Chapter 1: Tuesday November 23rd

So I’ve been writing these journals for three weeks. Now that I look back through what I’ve written, I realize that for the last week and a half absolutely nothing happened. I filled up an entire exercise book with my description of nothing. I feel a bit bad for having made you read all of it. You said the first week of my journal was a bit exciting with everything that happened. Well I must have crammed a whole year’s worth of stuff into that week because my life went back to being ordinary after the fallout from Little Miss Hand Grenade died down.

What do you think, Doctor K? Is it weird that I can ramble on and on so much when nothing was actually happening to me? Or is it another thing like you were saying, where it’s pretty normal but it seems weird because it’s happening to me. You didn’t say it, Doctor K, but I got the impression that me thinking everything is weird when it’s actually normal is a different type of craziness.

So anyway, nothing happened. Oh sure, I went to school, I did some drawing, I started a new painting, I did all the usual stuff. But nothing special happened. Nothing worth making a fuss about.

Nothing apart from getting into college, that is. I haven’t been to a class yet, but I have the letter. They said I can start next week if I want to – how awesome is that? I thought it was going to be harder than that. I had one interview with Arbena Satiri – the artist who runs the class I’m interested in. There was a nervous time while she flipped through my folio of drawings – including photos of the two paintings on my closet doors. There was another official from the college at the interview, but all he did was flip through my school reports and ask a couple of questions about transportation. Then Dad was signing some papers and they told me the letter would be in the mail (which it was) and that was that. Like I said – awesome!

Today’s counseling session was a bit confusing. We seemed to spend most of the time talking about what is normal. Half the time you seemed to be saying there’s no such thing as normal. The other half of the time you seemed to be saying that a lot of what I’ve been going through is normal for someone my age. You can’t have it both ways, Doctor K. I know you’re trying to help me. I know I came to you asking for help. But if you keep going back on the things you say, I don’t know how much help you’re going to be.

As I was leaving from your office I waved at Joseph Edmond Philips who was arriving for his session. We differently brained types need to stick together. I didn’t stop to talk though, I wanted to get out of that hospital – it still makes me feel all creepy. Joseph actually smiled when he saw me. Actually he smiled when he saw my shoes – I don’t think he looked at the rest of me.

Mum was waiting in the car – she’d done some shopping while I was in my session – and I talked to her about my session while she drove. We stopped at the DiMartino house on the way home to collect Melissa. Of course, we had to speak into the little box to get the gate opened. Mum drove around to the front door where Melissa was already waiting beside the new housekeeper. I forget her name, but Melissa says she’s a bit of a Nazi. I think Mr DiMartino deliberately hired someone a bit strict after the last one let Laura get away with so much.

Frederick, the older of Melissa’s two younger brothers, came running out the door when we stopped. He abruptly halted and stood a bit behind Melissa – looking awkward and uncertain.

I jumped out of the car and opened the back door for Melissa. I smiled and called out hello to Frederick but that made him blush and stare at the ground. I don’t know who was more embarrassed – Frederick because I’d spoken to him or me because he’s behaving all love-struck around me. I don’t know what to do about Frederick. If I tell him I’m not interested in him – not in that way, anyway – he’ll be crushed. He’s only eight years old and ... well, eeew, but I don’t want to hurt him.

The housekeeper spoke to Mum to make sure Melissa would be returned by nine. She seemed determined to explain to Mum that tomorrow was a school day and that late nights before a school day were unacceptable – as if Mum didn’t already know that. After the housekeeper started to explain it for the third time, I saw a half-smile start to appear on Mum’s face that told me she was getting angry. Mum interrupted with a curt comment about needing to get moving. She hustled the two of us into the back seat and got back behind the wheel.

I think the housekeeper wanted to start again on the ‘have her back by nine’ speech but as soon as she started pointing at the watch on her wrist, Mum smiled at her and drove us away down the drive. Fortunately the gates open automatically or we probably would have bashed right through them.

Melissa wanted to talk to me but I reached out with my hand and hushed her. We sat silently in the car as Mum drove.

Melissa leaned over and whispered into my ear, “Why are we being quiet?”

I bit my lip as I figured out what I should say and then I leaned back to her.

“Mum’s mad at your new housekeeper right now,” I whispered into her ear. “Mum doesn’t much enjoy being treated like an idiot. If we sit back here and do the ‘brainless teen chat’ thing, she might redirect her mad in our direction and we don’t want that.”

Melissa looked at me thoughtfully for a moment and then leaned close to me.

“Brainless teen chat?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m quoting from last time Mum got mad at Tara and me for being so thoughtless as to sit in the same room as Mum and talk to each other when she was busy being mad at someone.”

Melissa nodded at me. “Would it help if we discussed something brainy like the political and economic differences between the U.S. and England?”

That made me giggle, and Melissa giggled too. That was unfortunate because it made Mum turn around and snarl at us.

“For heaven’s sake! Must you whisper and giggle like a stereotypical pair of idiot schoolgirls?”

I sat back in the seat and hung my head a bit. “Sorry, Mum.”

“Sorry, Mrs Freeman,” added Melissa.

We sat in silence for the last few minutes of the drive to our house. Mum parked the car and everyone clambered out. Looking at Mum’s face, I decided the storm was nearly over and it was safe to start trying to patch things up.

“Mum, did I tell you that Melissa learns dance?”

“Oh, really? What type of dance do you do?”

Mum and Melissa walked up the drive talking about dance styles. I followed, smiling to myself.

Inside the house, I was hit by another storm in the form of Angie. She took a flying leap into my arms so hard that I staggered back into the edge of the door.

“Save me, Becky, save me.”

“Who am I saving you from?”

“Tara! Tara’s tickling me.”

“Oh, really? We’ll have to do something about that. Let’s go.”

I let her slide down to the floor and together we set off hunting for Tara. Mum disappeared towards the kitchen, so we were free to search around through the living room. Melissa followed the two of us with a smile on her face. Tara wasn’t there, but I made a big deal about looking under the cushions and behind the paintings. Melissa joined in by looking behind the curtains. Angie liked that game and started looking under the sofas and behind the chairs. After that game was exhausted, I pointed towards the hallway and we crept on tippy-toes towards the doorway.

At that point, Tara launched a surprise attack from the rear. She’d gone out into the hallway, around through the kitchen and back via the entrance into the living room. Tara came running up behind us, grabbed Angie up under the arms and lifted her high in the air. Angie squealed in that half-delighted, half-terrorized sort of way. The rest of us were squealing too. Tara lifting Angie up in the air like that left her ribs exposed. I reached out and dug my fingers into her ribs.

Tara squeaked and dropped Angie. Angie screamed as she found herself falling. All three of us lunged forward to catch Angie before she hit the floor. We ended up in a pile. I guess you could say we succeeded because Angie landed more or less on top of the pile. The rest of us weren’t quite so fortunate. I bashed my head on someone’s elbow and someone else’s knee was sticking into my lower back. Angie lay spread over the top of the pile and kept screaming.

Mum appeared suddenly, glowering down at us.

“What did you do to Angela?” she demanded.

We lay in our tangled heap and looked up at Mum. Nobody answered her. I was about to confess that I’d caused it by tickling Tara when Angie’s screaming cut off with a hiccup and she started giggling up at Mum. Mum scowled at us.

“Look after your sister!” she snarled.

She turned and stalked away back towards the kitchen.

There were a few ouches interspersed with giggles as we untangled ourselves. The four of us ended up sitting cross-legged on the floor in a tight circle. I introduced Melissa to Angie and they said “hi” to each other. Tara and Melissa already knew each other – at least well enough to recognize each other, anyway.

“Angie and I have been cooking. Dinner’s in the oven. It will be ready in about half an hour,” said Tara.

“Awesome!” I replied. “Dealing with an angry mother really builds up the appetite.”

“Our new housekeeper, the Nazi, was explaining to your mother that I have to be back home by nine,” explained Melissa. “Your mother didn’t seem to appreciate being told the same thing three times.”

“Yup! That would do it,” said Tara.

I looked at Tara and caught her eye. “I have to show Melissa something.” I flicked my eyes towards my bedroom and then back to her. “Can you keep Angie with you for a bit?”

Tara looked at Melissa then back at me. “Sure. We better get back to the kitchen. We might not have cleaned up as well as we should have, and with Mum stewing...”

Tara scrambled to her feet and took a few steps towards the kitchen before calling for Angie. Our little angel had been sitting quietly in her place in the circle. I think she was pleased that she was being treated as one of the girls. Now she bounced up and raced after Tara towards the kitchen.

I stayed sitting and looked at Melissa, trying to carefully word what I was about to say. Melissa looked back at me and after a moment, she raised her hands as if to say, “Weren’t you going to show me something?”

“I’m going to show you something, but you can’t talk about it – apart from with my family, that is. I think you’ll realize why when you see it. It’s not bad – not really. Some people wouldn’t understand and my family could get into trouble. I’m trusting you not to tell people. You can talk to Liz about it, obviously – she knows everything about me.”

Melissa’s eyes went a bit wide. “Now you have me fascinated. What is it that could get your family into trouble when it’s not really bad?”

I stood and held my hand out for Melissa. She took my hand and stood up smoothly – her years of dancing make her every move seem like a glide. As I led her towards my bedroom, my mind raced over the pitfalls of making new friends. It had seemed so easy two weeks ago when I’d announced to Liz that Melissa was going to be our new friend and Liz had agreed. I’m not very experienced at making friends. It hadn’t occurred to me at the time that having a new friend would mean having someone new that I would have to share a whole lot of secrets with.

The closer I got to my bedroom, the more I started to worry. It was like I was wading through a deep bog – a swamp made of worries instead of mud. They kept piling up in front of me as I tried to push through them. What if Melissa didn’t understand? What if she hated the pictures? What if she were offended? What if she told her father? What if she told her sister? Laura would make my life miserable if she found out about this.

None of these worries were new. I’d already spent more than one sleepless night wandering around the house as I worried about what to do. In the end I decided I had to show Melissa and find out how she reacted. That was pretty much the reason I’d invited her over for dinner this evening. If she didn’t like it, then that meant I wouldn’t invite her around for a sleepover anytime soon.

I took a deep breath, opened my door and turned on the light.

“This is my bedroom!”

I ushered Melissa into the room. Everything seemed to pause. I stopped breathing. My heart stopped beating. The entire house seemed to go silent. Melissa was standing in the doorway – her eyes flicking around all the paintings on the walls. I think I saw a faint blush appear in her cheeks as she realized that the paintings were all of a naked girl – or maybe she was realizing they were all pictures of a naked me.

I steered Melissa further into the room and stood her in front of the first picture we came to. It was the picture of me standing beside the mirror – life-sized, full frontal, naked me. It’s not the real me, of course. It’s Mum’s idealized version of me – a beautiful, strong, confident, defiant version of me that doesn’t really exist except in Mum’s head, and maybe a little bit in mine. I’m not really that beautiful. I’m definitely not that confident. I hope that one day I will be that strong.

I gently pushed Melissa past my desk to the next picture of me. This was the picture of me in the middle of a jump shot, throwing a basket with the ball above my head. Again it’s an idealized version of me, only this time it’s an energetic, athletic, lively version of me that’s actually a bit more realistic. Except, of course, that I have never – and will never – played basketball without any clothes on. I gestured at the image of a nude Liz sitting on the floor with her back against my bookshelf and a book in her hand as she watched me play basketball. Melissa’s cheeks tinted again as she saw a picture of someone else she knew without any clothes on.

“Did you paint all of these?”

“I wish I was that good. Mum did these. I’ll show you the ones I painted in a minute.”

“I always thought you were shy. I don’t know how you could have stood there and modelled for these.”

“I didn’t! Not really. Mum doesn’t use models. She sees an image in her head and paints it. She did get me to model a little bit for this one so she could get the muscles looking right. That was embarrassing.”

As I talked, I pointed out the detail from my shoulders, down my back, across my butt and down my legs. I’m still impressed at how well Mum had done that. My skin looks smooth and tight and clear, but everywhere there’s a hint of muscles rippling under my skin.

I gestured at the image of Liz. “Liz saw all this happening and said Mum could do her as well. Liz didn’t have to model at all for that, but it looks perfectly like her.”

The next painting I showed her was the one above my bed of me sitting on a flying carpet, holding on tight and clearly flying fast because you could see my hair flowing out behind me and the look of sheer joy on my face. Near that was the rear view of Liz and me sitting on a wall and leaning against each other, looking out into an English garden. I pointed out to Melissa the theme running through all these paintings.

“These aren’t really me as I am now. They all show different parts of what I could be like in the future. The one next to the mirror is me if I were more confident. It shows me being strong – defiant even. The basketball one is about me being athletic, the flying carpet painting is me having fun, the one with Liz is about me having friends and being a caring and loving person.”

Melissa turned and looked between the paintings. She smiled and nodded.

“On the closet doors are the two that I’ve done so far. The one with me in a prom dress is kind of the same theme because it’s about me looking elegant and grown up. Except I put myself behind the mirror because that’s the only way I get to see myself. I often feel like the girl behind the mirror isn’t really me – especially when she looks like that.”

“It’s a gorgeous dress.”

“It’s based on a real dress I saw in a shop. I tried it on and everything.”

“You should have bought it. It looks awesome on you.”

I shrugged. “We can’t afford it.”

Melissa blinked a couple of times as if she had to adjust her thinking and then nodded.

“I can see this painting looks different from the other paintings.”

“I’m just a beginner compared to Mum. I still have a lot to learn.” I guess I thought she was criticizing it, but now that I think about it, she wasn’t really.

“I don’t mean it’s no good, I mean it’s different.”

“Oh! Um! Okay!” I had to force my brain away from that thought and make it think about something else.

“I think you saw the drawing I did when I was worried about what would happen if I couldn’t turn into the person – the one of me trapped behind the mirror.”

“I remember.”

“Well the painting on the other closet door is about me breaking through and climbing out of the mirror.”

“I get that. And I can see breaking through the mirror has like a cost for doing that. The pretty dress gets all torn and you get cut on the glass. That’s kind of deep. I like it.”

“Thank you.”

Up to this point, I’d been carefully steering Melissa around the room so that she wouldn’t see the naughtiest (and most embarrassing) painting until last. I gently turned her to face the wall with the door in it and there it was. The painting showed me naked and draped over a red-velvet couch. One of my hands was touching my boob and the other covered the private place between my legs. The look on my face clearly showed that I was enjoying touching my boob.