Invisible Me

Chapter 27

"So, Cindy, there is something familiar about you," Randy says. We're in the back of the bus. He leans against his seat and extends his long legs. "Do you go to Jefferson Davis Junior High?"

"I'm ... homeschooled."

I lean against the cracked-open window and gasp for air. I'd open it wider but I fear my wig would fly off.

"Really?" Randy sits up, plants his feet on the floor and scootches sideways. "Can I ask you something?"

Oh, God. "Sure."

"Do you get lonely?"

"All the time."

Well, it's the truth. Finally.

Randy gazes at me for a long moment.

"I believe you," he says.

Oh, shit.

What am I doing?

• • •

"So," Randy says, "After my parents divorced, my real dad disappeared. All I ever knew was my stepfather. Everyone knows him as my dad. And all my friends think he's my dad. Even though he isn't. But I've been taught to call him Dad. Because my parents split up when I was too young to know my real father."

This information spills like water from a burst dam.

"Then I found out my real dad was a drug addict, and he'd been ordered into a rehab program."

"How'd you find that out?" I just have to ask.

"I got a copy of my birth certificate with my real dad's name on it. I went online and got the rest of the information. Easy. Anyway, I got the address of the clinic. I figured out how to get there by bus. I knew my mother would never agree to take me. From what she says about him, I can tell they didn't get along at all. I think the drugs may have caused the divorce. Maybe."

"What have you been telling your parents? Your mom and step-dad?" God knows, I could use the excuse when Denise calls.

"I just told them I've been visiting a friend I met last summer. Someone I met at summer camp."

"Does your friend have a name?" Please, anything, but Kathleen.

"Vince. Why?"

"Just curious." Even though I'd love to know Vince's height, weight, age, complexion, and any other distinguishing features, it might seem a bit suspicious to ask about such things.

"I chose the name Vince, because my Dad is a big fan of Vincent Price." Randy just stops. I look at him, but he won't look back at me. Two fat tears roll down his cheeks.

He backhands them. "I'm sorry. I'm acting like a big baby."

I reach out and touch his other hand. "No, you're not."

He looks at me. "Thanks, Cindy. I know we've just met, but since you've also had a relative in rehab, I feel I can trust you."

I really hate myself.