The Visibles Read Online Free PDF

old. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a disposable camera. It was covered in green paper, and there was a picture of a woman and a little kid, probably meant to be her daughter, sitting on the edge of a motorboat, smiling so blissfully their teeth gleamed blue-white. Fun Saver, the camera was called.
    I pointed at it. “My mother uses those, too. But she also has a Nikon. That’s probably what she’s using for her trip.”
    Mrs. Ryan advanced the camera slowly. “How are you holding up, Summer?”
    “I’m great. Really excited for Christmas.”
    “Your mother…” Mrs. Ryan shook her head. “It’s so unexpected. I mean, I just talked to her a month or so ago. She gave no indication…”
    I stared her down. “She’s on a trip. No big deal.”
    Mrs. Ryan blinked hard, as if she’d just run smack into a wall without noticing it was there.
    “I mean, it’s not even worth talking about,” I went on. “Like, not to Claire or anything. She probably has enough on her mind anyway, right?”
    Mrs. Ryan shifted her weight. Then she peered into the hall. “Oh. Here we are, honey.” She gestured Claire inside.
    Claire wore a heavy blue polo shirt and a long black crinkle skirt.The elastic band stretched hard against her waist. There was a blossom of acne around her mouth. Before she left, Claire’s skin had been clear and glowing. Maybe France had poisoned her.
    “How about I get a picture of you two?” Mrs. Ryan suggested, holding the Fun Saver to her face. “The friends reunited.”
    Claire rolled her eyes. “God, Mom. No.”
    “Come on. Just one. Stand together.”
    There was a frozen beat. Finally, I took a step to Claire. We used to pose for pictures with our arms thrown around each other, our tongues stuck out. Now it felt like the corners of my mouth were being held down by lead weights. Claire gave off a heated radiance, as if shame had a temperature. There was a fluttering sound. When the flash went off, bright burnt spots appeared in front of my eyes.
    “Beautiful.” Mrs. Ryan advanced the film and placed the camera on the little table in the hall. Claire and I shot apart fast.
    My father emerged, saying, Hi, Liz, and that he’d put a pot of coffee on. The adults migrated toward the kitchen. Suddenly I didn’t want my father hanging around Mrs. Ryan. Sometimes he gave up too much of himself. And Mrs. Ryan was tainted with marital strife. Some of it might somehow rub off on him, like a grass stain.
    Claire disappeared down the hall to the bathroom, but I stayed where I was, glowering at the Fun Saver on the hall table. I wanted to tear off the wrapping and rip it into thousands of pieces. I slid the camera into my pocket. If Mrs. Ryan asked, I would tell her I had no idea where it went.
    I found Claire standing in my bedroom doorway. Her eyes swept over the piles of clothes in the corner and the holiday trees and singing Santa Clauses on my dresser—I had Christmasized my room as well. “I forgot how big your room was,” she said after a pause. “My room on Avenue A is so small. And my room in Paris was even smaller.”
    There was a flowered bra on the floor, the kind that hooked in the front. I noticed a gray flannel nightgown, too, the one with the kitten silkscreened across the chest. A speech bubble above the kitten said “I love to sleep.” I stood on top of it.
    “So,” I muttered. “Biology?”
    Claire shrugged. “Sure, if you want.”
    “So what’s the deal? Didn’t you take it last year?”
    “Yeah. But I totally sucked at it.”
    But you used to be so good at everything, I wanted to say.
    I looked around my room and realized there was nowhere for us both to sit. This probably would’ve made more sense at the kitchen table. Finally, I pulled my chair over to the bed, and Claire sat down. I plopped on the bed, pulled my biology book out of my bag, and opened it. “How far behind are you?”
    “I got lost around cells and genetics.” Claire sat very upright in the