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jam-packed center of the room, dodging limbs and veering through gaps. Another guy threw out his arms to greet his friend, forcing me to duck and slip around his legs. More legs. A girl’s legs in high heels about to kick me in the face.
    I rolled to the side, brushed another boy’s heel—he didn’t notice—and scrambled to my feet, then veered after her, hugging her wake as she plowed through the party. Bodies everywhere, shifting and sliding past each other. Couldn’t touch a single one.
    A guy bumped into my side, and I went staggering. He threw a glance over his shoulder and turned back to his group, unaware.
    At once, I was keenly aware of my nakedness, the close brushes with so many drunken, sweaty kids while wearing nothing at all.
    What if the invisibility just turned off?
    That would be something out of a nightmare.
    The kitchen rose ahead of me, wide open space, freedom.
    Two bodies sliced past each other like scissors, then a gap! I made a dash for it, tilted sideways to squeeze between a guy and girl talking close, and burst into the kitchen, where I shrank into the crevice between the fridge and the counter, tucked in my limbs, and gasped for breath. Kids mingled at the counters around me, laughing and munching on chips and mixing drinks.
    Now where was Megan?
    The house had one of those open floor plans, with one of the counters overlooking the living room and serving as a bar, where Tina Wilkes was now laying out a row of shot glasses. Hair in loose curls, she wore a short black dress and too much eyeliner. The shot glass on the end tipped over, clinking on the granite countertops.
    She righted it, too distracted to notice.
    Really, Megan?
    “So get this,” said Tina, turning to the guy next to her. “Leona Hewitt’s parents buy her a car for her sixteenth birthday, and she refuses to drive it because it wasn’t a Corvette like she wanted. So she still rides her bike to school. Does that make any sense to you?”
    My hands clenched into fists. That’s a lie!
    The guy shrugged, and I did a double take. Andrew from my English class. Well, well, well.
    “What a spoiled brat,” said Tina, righting the shot glass on the end, which had tipped over again. Now the shot glass in the middle fell over and began rolling toward the edge of the counter. She snatched it and slammed it down. The one next to it bounced and skittered away. “Andrew, could you help me here? Hold these while I pour.”
    “Oh . . . yeah, sure.” He caught another one as it rolled away, returned it to the line, and pinned them all between his forearms.
    I stared in disbelief.
    Were they too drunk to notice?
    “But you sit next to her in our English class,” said Tina. “So you know what I’m talking about.” She curled her upper lip. “Ew, that sucks. I’m so sorry.”
    Andrew nodded grimly. “Yeah, she seems pretty stuck-up.”
    My jaw fell open. What?
    “I know, seriously,” said Tina.
    “Last time I talked to her, I think she had just bought a whole new wardrobe,” he said.
    I glared at him. Because the military gutted my bedroom, asshole.
    “Yeah, you probably shouldn’t do that,” said Tina.
    “Do what?” said Andrew, curious.
    “Talk to her. Yeah . . . Leona . . . guys don’t really know this about her, but girls kind of judge you if they see you with her. I’m not trying to be mean, I’m just saying.”
    “Really?” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “ Leona? ” Clearly reconsidering his opinion me. It hurt to watch.
    “Just saying,” she said.
    “She’s friends with Megan, right?”
    “Oh, don’t get me started on Megan,” said Tina. “Megan once ate a whole batch of weed brownies and threw up all over my dog, and then she passed out and I had to clean it up. What a bitch.” She uncapped a handle of chilled Smirnoff vodka. The cap bounced on the counter, hung in midair for a split-second, and hit her in the face.
    Good shot, Megan.
    She blinked and tried to play it off. She