Watch Me Disappear

out that I got a ride and she’ll probably be relieved. She and Wes can have their gross little romance without any interference from me.
     “You live next door to Maura, right?” Paul asks once we’re on the road. I confirm this. “You know I was pretty surprised to see you at her party,” he says. When I don’t respond, he continues. “She launched a real campaign against you back at the beginning of the summer, you know. She warned everyone that you were, and I quote, ‘a sneaky little bitch with a bad attitude.’”
    “We had a misunderstanding,” I say.
    “I see.”
    “Does she know there’s a Facebook group devoted to hating her?” I ask.
    “I’m surprised you know about that,” he says, “and I’m sure someone must have told her, although she pretty much thinks all press is good press.” Neither of us say anything for a moment, and then he asks how Maura and I patched things up.
    “I don’t know really,” I say. “Our moms are friends, and one day she just sort of extended an olive branch.”
    “And you trust her?”
    “No,” I answer. “Not really.”
    “Smart. She’s one imbalanced girl, if you know what I mean.”
    “Good to know.”
    “And what about your friend Missy?” he asks.
    “Everyone wants to know about Missy,” I say. I am tired and cranky and it’s dark in the car, which somehow makes talking to Paul easy.
    “Sure. She’s beautiful. Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls who won’t admit another girl is pretty,” he says.
    “What girls are like that? I think you’re thinking of guys who are afraid everyone will think they’re gay if they say another guy is good looking,” I say.
    “Touché. But you have to admit, Wes is one lucky guy.”
    “Yeah, I have no clue what she sees in him.”
    “Me either, but I’ll tell you this; Wes has gone out with a lot of really hot girls, so he must have something the rest of us don’t.”
    “You’re joking,” I say, looking at him to see if he’s smirking. He isn’t.
    “I wish,” he says. “Seriously, he’s gone out with most of the hot girls in his class, and a few in ours, including Maura’s pal Katherine.”
    “No way.”
    Paul insists it’s true. I tell him how Missy is convinced that Wes is shy and insecure. Paul suggests that perhaps that’s Wes’s approach, that maybe Wes lets girls think they’re doing him a favor, building up his ego and making him feel better about himself. That doesn’t seem very likely to me.
    “Believe what you want, but maybe Missy should ask Wes a few more questions about his relationship history before she rides that train.”
    “Nice,” I say.
    “Good metaphor, huh?”
    “Disgusting.”
    He laughs. “And you didn’t care much for my buddy John, I noticed,” he says. “Too bad. You’re totally his type.”
    “His type?” I really want to know what type Paul thinks I am.
    “You know,” he says, “curvy.”
    “You mean busty?”
    “Yeah, sure. I was trying to be polite, but if you want me to be blunt, John really goes in for the double D’s.”
    “Well, John’s not really my type, thanks,” I say. I am starting to wish the drive wasn’t so long or that Paul would at least shut up.
    “Let me guess,” he says, “your type is taller, darker, more intellectual. Perhaps a tall, dark, handsome poet.”
    “You really have me figured out,” I say, rolling my eyes.
    “Oh no, there’s more. If you could have any guy in the senior class, you’d pick Hunter Groves,” he says. I don’t answer, which is all the confirmation he needs. “Listen, don’t waste your time. All the girls are in love with Hunter, and Hunter is so busy studying and playing soccer that he doesn’t have five minutes for any of them.”
    “I’ll take that under advisement,” I say. “And as for you, your type is the standard long-legged, long-haired, skinny mini who bats her eyes at you and lets you feel big, strong, and intellectually superior.”
    “Ouch.”
    “But true.”
    “I don’t see your friend Missy as an eye-batter,” he says. “And I’m guessing she’s probably smarter than me.”
    “So you want me to put in a good word with Missy, is that it?”
    “You could mention me if you want.”
    “But she’s dating Wes.”
    “Not for long.”
    “We’ll see,” I say.
    We pull into my driveway with about two minutes to spare.
    “Well, Lizzie,” Paul says, reaching across me to unlatch the door, “it’s been a pleasure.”
    I can’t tell if