Watch Me Disappear

immature. He is one of those guys who thinks he can live the gangsta lifestyle of an MTV music video or something—the way he dresses, the way he talks, the way he treats Maura (and every girl he meets). Somehow Maura thinks that by being with him, she’ll get revenge on Paul. I can’t help but find it pathetic, but if Maura is pathetic for attaching herself to Jason, what am I for tagging along?
     
    *          *          *
     
    On the last day of school before Christmas vacation, Missy slides me a note at the beginning of physics class. It says, “My parents are having a Christmas party tomorrow and I really really really want you to come!”
    “Paul?” I scrawl on the bottom, slipping the note back to her.
    She reads it, looks at me, and nods.
    The last time I hung out with Missy she convinced me to go see a chick flick with her. She picked me up and we went to the mall and then the movie. For the most part we had a good time. In her usual fashion, Missy managed to make me feel like I was the most important person in her life—a valued, trusted friend she could not do without. That is, until the movie ended and she took me home in a hurry so she could go meet Paul. Then she seemed absurdly fake to me. Was it just her guilty conscience that had led her to spend a Saturday with me instead of Paul?
    She pushes the note back to me. “I miss you! I never see you anymore!”
    Whose fault is that? I shrug at her and then avoid catching her eye for the rest of class, but that isn’t the end of the conversation.
    “What do you say?” Paul asks when I walk into art class.
    “About what?”
    “Missy’s parents’ party tomorrow,” he says. “It’ll be fun and you should come.”
    “Fun?” I say. “Me, you, and Missy sitting around playing with the baby in the midst of Missy’s parents’ friends?”
    “Exactly.”
    “Sitting around watching you two being cute and cuddly isn’t my idea of fun.”
    “Oh, not into PDAs, I guess. Well, with all the adults around, we’ll be keeping that to a minimum anyway, so no worries there.”
    I don’t answer.
    “And you’ve admitted that Missy’s mom is a heck of a cook,” he says. When I still don’t say anything, he throws a casual arm around my shoulder. “I miss you. I miss hanging out.”
    “Then come over some night,” I say, shrugging him off.
    “Oh yeah, your brother will be home soon, right? He’s a cool guy. I’d like to hang out with him some more,” he says.
    “Right, don’t come to hang out with me.”
    “You know what I mean,” he says. “So, I’ll pick you up tomorrow? 6:30?”
    I stop fussing with my art supplies and look at him. His are the most expressive, varied, and enticing brown eyes I’ve ever seen. “Fine,” I say.
    He grins and gets up to get his paints and other supplies.
     
    *          *          *
     
    All the shrubs in the front yard of Missy’s house are laced with white Christmas lights that twinkle and shake in the breeze. It snowed this morning—just a dusting but enough to create a picture-perfect, Hallmark ambiance. A garland is draped around the porch railings with red Christmas balls dangling from it, and the Christmas tree is on display in the bay window, multicolored lights sparkling.
    Paul and I arrive early, supposedly to help with the preparations, but really everything is done. We walk through the door into a Christmas wonderland. Sprigs of evergreen lay atop picture frames on the walls, candles are set in the center of wreaths on the side tables, the fire in the fireplace is glowing, and appetizers have already been set out. Everywhere I look there are holiday knick-knacks. It is like being in one of those Christmas stores where everything smells like balsam and spiced apple cider and something glitters in every corner. Instrumental holiday music plays softly from the stereo. I feel as if I’ve walked onto the set of a Hollywood movie. Any minute Santa might appear, wink, and take a cookie.
    The little nod toward holiday cheer set out by my mother at our house pales in comparison. A few days earlier she set up the fake Christmas tree (a very convincing and expensive fake, I must say) and set out the boxes of ornaments, but we can’t decorate until Jeff comes home. To make up for the lack of cheerful pine tree aroma, she has “Christmas Tree” scented candles to light if company comes. As cards arrive, she stashes them in a green and red painted wooden box on