Invisible Girl Read Online Free PDF Page A

then one of his brothers knocks him across the back of the head and says to me, “I’m the smart twin, Daniel. The dunce next to me is Patrick.”
    I realize that Daniel is almost as cute as Michael but with a skinnier nose and a slightly longer chin. Patrick looks like both of his brothers but is somehow not really cute at all, so I’m the least afraid of him. I figure he stares in the mirror while he’s shaving with a sad face, thinking he got the short end of the genetic stick.
    “All right, you can go back to being savages,” Aunt Sarah says.
    They fall back into the kitchen, leaving me breathless. Then, a little girl of about seven comes out onto the patio and cries, “Mommy!” as she falls into Aunt Sarah’s arms.
    For a second, I’m ignored as Aunt Sarah pulls her on her lap and asks her questions about some sleepover. After some hugging, tickling and kissing she introduces her to me as “Megan.” I swallow the metallic taste of jealousy in my mouth before I can fake a nice “Hi.”

    I’m unpacking in a beautiful apricot bedroom when there’s a quick knock followed by the door flying open. I’m so happy it’s not one of the older boys that it takes me a minute to absorb the girl who walks in and sits on the edge of the bed.
    “Hi,” she says before I say a word. “I’m Annie. I’m so sorry I wasn’t in when you got here. Tennis. I want to hear everything about Boston.”
    She speaks in a rush of enthusiasm and makes me almost as nervous as her brothers do. She’s the perfect daughter to the commercial mom. About a head taller than I am, she is blond with big blue eyes, long tanned limbs and perky, brasheltered breasts.
    My first thought is one of utter relief that I don’t have to share a bedroom with her so that she won’t see my barely raised nipples in my training bra. I have no doubt she’s been having her period for years.
    “Hi.” I manage a smile. “I’m Stephanie.”
    “And, you’re from Boston.” She flips her long tresses out of her eyes. “Okay, say, ‘Park the car.’ ”
    I speak normally. “Paak the caa.”
    She squeals. “God, I love that! Do it again.”
    We spend the next ten minutes with me doing words on command. I don’t care that I’m the trained monkey. I feel a sudden violent urge of wanting her to like me. That I want to be part of her life even if it’s only as a moon to her shining, golden sun.

    Annie whispers to me on the way down to dinner. “Just be glad today’s not Carmen’s day off. My mom is, like, the worst cook in the world. You’d probably turn around and fly home.”
    I feel a tug in my stomach, a glimmer of the familiar ache. I see our tiny house with the ungroomed lawn, the dark green couch with stains from the time she threw up. Curtains kept shut all day because the light gives her a headache. The scarred Formica table. Burnt popcorn I’ve made myself, sprinkled with parmesan cheese because I read that cheese is protein and protein makes you grow. A book in front of me so that I’m anywhere but there. “My mom’s not a great cook either,” I say in the same tone she uses, thinking as I say it, This is how girls talk .
    We walk into their enormous kitchen. The boys are already sitting down. Michael looks at me as we walk in and I have to turn away. On the table, chicken steams from a platter next to bowls of corn, noodles and salad. Carmen is running back and forth with rolls and salt and pepper shakers. Aunt Sarah is asking who wants iced tea.
    Annie nudges me and says, “Welcome to the madhouse. My mom said you’re an only child. You’re probably not used to this kind of craziness.”
    I slide thankfully into a chair next to Annie. I feel less exposed than when I was standing up. What if Michael noticed my training bra?
    There’s an empty seat at the head of the table. Annie notices my glance. “Dad’s probably with a client.”
    Client? Did she say “client”? Delight surges forward like a baseball someone just slugged