You Look Different in Real Life

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    “Haven’t you been waiting for this?” he says to me as he grabs a bowl of pudding. “I mean, I’ve got plans! If I can get two new videos online by the time they come . . .” His eyes light up. “Actually, they could shoot me shooting the videos!”
    Felix is a first-generation American , says the Five at Six website. The son of immigrants from the Dominican Republic, he’s already navigating a tricky multicultural, bilingual landscape. Will his parents’ American dream for him happen?
    When I worry about how well I know this stuff, I think of Felix. If I have it memorized, you can bet your ass he has it framed on the wall. (Well, that’s not quite fair. I’ve been in Felix’s room. He does have it framed on the wall.) Judging from his daily photo blog and the video clips he posts of himself performing original songs on his electronic keyboard, Felix would like nothing better than cameras following him 24/7.
    We reach the cash register and when we’re both done paying, I start to follow him toward our usual table. “Oh,” he says, looking over his shoulder at me. “I’m having ascreening party on Saturday. To watch Six and Eleven . You have to be there.”
    I frown hard at him. “Do you have any idea how narcissistic that is?”
    Felix’s smile drops, but only a little. “I thought it would help people get used to the idea of the cameras being around.”
    He’s not watching where he’s going and when he turns forward again, he almost walks right into another kid.
    Oh. Not another kid.
    Nate Hunter.
    How do I sum up Nate Hunter? Let’s just say that if I merely exist around here, Nate blazes, through hallways and classrooms and the swimming pool. He blinds and dazzles, if you’re into that sort of thing.
    Nathaniel is about as “homegrown” as you can get; he lives with his mother, who is young and single, and his grandparents, the owners of a long-established local farm.
    Felix and Nate stare at each other, frozen by some invisible force field between them. If I could snap a picture, it would be a study of opposites: Nate is blond and green-eyed, pale and lanky, his hair short and even vertical in places, while Felix is dark and small and shaggy-headed. This kind of moment with Nate happens sometimes, when Felix is distracted and not on his guard. Usually, I grab Felix and snap him out of it, but right now we’ve both gotthese damn trays in our hands. It’s extra awkward today, given the news about the film. All I can do is stand there and watch, and wince.
    Felix tries to like everyone and be the universal buddy, but I know if there’s one person he would want to make disappear from the planet, it’s the guy who was once like a brother to him.
    Nate looks away from Felix, then quickly around the room as if searching for someone, anyone, else. His gaze lands on me for a split second, then jumps off as quickly as possible. That’s all I rate.
    I remember what Leslie said, that Nate actually called them to see if there would be a third film. Well, of course he did. He’s got the best story out of the five of us. His will be the most dramatic “Then” and “Now” footage, and all I can feel is angry. For what he did to my best friend, and what he did to himself.
    Nate continues to search the cafeteria beyond Felix, then, apparently finding what he was looking for, moves away.
    “Come on,” I say, walking in front of Felix. I snag our table and he follows, still a bit dazed. We eat in silence for about a minute, both trying very hard not to look over to Nate’s table, which is filled with other swim team guys and their assorted female counterparts.
    “Hey, Justine,” says a voice, and I glance up to see Ian standing there with his tray, my face reflected in histhick-framed so-uncool-they’re-cool glasses. He tosses his head to flick back a lock of curly black hair. “Do you have room?”
    There’s just Felix and me at the table, so duh we have room. But I just nod and slide down the bench to make space for him.
    Felix shoots me a look, one eyebrow raised, and in return I pop my eyes at him so he gets the hint. “Oops,” he says to me, too dramatically, “I forgot napkins. Be right back.” He gets up and walks toward the napkins, but stops on his way to chat with two guys at another table.
    Ian sits and shakes up his bottle of juice, which is something that always drove me crazy ( I like the froth , he’d say), then slides his straw wrapper down to an accordion.