My Invented Life Read Online Free

girls. The pressure kept building inside me, until one day my friends asked me a question about the prom, and I started to cry. When they freaked, I blurted out, “I think I’m a lesbian,” expecting that to be the end of everything. Instead they surprised me! They had guessed already and were glad I finally told them.
    The story moves me so much, I devour a second one, and then another, and another—like Pringles until thetube is empty. Coming out doesn’t sound half bad. I’m even a little jealous of some of these girls. For one thing, I wonder if
my
so-called friends would be that supportive. For another, these girls get to be themselves for the first time in their lives, and it’s a joyous occasion for the most part. I print the best stories for Eva because they might give her courage to be true to herself.
    In case she
is
a lesbian.
    Auditions for the play are tomorrow after school. I should be practicing my lines, but Andie’s book calls to me with a siren’s song. Always put off till tomorrow what you can do tomorrow. I read the book to the end. After a few teary scenes, the other chess geeks come to their senses, embrace the lesbian lovebirds, and throw a dance party where they all dress as their favorite chess piece. I love happy endings.
    Since I’m already in procrastination mode, I scour my closet for an outfit with good juju for tomorrow. Unfortunately, my most flattering ensemble—scoop-necked top, floral miniskirt, and velvet leggings—doesn’t say shepherdess. Then it hits me. I should take Carmen’s “advice” and try out for the lead. While Dad’s still on the phone, I borrow a casual button-down shirt and tie from among his work clothes. Then, standing in front of my mirror, I read the lines from the play where Rosalind dresses as a man.
    A boar spear in my hand; and—in my heart,
    (
I adopt a warrior’s pose
.)
    Lie there what hidden woman’s fear there will,
    (
I thrust out my jaw
.)
    We’ll have a swashing and a martial outside,
    (
Where did I leave my sword? I’m always forgetting it under the seat in some café
.)
    As many other mannish cowards have. . . .
    I remove the tie, unbutton the shirt three notches, and layer with a cute vest. Better. Bryan won’t find me attractive if I’m too mannish on the outside. Still, I would do anything to play Rosalind. A tattoo on my lower back—a snake, maybe—or a strategic facial piercing would toughen my image without sacrificing sex appeal. Unfortunately, Mom flips whenever I mention needles and skin in the same sentence. My hair isn’t quite right, either. I test the blade of my sewing scissors against my thumb. Not salon quality, but good enough.
    Mom suffers from classic bad timing. I wonder if showing up at the wrong moment is an innate talent or a skill she’s been developing. Just as the last of my long, auburn tresses hits the rug, she yells from the living room, “I’m home!”
    My reflection sneers at me—“Got a little carried away, did we?” When I hear
chhhh
coming from the shower, I sneak past the kitchen with a towel around my head. Gethsemane spots me before I make the front door. Must be Elmo in the bathroom.
    “Why are you wearing a turban?” she asks.
    I can’t think of a good lie. “I joined a cult,” I say. “I’ll be home before dinner.”
    “Not wearing that on your head,” she says. Parentsshould be required by law to listen to themselves so they can hear how condescending they sound.
    I take off the towel as ordered. Her reaction deserves the horror movie hall of fame. If this were my cue, I would look behind me and discover a slimy monster of gigantic proportions, saliva dripping off its daggerlike teeth.
    “Does this have anything to do with that thing between you and Eva?” she asks.
    I swear Mom has barely glanced at me in the last two weeks. Where does she get this stuff? Maybe she really does have eyes in the back of her head. Maybe she bugged my room.
    “What thing?” I say. “I was