Invisible Me

Chapter 41

I've heard that timing is everything. It is. Randy drops the subject of my hair.

We stroll through the crappy neighborhood toward the rehab center, like we're a couple of kids going on our way to buy groceries.

"So, Cindy . . . I mean, uh, Portia. If you were visiting someone, how come you didn't sign in?"

Oh, shit. How can I protect Denise and keep Randy's confidence?

"Randy. I wasn't visiting anyone. I just needed to get inside."

Randy peers at me. "Why?"

"Because I was curious."

Still true. Not the whole truth, but still true.

Randy halts. "What's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're wearing a wig and trying to sneak into a rehab center because you're curious." He smiles, but his voice hardens. "Are you training for the CIA?"

Oh, double-shit. I think it's time to face the music.

"Randy, you do consider me a friend, right?"

"I do. Even though we've just met, you seem nice and very smart."

"Okay." I pause and take a breath. "I need to show you something."

Randy nods.

"Promise me you won't freak out."

"Portia, what is it?"

I remove the cap and wig. Randy stares at my blue-streaked white hair.

"Haven't I seen you before?"

I nod. "Probably at school." I remove the dark glasses. "I'm the one who has pink eye. Two of them. Remember?"

I laugh my stupid little joke. To my great surprise Randy laughs with me. Thank God.

Before I know it, I'm feeding Randy more bull about how I was curious about where he was going. It was my idea to dress up and follow him to the rehab center. I want to keep Denise's name out of the whole thing.

"And then we met and got to know each other. And I didn't know how to tell you. I don't have many friends, because I've moved so many times—and because my appearance scares people. I'm always the strange albino chick, the freak.

"When you told me on the bus about your dad, I could sympathize. Sometimes I need to talk to someone, too. And sometimes I feel like my parents aren't really there for me. Know what I mean?"

We're approaching the rehab center. Randy doesn't interrupt or get angry. He just listens and nods. I'm surprised, because I'm rambling. I think I would have hauled off and slugged myself by now.

We pause.

"Well, Randy," I say. "I'll go home now. Thanks for listening—and being my friend." It's all I can do to keep from crying.

"Wait." He places his hand on my arm. "Why are you leaving?"

My jaw drops. "I . . . figured you'd hate me."

Randy stares at me. "Are you kidding?"

My face grows hot. I feel like an idiot. And I have no clue, as usual. "You mean, you're not angry at me for lying and following you?"

Randy moves closer. "I understand why you lied. And I know exactly how you feel. I haven't told anyone but you that I come here to see my real father, because I'm afraid to tell anyone else."