chance to get on his radar and to ask for LeFeber’s advice. I have to start living my best life. Stop constantly overthinking things and doubting myself.
No more being a wallflower.
No more being known only as the congressman’s daughter.
Or Mason and Royce’s little sister.
I have to make a name for myself. For my art.
Everyone needs to know who Liv Blakely really is.
“Always remember that you are absolutely unique. Just like everyone else.”
—Margaret Mead
It’s Friday afternoon and I still haven’t been invited to the party.
Do I have loser stamped on my forehead?
I’ve tried talking to Jackson three times. Three times!
This is what I’m thinking about as I walk to the front of campus by myself.
I cut across the parking lot from Ms. Day’s room, where I was working late to put together an inspiration board for my portfolio. I’m starting with Frida Kahlo’s work. She’s always been inspiring to me. I even have a print of one of her paintings hanging above my bed called What the Water Gave Me. It’s this strange picture of her feet peeking out of a tub of bathwater, except floating in the water are all these surreal images from her consciousness: a sailboat, a wrinkled dress, a conch shell, native plants from her homeland, a skyscraper rising from a volcano, a miniature figure of herself drowning in the middle of the scene.
I head to the front of the school, waiting for Mom to pick me up like the total nerd I am. Great Friday, right?
At least I have plans to go to the movies with Sam. We haven’t had much time to get together since school started, and his text asking me to hang out tonight made me smile and helped take my mind off my complete failure to get invited to the boat party. Sam doesn’t notice—or maybe he doesn’t care—what a loser I am. He doesn’t even mind picking me up again.
This is what happens when you’re already sixteen and you can’t drive. It’s a movie called Mommy and Daddy Are Always Too Busy to Teach Me How to Drive. Starring me. I play the depressed Goth-girl artist. I don’t even really wear that much black—I just consider sarcasm a never-leave-home-without kind of accessory. In the movie version of my life, I’m on the brink of insanity and draw images of sad carless girls on every wall I can get away with scribbling on. At the end of the film, I finally get to drive around the block. Big deal.
Mason and Royce could do pretty much anything they wanted in high school, which was partly because they each had a car to go along with their driver’s licenses. Dad keeps promising me a car. Not that I even have my license yet. Before the end of the school year, that’s what he told me. So I’m sitting on a low brick wall, waiting for Mom to show up, kissing away any hope of meeting LeFeber, when guess who walks up to the strikeout queen?
“Liv, Liv... Look at you sitting out here.”
“Jackson! Hey!”
He looks at me funny.
I guess I sound a little overenthusiastic. I mean, it is the day of the boat party and all. I don’t know what to say to Jackson and I start to panic a little. This is my last chance to get on the same boat as LeFeber and Zach. I consider just asking him for an invite, but then realize that would either be too tacky or would seem completely desperate.
“You’re by yourself,” I say stupidly.
“Yeah. Weird, huh?” Jackson laughs. “I had to see Mr. Richie about a test. Dude’s holding back points again.”
He knows, I think. He really knows it’s weird that girls aren’t trailing him like a comet’s tail. I wish I could be that confident, but I never seem to be able to shake the names that are always underneath my other thoughts.
Fatso. Blimp. Heifer.
It sounds kind of crazy, but I call it my other voice. It used to sound like Ollie was stuck in my head—every bad thing I thought about myself was in his voice—but eventually it changed, and now the other voice’s words are all mine.
“What are your plans this weekend?” Jackson asks, inching closer to me. He’s so close that I can smell his cologne. He smells like a cool breeze, like a pool of sparkling water. He puts his hand up to my hair and twists a strand around his finger.
Hold on. What’s going on right now? The situation just got unpredictable. Is he flirting with me? This isn’t supposed to happen. It may turn out to be a total fantasy, but if it’s not, I’m interested in Zach. Not Jackson.
But I can’t brush him off. This is my last chance to land an invitation.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Nothing much. Just like...”
“Seriously,” he says. “I want to know what’s going on. You can’t be doing nothing. A girl like you doesn’t do nothing...”
What girl like me? Are there girls like me? I want to know them. I also want to know why Jackson’s flirting with me.
Before I can say anything, I sense disaster in the form of a car pulling up. Another ruined encounter. Mom has the worst timing.
Wait a minute. That’s not Mom’s car. It’s a yellow Land Rover pulling up in front of us with a certain Dominican girl at the wheel, pumping salsa music out her windows.
I immediately squeal, “Antonia!”
I try not to scare Jackson off, but I totally was not expecting her to show up at school on a Friday afternoon. She’s been visiting family in the Dominican Republic all summer and is arriving late for the school year. I didn’t think I was going to see her until the beginning of October. She’s almost a month early. And she didn’t tell me she was back.
She rolls down the window. Her long, curly hair is swept into a high, messy ponytail, showing off her milk-chocolate eyes accented by thick black liner. “Baby, look at you,” is all she says through pouty lips before letting out a wolf whistle.
I’m smiling ear to ear. She’s the most no-nonsense, fun-loving human being I’ve ever known. I might be a perfectionist about a lot of things, but Antonia and I complement each other perfectly. She’s all breezy and carefree while I can’t go to sleep at night without obsessing over every little thing I’ve said or done the day before.
“I wanted to surprise you,” she says. “I figured you would be here so I called your mom to tell her I was going to pick you up. Come to my house, we have tons to catch up on.”
I grab my bag and look at Jackson, trying to decide what to do. I want to go to the boat party so badly, but I also want to hang out with Antonia. I’ve missed her like crazy.
“I should go,” he says.
I don’t know what to say. I’ve probably already ruined my chances. Why can’t I just ask for what I want? Why can’t I spit it out? “Yeah,
