Five Flavors of Dumb - Antony John [84]
There was only one message in my in-box that afternoon when I got home, but it was from Marissa, so I opened it right away. I figured that I might as well deal with all fractured friendships on the same day.
Surprisingly the e-mail was an apology—for not being in touch, for not listening better, for not realizing how much the band mattered to me. Most of all, it was to check that I was okay. I sent a reply asking her to IM me as soon as she got home, and half an hour later a message appeared on the screen.
Marissa asked me about the Seattle Today incident. Her questions were really detailed too, like she’d watched the YouTube footage at least a dozen times. When I said the band was still together, she seemed pleased rather than shocked. Then she said that Ed looked cooler now that his braces had been removed.
P1P3R: i’d forgotten about his braces. how did u remember that?
MARI55A: r u kidding? ed = cute. i had major crush
P1P3R: u never told me
MARI55A: cuz he liked u, not me
P1P3R: no way
MARI55A: yes way. why do u think he joined chess club?
I sat bolt upright, feeling like a coach doused in Gatorade when the game has been won.
MARI55A: ok, don’t answer that. what about rest of dumb? u like?
I tried to stop my hands from shaking.
P1P3R: yes. tash and kallie hang out with me
MARI55A: they ignored us for years
P1P3R: they’re different now. u’d like them
MARI55A: if u say so. just promise me u won’t get green hair
P1P3R: lol. no way. got pink instead
MARI55A: ha!
P1P3R: srsly!
MARI55A: omg. ooVoo me
P1P3R: can u ooVoo again?
MARI55A: yes
I shifted to the browser, loaded ooVoo, and made the connection with Marissa. A few seconds later she appeared on my screen, and then there was nothing but stillness and silence.
It was Marissa, but not the Marissa I remembered. Gone was the mousy brown hair, replaced by cascading blond curls. She wore dangly earrings and a chunky necklace color-coordinated with her form-fitting flower-print T-shirt. Unless the color was way off on my laptop screen, she wore half a cosmetics store on her face. She looked like she’d undergone a complete makeover with one of Kallie’s supermodel wannabes, or more likely, Donna Stevens’s stylist.
You look different, we signed simultaneously, then laughed nervously.
You look great, I signed, realizing that my face had probably already betrayed my surprise, and, also, my disappointment that she’d changed so much without me.
You too.
Silence. I could feel her slipping away from me with every second that passed, but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know who she was anymore. And I knew Marissa was thinking the same thing, right up to the moment that she raised a hand to her face and brushed away a tear.
I’m so sorry. I’ve ruined everything, she signed.
What are you talking about?
Marissa disappeared for a moment and returned with a tissue. She dabbed her eyes gently, careful not to disturb the artfully applied mascara and eyeliner. My computer was never broken. I just didn’t want you to see me.
Why not?
Because I look like one of Kallie’s friends. Admit it, it’s true.
I nodded. There didn’t seem to be any point in lying.
It was so hard for me when I moved out here. You weren’t around, but then I started to make some new friends, and I just wanted to be different than I was in Seattle, you know? I just got tired of blending in.
A part of me wondered if she might not blend in even more now than before. But I couldn’t blame her for wanting to change. Anonymity hadn’t been a problem as long as we’d had each other—hiding out together had barely felt like hiding at all—but apart, it became unbearable. I understood that completely. I really did.
You’re beautiful, I said.
As Marissa peered at me through her tears, I got the feeling she was looking at my hair.
Not like you. You were always prettier than me. And so much stronger. I wouldn’t be brave enough to get pink hair if my life depended on it, but it looks amazing on you. You’re amazing.
So are you.
Thanks. Marissa smiled bravely. So have you and Ed hooked up yet?
No.