Previously: Dramatis Personae
Let's breeze right past the part where we address my inevitably pathetic return to journaling, cuz...what else am I gonna do on a Friday night?
You know...when my dad got the job that moved us to L.A., he made all these promises. He told me how our lives were about to change, and that he was gonna to give me everything he never got.
So he bought the nice big house in the all-white neighborhood, and sent me to an all-white Catholic school. And while he and I both stuck out like sore thumbs, my mom blended right in.
Any time we went somewhere--clothing shop, grocery store, coffee house--people assumed I was her personal assistant or nanny. She'd laugh it off and say I was her daughter. People would then ask if I was adopted.
"They don't mean it like that."
I can't count how many times I had to hear that from her. Clerk follows me around a store? "They don't mean it like that." Cabs don't wanna stop for me? "They don't mean it like that." Neighbors constantly forgetting I live here? "They don't mean it like that." Soulless blond mean girls making my life hell at school? "They don't mean it like that."
Thank the GODS I met Nancy Downs.
See, there's being invisible...and then there's being invisible.
At home, I was this person both of my parents were trying to forget. They were tired of my complaining and constantly telling me to be positive and not rock the boat. My dad is a corporate bigshot; he's a little hard to ignore. My mom is a classic blond socialite. By themselves, they're a team, a good-looking power couple. But once you add me to the mix, it's a problem.
They stopped inviting me out with them, claiming it was for my own good, that I'd be bored at all the soirees, that I'd rather be off hanging out with my friends. All the while, they conveniently ignored the little fact that I had no friends. I wasn't as popular as my mom hoped for, I wasn't the brainiac my dad hoped for, and when I finally joined the swim team, neither of them cared.
At home, I was someone to be avoided, but at least my parents acknowledged I was there. At school, however, it was like I didn't even exist. Nobody saw me in the halls, teachers didn't acknowledge me in class, and there were times I thought I'd fade away into nothingness.
And then came Nancy.
In a school full deadbeat rich white kids, Nancy was from the trailer park. She had short black hair, wore black makeup, had a nose ring, and actually smoked for real, not just for the look. Nobody liked her, and she didn't like anybody back. She was exactly the type of girl my parents didn't want me to be friends with, and that was the biggest part of her appeal...that and the fact she actually wanted to hang out with me.
With Nancy came Bonnie Harper, a tall, shy burn victim who stayed covered up no matter what, and just like that, I had friends. People to talk to and hang out with. Suddenly, I no longer cared about the fact my parents were ignoring me, because now I smoked, wore black, listened to metal, and ignored them right back.
It was Nancy who introduced me to the Craft, who first told me about Manon. I didn't believe any of it right away, of course, but it didn't matter because trading books on witchcraft, lighting candles, wearing charms, and chanting for hours gave us something to do.
Then small things would happen, letting us know we were close, but not quite there. We'd have the same dream. A small wish would come true. The weather would occasionally bend to our will. The more we read, and the more we tried to commune with Manon, the more we realized we what we could do...if only we had a fourth.
So along came the new girl, Sarah fucking Bailey.
You know, .I was the new girl once. I live in a nice neighborhood too. I come from a rich family too. But not a single boy ever looked my way. Yet along came Sarah, Plain and Tall, in a depressingly bland outfit, and the star of the football team couldn't hit on her fast enough.
Sarah's a natural witch. She never actually needed a coven, never actually needed us. I mean, yeah...her mom died giving birth to her, and she tried to slit her wrists one time, but she was never a real misfit like us. We were the Bitches of Eastwick and Sarah was the girl next door.
And once she finally realized that, she couldn't move on from us fast enough.
Mind you, I wouldn't have given a shit if she'd simply left the fucking coven, but the bitch took our powers with her.
Now Nancy is in a loony bin screaming her lungs out all day long. Bonnie remembered that she's hot now, so she stopped hanging out with me to become a drunken slut, touring the backseats of as many cars as possible.
And I'm back right where I started, home alone, doing nothing...hating life.