Dimples

I am an invisible man. I swear to god I am.

I sit right next to her and she can’t see me.

I could have a python over my shoulders like Brittany Spears and she wouldn’t even look my way, I guarantee it.

Well anyway, to clarify, Luisa is in my math class and she sits right to the left of me. Within reaching distance. All I would have to do is reach maybe six inches and make like ET and poke her in forehead. We’re that close.

And yet, not a word.

Not a single word directed towards me.

I pretty much successfully clear her away from my head and attempt to focus on the teacher, but her voice is unusually lulling for something that sounds like an elderly duck and I end up falling asleep, propped up on my fist.



I awaken after having a disturbing dream about Luisa and Dominick holding hands and skipping through a flowery meadow. Anyways, the teacher’s looking at me all pissed off like and she really reminds me of my mother. I smile up at her and then glance down at the embarrassing puddle of drool I was sleeping in. My grin falls and I wipe at the crusted spit all over my cheek.

A few kids snicker and Luisa actually spares me a humiliating glance.

I don’t feel like I’ve accomplished something here.

“Have a nice nap, Mr. Goodman?”

The whole class then undulates with snarky sounds of scorn.

I honestly don’t see what’s so clever about a teacher asking about my nap. I mean, it’s in every bad movie about high school that everyone’s seen.

So I decide to answer with something rather than soak in my shame like the kids in the movies do.

“Actually, yes,” I reply calmly with a big stretch and a purposeful yawn.

The teacher gapes at me with a look that can be described as the ‘oh, no you di’int!’ look.

And then I realize I’ve made a big, big mistake.



So now I’m in a cold plastic chair outside of the sophomore assistant principal’s office thanks to my ‘total disregard’ to the no back talk law.

I should probably be thinking about how much shit I’m gonna be in when my mom finds out, but really, I’m not thinking about that.

Luisa noticed me.

And not because I had dried saliva on my face, but because I have guts and I’m witty. I’m more than willing to go to the principal’s office for that.

I feel my pride kind of fluff out like a peacock. All purple and feathery-like.

…Yeah.

I sit for a while in the carpeted room, twiddling my thumbs and wishing there was a clock in here. However, there isn’t and I have no one way of knowing how long I’ve been in here.



The door finally opens and no one comes out of the office, much to my surprise. Then there’s this phantom voice that curls around of the doorframe and hovers just above my head. “Elijah. You may come in now.”

So, now I’d like to tell you that I feel as though I am seriously screwed. It sounds like Marley with the chains is gonna be in that room and is gonna drag me off someplace so I can relive all the things I’ve done wrong.

Anyways, I’m frozen in my chair for a while, just hearing an imaginary ticking clock in my head. And then a woman’s voice and face come peeking around the corner. “Elijah?”

I nod, a little frightened.

“Hey.” She kinda kneels beside my chair. “I’m Ms. Sanderson, the guidance counselor.” She holds out her pale, manicured hand.

I take it only for a moment because my own hand is seriously sweaty and it just looks wrong against hers, too dark. It’s like I’m cutting little chunks out of her skin.

“We have some things to discuss,” she says and stands once again.

I furrow my brow. “Wha?” I get the feeling that something is actually wrong and my classroom misconduct is not the actual problem here.

“Elijah, it has nothing to do with you.”

Are you kidding me, lady? It has everything to do with me. If I had nothing to do with it, would I be here?

“C’mon.”

I stand up shakily, getting that nasty feeling in my gut like I do when I go to a haunted house and I follow her into the room where two other people are waiting.

There’s the sophomore assistant principal and then there’s the head honcho of the school, Mr. Degas.

Ms. Sanderson sits in one of the chairs next to the principles and I have no choice but to settle into a minimally cushioned seat on the other side of the massive, cherry wood desk.

“Hello, Elijah,” sophomore principle says, holding out his beefy hand. I have to stand up a little to shake it and then I sit back down quickly.

Mr. Degas doesn’t say anything, he just watches with his snake-like eyes, passing them around the room and right through me.

“So… Elijah,” Ms. Sanderson starts off and then gets quiet.

Sophomore principle stares at her for a few moments and then looks at me. “We attempted to contact your parents regarding your lashing out in class.”

I scoff inwardly and then refocus.

“We were unable to get a hold of your mother.”

“Yeah… She’s on a business trip.”

Sophomore principle nods solemnly and clasps his hands in front of him. “We were also unable to get in contact with your father.”

And this is when I start to freak out a little. Dad always has his phone on him. Why didn’t he answer? What’s wrong?

Sophomore principle looks at Ms. Sanderson. She has to take it from here. She looks sympathetically at me and it’s quiet for a while minus my heart’s that’s having a little mosh pit with the rest of my organs. “He was in an accident.”

What? No. “He’s not dead.”

“No. Of course not. He should be back from the hospital tonight. You can discuss things with your family then. We don’t have all the details, but we thought you should be informed.”

I nod. “Should I… Go back to class now?”

Sophomore principle and Sanderson look at each other. Sanderson nods. “If you’re up to it.”

I nod too. “Yeah.” And I wave real quick and get up from chair.

Almost to the door, a phantom voice utters, “Good luck, Mr. Goodman.” I look behind me and scaly lips are tucked into an unpracticed smile.

I nod to Mr. Degas, my eyes bulging out a bit and then I half run out of the office and then through the doors of the main office. I am back in the fluorescent lights and scuffed up laminate floors.

I am not going back to class.

I just wander the halls, thinking.

What did Dad do?

Something like this hasn’t happened for years. He’s supposed to be better. Maybe it was all just an accident.

Something makes me think that’s not true.

Dad has done something very, very wrong.

And I get the feeling that nothing’s ever going to be the same.

I’m on my third lap around the school when I hear a voice from the auditorium.

The door is partially ajar, so I just get real close and listen for a while, my ear pressed up to the wood-vinyl.

A girl is singing.

I dunno what, but it’s beautiful and rushed and frantic and calm and still.

I feel my way to the seats at the back of the auditorium and I sit low and watch the flash of black hair leap across the stage, taking impromptu spins and dives and she whirls around and around. I watch lean blue legs sprint from left to right and white arms reach up to the sky and then back down to the ground. I watch the breathless pink mouth sing life away to the assumedly empty room, sorrow in her dark eyes.

And suddenly she stops, standing in the middle of the stage and looks out and I think she’s going to shout something earth-shattering, something to explain the unknown. But all she does is look out, seems like she’s staring right at me, looking at all my secrets.

And then she tears her eyes away and walks off, leaving ghostly footprints in her wake.

Luisa is the most beautiful person I know.