cherry chapstick, ballet slippers,

library books, medical records,

potato soup, lentils and lemon zest,

you probably already know all the rest.

your mother made chicken pot pie tonight,

your brother returned from the other side,

as the sun's setting I’m sure that you'll find

it doesn't get better than this.

you have been filled

with such dark places

they may prop it up now

but it will not stand.

you begin to feel it

that dull soaking anguish

if the wind took it up now

it would never land.

but they cannot afford you

the kindness of rapture

for the loss of their demon

in the shape of a man.

so whatever is left

of your self or the vulture

let it follow the river

for as long as it can.

(disclaimer: don't ask me what this means I don't know either)

(It's okay, you can laugh at the title.)

The first thing that you should probably know about Avery is that she has an abysmal fashion sense. She bought two of the same pair of jeans once, and she has about six different shirts. She has never yet been seen in another pair of shoes besides those beat-up blue sneakers.

She doesn't want her hair to grow out, or for her sister to paint her toenails. She threw out all her dresses and won't buy any more. She doesn't have a great track record of combing her hair, and she might be a feral creature if she wasn't so dependent on her creature comforts.

That being said, Avery's alright when you're not looking at her. She's at her best next to you and breathing in sync with you, whether you're watching something she doesn't care about on television, or sleeping next to her in a very cold bed. (Don't get any ideas. You'll be sleeping and nothing else.) She's always cold, so she'll steal all the blankets, but you might not even notice.

In the mornings she doesn't care about anything except remembering as much of last night's dream as she can, but by ten or eleven she's probably snapped out of it. That's when the fun begins. The worst thing about Avery is that you can always, always be sure- unless your name is [redacted for privacy reasons], she'd rather be doing something else than being with you.

No physical description has been provided, because it's not confirmed that the physical form she takes is her true one, and because, well, she's ugly.

I don't want to be the last to die,

and if at all possible,

I would like to go right before winter,

so the last thing I remember

is you, and warmth,

which is the same thing.

I changed when I stopped thinking she was going to die.

Every morning I woke up and I was sure she was already dead, but they had yet to tell me.

I never expected it to happen. In retrospect, I should have been at least a little suspicious, but during the build-up I suspected nothing. Then everything changed, and I spent every waking moment in terror, because it was entirely possible that I was existing in the period of time between her death and my knowledge of her death.

Then, just as unexpectedly, my heart stopped lurching the rest of me awake every morning. I wasn't living in fear anymore. I wasn't having fits of hysteria at the lunch table as everyone stared anymore. I was and am still afraid, but it's the kind of fear I can breathe around.

I can't give you a date for either times I changed, because it wasn't like that. Time was a concept that had to watch on the sidelines like everyone else. It had good company: it sat next to all the other things I was supposed to be paying attention to.

Now I can tell you the date again. The time, even. We may be in the middle of a pandemic, but I've been doing better than ever, because she's alive, and I can be sure about it.

My best friend Victor lives in his own version of reality where angels fall from the sky, mysterious men in all black are constantly after him, and zombies come back from the grave with crazy superpowers. Sometimes it’s exhausting being his friend, but some nights he seems almost normal, and that’s when it pays off.

Like tonight. Victor’s sitting still, which never happens. He’s barely even bobbing his leg up and down. His hair is combed, his shirt is buttoned- it’s like he’s a completely different person. Still, that funny little slant to his mouth always gives him away, even when he’s playacting as the picture-perfect young scholar.

“Two truths and a lie,” he says.

“Victor, that’s a kid’s game,” I say. “I thought you wanted to go out tonight.”

“I do. I promise. Just humor me, Jude.”

I always do.

“You first,” Victor says.

“Give me a second to think,” I tell him.

“Sure, but it better be good.”

I’m tempted to blow this off, but Victor doesn’t react well when you blow him off, so I put some honest effort into coming up with my answers. “Okay, first one: my favorite movie is Dead Poets Society.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ve been to three foreign countries.”

“That’s the lie,” he says.

“Let me finish! I’m allergic to bees.”

“Huh,” he says. “You’ve stumped me. I really don’t know. I’m gonna say bees.”

“Nope,” I say. With someone else, I might say, “Seriously? How don’t you know that I’m allergic to bees? We’ve been friends for ten years!” But Victor is kind of self-absorbed. I used to be annoyed by it, but now it’s just a fact of life.

“Oh, right,” he says. “That only happened in my head.” I have no idea what he’s referring to. A lot of things happen in Victor’s head. “The three countries one, then.”

“Wrong again. I hate Dead Poets Society.”

“I don’t watch movies,” Victor says. “Ready for mine?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Without hesitation, because he’s probably had these prepared since he woke up this morning, he says, “Truth: You’re my favorite person, Jude.”

Compliments from Victor are few and far between, so I let myself enjoy it.

“Lie: I'm allergic to bees.”

“Victor, I don’t think you’re supposed to tell me which one is the lie.”

“Truth: by the end of the night, one of us will be dead.”

I force a laugh, because how else can you respond to something like that? Besides, Victor loves making dramatic proclamations. That doesn’t mean there’s any truth to them, no matter what he says. “Can we go now?”

“Yeah,” he says, and it’s like a spell’s been broken. He puts on his shoes, runs a nervous hand through his hair, and flashes me a brilliant smile.

Outside, Maisie’s pulled up in her 2004 Toyota Camry, a car with few redeeming features, the speakers blaring. Her latest boyfriend wired it to sound like the inside of a club. Maisie loves her hobbyists. We slide into the backseat, and even though Tanner or Travis or whatever is vaping up an apple pie-flavored storm in the passenger seat, Victor doesn’t complain.

“Victor, you’ve met Trent, right?” Maisie asks as she pulls out of the lot.

“I think so. Didn’t we have a class together in freshman year?” This is the most normal thing I have ever heard him say.

“Maybe,” Trent grunts, offering me the pen, which i politely decline.

“Babe, put that thing away,” Maisie says. “Jude’s allergic, or something.”

“I get rashes,” I say, even though it’s not true.

We end up in an IHOP, and after that, one of those hippie stoner stores that smell so strongly of incense, it would overwhelm any vape cloud. Maisie’s elbow-deep in a bin full of crystals and geodes, Trent’s perusing a rack of baja hoodies, and Victor and I are pretending to be interested in these cheap zodiac symbol pendants.

“I’m pretty sure I’m a Libra,” Victor says. “I googled it once. Which one of these is the Libra sign?”

I’m about to respond that I have no idea when the power flicks off.

“Aw,” the cashier says gloomily. “Hey, I’m going to the back- don’t steal anything.”

“We won’t,” Maisie promises, even though I saw her pocket a chunk of rose quartz earlier.

We shuffle out to the car, and everywhere nearby has gone dark, too. I wonder what happened that caused the whole area to lose power.

“You’re my favorite person, Jude,” Victor says very quietly behind me.

I turn around, but he’s already falling backwards. Trent whips out an arm to catch him. I’m impressed- I didn’t expect him to have decent reflexes.

“Is he on something?” Maisie asks. “Besides, like, Adderall?”

I have no idea which pills Victor takes, but none of them have ever had the side effect of making him pass out, or- I frantically check his pulse, remembering what he said earlier, but thank god, he’s still alive. “We should probably take him to the hospital.”

Trent helps me get Victor into the car. I guess I can’t really dislike him anymore. He’s good in a crisis. Maisie looks up directions to the hospital, because she doesn’t know how to get anywhere by herself, and off we go.

I check to make sure Victor’s still breathing about every five seconds. As we get closer to the hospital, something about the air feels off somehow- like I can see it moving.

“Turn around! Turn the car around!” Victor shouts. He’s suddenly conscious again.

“You passed out, Victor. We need to get you to the hospital,” Maisie says.

“I’m fine,” Victor says. “But you need to turn this car around and drive in the other direction.”

“Why?” Maisie asks, returning her attention to the road. “Wait, are those...”

“Bugs,” Trent says. “A lot of them.”

“I think they’re...” Maisie closes the windows. “Bees.”

As soon as she says it, I know she’s right. I can hear a thousand, a million, a billion bees buzzing at once. They’re swarming around the hospital in the distance, and there’s so many of them that I can’t even see the building.

“I’m allergic to bees,” I say.

“Yeah, I guess we better turn around,” Maisie decides, taking a U-turn at the next light. It’s getting pretty dark, and without streetlights it’s difficult to see the road. If the bees don’t kill me, Maisie’s driving might.

“What would make so many bees swarm like that?” Trent wonders.

“There shouldn’t even be that many bees,” Maisie says. “They’re endangered.”

“I’ve never seen something like that when I’m sober. I must be tripping,” Trent says, staring out the back window.

“Drive faster,” Victor urges Maisie. “They’re coming after us.”

He’s right- there’s a group of bees that have broken off and are in hot pursuit of the car. Maisie slams on the gas. I search through my pockets for my Epipen, even though if I get stung more than once, it won’t do any good. For a moment, I stop worrying about Victor and start worrying about myself.

“Bees don’t behave like this,” I say. “That’s not normal. I’m probably just dreaming or something.”

“Come on, Jude.” Victor’s eyes are dazed and unfocused, but he turns his head toward me. “It’s not a dream.”

“Did you know this would happen?” I ask him.

“Not this exactly,” he says. “Something like it.”

It’s strange how his lie was about bees, and now there’s a swarm of them chasing us through the streets. But Victor didn’t bring up bees, I remember. He just repeated me. It’s a funny coincidence.

“I can make it stop, I think,” he says.

Then the car spins out of control.

In Maisie’s defense, the bees have blocked the windshield. Still, I can’t help but be a little angry at her. None of us gets out.

“I don’t know what to do,” Maisie says. “Do we just wait them out?”

“Victor, explain what you just said to me,” I say. “You’re not messing around?”

“I can take care of it,” Victor says. “Watch.” He reaches for the door handle, and Maisie deftly smacks the child lock.

“Did you not hear Jude? They’re allergic! Do not open that door!” she says like she’s speaking to a child.

“They’re stinging the windows,” Trent observes. “They’re gonna break through.”

I suppose I should be panicking, but I just look to Victor. “Humor me,” he says,

and I always do.

I nod, and he picks up his phone and types something out before reaching for the lock on Maisie’s door. He flicks it open before she can protest. He’s out of the car, and not one bee slips in during his exit- they all go for him.

I can’t see anything because the window is covered with bees, but after a little bit the swarm disperses quickly, and Victor is nowhere to be found.

He’s not on the ground, and Maisie and Trent report that he’s not a short distance away. They insist that I stay in the car in case there’s any stray bees remaining in the area. Trent’s still convinced that he’s hallucinated the whole thing, and I’m not sure I haven’t. In fact, when I return to our apartment later that night, I half-expect Victor to be waiting for me with something batshit crazy to say.

It doesn’t really hit me that he’s gone until the morning. That’s when I finally call the police and tell them he’s missing- I don’t know what I was thinking, not calling it in last night. Once that awful phone call is over, I check my messages and see one from Victor from last night. I don’t know how I missed it.

It says: Maybe I told you one and a half lies.

I text back: What do you mean? Even though for all I know his phone’s still in the back of Maisie’s car- I don’t know if he took it with him. Two hours later, I still haven’t moved from the couch when the reply comes. It’s from a different number that I don’t have saved, but I know it’s him.

He says: You’ll see.

(part one, things that cut)

First day of school.

My hand’s bleeding. I’ve smashed something. I don’t recall what. Teacher’s glaring, not at me. Kids are whispering, not about me. Never about me. It’s a curse to be so invisible.

“My hand’s bleeding,” I tell the teacher. It really is. Very badly. Blood running down my arm. “Can I go see the nurse?”

“I suppose,” she says. Her voice is like glass, shiny and sharp and disappointed and never ever interested in me. She writes me a pass on a slip of paper, and off I go.

But here’s the funny thing- as soon as I’m out in the hall, it abruptly stops bleeding. I guess I don’t need to go to the nurse after all. But why waste a perfectly good pass?

I wander into the bathroom area. There’s a lounge space between the two bathrooms where kids can loiter around during lunch, and it’s currently occupied by my best friend Kerrie and her group of girls that pass cigarettes around gossip circles. First day of school makes them cautious all over again, so today all they pass is the softest of secrets: who came back to school with a new haircut or a new boyfriend, who didn’t come back at all.

Kerrie has the power to see me, and she opens a spot for me in the circle. “So,” she says, pointing a question at me so the rest of the girls will see me too. “New kids.”

“New kids?” I echo. Boring. Dull. I never have anything to say. What little attention my arrival has amassed is gone as soon as I open my mouth to speak.

“Three of ’em,” Kerrie continues to the circle as a whole. “Rich kids, I hear.”

“Still dress like they’re going to private school,” Mackenzie adds from across the circle.

“Probably got kicked out for bad behavior,” says Stephanie, the girl on my left.

Someone offers names. Matthew. Tella. Turner. I don’t ask how they acquired these names or all this information. Word travels fast, especially when new kids are involved.

“I give them a week. The scrawny one seems to fancy himself their leader. Two days before he picks a fight with one of the football players and gets his shit handed to him. Maybe the girl lasts a few days longer before she spirals. And the big one looks like he’d be dumb. He’s already finished.” Madison, the frequent supplier of cigarettes, gives this speech. Everyone laughs.

“Private school boys and their shared girlfriend,” someone else says, taking a swig from a flask of broken glass. “We’ll get them kicked out soon enough.” This, too, is met with laughter.

“Don’t want no private school boys,” Kerrie says, and it becomes a sort of chant. A rhythm. Madison picks it up, then Steph and Mackenzie, and soon all the girls are doing it. “Don’t want no private school boys.” Stomping feet and just a little sweat, pounding out a rhythm on a brand-new notebook. The cigarette is not there, but it is still getting passed around. “Don’t want no private school boys!” Their eyes shine with laughter; it’s all just an extension of the joke. “Don’t want no private school boys!” I back out of the circle. They don’t mind. Snap-clap-stomp, snap-clap-stomp, all together now, loudest one yet- “Don’t want no private school boys!”

Flushed faces and restless hands. The silence after rings in my ears. Well, it’s laughter, no silence, but the invisible silence is what hits- and that kind of silence can kill.

Some administrator pokes her head in. “Come on, girls. It’s the first day of school. Get back to class before I write all of you up. Nguyen, I'm watching you.” She stares right past me at Kerrie, who flushes guiltily.

Their tight-knit group breaks into fragments. Kerrie returns to my side, eyes still shining. Kerrie’s been my best friend since we were kids, and part of her is still that mean little girl skipping over sidewalk cracks and ready to pick a fight. She’s as rough around the edges as a broken bottle. She doesn’t smoke, but she’ll jump right in and take a drag if she gets something out of it. Kerrie, always searching for things. Doesn’t matter what. It’s the search that matters.

“Tella’s your type,” she informs me. “Pigtail girl. She’s got purple hair. I know you like the crazy ones.”

I like the crazy ones because I don’t have a choice. Normal girls forget I exist in the middle of our conversation. Not their fault. Just how it is.

I shrug. “Like I would go for a private school girl.”

“Don’t want no private school girls either.” Kerrie claps me appraisingly on the back. “See you at lunch, Will.”

I scribble a pathetic forgery of the nurse’s signature on my pass and return to class three minutes before the bell. Teacher barely glances at the scrap of paper and tosses it in the bin. Three minutes I return to my desk, broken glass and blood left on my chair that no one’s cleaned up because no one can see, and just thinking about it makes me start bleeding again. Invisible glass. Invisible blood. 

The bell rings.

My stomach aches in disinterest, or maybe it’s actually hunger. I can never tell. Either way, I grab lunch, knowing I’ll eat none of it. Today it’s these rock-hard little beef nuggets in mystery sauce and rice that tastes like bad water. I walk out to the tables and no one is there. Kerrie isn’t there. The room’s empty but for three kids sitting in a tight pack at a far table.

I walk closer. Two boys, one thin as a rail, the other one twice his size, and a radiant dark-skinned girl in braided pigtails sitting between them. The universe is obviously telling me to sit across from them, so I do, and the world returns to its normal crowded state.

Matthew, the scrawny one, stares right through me, which makes perfect sense. But to my surprise, both Tella and Turner see me right away. Maybe they’re just particularly observant. Maybe they’re like Kerrie.

“Oh, hi!” Tella says, elbowing Matthew, who gives me a once-over and offers me a polite smile before returning his attention to his lunch. Turner remains stoically silent. “Figures,” Tella says, her long-lashed eyes flicking from Matthew to Turner to me. “I’m Tella, and these are my friends. They’re not great at first impressions. What brings you to our corner of the lunchroom?”

“The universe told me to,” I say. My general policy is to tell the truth, though the truth often makes no sense to anyone else. But Tella seems to like this response. She blows a bubblegum bubble as big as her head and frowns when it pops. “I’m Will,” I add, because it seems necessary.

“Does the universe often tell you things?” Tella asks. She doesn’t ask this in a mean way. She seems genuinely interested. Nobody is ever interested in me.

“Every so often.” I glance across the cafeteria and see Kerrie looking upset in my direction at the punk-rock kids table. All of them have earbuds in. As a visible person, Kerrie can’t join me and sit by the new kids. She has a reputation to uphold. “I think I have to go now.”

“Oh.” Tella looks disappointed. “Well, Will, you’re the first person to talk to me all day, and I’m terribly bored. Come over here again sometime.”

I’m so unused to social interaction that it’s all I can do to nod and stumble away in the direction of Kerrie, who is looking disgruntled. The universe tosses me a word that echoes around my ears. Missing. I don’t know who it’s for, and as is the nature of many invisible things, I doubt I will ever find out.

“Finally decided to join me,” Kerrie says. She stabs a beef nugget and dips it in ranch. 

“Sorry,” I say. “Universe things.”

Kerrie is used to my universe things. She gets over herself. “So,” she says. “Any plans for this year?”

My plans are to survive, but that’s not what Kerrie means. She’s not talking about the guidance-counselor nonsense of what I’m doing to achieve my goals for after high school, either. Kerrie wants an adventure. And her invisible best friend always manages to provide.

I had been looking forward to this conversation, even though the year never goes how we plan it out- what with monsters constantly trying to kill me and all. But now I can’t focus. I think I’ve gone a little more invisible than usual. “I think something is really going to go down with these new kids.”

“Probably,” Kerrie says. “It always does. But I didn’t think you were interested in normal high school stuff, Will.”

“I’m not,” I say.

“Anyway! They don’t matter. What’s gonna happen this year?”

“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen,” I say, because I’m feeling it now. Feeling the rightness of it. The universe. Me. Maybe both. Whatever. “There’s gonna be some freaky shit going down, and it’s gonna involve them. All of them.”

“Oh, this is a premonition,” Kerrie realizes. “I get it. What kind of freaky shit are we talking? Invisible shit?”

She’s already on the search. “I’m not sure,” I say, “but it’s something big.”

First day’s all the way over. I’m walking to my car when the sunlight is blocked by someone approaching me. The invisible sunlight from the invisible sun that’s low enough on the horizon to cast the invisible sky into sunset.

It’s the boy. The one who said nothing. Well, neither of them said anything, but this one- Turner- his silence felt like so much more.

“What?” I ask. 

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“Do you need something?”

“Um. Actually. Yes.” One word sentences. He clears his throat, coughs up a few chunks of glass and tosses them on the ground like it’s nothing. “I need a ride home, and I don’t know anyone.”

This I understand. “But your friends- they won’t take you? I saw the slight one drive away in a very nice shiny car.”

“Oh,” he says. “Well, they don’t know.”

“They don’t know you haven’t got a car?”

“They know that. I mean. I don’t like to remind them.”

I observe his fancy private school clothes closely, and find them fraying. His jacket is missing a button. His shoes are just beat-up sneakers. That’s the mark of secondhand. I don’t understand why this wasn’t in the gossip circle today. Maybe they were just being nice, but I have never known the gossip girls to be nice. Everyone at school is quick to discover other people’s flaws and quicker to pounce on them.

“Before my aunt got me,” I tell Turner, “I lived in a trailer park with my mom. We had nothing.” Now I have new shoes and an old car that runs fine, and a big bedroom all to myself. But I don’t forget. “I can take you home.”

“And you won’t tell people?”

Who would I tell? No one sees me. “No. No one.” Not even Kerrie. A drum beats in the distance, lonely and loud. The parking lot shivers, and we both shiver with it- coincidence?

Turner struggles into my tiny car. It isn’t built for someone his size. He has to recline the seat so his head doesn’t hit the ceiling. 

He gives me directions. A house not far from the trailer park where I used to live, and not just in distance. A couple little kids are out playing in the yard, hands covered in mud.

“I was on scholarship,” he tells me.

“What?”

“For my old school. Until we switched here. Until Matthew said we were switching.”

“Oh.” I didn’t think he'd be a smart kid. “Do you miss your old school?”

“I don’t know,” Turner says. “I miss some things.” I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. “Thank you for getting me home.”

The little kids greet him eagerly as he walks up the driveway. One glances in my direction and I wave, forgetting my invisibility for a moment. The kid’s attention snaps elsewhere immediately, like the universe called her away.

I take the car out of park, and drive over all the broken glass in the road.

The week passes in a snap, of course. Over before it’s started. Teachers gleefully begin to kick things up a notch. The visible kids have mostly stopped with the charade that they all had such wonderful summers and have moved on to other things. We all know that everyone did nothing but sit on the couch and hand their brains over to the television in carelessly wrapped packages.

Kerrie fills me in on all the gossip. She’s fully committed to the universe’s interest in the new kids. She tells me about slight Matthew laying the groundwork for a glorious scheme, which sounds promising until I devise that the scheme is for gaining popularity. Soon his empty lunch table will become a valued commodity. Several of the cigarette gossip corner girls have joined his corner already, but still retain skepticism.

It’s hard to find anything universe-worthy in this news. Instead of listening, I examine Kerrie’s collection of small injuries. Today, she has added nothing that will scar. She collects bruises like I collect glass- never meaning to, but as a hazard of occupation. 

Kerrie’s a fighter. She fights people after school. Some are friendly, letting-off-steam ordeals, others less so. She always, always gives as good as she gets. She’s made for it. She even fights boys sometimes, but only the ones that stand a chance against her. Boys aren’t exciting, Kerrie always tells me. They’re far too willing to surrender.

I don’t go to her fights anymore.

Neither of us want me there. Fighting is Kerrie’s thing that doesn’t involve me. And when I went a couple of times, all I heard was sickly-sweet minor key carnival music, like a music box winding down in a horror movie. It made my head spin.

Today Kerrie sports only hints of bruises. One beneath her eye, a few on her knuckles that join a healthy cluster of them. And a split lip. “Cut it on Cindy Karat’s acrylics,” she says proudly. “They cost her ten bucks, and now two of them are broken.” She takes a swig of her shattered-glass smoothie, and it begins bleeding again. “Aw, shit. Will, do you think you can-”

“I can try. Hopefully the universe is in a good mood.” I reach out to the universe, waiting just at the corner of my vision as always, and tell it to stop the bleeding. Kerrie’s now attracting concerned attention, which she waves off good-naturedly. But I see the snap-clap-stomp in her eyes and clenched teeth.

The universe does not see why it always has to cater to the visible people at my whim. It does not trust any of them.

“Listen,” Kerrie says, crumpling up her napkin and pressing it to her face, “you gotta make that bitch listen to you. Not the other way round. Tell it who’s boss.”

She is right. Whether the universe is some kind of god, an inscrutable cryptid, or just my subconscious, I have always tiptoed around it. I never want to cross it. But now I tell the universe firmly that I want Kerrie to stop bleeding.

“Nice one.” Kerrie says and offers me a fist bump. I don’t know whether I fixed her or the blood clotted, but I accept credit anyway.

Turner walks over to our table and sits down at one of several vacant chairs.

“Tella asked me to come talk to you guys,” he says. “She doesn’t slip through people’s eyes as well as I do.” There’s that drummer again. I don’t know where the sound’s coming from. I think she might be hiding in someone’s pocket, or maybe in the pages of a textbook. The invisible musicians are not always life-sized.

“Here’s the universe’s chance.” Kerrie elbows me indiscreetly. “Is it saying anything?” Turner looks at us strangely. The universe remains silent. I shake my head.

“I think she wants us all to be friends,” Turner says in a voice that tastes like dried coffee grounds. The smell is not terrible at all, but when he drops the pot of coffee on the floor, the boiling liquid splashes on me. I thought it had been dry, but it seems to have changed its mind.

“Well, then she has excellent taste,” Kerrie says, slapping her hands on the table for emphasis. I heal the burns quickly before either of them notice.

Turner stares at her. At her hands.

“My eyes are up here,” Kerrie jokes.

“You’re a fighter,” Turner says. He’s looking at her bruises. “You’re like me.”

Oh, not another one. 

“Sure am.” Kerrie flashes him a brilliant diamond grin. “Why? Do you wanna fight me? You’ll have to get in line, if that’s the case.”

“I only fight when I have to,” Turner says.

“Now that’s interesting,” Kerrie says and surrenders her chicken nuggets to the sophomore sitting next to her. He’s delighted enough to take one of his earbuds out for three seconds to say thanks. “And do you win?”

“Every time.” But he doesn’t seem proud. He seems almost sorry.

Kerrie’s voice drops. “You ever hurt someone really bad?” He twitches uncomfortably. “You ever kill something?”

She says it like it’s another joke, but I know that Kerrie’s dead serious. 

The glass chandelier hanging above our heads shatters into a thousand tiny and wicked sharp pieces, and somehow all of it lands on me. Typical. I stand up and brush myself off, invisible glass tumbling to the ground. I search for the invisible culprit- perhaps it’s one of those damnable musicians- but it’s none of them. It’s the boy sitting in front of me with clenched fists and eyes like fire.

“Oh, you’re bleeding, Will.” Kerrie says to me, and it’s true. Turner’s fists unclench. I might be mad at him, but I don’t think he can control breaking the chandelier any more than I can control imagining it into existence. 

Kerrie doesn’t see it, of course. All she sees is me and my randomly opening cuts that I have the universe close back up a few moments later. But Turner looks at the glass shards fading into the ground and back to me in wonder.

“You guys should talk to Tella,” is all he says. “Maybe after school. She’s got all of Matthew’s spare popularity to juggle during the day.”

Oh, that was good. I have never met anyone like me before.

The invisible glass finishes dissolving into the floor, and no one looks up as Turner walks back across the lunchroom. But I see his footprints dig into the linoleum floor and harden into sun-baked clay.

We meet Tella after school, just me and Kerrie. It rains what I am pretending is red Kool-Aid outside, and neither Tella nor Kerrie bat an eye when I refuse to leave the building. Most of the people have left already, and Turner has discovered the existence of school buses and has not asked me for a ride since. It is clear to me that he is avoiding the practice of needing things from people.

I wonder how he’s dealing with the Kool-Aid.

“So,” Tella says.

“So,” Kerrie repeats.

They stare at each other, and I wonder if they’re going to fight. It seems like something Kerrie would do, and I’m sure Tella is the kind of girl to fight back. She’s switched over to staring at me. “You guys are like us,” Tella says. “I mean, I can’t think of a less stupid way to phrase that.”

“How are we like you?” Kerrie says, because I think she’s still hoping for a fight. Maybe she doesn’t mean to be, but she is. “You’re the private school kids. I doubt we have much in common.”

“Oh, come on. You know what I’m talking about.” 

“I’m not sure I do.”

“Are you really going to make me say it?” It seems Tella prefers to dance around things that are strange to talk about. Kerrie hates those kinds of people. 

“Say what?” Kerrie asks innocently. 

“The otherworld. Turner and her.” Tella nods at me. “They’re the same, and you and me are the same. You know. The universe?”

“Will, you talked to her about the universe?” Kerrie asks me.

“Was I not supposed to?” 

“It’s fine. I already knew about all that stuff from Turner. We call it the otherworld. Turner sometimes talks about an intuitive force that guides his actions. I’m assuming that’s her universe, the one that’s giving her instructions.”

“Hello,” I say. “I’m right here. I’m not invisible.” Then I laugh, and so does Kerrie. I can tell that Tella doesn’t get it.

“You look visible to me,” she says.

“She’s functionally invisible,” Kerrie explains. 

“No one notices me unless I’m loud,” I say. 

“What’s out there?” Tella asks me. She’s talking about the Kool-Aid. Nuances are like me, visibly challenged, and I catch on very well. 

“Invisible Egyptian plague.”

She nods. “Anyway, I’m kind of out of my depth. Turner’s been talking about something big happening for a few weeks now, and it’s not going to be something on my plane of existence. He says it’s…”

Kerrie leans in.

Tella glances around nervously, like someone’s going to be eavesdropping, but no one visible or invisible is in earshot. “Life or death,” she says.

This of all things is what ends the downpour. The air still swells with the lingering stench, but the sugary metal Kool-Aid washes down the drains faster than any visible liquid. Every last drop. Like it was never there at all.

“We’ll see what we can do,” Kerrie says. “I have to go beat up Molly Price now, but follow my Instagram, okay? I’ll set up a groupchat.”

“Hmm,” Tella says, watching her go. “Are you and her a thing?” She’s talking to me now. 

“Kerrie doesn’t like girls,” I say.

“And you?”

Now, I had already dreamt this conversation a thousand different ways, and planned our wedding on Mercury. But this simple question fills my mouth with sawdust. 

“I,” I say. “Um.”

“It’s too soon to tell,” Tella says. “But I think I might really like you. Wanna give it a go?” 

The way she speaks is so interesting. I want to dwell on it, but the universe is screaming at me to say yes, you idiot. The universe? No, this time it’s just me.

“That would be alright,” I say. And I’m disgusted with myself. Being awkward around cute girls is such a visible thing to do.

Maybe I am not so far removed from the visible after all.

(part two, things that bleed)

Something awful happens one day in school. I am seen. And it is all the terrible slight Matthew’s fault.

There has been more and more broken glass lying around the school as the year goes on. Nearly a month in and I am playing hopscotch in the halls to avoid it all. People might look at me strangely, except they are too busy already giving me a wide berth. Not out of respect. Just instinct. That is the way of things.

Except slight Matthew does not obey this instinct. He seeks me out. He squints his eyes so they will not betray him, and stops me in the hall.

“Hey!” he calls, loudly, so I have no choice but to hear him.

People never see me.

“You’re Will, right?” he asks. “Tella’s new friend.”

But they see Matthew.

“My name is Matthew,” he says. “I’m sure you knew that already, but somehow we haven’t been acquainted so well yet.”

And they will see that he is talking to someone.

“I hope you don’t mind my asking,” he says, “and don’t feel pressured to answer, but you’re like Turner, right?”

And Matthew’s strange comings and goings are under intense scrutiny lately. He is all anyone will talk about. And he is talking rather loudly and drawing all the eyes in the crowded hall to him and to me. Eyes that recognize the background girl they’ve seen a thousand times without meeting. They might ask me questions. They might notice my imperfections. They might remember me longer than the few seconds I remain in their line of sight.

“I would prefer to hold this conversation in a place with less people,” I say in a voice so quiet that it will only be heard by Matthew. Rarely do I concern myself with the volume of my voice, but now I must.

“You actually like remaining unnoticed?” Matthew glances around at the army he’s drawn to his side. Each holds a glass spear, ready to shatter us both on his command. “Oh, dear. I was under the supposition I was doing you a favor- I am terribly sorry.”

Terrible is the word for it,alright.

“I’ll distract them,” Matthew says. “You make a run for it. With any luck, you’ll slide back into anonymity by day’s end.” He winks. I cannot distill any meaning from this gesture. Then he strikes up a match- no, a tune- no, a conversation. And striking is the word for it too. I’m losing my grip on language more so than the usual.

The walls are solving. Dissolving. Whichever.

Matthew grins back at me, a grin that does not say friendliness. It is a baring of teeth. And though his teeth are perfectly straight and not pointed, I am reminded horribly of a different grin from a creature that appeared drastically different. I realize why he is so intent on paying me attention.

He is a monster.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kerrie says. “Matthew may be a little creep, but he’s no monster.”

“You weren’t there,” I insist. “He managed to mix up my brain.”

“No offense, Will, but your brain gets mixed up a lot.”

“It was just like Jessy did. Remember the spring carnival in seventh grade?”

“Yeah,” Kerrie says. “But I could tell with Jessy and all the monsters. That thing always looked like a monster. Those weird little claw things- Matthew looks totally normal. Or did you see something different about him?”

“Well, no- but I didn’t have time to look-”

“Not everyone bad is a monster, Will.”

“I know that,” I say, indignant.

“Matthew likes making girls uncomfortable. I think he’s a perv or something. He already tried to make a move on me the other day, did I tell you? It was after school. He asked me where I was headed and slid his weaselly little arm around my waist. God, I should have kicked his skinny ass, but I was nice. Just one swift punch to the gut. Hey, Will, you wanna learn to punch in case he comes after you again?”

“I already know. Thumb outside of your fist. It’s in every book ever written,” I say. “But people would see me punch Matthew. I’m not that invisible.”

“That’s fair,” Kerrie says. “Hey, what are you doing after school today?”

I grin at the thought. “I’m going on a date.”

Dates with Tella are fun. She does all the talking, which might sound terrible, but it’s perfect for me. Even better, she never seems bothered by every odd thing about me. When I won’t go to the women’s bathroom at the restaurant tonight, she agrees that it’s a little smelly. I decide not to tell her that the toilets are filled with the tears of ancient dreamers who are so invisible that even I can’t see them.

“Is Matthew a monster?” I ask.

She blinks. “A monster? I wouldn’t say he’s that bad. I mean, he’s kind of an asshole, but I wouldn’t go that far.”

For dates, Tella puts her hair up in two buns. It kind of makes her look like a little kid, but that’s perfect too. I wish I was a kid again. Monsters never used to attack me back then.

“I mean a real monster,” I say. “Does Turner have a different word for it? An invisible-world monster.”

Tella frowns. “No, he’s never mentioned any monsters. And I think I’d know if Matthew was one. I’ve known him since we were kids.”

“Then what’s the life-or-death thing?” I ask. “It would make sense if it were a monster.”

“What life-or-death thing?” Tella asks, but it’s not going to fool me. “No, I remember… I think Turner was just exaggerating. He gets worried over a lot of things that aren’t real.”

The universe informs me that this is suspicious behavior, which I already knew.

“It’s the whole reason you said you wanted to be me and Kerrie’s friend,” I say.

Tella gives me a lopsided grin, but it’s so topsy-turvy that it slips off her face altogether. “If we’re being honest here, Will, I really just wanted to get with you. It was an excuse.”

This doesn’t add up at all, but I can’t figure it out on my own. I would ask Kerrie about it, except she already ignored my concerns. And now Tella’s lying about something, but I don’t even know where the lie is. I’m no good at reading people. I can find all the meaning they load their words with, but when they’re trying to hide something, it's impossible to me.

Tella is brave and bold. Loud and defiant. What does she have to fear? Why won’t she tell me?

“Oh, look,” she says. “Our food is here.” It’s only Fazoli’s, but she likes to pretend we go to grand fancy restaurants. “We’re gonna need more breadsticks than that,” she adds to the waiter. She’s trying to distract me with breadsticks, and damn if it isn’t working.

I don’t eat a lot of food, because eating too much can blur the lines of the two worlds together, and sometimes I fall off the tightrope between them. But something about Tella’s presence keeps it all clear as glass. So I can stuff myself with breadsticks fearlessly.

I got the chicken parmesan. It looks delicious from the top, but when I lift the blanket of cheese, a live chicken is sleeping peacefully underneath, feathers and all. She’s resting on an egg, but she doesn’t seem to know it’s full of marinara sauce.

“Hey,” I whisper softly to her. She wakes up and looks right at me suspiciously and pulls her egg in closer to her. She doubts that I would take it from her, I can tell, but she’s not taking chances.

I cover her back up and let her sleep, and eat some perfectly visible and greasy breadsticks instead. I steal a bite of Tella’s equally visible tortellini. 

Is something wrong with yours?” she asks.

“Nothing you can see,” I say.

“Do you want to just switch?”

Across the room, a loud squawk comes from another person’s plate who’s ordered chicken parm as well. It’s a death cry. The small boy who killed it grins and talks amicably with his parents, fresh blood dripping down his chin. He doesn’t know. He can’t taste it.

Tella’s fork hovers over my dish.

“No!” I shout, louder than I meant. “Don’t eat it. I need to take this to go.”

The best thing about Tella: she doesn’t hesitate. She doesn't ask me why. She calls the waiter over, who has dutifully returned with more breadsticks, and asks him for a box for my meal. She doesn’t look at me strangely when I lift the mother hen and her egg into the box. All she does is wrap the breadsticks up in napkins and stuff them in her purse, and we leave to many stares.

In the parking lot, I release the mother hen into the bushes where she’ll be safe. She glares at me for stealing her blanket of cheese, not realizing I’ve saved her life.

“It’s so cute how you take care of the otherworld things,” Tella says. “Even though they aren’t real.”

I turn my head, expecting to see her face melting off- sometimes nonsense bombs fall from the invisible sky and twist up my reality for a few minutes.  But she hasn’t been hit. She looks totally normal. “What the hell?” I say.

“Oh, I’m sorry. What did I say wrong?”

“They are real,” I say, barely controlling my anger. “Just because you can’t see them- it doesn’t mean they don’t exist. I can’t believe you really think that- I can’t believe you’re friends with Turner and still think that. Does he know?”

Tella pouts. “Oh, no. Will. I’m so sorry. I thought you knew it wasn’t real. Turner knows it doesn’t really exist- I thought you knew too.”

I look to the chicken, who has built herself a guacamole nest in the bushes out of runoff from the Bandidos across the street. I look back to Tella. I look at the invisible moth flying its eternal figure eight in the air just above her head. And I think about all the times Turner must have walked through Kool-Aid rain because it “wasn’t real.” Or all the times he’d tuned out the dying squawk of his chicken parm.

Something is very wrong here.

“But it’s not real,” Turner says. The invisible musicians are playing their invisible violins, long and low sounds that could indicate approaching danger or just emotional moments. I know he can hear them too, but he pretends not to.

“How can you be sure?” I ask.

“Matthew told me. He knows a lot about this stuff.”

Does he really. He would if he was a monster. But what good does it do him to keep Turner and Tella hanging around and feed them lies?

I search for a shard of glass. It’s not hard to find now that the whole floor is covered with them. I had to buy combat boots to wear around school. I select one that’s whittled to a point and stab it all the way through my hand. Turner doesn’t so much as flinch.

“This blood isn’t invisible,” I tell him. “And I can prove it.” I see one of Kerrie’s cigarette girls walk by and call her over so she can’t ignore me. “Hey, Steph! Come here!”

Stephanie looks mildly alarmed to be directly addressed by me. “Oh, hey, Will. Haven’t seen you since the first day of school.” But she has, she just never realized I was there.

“Am I bleeding?” I ask her and hold up my hand. It’s now bleeding pretty badly. Stephanie gasps.

“Holy shit. Dude, you gotta go to the nurse or something.”

Turner blinks. 

“Don’t worry, I’m on my way now,” I reassure her, and she doesn’t notice that I haven’t made any attempt to get up from my seat. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” She nods faintly and wanders away, eager to be released from the disorienting presence of two invisible kids at once.

“That’s not possible,” Turner says. “Is that your… you know, the thing you can do? Bringing otherworld things into real life?”

I shake my head. “They’re already real. My thing is this.” I hold eye contact with him, even though eye contact makes me squirm, and will the universe to fix my hand. This time it obliges immediately. I’m getting good at this. “I’m not lying to you, Turner, but someone else is.”

Turner sucks in a breath. “I can’t believe that,” he says. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it means I’m a murderer.”

He won’t tell me anything more. I tell Kerrie about the whole thing after school- the weird date with Tella last week, and all of my suspicions about Matthew.

“So obviously they’ve got some big creepy secret,” she says.

“Yeah, like Matthew’s a monster and he’s got them fooled,” I say.

“Not this again.” Kerrie sighs. “Look, I’ve had this weird feeling about this whole thing with the new kids. I know this is gonna sound weird coming from me, but maybe we should just steer clear of them. I dunno.”

But I’m not listening to her. “I think I’m going to hit Matthew with Emmaidriach,” I say.

“That’s a terrible idea. But it’s not like it’s going to hurt him,” Kerrie says. “I can’t stop you, can I?”

“No, you can’t,” I agree.

Emmaidriach is an invisible sword. My invisible sword. It showed up in the middle school gymnasium in my sixth grade year, and it’s so sharp it can cut through anything invisible. I used it to kill two monsters when Kerrie wasn’t around to do it for me. I still remember the one that called herself Marta, and her- no, its awful scream when it died. Monsters aren’t people. But they’re still hard to kill without feeling bad.

“Where are you keeping Emmaidriach now?” Kerrie asks.

“It’s in the visitor parking lot by the flagpole.”

“Okay,” Kerrie says. “Well, I’m going home. Don’t get into any trouble without me.”

“You’re not going fighting?”

“Oh, I am. Today’s fight is against my brother.” Which doesn’t narrow it down any. Kerrie has like a million brothers.

It’s shorter to walk through the building to get to the parking lot than to walk all the way around, so I go back inside. But halfway down the hallway, Matthew steps out of a classroom and waits for me.

“Hey, Will,” he says. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something. No one’s around now, so are we good to talk?”

“Sorry,” I say and don’t stop walking, don’t stop walking. “Can’t it wait? I’m in a hurry.”

“I wish it could, but it’s kind of important,” he says, reaching out and grabbing the strap of my backpack. Without hesitating, I dump the backpack on the ground and start running full-force. “Hey, wait! Will, what’s wrong?”

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m so caught up in my own head, in my own invisible world, making up all this evidence against Matthew and none of it real. After all, the world around me is always off-kilter and unsettling, always worthy of suspicion. What’s so different about this, really?

I stop running. Maybe Kerrie is right.

Matthew looks perfectly ordinary when he catches up to me, and he does nothing except hand me my backpack. He looks geniusly concerned- no, genuinely. “Are you doing okay, Will? Do you need help?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I say. No, that’s not exactly what I say. Maybe it is.

Maybe he really is just an ordinary boy. 

I let doubt slip through the cracks, and now it’s flooding in.

“Believe me,” Matthew says. “None of us do.” He reaches out his hand.

“Stop it!” Turner yells.

How long has he been standing there?”

The violins shriek in sudden rapid crescendo, breaking me from my stupor. A flurry of ringing earsplitting notes that are definitely not indicative of emotion. I pull away from Matthew immediately and give Turner plenty of space for him to fling himself between us.

“You,” Turner says, and in the invisible world his eyes are on fire. “You told me it wasn’t real. You let me kill that little girl and you said it was all okay because it never really happened.”

An electric bass joins the violins. A drummer. A flute, playing fearful notes that drift up to the stratosphere.

“Turner,” Matthew says in exhaust- no, in exasperation. His entire demeanor shifts. “I’ve told you before not to interrupt me on the hunt.”

“Ha!” I shout. “I knew it! You’re a monster!” 

“I’m half monster,” Matthew corrects. “Half human. Don’t get too excited, now.”

“You told me it wasn’t real,” Turner repeats.

“Turner, get out of the way. I won’t ask you again. What have I told you about interrupting? This happened last time too, now that I think about it. And what came of that? Did you save the day? Did you save her life?”

“We can run,” I tell Turner. “I have a sword. I’ve killed monsters before.”

“So have I,” Turner says, “but Matthew’s different. He can get inside your head. He can do things they can’t.”

“Turner,” Matthew says.

“I’m sorry,” Turner says. He’s afraid. He steps away. 

The music stops.

“Sorry,” Matthew repeats. “You’re going to have to do better than that. After this is over, we’re going to have a talk about the consequences of disobeying me.”

Turner’s eyes go out. And then his hands catch fire. He tackles Matthew to the ground and punches him again and again and again. Blood rains from the sprinklers. The musicians abandon their instruments and just wail in harmony. The ceiling tiles split open, and the invisible sky above is pitch black. A scream begins in the background and crescendos until it’s all I can hear. 

“After everything I’ve done for you!” Matthew yells, blood flowing profusely from his head. His blood looks like an oil spill.

“Will is real,” Turner says. His voice is perfectly even. “So am I. You can’t kill anyone anymore.”

“Oh, yes I can,” Matthew says. He barely reacts when Turner punches him square in the face, even though his nose is probably broken. He doesn’t seem to feel any pain. Can he even die? Is it possible?

I want to help, but I don’t have Emmaidriach and I can’t fight like Turner can. He’s so strong that it should be impossible.

And still.

In between blows, Matthew reaches out, and the ground beneath my feet disappears for a moment. I fall down into the glass and drown in a million shards and cuts and my own very visible blood. Then he does something I’ve never seen before- he summons all the glass in the hall to him and it forms into a long icicle of glass still slick with both his and my blood, hovering ominously in the air. It begins to fly backward, and Turner is confused enough to stay perfectly still, as if waiting for what comes next.

What comes next is, the icicle spear comes flying toward him at a speed fast enough that my brain still hasn’t caught up when Turner collapses to the ground. It still hasn’t caught up when Matthew, bloody and favoring his right leg, spits out the words, “I’ll come back in a couple minutes when you’ve finished dying.” And when it finally does, my mind shatters like glass.

Blood. Cut. Finished. Missing. Death. Everywhere, the air so full of glass knives that there’s nothing left to breathe. Kids laughing in the distance and we lay dying.

I wait, thirty excruciating seconds with my head pulsing out a rhythm entirely separate from my heartbeat, for Matthew to be gone.

I heal Turner faster than I’ve healed anything before. A moment later and he might have been beyond saving. I pull him to his feet.

“I never lose,” he says. “I’ve fought so many people. So many monsters, I win every time and I never lose.”

“We need to get far away from here,” I say around all the glass in my mouth and my lungs. 

“I. Never. Lose.”

We run. I’m still bleeding, and it’s washing down the invisible drains along with everything else. After I trip a few times, he picks me up and carries me to my car, takes the keys out of my pocket and drives so fast and erratic that he’d surely be arrested if anyone was watching. He probably doesn’t have a license. 

“Will, heal yourself!” he shouts, and I remember that I can do that. 

Once I’m all better, I realize that I’m so pumped full of adrenaline my mind feels almost clear. I’m so used to the constant haze wrapped around my brain that its absence is completely unfamiliar. I’ve never felt this visible before. Turner drives and we both cry and neither of us even know where we’re going until he pulls into Tella’s driveway on accident.

Some lady is walking her dog, and she stares at us. “Hey, you kids!” she shouts, and I realize it’s the blood on both our clothes. If only the universe could siphon it away, I think, and it does! If only the universe could tell this woman her attention is required elsewhere, and she turns around and walks the other direction. Turner looks at the front door and it flings open and I feel almost alive.

We stumble into Tella’s house and I watch her run down the stairs, summoned by the sudden commotion or maybe it was me. Her expression drops quickly from confusion to horror. And guilt. Oh, the guilt. It’s tangible in the air. It’s everywhere, mixing with the glass in my lungs. I will them both away.

I feel seen. I feel visible.

The feeling is… fading.

(part three, things that die)

Tella lives in a big fancy house and has a big fancy room and a big fancy four poster bed, the envy of every ten-year-old trailer park girl. It’s perfect, and every part of it is wrong. She’s decorated it with fast food bags, dirty laundry, and general Tella-brand disarray. Turner shoos away a slumbering invisible cat to collapse on one of the leather sofas. 

“Are you hurt?” Tella asks. Her lip quivers.

“Not anymore,” he says.

I don’t say anything. What would I say? She wouldn’t hear it.

“I’m sorry, Will,” Tella says. “You were right. I don’t know what happened, but…”

“Take a wild guess,” I say uncharitably. 

“Matthew,” she says. 

The doorbell rings. 

“I’ll get it,” she says.

I kick off my boots and lay flat on Tella’s bed. I get blood all over her satin sheets. But she won’t ever see it. I think I’m being swallowed.

“I never fucking lose,” Turner says.

“We need to get my sword,” I say.

“Where is it?”

“Visitor parking lot. Sheathed in the asphalt.”

“I killed a little invisible girl,” Turner says. “Two years ago. Me. Not Matthew.”

I don’t have anything to say to that either. I cough up some of the glass in my lungs.

“I came as soon as Tella texted me.” Kerrie bursts into the room with Tella on her heels. “Fuck, Will. I’m so sorry. I’ll never blow off your suspicions again, I swear to God.” And then she turns on Tella, who looks as if she’d rather be invisible. “What the hell were you and Turner doing with a monster? Do you not care about his life?”

Tella’s eyes well up with tears. “Matthew never hurt us before,” she said. “He was our protection against the real monsters. He swore he would never hurt Turner.”

“And look how much his word was worth,” Kerrie says. “You can’t trust a monster. They exist to kill. They gain strength from spilling invisible blood. It’s like you know nothing about the invisible world at all.”

Tella glances to Turner for help, but he’s unresponsive, mired in misery. The invisible cat claws at his leg and he doesn’t even react. “You wouldn’t understand,” she says. “We were kids when he befriended us. Wrapped us around his finger. He did everything for us- somehow, he got my dad his fortune. He helped us figure everything out until we were completely dependent on him. So Matthew says go to a new school and we do it, he says befriend the invisible kid so we do it because if we don’t listen he won’t protect Turner anymore.”

“You’re saying you only wanted to be my friend because you had to?” Kerrie’s shouting now, and the sound breaks the invisible glass mirrors that hang everywhere in Tella’s room. Turner flinches and the cat screeches and buries itself in the couch cushions. “Did you take Will on all those dates on Matthew’s instructions too? Did you ever really care about us, or were we just food for your pet beast?”

“It was the other way round,” Turner says.

“He’s telling the truth,” Tella agrees quickly. “Matthew thought of us as far beneath him. We were never his equals.”

It rings true. I recall how Matthew spoke to Turner before the fight, the voice of an exasperated parent to a misbehaving child.

“Yeah,” Kerrie says. “You’re his fucking hunting dogs. Jesus Christ. Will, let’s go.”

Of course, I’m thankful that Kerrie’s defending me so fiercely. But Kerrie might be in the wrong here too. She’s always been strong and unforgiving, and never understanding of how other people could be anything but.

“We’re going to end this right now,” Kerrie says. “We’re going to get your sword. I’m going to beat Matthew’s skinny monster ass into the ground and you’re going to stab him until he dies. And next time you tell me someone’s a monster, we’ll run them through, no questions asked.”

“No,” Tella says. “You guys don’t know Matthew like I do. He can do things that regular monsters can’t do. I’ve watched him ruin people’s lives before. And he’s killed so many people, and he gets away with it because he’s even more invisible than Will when he wants to be.”

“And I’ve killed so many monsters,” Kerrie says. “All those monsters Matthew’s been protecting you from? Well, I’ve killed all the ones that come after Will. I’m not keeping track or anything, but that’s a good four dozen at least. I can handle one more, even one that thinks he’s super special.”

Tella looks miserable. At a loss for words. She knows that she can’t do anything to stop Kerrie, but I can.

“I think we should hide,” I say. “Be sure we can handle it. Skip school for a few days. If Matthew’s done this before, he could get us in trouble for the fight.”

“He will,” Turner confirms. “I attacked him first. He’ll use that. We left him there with lots of injuries- no one will believe Will did that, but he wouldn’t have a hard time pinning it on me. Especially since we fled the scene. There’s no way I’m not expelled.”

“If that’s true,” Tella says, “we can’t stay here. When my parents get home, they’ll be on Matthew’s side. My dad got rich thanks to Matthew, and although he doesn’t exactly know that, on a subconscious level he’s just as devoted to him as we were.”

“We can go to my aunt’s house,” I say. “She’s always on my side. She knew my mom, and she knows me, even though she’s not quite as good as seeing it all as she used to be.”

Kerrie takes my car keys from Turner, but doesn’t hand them to me. She hands her own to Tella. “Let’s go,” she says.

I realize how much Kerrie must love me to let Tella drive her car. Right after they fought, too. 

“Why did you tell them you’ve killed so many monsters?” I ask. “It was only like four or five. Right?”

“I might as well tell you,” she says. “I’ve been killing monsters after school. Luring them away before you even notice them. I barely even fight people anymore.”

Her broken-glass smoothie makes a lot more sense now. 

“I don’t know why I never told you before,” she says. “I’ve been meaning to for a while, but I don’t want you to be constantly afraid. I wanted us to still have fun. Keep the bad stuff out of your attention so you wouldn’t be paranoid all the time.”

She gives me an apologetic grin, hoping I’m not mad. But why would I be mad? I think I may have known for a while, actually. She always smells like blood. She always has bruises, some invisible, and tiny shards of glass wedged in her fingernails.

My aunt gives us Goldfish crackers. The colorful ones. She listens patiently as we weave a tale of wild inaccuracy that she probably sees as fake. There’s an unspoken agreement between us that I don’t talk about invisible things, but she understands anyway. She grew up with my mom, so she knows some things, but aging takes a lot away.

“You can feel free to spend the night,” she says. “As long as you need. And I’ll help you if you want it, but I’m guessing you don’t. I’m a bit rusty at these games anyway.”

I’ve slept in the same bed as Kerrie since we were little kids, so it throws me for a loop when Tella sits on my bed instead. Casually, tentatively, evaluating the expression on my face. I search for the words to explain what I’m feeling, but then I realize that I don’t know what I’m feeling.

“Are we gonna break up?” Tella asks me.

“I don’t know, should we?”

That’s not the answer she wanted. She wanted a definitive answer. I realize that she doesn’t know what she’s feeling either. Which helps, but not much.

“Give me a second,” I say, and go find Kerrie. 

“Obviously you should break up with her,” Kerrie says. “She basically sold you out to Matthew to get killed.” 

Which makes perfect sense, and I go back to tell Tella exactly that. Except she isn’t back in my room, she’s followed me out here. Now she looks ready to rekindle that argument she just had with Kerrie, and of course Kerrie is still raring to go.

“I can’t believe you’d tell Will what to do with her own relationship,” Tella says. “It’s not your decision.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Kerrie says, “haven’t you done enough damage?”

Which makes Tella mad. She’s used to pretty arguments, reasonable debates. Kerrie, on the other hand, always goes for the lowest blow. 

“It doesn’t mean anything if we break up because you told her to! She has to choose it herself!” Tella squeaks.

“She asked me. What was I supposed to do? Tell her ‘no, Will, stay with the girl who would have gotten you killed to save her own ass?’”

“She asked you because you taught her to rely on you for everything instead of making her own decisions,” Tella says, and maybe she isn’t talking about me and Kerrie anymore. Because we aren’t like that. Kerrie just has good ideas, is all. And the visible world is just too much for me to handle sometimes. You always have to pick the right thing to say, or people will release their attention elsewhere and ignore you. Kerrie knows all the right things, and I don’t.

So I make a guess. “Tella, I don’t think we should be girlfriends anymore. Our relationship seems like the wrong thing to do.”

She nods. “If that’s what you really think,” Tella says, “that’s fine. I understand. But I want you to know, Will, that I never meant to hurt you. I was only afraid.”

Is that what I really think? I don’t know. I don’t think I even think. But I do know that maybe I just don’t have the social energy to spare for Tella. She’s too much of everything, and that seemed attractive and interesting at first, but now I’m just exhausted. I have to fight now. I have to find Matthew and get rid of him. Other things aren’t important.

Kerrie’s still glaring daggers at Tella, and I get the feeling they aren’t done exchanging harsh words. But it does me no good to listen while they do. I go upstairs and go to bed.

An hour later, Kerrie climbs in and lays beside me, and the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling dance gleefully at her arrival. But the long-finned fish that swim around in the ocean of starlight are a little more reluctant.

Turner isn’t here. The fish inform me of this fact the moment I wake. They don’t know how long he’s been gone, and they don’t even know if he was here in the first place. Now that I think on it, I’m not sure he came with Tella. He probably shrunk in on himself so far that even I wouldn’t notice, like the dreamers from Fazoli’s. 

Kerrie’s already awake, and I don’t even need to say anything to get her to understand. I just need to look at her. “We’ll find him,” she says. “We’ll make a plan.”

Tella’s already dressed downstairs. I didn’t know she had packed a change of clothes. “I’m going to school. I’m sure Matthew will be there, and I need to evaluate the situation-”

“You’re running back to him?” Kerrie says in obvious disgust.

“God, no. How many times do I have to tell you- I’m not on his side. I just want to know how he’s spun this to his advantage. Can you guys drop me off?”

“We’re going there anyway,” Kerrie says. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t.”

Right. To pick up my sword and to end it. That’s still Kerrie’s plan. I guess it’s the only plan that has a chance. Especially if Turner’s gone.

Would he run away? It doesn’t seem like him.

We eat a quick breakfast. I can only stomach a few donut holes. In the mornings, I always feel sick, and sweets are the only thing that can motivate me to eat something. My aunt always says junk food is better than nothing.

We’re off to school.

Tella walks into the building with a very different air than usual. She makes eye contact with no one and stays close to the wall. Even though she wasn’t involved with yesterday’s events, I’m sure she feels like everyone is looking at her.

Kerrie pulls to the visitor lot and I run out to grab my sword, but- “it’s not there,” I tell her. “It’s gone.”

“Are you sure you’re looking in the right place?”

I can see the gap in the asphalt where it once was. It’s an empty, invisible hole now. Something is wrong.

“I think someone took Emmaidriach,” I say.

“Shit,” Kerrie says. “Could it have been Matthew? Did you ever talk about the sword where he could hear you?”

I think back to the fight. “Oh, no. I mean yes. I did. I didn’t tell him where it was, but he could have found it. ”

“It’s okay,” Kerrie says. “It’s fine. We don’t need a sword. I’ll kill him myself.”

“But if he has it…”

“He can’t touch me with it,” Kerrie says, “but I can sure touch him.” She reaches into the glove compartment of her car and pulls out an excellent pair of spiked brass knuckles. The tips of those points- something’s odd about them. I realize that they’re invisible.

How did Kerrie come across something that exists in both worlds just like me?

“You still have more secrets,” I say. Not accusingly. Just stating a fact.

She shrugs. “I might. Look, I don’t want to put you in danger, especially if you’re unarmed. Is there any chance I could get you to stay in the car and watch?”

I agree, because I am rather useless in a fight. The aftermath is all I’m good for.

And then Matthew steps out of the back door, the one that’s supposed to be locked both ways during the school day. The one that’s supposed to set off an alarm if opened. But nothing visible sounds, and the only invisible noise is a returning orchestral theme from the army of musicians on the roof. No sign of Emmaidriach. Maybe he doesn’t have it? Is that too much to hope for?

“Well, I guess now’s as good a time as any,” Kerrie says and gets out of the car. She gives me a little grin, and now her teeth are stained with blood. It wells up in her eyes too, where tears are supposed to go, and from her fingernails. I wonder if this always happens when she fights, and she doesn’t even know it.

Matthew is disturbed by it, for sure. But he tries to remain nonplussed. “Kerissa? Is that you? What are you doing out here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Kerrie says. “And I already told you not to call me that.”

“Sincerest apologies,” he says. He actually says that. What a dick.

Kerrie’s had her hands in her pockets, but she takes them out to reveal the brass knuckles because she does not have time for a long villain monologue. I might be interested in hearing whatever Matthew has to say before he gets his ass kicked to hell, but I would rather just see him dead.

“So it’s like that,” Matthew says. He seems genuinely surprised, even though the blood dribbling from her eyes ought to have been enough. Kerrie in general ought to have been enough. But he doesn’t seem too worried.

Turner stabs him from behind with my sword. Right through the stomach, just like Matthew did to him yesterday. I don’t know where he came from, or maybe he just appeared. His eyes aren’t on fire this time- in fact, I think they might be frozen in ice. 

He isn’t afraid. He isn’t angry. But I think Matthew is both.

Matthew fixes his eyes on me as Turner yanks Emmaidriach back, twisting it viciously. He knows he’s dying, and he knows what I can do. He still doesn’t seem to feel the pain, even as he’s bleeding buckets onto the asphalt. The invisible flowers growing from the cracks accept his blood eagerly as if it were fertilizer. Maybe it is, to them.

“I don’t think so,” I say, or I would have said, except I think he’s drawing it out of me. The universe obeys him just like everything else. His stomach is knitting itself back together and he’s getting to his feet. I realize I don’t even remember getting out of the car again.

If he can survive this, he’ll probably never die no matter what we do.

“Obviously you can’t defeat me,” Matthew says, “and I can’t seem to kill either of you off. You’ll just keep fixing yourselves. I see no alternative to making an alliance.” He’s ignoring Kerrie entirely, I realize, which is so backwards. I wonder what people might see if they were watching from inside. Just Kerrie, standing alone in a parking lot with an intense expression on her face. And she’s the only one Matthew doesn’t care about.

Big mistake.

Kerrie punches him. Again and again. Over and over. Not stopping to let him die. Not stopping when dagger after glass dagger rips through her, leaving no visible wounds. Not stopping when some strange monstrous apparition drifts in ghostly fashion away from Matthew’s corpse and envelops her, not even reacting when it seems to vanish into her. She keeps punching until Turner rests his arm on her shoulder in an effort to get her to stop, and she steps back and takes a look at the sky.

There’s two skies in my eyes, and both of them battle for my attention. The visible sky has clouds and a sun, and the invisible one changes frequently. Today it has giant moths. Luna moths, except they’re in negative, so they’re a sick shade of orangish pink. They begin descending when they notice me noticing them, because sometimes invisible things crave attention rather than reject it.

“Are those…” Kerrie says, looking up, and for a second I think she’s talking about the moths, but that’s ridiculous. I try to see the visible sky instead of the invisible one for a moment, but they blur together and I can’t tell what she’s talking about. “Moths?” she finishes.

Turner and I both stare at her. I don’t know what to say.

Kerrie looks back at me, and something’s behind her gaze. Something that’s maybe not as strong as I always assumed her to be. She’s still bleeding, and she runs her tongue against her teeth and shudders, spits out the blood onto the glass pavement. 

It’s the wrong color.

“This is fucked,” she says. And then she gets into her car and slams on the gas, peeling out of the lot faster than I’ve ever seen her drive.

I look back at the place where Matthew lies dead, but there’s nothing there. In either world.

“Well,” Turner says. “There goes our ride.”

That was Friday. Monday morning I return to school after a long weekend of doing nothing but watching TV and trying to block out anything invisible at all. I started to understand the appeal of pretending it was all fake, for a little bit. But on Monday the halls are filled with more glass than ever, and Kerrie’s nowhere to be seen and no one’s talking about it. No one’s looking at Turner, who fearlessly waves me over to his table. Tella’s sitting somewhere else, talking to girls that look and dress like her, except none of those girls see us.

“Look across the room,” he says. “There’s a new kid in school today.”

I look across the room and see Matthew. Except it’s not Matthew. He’s the same person, but the only thing unsettling about him is the recognition. And he’s sitting by himself at the table for people with no friends at all- the invisible visible kids who ignore even each other and just try to make it through the day.

“He’s not a monster,” I say, stating the obvious. “And no one remembers him?”

“I said hi to him earlier,” Turner says. “He didn’t even hear me. I think he’s visible.”

His eyes dart over to Tella and back to me. Then down at his lunch tray. We still can’t do eye contact, it seems. A skill reserved for the visible.

“Did Kerrie text you?” he asks.

“No. Which isn’t like her. We text every day. Enough to make up for all the other texts I don’t get.” Something about Turner- I find myself able to say all the choppy sentences that I normally keep inside my head, because I assume no one would care. But he cares. He gets it.

I look around the room. At the musicians playing instruments that are all wrong- lyres and didgeridoos and sanshins and other instruments that are likely of their own invention. Moths flapping desperately around the flourescent lights with faerie riders on their backs, and dreamers wailing things I can’t hear. And Turner, who, like me, has so many thoughts right now. But none of them seem to harden into words for him.

“I guess we’ll hear from her soon enough,” he says.