura knows her mother invited my family to the party. There will be enough people at the gala event that she can ignore me without much effort, so I hope she doesn’t care that my mother will be dragging me along. Really the more pressing question I have is if I can get my invite extended to Missy. It will be easier to go with a friend at my side. I’m hoping that maybe somehow I can snag Missy an invite during our big shopping outing, but it will have to be during a moment alone with Mrs. Morgan. There is no way I can ask Maura for anything.
    My mother, as predicted, insists we go on the shopping trip. Besides the fact that it will “be fun,” she also noted that I have absolutely nothing to wear to a “Roaring Twenties” party. We will have to go shopping, so we might as well go with our neighbors. Missy thinks it’s fantastic that I’ll be spending the day with my arch enemy. She can’t wait to hear all about it. Although Missy and Maura have not officially met, the night in the park was enough to grab Missy’s interest. That and the Facebook group devoted to hating Maura. So it’s settled. I will spend half the day cooped up in the car with someone who hates me and who I’m not too fond of either, and I will spend the rest of the day feigning interest in fashion and being scrutinized by my mother.
     
    *          *          *
     
    When we first get in Mrs. Morgan’s car for our shopping adventure, I can barely hide my shock at Maura’s appearance. While I am used to her skimpy apparel—the sundress she has on is no exception—it is the rest of her that catches me off guard. She looks like she just rolled out of bed, pulled the dress on, and walked out the door without even running a brush through her hair or washing her face. Without makeup, her features look soft, sort of blurred and undefined. Actually, I think that her eyes look bigger without the dark liner she usually wears. Without any makeup, they stand out strikingly.  Her hair looks straggly and greasy. I wonder if she was out partying last night. Maybe she hasn’t even changed clothes.
    As soon as we pull out of the driveway, she leans against the door and falls asleep until the stop-start motion of the car at a tollbooth wakes her. The ride is quiet, Mrs. Morgan and my mother chatting, everyone