Debbi Mack - Invisible Me

For Rick

M y name is Portia Maddox. Last week, I turned thirteen. Hands on her hips, my grandma looked me in the eye and said, My, youre turning into a little lady. Yeah, right.

Technically, Im a teenager, but I feel no different than when I was twelve. My parents seem to think this birthday is a BFD. But Im just the same old me.

There are a few things you should know. My fathers in the military. That means we move a lot. Ive gone to about a hundred different schools in the last six years. Maybe a few less. People tell me I exaggerate.

You may be thinking, What kind of name is Portia, anyway? Well, my parents chose it because they are Shakespeare freaks. Portias a character from The Merchant ofVenice. I havent read the play yet, but I hear Portia is smart, beautiful, and rich. That means the only thing we have in common is the name. Who cares? As names go, its so sixteenth century. Being stuck with it is a cross I must bear. And believe me, I have more than my share of those.

My life hasnt been easy. Weve moved so many times, the moment I start to fit in and make friends, its time to leave.

Oh, yeah. One other thing. Im an albino. Thats a pigment-free person. Im talking white skin and hair, with pink eyes like a white rabbit or a gerbil. Nice, huh? Youre probably thinking, she wont be entering any beauty contests any time soon.

Did you know that many think albinos are evil? Its not true, of course. I think the rumor gained traction in that stupid book by Dan BrownThe Da Vinci Code.

Have you read it? If not, Ill save you the trouble. Its about how the Catholic Church is weird and evil. Albinos are even more weird and evil than the church, and its amazing what people can do in 24 hours if they dont eat or sleep. And, according to the book, the Louvre museum in Paris is a dangerous place. Thats it. Youre welcome.

I attend Jefferson Davis Middle School near Pensacola, Florida, where my dad is stationed. Its in the very deep South. Southerners have a take on the Civil War thats vastly different from what I learned in Newport, Rhode Island. As a matter of fact, Florida and Rhode Island might as well be on different planets.

Anyhow, its a typical day at school. Everyone is stealing glances at me or going out of their way to not look at me. Today begins my fourth week at the New School of the Month. Weve passed the stage where the kids mutter, freak or Hi, Whitey (followed by the inevitable snickers), or go dumb as posts, gawking or turning away in horror when they see me. I am now merely a curiosity. I figure my classmates either accept my appearance or have grown less disgusted by it. Whatever. I take their behavior with a grain of salt, the way I accept anything thats inevitable. Like the coldness of winter, or the notion that Ill die someday. Hey, we all have to deal with these and other harsh realities. I figure my lack of pigmentation has given me a head start.

Im sitting alone in the cafeteria, poking at the mystery lunch meat, when someone brushes against me. I hear a light tap on the bench next to where Im sitting. I glance over at a folded piece of paper.

Looking up, I see the back of Denise Laughtons blonde head retreating. The most popular girl in my class takes her place at a table with her many followers. Its the same drill every day. She glances my way. It happens so fast, I cant be sure. Maybe I imagined it.

I pick up the paper and open it. Inside, a message is written in purple ink. Beautiful penmanship. So different from my own sloppy scrawl.

The note reads: Please meet me after school by the gym. Its a matter of life and death. Thanks, D.L.

A fter seventh period, I wander by the gym, half-wondering if Im being set up or about to be the butt of another practical joke. Lingering by the door, ready to bolt, I hear psst. I step into the gym and see Denise standing against a wall a few feet away.

She waves me over. Cmon. Hurry. Her voice is pinched. She looks frantic.

What? Afraid to be seen with the freakazoid chick?

She grabs my arm and pulls me toward the bleachers. We duck underneath.

I cross my arms. Well, I guess that answers my question.

Hey, look, Im sorry. Her voice catches. Its enough for me to stand down a bit. I wanted to talk to you because I have a problem. And I cant discuss it with my friends.

I roll my eyes. Are you serious? Take my advice. Dont go into sales.

As I turn to leave, she yanks me back. I didnt mean it the way it sounded. Please, please listen to me.

She sounds desperate. I can scarcely believe the most popular girl in my class is begging me for help.

I sigh. Fine. What is it?

Its my boyfriend, Randy. I think he might be seeing another girl.

She tells me about Kathleen, a girl she met over the summer in tennis camp. They became doubles partners. Denise introduced Kathleen to all her friends, Randy included. Kathleen goes to another school. I tune out and stifle a yawn. This is a life-or-death problem? I need you to follow Randy, she says. Find out if hes seeing her.

What? Are you kidding? Why dont you follow him yourself?

Because hell notice me. I need someone he doesnt know.

I laugh. And Im the one to do it? Look at me. I dont exactly blend with the scenery.

Ive got that figured. My sisters in a theater group. Shell borrow a wig. You can wear it with a hat and dark glasses. Hell never spot you.

I start to protest. Why did she choose me? Im the new kid and Im a freak. Ah, thats why she chose me. Which leaves me with one question.

Why should I do this?

Denise leans in and whispers, as if sharing a government top secret. If you do, Ill invite you to my birthday party next month.

F or a moment, Im too stunned to speak.

Denise Laughtons upcoming birthday bash is the talk of the school. Getting asked is like receiving an invite to Miley Cyruss coming-out party.

Denise is talking but Im not paying strict attention. She shoves a photo of a girl in my face. Shes a pretty redhead with impish green eyes.

You know Randy, of course, Denise says. I nod numbly. If you see him with Kathleen she cocks her head toward the photo just let me know.

Um, okay. Apparently, weve struck a deal. Or so Denise thinks.

I consider saying no, but Denises offer entices me. I feel a sudden rush of power. Ha! Look who needs who!

T he next day after school, I see Randy and Denise talking. They say their goodbyes and he strides across the street, stopping long enough to give Denise a final wave before disappearing around a corner.