You Look Different in Real Life

movie with me, but tonight I just get up and find his coat.

FOUR
    S aturday afternoon, Felix calls. I know his “screening party” is tonight and he still wants me to come. I let it go to voice mail.
    Then he texts me. Cmon u know u want to be there! Plzzzzzz!
    I haven’t told anyone about my decision. It’s easier if the whole thing begins as a rumor, so I’ll just ask Olivia to start a blabfest; she excels in that area.
    The truth is, the only thing I’ve been able to think about today is all those people from school watching me on the screen in Felix’s basement. Making comments about my hair, my clothes, what I’m saying. And I can’t stand theidea of not being there to feel insulted by it.
    This is why, at 8:30 p.m., I am pulling my dad’s car into the driveway of Felix’s house. There are a dozen cars, and for a second, I’m happy for him. Felix is always trying to be Mr. Social, always grasping for anything that resembles popularity. He’s got other friends besides me, a tight-knit gang of techie-music nerds, but nobody takes him seriously. Unless he has something special to offer, like this screening with the digital projector he bought with his own savings.
    I knock loudly on the front door and Felix’s mother, Ana, answers. “Hola, Justine!” she says, as she hugs me. I haven’t seen her since the last time I stopped in to the Hunter Farms store, which she runs, and it’s weird seeing the lower half of her body because she’s always, you know, behind a counter. Over her shoulder in the living room, the TV is blaring a news program in Spanish. Felix’s dad, who is also named Felix and manages all the Hunter Farms employees, swivels in his La-Z-Boy to wave at me. I wave to him. He swivels back to the TV.
    Ana asks me the standard questions about my family and school, and I nod, saying “Yes” and “Good” while inching toward the door to the basement. Finally, she lets me go and I’m making my way down the stairs.
    I hear the sound of Keira’s six-year-old voice.
    “My daddy doesn’t let me watch TV,” she’s saying. Itcomes out proud, but she pauses after she says it and her mouth twitches downward.
    Good, we’re just a few minutes in. I hang back and check out the room. There are at least thirty kids sprawled on two faux-leather couches and countless floor pillows, munching popcorn. I spot Ian’s friend Dashiell, which makes my heart spazz.
    When Ian and I were in that brand-new sunshine-and-rainbows phase, I’d thrill at the sight of his friends, because I knew he was nearby. There he is. Ian, on the floor in front of Dashiell. I can’t see his head but I know it’s him by the clothes.
    And now I’m instantly sorry I came. Or not. It’s very confusing.
    The movie is showing on a giant white sheet tacked to the wall. It doesn’t hang completely straight, and Keira’s light cocoa skin has strange wrinkles in it, her curly hair has extra swirls.
    Felix is sitting behind everyone, next to the projector. Jotting things down in a little notebook.
    “Has your daddy told you why he doesn’t want you to watch TV?” asks Leslie’s voice. Sometimes I have to remind myself that most people who watch this have no idea what Leslie looks like. They can’t see her small, intense eyes and her nail-biting, her hands running nervously through her hair, as she listens to what you’resaying with a camera pointed at you.
    Keira stares off for a moment. She thinks, then shrugs one shoulder.
    The next shot is Keira and her parents sitting on the floor of their living room, playing some math board game. Keira’s mom is lying on her side, her head propped up by an arm, and she’s rolling the dice for Keira. I forgot how beautiful Mrs. Jones was and feel a terrible pang of grief for this family scene that can’t exist anymore.
    Suddenly, there’s a hand on my elbow and I jump.
    It’s Felix, smiling. Not smugly, like he could be, but as if he’s genuinely happy to see me. “I’m so glad you made it,” he says. “Here, take my chair.” And I don’t protest, because I’d rather not shift my eyes off the screen. I’ve watched this movie many times in the privacy of my bedroom—too many to count, and nobody knows that—but seeing it big like this is a different story. Keira is nearly the size of her real kindergarten self projected on the sheet, and it’s pretty weird, like having your memories yanked out of you and tossed onto the nearest wall.
    “We don’t watch TV