The Brightest Star in a Constellation

24: Practicing How to Be Invisible

☆ Evan ☆

For the first time ever, the distinct lack of music is unnerving. I try fruitlessly to find a song that fits, but even when I choose one, I shut it off seconds later. Every stroke of the keyboard, every strum of a guitar—it doesn't match my mood. And I don't know what to do about it.

Nicole invited me to come to the mall with her, and despite the fact that it took me twenty-two minutes to drag myself out of bed this morning, I offered to pick her up. And I don't exactly want to leave her stranded, so I focus on driving, driving, driving.

That's all a person can do in Northwood. Claire got her license before I did, and for weeks afterward, she would come and see me after class to ask if I wanted to go for a drive.

We'd circle the perimeter until we passed the town sign, then turn around and drive back to the water. Repeat. Before that, it was going on walks around the area. That's the reason why I got my license. If only to prove that I have what it takes to leave this town. It counts as a way of determining who plans on staying. That when given the chance to start driving, they say, Why would I want to do that? Everything I need is right here. I can walk to the grocery store. I can walk to my friend's houses. What do you need your license for, other than to leave?

I find Nicole's apartment, and while I wait for her to show up, I put on some music. She strikes me as the kind of girl who likes an accompanying soundtrack. If they ever met, she'd be good friends with Claire.

Nicole comes barrelling out of the door and hops into my passenger seat, smiling wildly. Her hair is tied into a braid, and she's wearing earrings in the shape of bright pink hearts.

"No glasses?" I ask.

Flicking her braid over her shoulder, she lets out a high-pitched giggle and replies, "Nope. Thing is, I'm hanging out with a guy other than Delacroix for once, which is apparently a big deal, according to my dad. I tried to convince him otherwise, I swear."

As I drive, Nicole keeps chattering away next to me. She does this for the entire ride. "You're going to shop until you physically can't shop anymore," she tells me. "We're going to Payless first—they have cheap shoes—and then after that, I'll figure it out. How do you feel about cinnamon rolls?"

"Is that even a question?"

She nods knowingly. As we reach the mall, I fall into step with Nicole. She whisks me from one store to the next, cycling in and out of fitting rooms and tossing articles of clothes on me to hold. Some stores don't carry shoes at all, but she justifies it by reminding me that at least her outfit will match. I get a few pity glances from other patrons as I hold a mountain of shopping bags in both hands.

It takes Nicole almost an hour to find a pair of heels that fit her requirements. They're a pair of black boots that lift her up to a different plane of existence. I wonder what that height is like—the world where one can see the top of the fridge.

It's only when we're finished, when we're headed to the food court, that I spot a group of Northwood students. I duck into the nearest store.

Among them is Jenny. Pale skin, eyes scanning the mall like through the scope of a sniper. And trying to stop Nicole is pointless—she enters the hallway, and the two cyclones collide.

Jenny stops. Her gaze combs over Nicole—who, for the first time since I've known her, looks stunned.

"I like your hair," Nicole says, though her voice rises one octave higher than it should be. She points to Jenny's new brown highlights. "It's pretty."