Part 5 (1/2)

It takes a moment for me to remember what we'd been talking about.

I don't know how to answer that without saying, ”Why would you?” would you?” But obviously we have stuff in common. And we're having a good time. But obviously we have stuff in common. And we're having a good time.

But. I'm in a coc.o.o.n with Jewel. Plus Simon and I barely know each other. Maybe this is all about my new longer legs. Is that possible?

We look at the water. He stands up and says, ”Parent time. Gotta go.”

I nod, not sure if I should stand up and walk with him. Then he takes off. ”See ya.”

I keep staring at the water, sitting on the bench. See ya See ya. The most enigmatic phrase ever. See me when? See me intentionally? I hope so. Soon.

Twenty minutes of agonizing later, I float to the bus stop.

Chapter Five.

Of course I can't sleep. I talk to my Dove Girl. ”It felt like a movie. Like I was just watching some other girl.” But I don't need anyone to tell me that it really happened. I know just from the way my lips, still, feel different.

”I'm tingling.”

Time pa.s.ses.

I hate that I can't talk to Jewel. It's the first time I've kept anything from him. Still. I can't.

Sleepless, I turn toward the wall. I fold my hands together under my pillow, so that they're holding each other. Maybe this pose will help me sleep. Maybe this curl to my legs.

I sit up and look at my Dove Girl in the half-light. She's just a few black lines on a beige background.

I catch sight of myself in the silver frame, barely lit by the streetlight coming through my window. Half of one blue eye, a sliver of nose. No dove.

”Dove Girl,” I whisper. ”Let me get to dreaming.”

I lie down, turn over again, and look out the window by my window seat. Even in the dark night, the tree outside looks so full that I feel like I'm in the jungle, not the city. It's hard to believe that the biggest SUV I've ever seen is parked by the curb waiting for my neighbor, the health-food mogul, to drive it downtown. That we're not all running around in loincloths, befriending monkeys and eating coconuts for dinner. That we're not watched by lions.

I can't stay in bed. I put my feet on the floor and appreciate the hardwood under my bare toes. I tiptoe across my small room to the door, down the stairs, to the front door. It's unlocked. My parents are way too trusting.

The October rain is cold, but painless. It feels refres.h.i.+ng, better than suns.h.i.+ne. I want to take off my T-s.h.i.+rt and be naked, but that's just for a second. I have neighbors. I'm no jungle princess.

I put my face to the sky and stand next to the tree that reaches up to my window. Its trunk is so wide. I can't imagine how old this tree is. Jewel and I used to sneak out here when we were in middle school. One late night, I asked him what he thought it felt like to be a fish, to breathe underwater. He said if you were a fish you wouldn't even think about it.

That idea's followed me since: You do what comes naturally to you without even thinking about it.

I tell myself that, as I struggle to get Dove Girl-esque peace about myself. If you were a fish, you could breathe underwater.

You're Alice. Find your peace. Go back to bed.

In the morning I go downstairs to find that Dad has been on his Sunday walk to Caffe Ladro. He's brought me back a vanilla latte and a cranberry m.u.f.fin.

”I was just thinking of waking you before this coffee turns into lukewarm flavored milk,” he says.

”That would imply that I was asleep. Which is sort of true, but sort of not.”

He offers to pick up some valerian root at the health-food place later, to help me sleep.

We settle in at the table, Dad reading the paper.

”Where's Mom?”

”Knitting cla.s.s. She's learning how to do a beanie today.”

I nod. My mom tried to teach me how to knit a scarf, but it turned out all clumpy. She swears it was just weird yarn, but I am completely unskilled in the art of tying knots with needles.

The phone rings and Dad answers.

”Oh, hi there!” He looks at me. It must be Jewel. Dad hands me the phone and goes back to reading about our dangerously hot planet.

”I'm psyched about looking for my Bath costume,” Jewel says. ”The bloodier the better. Maybe I can be a zombie type of thing? A corpse, risen from the grave? Leaving a trail of decomposition in my wake.”

I won't mention Simon. Because, really, no one wants a mess. But it will show on my face. This thing that happened yesterday.

In the junk shop Jewel and I look at old hats, old board games, old valentines, old shoes, many old dresses.

I find a powder blue tux on the rack at the back of the store.

”You need this.” I finger the white ruffles on the s.h.i.+rt.

I can tell by his smirk that he loves it.

”You can be a lounge singer for the Bath. A dead lounge singer. I'll do your makeup with our old Goth stuff.”

In eighth grade, we had a short flirtation with the powers of darkness. Strictly as a fas.h.i.+on statement.

”Yes!” He's grinning like crazy. ”And let's find one of those things, those hatchet-through-the-heads? Ya know?”

”Perfecto,” I say. ”I'll look around while you try that on. It better fit.”

”It totally better,” he says as he goes to the dressing room.

I look around until Jewel calls me over. The pants are a little big, but we decide he can wear a belt. And the effect makes him look even skinnier than he is, sort of skeletonlike, which is what we want.

Jewel buys the tux for twenty-eight bucks, and I begin to see us at the Bath, me in my dress and Jewel looking hilariously great. We'll dance, silly dances of course. It'll be awesome.

Simon. He'll be there, for sure. ”See ya.” ”See ya.” What is that about? Will he talk to me at the Bath? Before then? At school? What is that about? Will he talk to me at the Bath? Before then? At school?

The dance is next Sat.u.r.day. I'll find out.

Jewel and I go to the counter and the girl remembers us. ”Your hem's all done,” she says. ”Try it on?”