May 7, 2004

I can't keep doing this. I can't lie anymore. I'm so tired. Tired of making up stories. Tired of pretending to smile. Tired of playing a role. Tired of being her. I want my own life, my own friends, my own name, my own body – not hers. No one understands what this feels like, or how much it hurts. Every time I open my closet, walk past a mirror, even talk to someone, I see her reflected back at me, like it's this big prank to try to get me to think that someone else is really me. I won't fall for it. I was never her and I never will be, and I need to stop pretending like I am.

If he can't accept that, he was never really my friend.

I pick up the cordless phone and stare down at the dirty 7, the button to speed dial Jerome's house. It's Saturday morning and he's probably hanging around in the living room, watching reruns of "CatDog" and "Ren and Stimpy" and waiting for me to call. We said we were going to booby trap Marley's room while she was over at her friend's house doing some 'project' for school, and Jerome is the one who has the vial of fake ants we were going to shake all over her makeup stand and bed. I can't do this without him.

I can't do anything without him.

I glance up at my reflection in the hallway mirror and press the greying 7, running my fingers through my hair for the hundredth time to try to make it stand up straight. This is what I get for buying the cheapest brand of hair gel. I check to see if Mom is lurking around and listening in in the TV room while the phone rings. He answers on the second ring.

" 'Bout time. You had me worried you'd chickened out." Even over the phone he yells, like he's a comedian standing up on a stage and trying to make sure the people in the back can hear his jokes. Is everything an act with him?

"Are you kidding me, dood? After she painted my PS2 controllers with nail polish? We can't just let her fuck with us like that."

"Decent people just don't do things like that, ya know? That's takin' it too far. I'll be there in three."

"Peace."

"Peace." I hang up the phone and put it down on the table before taking one last look at myself in the mirror. I notice I'm still wearing the diamond studs Grandma bought me for Christmas, and I take them out and pocket them, just in case. Things might get ugly when Marley gets home.

The minutes crawl by while I wait for Jerome to appear at the door. I catch myself picking at the fraying seam at the bottom of my old, holey Pokemon t-shirt. Either he lost his skateboard again or he can't find a matching pair of shoes. We're an interesting duo – the weird colorblind kid no one knows how to talk to and... whatever I am. Another wave of nerves surges through my body and I shiver. Granddad said it had something to do with someone walking over your grave. I think it has something to do with me probably losing my best friend today. Well, best and only friend. We move so often I never have a chance to make any, which might not be such a bad thing after today. Maybe leaving at the end of the year would give me a chance to get rid of her.

I hear the wheels of his battered skateboard click over the ruts in the sidewalk and the loud thump of him stomping on the back of the board to pick it up. My heart drops down somewhere in my stomach when I hear his shoes crunching through the rocks in the yard, and my body goes cold when I hear the front door open in the next room. There's no going back now. There's no more lying. I have to tell him now, right now. I have to-

"Hey, Michelle? Did you know your neighbor's dog's pooping on the porch again?" I want to facepalm at how loud and awkward he is, but I can't feel my hands. I hear him set his skateboard down against the wall in the hallway with his shoes, and I can't avoid it any longer. I look around the corner to see him wiping the sweat off his forehead and adjusting his bright yellow Kirby hat in the mirror. He catches me watching him and turns to say something about the minefield of dog poop before he stops and frowns, looking at my hair. "Did you cut off your ponytail?"

"No, Marley did." His eyes widen in horror and I can see him devising some kind of revenge plan before he blinks at me and frowns even more.

"You know you can't lie, right? Coco's a better liar than you, Mich-"

"Mitch. My name's Mitch. I'm not going to pretend to be a girl anymore." He looks suspicious for a few seconds, like he's waiting for the punchline. Finally, he nods and lifts his hat up to tuck his brown-blonde bangs back out of his face, trying to find something to say.

"I mean... I wish I could say I was surprised but... You aren't a very good girl." He walks into the kitchen and looks me in the eyes for a few seconds, then he punches me in the shoulder and heads over to the pantry to grab a bag of chips. Things are going to be awkward for a while, but I still have my best friend. I still have someone I can count on. And we have work to do.

"Did you bring the ants?"

"Do chickens cluck?"