of her eyes, and then felt her sister’s hand closing firmly around her shoulder. “Snap out of it,” she commanded. “If not for you, at least for me. You’re in the middle of the city, for God’s sake. Act like it!”
Olivia looked into Violet’s pleading eyes and grumbled, slumping toward the sidewalk and allowing her sister to pull her along.
The People’s Republic, the popular coffee shop around the corner from school, was even more crowded than the courtyard, and Olivia figured that by the time she’d waited in the zigzagging line for a chai or a muffin, she’d already be late for next period. But Violet was on a mission. The girls stood patiently next to the glass counter, Olivia silently pondering the irony of vegan cream cheese, while Violet oohed and ahhed over the selection of flavored coffee drinks.
Once Olivia had successfully ordered a peppermint tea and an oatmeal cookie, she turned to find Violet already seated at a table in the center of the café, face-to-face with Calla Karalekas.
Violet waved her arms so wildly that Olivia was nervous she might somehow disrupt molecules and send an invisible tornado spinning across the room. Olivia felt her pulse drumming and tried to steady her ragged breath as she cut between tables toward Calla and her crew.
She carefully balanced her tea and cookie in the same hand,using her free fingers to unwrap a lost strand of hair from around the tip of her nose. She took a final, leveling breath, her eyes meeting Violet’s eager and encouraging stare. Should I ask to sit? Olivia anxiously wondered. Or just sit. Probably just sitting without asking would seem more confident. Who asks to sit? It’s a free country, she insisted to herself in Violet’s voice. She circled the table, planting herself beside Violet and lowering her drink to the table…at the exact moment that Calla spun around and stood up.
“Let’s get out of here,” Calla exclaimed hurriedly to her blond friend. “I forgot I told Soren I’d meet him at Amoeba. He’s been trying to get me to buy the new MGMT for, like, weeks.”
It wasn’t a planned escape. Both Olivia and Violet could see that. Partly, it was just bad timing. But that didn’t account for the fact that no matter what she did, Olivia seemed destined to remain, like her sister, hopelessly and irreversibly invisible.
13
“H ow’s it coming in there?”
Olivia was sandwiched between piles of dresses, skinny jeans, and sky-high heels in an almost impossibly tiny dressing room, staring at her frazzled, half-dressed reflection in a three-way mirror. She struggled to remain decent at all times, as the door had no latch, and the chatty sales help—all of whom appeared to be identically twenty-two, rail-thin, and not at all shy about barging right in.
After a day of pushing Olivia to assert herself in class, strategically picking out places for her to sit at lunch, and counseling her on how to do everything from walk down the hall to demand ( not ask for) permission to go to the bathroom, Violet had decided that the only thing left to overhaul was Olivia’s tired and lackluster wardrobe.
“You want to know why nobody notices you?” Violet had asked during a dejected walk home from the bus. “It’s because every single one of your sweaters is exactly the same shade ofbeige, and it matches the paint on the classroom walls. Half the time, I don’t even see you.”
And so, when Olivia returned home from school Monday afternoon, shocked to discover that her mother was working from home, Violet convinced her to do the unthinkable and ask Bridget to take her shopping.
Three hours, six boutiques, and two different covers of the same Rolling Stones song later, Olivia was pressed against the dressing room mirror, with eager, multi-pierced hipsters filing in and out, piling dress after vintage dress into her outstretched arms. At first, Violet had been there, too, assessing each item one by one, but even she had been overwhelmed
Olivia looked into Violet’s pleading eyes and grumbled, slumping toward the sidewalk and allowing her sister to pull her along.
The People’s Republic, the popular coffee shop around the corner from school, was even more crowded than the courtyard, and Olivia figured that by the time she’d waited in the zigzagging line for a chai or a muffin, she’d already be late for next period. But Violet was on a mission. The girls stood patiently next to the glass counter, Olivia silently pondering the irony of vegan cream cheese, while Violet oohed and ahhed over the selection of flavored coffee drinks.
Once Olivia had successfully ordered a peppermint tea and an oatmeal cookie, she turned to find Violet already seated at a table in the center of the café, face-to-face with Calla Karalekas.
Violet waved her arms so wildly that Olivia was nervous she might somehow disrupt molecules and send an invisible tornado spinning across the room. Olivia felt her pulse drumming and tried to steady her ragged breath as she cut between tables toward Calla and her crew.
She carefully balanced her tea and cookie in the same hand,using her free fingers to unwrap a lost strand of hair from around the tip of her nose. She took a final, leveling breath, her eyes meeting Violet’s eager and encouraging stare. Should I ask to sit? Olivia anxiously wondered. Or just sit. Probably just sitting without asking would seem more confident. Who asks to sit? It’s a free country, she insisted to herself in Violet’s voice. She circled the table, planting herself beside Violet and lowering her drink to the table…at the exact moment that Calla spun around and stood up.
“Let’s get out of here,” Calla exclaimed hurriedly to her blond friend. “I forgot I told Soren I’d meet him at Amoeba. He’s been trying to get me to buy the new MGMT for, like, weeks.”
It wasn’t a planned escape. Both Olivia and Violet could see that. Partly, it was just bad timing. But that didn’t account for the fact that no matter what she did, Olivia seemed destined to remain, like her sister, hopelessly and irreversibly invisible.
13
“H ow’s it coming in there?”
Olivia was sandwiched between piles of dresses, skinny jeans, and sky-high heels in an almost impossibly tiny dressing room, staring at her frazzled, half-dressed reflection in a three-way mirror. She struggled to remain decent at all times, as the door had no latch, and the chatty sales help—all of whom appeared to be identically twenty-two, rail-thin, and not at all shy about barging right in.
After a day of pushing Olivia to assert herself in class, strategically picking out places for her to sit at lunch, and counseling her on how to do everything from walk down the hall to demand ( not ask for) permission to go to the bathroom, Violet had decided that the only thing left to overhaul was Olivia’s tired and lackluster wardrobe.
“You want to know why nobody notices you?” Violet had asked during a dejected walk home from the bus. “It’s because every single one of your sweaters is exactly the same shade ofbeige, and it matches the paint on the classroom walls. Half the time, I don’t even see you.”
And so, when Olivia returned home from school Monday afternoon, shocked to discover that her mother was working from home, Violet convinced her to do the unthinkable and ask Bridget to take her shopping.
Three hours, six boutiques, and two different covers of the same Rolling Stones song later, Olivia was pressed against the dressing room mirror, with eager, multi-pierced hipsters filing in and out, piling dress after vintage dress into her outstretched arms. At first, Violet had been there, too, assessing each item one by one, but even she had been overwhelmed
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