I Swear I'd Burn the City Down to Show You the Lights
Whenever someone was asked to describe Ava in two words, they always used the same two: smart and funny.
And she was smart. She was a very, very smart girl. More than anyone even realized until her secrets came out.
But she was smart out of necessity. It took a lot to remember all the stories everyone believed about her. She was never the same person to anyone and slipping in and out of personalities took a special kind of genius.
She did it flawlessly. That was the only thing she did flawlessly.
There were no seams when she pretend not to be herself.
That's what made her humor so prevalent. It was the only constant among her personalities.
When she was the party girl she made raunchy jokes. When she was the good girl told self-deprecating anecdotes. As a smart girl she crafted puns and irony into psychological elements. The athletic girl on the track and cross country teams made offensive observations that were only so funny because they were true.
The girl that hung out with the pot smokers out by the lake took shots at government and politics. The girl that sang in the high school choir did spot-on impression that were so impressive they were hilarious. The girl hanging by the lockers with the kids that hated life made clever commentary about social standards.
The daughter made commentary about anything related to sports, and twisted it with elements of historical irony. The sister relied on pop-culture shortcomings.
And the best friend said anything and everything. Because she was fucking hilarious.
Sometimes her jokes were too smart. They were too clever and no one was smart enough to understand the references. But that didn't matter. Her execution was enough to compensate. Whether you got it or not, Ava's jokes were funny.
She never claimed to know a lot about anything, but she knew a little about everything. Enough to hold and conversation with anyone in a room. Enough to weave in and out of crowds and make a little mark as a stitch in the whitespace.
No matter who Ava was or whom she was talking to, she could make them laugh. That's why she had so many "friends", as they liked to call themselves. That's why so many people talked to her. They liked her.
It didn't matter what they were going through. It didn't matter how shitty their day had been. Nothing mattered. She could make them laugh. No matter how many tries it took, how many jokes she burned through, how many references she had to play on, she always found a way to make anyone laugh.
It was so important to her. She felt like it was the only thing she could do right.
And occasionally it was at her own expense, but she never seemed to mind. At least not outwardly.
No matter what personality she put on, no one ever knew how much she hated herself. Everything else was completely different.
That was part of the reason people tended to assume they were the only friends she had. Because when they heard other groups talk about her, the girl they described was nothing like the girl they knew.
She had a way of making everyone feel special. Unique. Like they were the only ones that mattered to her. Like they always had been, and always would be, important. Like they were enough no matter what the world thought.
I always wished she could have just met herself.
Despite being very much an introvert, she didn't refuse socializing. She'd go to parties with me and sit quietly reading or doing God-knows-what on her laptop. But she didn't refuse to talk to people. They just had to start the conversation. She didn't want to bother anyone, but there was no rule that they couldn't bother her.
Asking for attention didn't bother her.
And when they'd notice her, they'd always get her attention. Ava was a goodtime.
Sometimes it took a few minutes, sometimes a few hours, but Ava always managed to find herself the center of attention to some group at a party. The whitespace was under the spotlight in such a remarkably nonmonumental moment. And when the laughter didn't stop, everyone knew Ava was behind it.
Lots of the other girls didn't like it. People didn't really find girls funny and it bothered them that people found Ava funny.
But I guess that's the thing with teenage girls: they hate anyone that gets more attention than they do.
It didn't matter that more often than not, Ava was whitespace. People didn't notice her. Obviously no one actually knew her. No one had ever met the real Ava. They just met impersonations of herself, tailored to fit into each group's needs and desires for a friend based on her careful observations.
That was the good thing about being whitespace. She knew exactly how to fit in and had the power to at any time chose whether or not to stand out.
And girls didn't like that. Guys didn't always like that.
Teenagers had a way of being fickle and self-righteous. They boxed everyone into two categories: pretty and smart.
If you couldn't get by on your looks you had to get by on your brains.
Yet, despite being very clever, Ava also managed to get by on her humor. On her willingness to be what people needed instead of trying to be what the world needed. Because the world needed more people like Ava.
Lots of people tried to start bad rumors about her. Just to get under that false air of confidence she emitted.
Too bad they didn't know she already hated herself.
First it was that she was pregnant. Apparently, Ava was pregnant a lot. Apparently, despite continually losing weight, she was getting fat. Because apparently she fucked lots of guys.
Then there were rumors of her being the source of the chlamydia outbreak on the basketball team, which I'd never contracted.
And the rumors about her sleeping with the assistant baseball coach.
And the rumors about her stripping part time at a joint two towns over.
And the rumors that she blew her brother's friend in the library.
And the rumors that she sent naked pictures to everyone on the football team, which I'd apparently never received.
And the rumors that she was bipolar, which were meant to be mean, but were really just ignorant.
And those were the nice ones.
Most of them were spearheaded by a girl that Ava had a less than desirable relationship with.
Ava and her brother had been close for their entire lives. Ava loved her brother truly and unconditionally. She loved him like she was never able to love other people.
And then, sophomore year, the bitch in Ava's art class weaseled her way into her brother's life.
And Ava lost her brother.
And she lost her pretty reputation.
And she started losing her mind.
Once, at a party, the bitch had the nerve to very loudly declare that it was good Ava at least had a personality. She had to have some way to attract men.
Ava had laughed when she heard. She said very happily "I'd be mad if it weren't true. I'm not pretty and I've got no boobs, so it's good that I'm funny. Well, funny looking, I guess."
And the group she'd been entertaining laughed too. People loved to laugh at her expense and she was okay with letting them.
She just let them laugh at her, because everyone had to know she wasn't laughing about the comment.
She wasn't laughing about the fact that her brother, the guy she'd loved so dearly, had abandoned her for a girl that loved to talk trash about his sister.
That wasn't funny.
That was fucking sad.
But she didn't blame anyone but herself.
When I took her home from the party that night I could tell she wanted to cry. But she also didn't want the bitch to have the satisfaction of getting under her skin. Too bad there wasn't enough room. It was already stretched tight over her skeleton. There wasn't much to Ava at that time.
She was incredibly sick.
It was just another emotion she stuffed into her hollow bones and I wished she wouldn't.
But that was how she dealt with herself and that was when I didn't know how to deal with her. That was when I first found out her secret. That was when I was trying my hardest to keep treating her like a normal person.
"D'you think I'm pretty, Carter?" she asked, staring out the windshield, trying to disappear into the fog around the headlights.
I knew better than to give her a generic answer. You didn't just bullshit Ava. You didn't tell her things she wanted to hear.
Because she knew how to read people. And she knew when they were lying.
So I told her that I found her pretty. But I didn't think she was conventionally pretty. She was pretty ordinary, really.
And she nodded. "I think you're a beautiful man," she said thoughtfully. Because Ava didn't bullshit. She believe that.
I told her not to worry about what that bitter little bitch said and she laughed.
"I'm okay with not being pretty. I just wish everyone else was okay with me feeling that way."
I told her she was pretty in a weird way. And she wasn't as homely as some of the more popular girls.
"I don't even have a good personality. I'm just really mean and people think I'm joking."
I told her to admit that she was funny.
"I'm not funny. I'm just really good at faking it." She bit her bottom lip, winked, and socked me in the arm. "Aren't I good at faking, Carter?"
I laughed at my little party girl.