Watch Me Disappear

still wonder what she sees in him. For the rest of the night, I listen to Missy recount every moment she has spent with Wes, analyzing every detail. She knows he likes her. He held her hand on the hike and helped her over the hard parts.
    “I just haven’t worked up the nerve to kiss him, and I don’t know if he’ll ever make a move,” she concludes.
    “Maybe you should get him drunk,” I suggest.
    “Very funny, Lizzie,” she says, and I am thankful she takes it as a joke and laughs instead of being insulted.
    We are both quiet for a minute and then she asks what I thought about everyone drinking at the party. We both agree, it was pretty stupid. Why put your parents through all the trouble of throwing a very expensive party so you can spend half the time hiding? Besides, it seems like such a ridiculous risk. I tell Missy that everyone was going to an after-party.
    “We totally should have gone!” Missy says.
    “Oh, right, my parents would have just waved us on our way. Better yet, they would have offered to give us a ride.” I am tempted to add that the invite was to me, not to me and Missy, but even as I think it, I know it is not a friendly thing to say. The thing is, I like Missy; she is funny and friendly and spunky all the time, and the fact that she seems to genuinely like me makes me feel good about myself, but there’s this part of me—a big part, to be honest—that is so insanely jealous of her that sometimes I find myself snipping at her for no good reason.
    “Oh well,” she says.
    “Wait,” I say, “you don’t drink, do you?”
    She shrugs. “It’s never really come up, you know?”
    I know all too well.
    “Would you?” she asks.
    “I’m afraid I’d just end up puking or make a real ass of myself. I’m too scared.”
    “Yeah,” she says. “But who knows until you try it?”
    “So you would?” I ask.
    She grins. “Maybe just a sip, to see if I liked it.”
    “I’m sure there’ll be opportunities,” I say.
    We don’t go to bed until almost two o’clock. I finally have to tell Missy to shut up. I am exhausted, but she could talk all night. All of my jealousy aside, I am happy Missy stayed over. It would have been totally depressing to come home from that party and just hang out all alone in my room. It feels good to have a friend, even if the one I have is so annoyingly perfect. I wish I knew what she sees in me that makes her want to be my friend. I suppose she doesn’t want to start senior year friendless any more than I do. And maybe part of it is the fact that we’re such opposites. It is boring, after all, to always be with people just like you.
     
     

Chapter 8
     
     
    I was right; since Maura’s party, there have been plenty of opportunities to go to parties where kids stumble around with plastic cups of “punch” made from Kool-Aid and whatever can be pilfered from someone’s parents’ liquor cabinet or cans of cheap beer procured through the generosity of an older sibling. And Missy and I don’t need to wait to be invited, either. Missy sees something on Facebook (my own zeal for Facebook has cooled off. It’s too much effort to go to the library all the time when I can just call Missy or IM her), and then she asks around until she has the details. She insists we can just show up—she says no one will mind that we haven’t been invited. Missy has decided it’s time to act. She has her heart set on a party this weekend.
    “Two pretty girls looking for fun,” she says when I hesitate. “Who’s going to turn us away?”
    I’m dubious but willing to give it a try, if only I can find a way around my parents. I need to introduce them to Missy’s parents if I want to go over her house again, but now it is my mother’s turn to avoid the meeting. Every time I try to set up a time to meet, my mother has a reason to say no.
    “You could ask Maura if she’s going and then tag along with her,” Missy suggests after we’ve talked through a half dozen other possibilities, each one more doomed to fail than the last.
    I’m surprised by the idea, but it might just work.
    “You could go with her, and Wes and I will meet you there,” she says.
    I figure it’s worth a try. The party is at John’s house—the same John who supplied the drinks at Maura’s party. It’s on Saturday night, and from what Missy can tell, everyone is going. So when I hear Maura gabbing away on the phone by her pool, I take a deep breath, say a prayer for courage, and