My Invented Life Read Online Free Page B

feel desperation like a screw tighten one more turn in my chest. Do I have to pierce my nose with a small yet tasteful spear to get her to notice me?
    “Well, do you like it?” Mom says, oblivious to Eva’s snub.
    My sister smirks in my direction at last. “Is it a mullet?”
    I imagine a big fish growing out of the top of my head, though I know a mullet is also a hairstyle. “We all can’t be as boring as you,” I say and then exit.
    Back in my room, I dial Bryan’s cell. I have the good sense not to call him when he’s with Eva. This time he picks up.
    “What was the big secret last night during chat?”
    “My dad’s girlfriend moved in with us,” he says.
    “Lucky you.”
    “I guess.” I imagine his beautiful hair splayed across his pillow as he talks to me. “Except she’s mean. And she hates me.”
    “How could anyone hate you?” I reach for the photo of him I keep stashed under my bed and kiss the curve of his smiling lips through the glass.
    “She told Dad to confiscate my skateboard . . . just because I forgot to water her dumb plants.”
    “Did he listen to her?” Bryan’s skateboard is like an appendage. Taking it away would be the equivalent of cutting off one of his feet.
    “No, but he doubled my chores.”
    “Poor baby,” I say.
    “Want to wash his car with me tomorrow after try-outs?”
    I could tell him about my date with Jonathan to see if he gets jealous. Then again, I haven’t met Jonathan yet. He might have a giant
L
for loser blinking on his forehead, for all I know.
    “I don’t know,” I say.
    “It would be fun. You, me, soap, and a hose.”
    I wish Eva could hear how he talks to me when she’s not there.

Chapter
4
    M om hovers at the fringes
of my life. She’s a vegetable crops professor at UC Davis. The long commute and the “publish or perish” credo of the university keep her busy. Combine that with Eva’s constant stream of performances, recitals, ad nauseam, and sometimes weeks can slip by without her noticing me. Which means I get away with a lot, barring the obvious stuff like hacking off my hair. A few times a year, she drives us to school. Today is one of those days. When I slide into the backseat, she frowns at me.
    “Is that Dad’s shirt?”
    I pretend to misunderstand the question. “I told you. I’m going for a new look,” I say. “If you paid attention to fashion, you’d know button-down shirts are the rage.”
    Eva hops into the front seat. Her neon pink fiesta skirt glows through the fog like flower petals strewn across a muddy lake.
    “Look how perky you are,” Gethsemane says.
    The word
perky
makes me ill. Mom passed Parenting 101, so she never actually says, “Why can’t you be more like Eva?” Still, it’s pretty obvious she thinks it.
    I stick my finger in my mouth, the universal gag sign. “I don’t believe in perky.”
    Eva laughs. “You look classy in a man’s shirt,” she says, doing an impersonation of the old Eva for Mom’s benefit.
    After we de-SUV at Yolo Bluffs High, I rush to the bathroom to adjust my new look. Undoing yet another button helps. When I enter homeroom, Mr. Beltz yammers away at the front of the class, oblivious to my tardiness. Homeroom mixes juniors and seniors, an experiment dreamed up by administration, which explains why Carmen and I are in the same class. Today she’s clad from cleavage to ankle in skintight black. How nineties is that? Okay, I’m jealous because her outfit shows off her olive skin and tiny Latina waist. Black makes my skin look like uncooked chicken.
    I sit down in the empty seat next to her. “Hey, Carmen, nice earrings.” I’d rather slap her around than suck up, but honey catches more vermin. “Do you know what’s going on with Eva?”
    Carmen’s eyes widen when she takes in my new coif. “Yikes. Did you have a close encounter with a low-flying helicopter? Or is your lawn mower possessed?”
    “Har-dee-har. My mom likes it,” I say.
    Carmen extracts a long strand of