Watch Me Disappear

appearances drives me nuts, I know she’s just nervous, and I am too. It’s like my first day at a new school, except instead of blending into a crowd of a thousand kids, jocks and nerds alike, I will have to face Maura and her friends all alone.
    I’ve practically only eaten fruit all week in hopes that I’ll look good for these new people who can make or break my senior year with one word. I hate myself for caring so much, but I feel along my jaw for a double chin anyway. My face definitely looks thinner around my cheekbones. I wish it wasn’t too hot for long pants that would hide my stubby legs, but if I can’t be skinny, at least I can avoid being one big pit stain.
     
    *          *          *
     
    Mrs. Morgan descends upon us the minute we arrive, gushing over the cucumber salad my mom brought. We follow her like little puppies on parade, shaking hands with some of the neighbors and Mr. Morgan and Billy, their five-year-old son who is covered in the sticky residue of purple popsicles.
    Maura is sitting on the far side of the pool with her friends. She has on a red and white bikini and is flicking red polish over her fingernails. She’s wearing big, stylish sunglasses, and her hair is arranged in a perfect mess atop her head. Mrs. Morgan seems hesitant to take us over to her daughter or even to approach the group herself. She tells us to wait and then she goes to get Maura. Obediently we watch her circle the pool and return with her daughter.
    Maura flashes a smile and gives a coy hello. She speaks with a sugary drawl. She declines shaking my parents’ hands—wet nail polish—but she answers their questions politely enough.
    “Why don’t you introduce Lizzie to your friends?” Mrs. Morgan suggests.
    Maura smiles again and turns to me. “My mom said you used to live in California. We’re dying to get to know you.”
    So I join the circle of half-dressed girls sitting in the sun looking bored. Maura makes quick introductions. The girls’ names are Tina, Jessica, and Katherine. All of them wear tiny bikinis and flashy sunglasses and have long messy hair. And they all greet me with close-lipped smiles. And then no one says anything.
    Finally, to break the silence, I ask, “Are you all on the cheerleading squad or something?” I mean, they look like Laker Girls or Playboy Bunnies. It seems like a logical question.
    “Oh my God, no!” Jessica answers. “Cheerleading is social death! You weren’t a cheerleader at your old school, were you?”
    I shake my head.
    “Good. And if you really were, don’t tell anyone,” she says. “So, like, what do you do at school?”
    “Study,” I say.
    “No, like, sports or drama or something? We do drama. Maura does costumes and makeup, and Katherine and I act.”
    Before I can respond Maura interrupts. “Didn’t my mom tell you it was a pool party? You should’ve worn your bathing suit. She said you did swim team.”
    “Uh, yeah, I’m not much of a swimmer,” I say.
    “But you told her you swam at your old school,” Maura insists.
    “My dad made me,” I say.
    “We don’t swim either,” Jessica says. “The water turns my hair green, but at least we can work on our tans out here. Aren’t you worried you’ll get funny tan lines?”
    I’m thankful that Jessica appears to be genuinely interested in having a conversation, but I also suspect she isn’t too bright and that she has probably missed all the cues from the others to shut up. “I don’t really sunbathe,” I say. “Actually I was just wishing I’d thought to put on sunscreen before I came over.”
    “And you being from California!” Jessica says, her eyes searching me for proof.
    “We have sunscreen. Jess, be a doll and go ask my mom,” Maura says.
    “You’re from California?” Tina asks dubiously.
    “Most recently from North Carolina. We left California when I was in middle school.”
    “Oh. North Carolina,” she says, like somehow that clears up everything.
    “I was in California once,” Katherine chimes in. “We went to San Diego. My mom wouldn’t let us go to Tijuana, though.”
    “Tijuana’s pretty dirty. You didn’t miss much,” I say.
    “It’s supposed to be really fun.” Katherine’s voice takes on a defensive edge.
    “I know, but I’m just saying, San Diego is really nice but Tijuana isn’t.”
    “Well I would have liked to see for myself. Maybe I would’ve liked it.”
    I’m not trying to be stubborn about it and see no need