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knows when Becca’s coming home. In the space of one phone call, my day’s gone from magical and happy to dark and disappointing. I can’t stay here. I shower, my heart a roiling, boiling mess of lovely images from last night and regret. If only I could wash away all of the memories of my night with Noah. Watch them roll off my body and swirl down the drain.
    Unfortunately, nothing swirls away. In fact, it’s like all the energy I’ve been giving the thoughts of Noah as I try to forget them, to recolor them from happy to disheartening, has given them life. I’m drowning in his eyes, our easy conversation, the languid stretch and swish of the tiger’s tail. And those little flashes of contact, bright flares of energy when we touched. They calmed me and settled me. I felt warm. Visible. Safe.
    Of course, those pings were all in my head. Probably brought on by my excitement of being around him, being seen and heard and finally feeling like I’d been accepted. Maybe just a side effect of that strange, ‘senses on fire’ thing that happens to me when I’m stressed. I pull at the thought, worry at it like a loose thread on a sweater, tugging and twisting, hoping to break it free.
    There’s this … click … in my head. And it echoes through my body and there’s this strange surge of … power. And information. And roaring. There’s roaring. The tiger throwing her head back and baring her teeth. And then, it feels like I’m fire — not on fire, but I’m actually fire — and I’m burning, but it’s wonderful. The warmth is everything I’ve ever needed and it starts in my very center and radiates out from me in this wash of golden, swirling, rushing and roaring. There’s a woompf. This strange noise that speaks of the disappearance of energy, the swallowing of sound.
    What the hell was that?
    I put my hand to my chest and there’s this tingle running across my skin, electricity tracing the outlines of my body. I pull the hand away and stare at it and I swear there’s this golden flare of light swirling in the palm of my hand, blue streaking out and away and then there’s nothing. It’s gone and it’s just me standing naked in front of my closet, drops of water dripping from the ends of my hair.
    I’m shaking. My hand, still suspended in front of me, trembles and feels heavier than anything I’ve ever tried to hold up. I stutter over to my bed on wobbly legs and lower myself, perch on the edge with my elbows on my knees. My eyes want to be closed and my breathing is … hard. Not like I can’t catch my breath, but like I ran for my life and even my lungs are exhausted. I don’t know how long I stay like that, sitting on the edge of my bed, naked and worn out, but when I blink, the ends of my hair are dry.
    Great. So now I’m completely unable to handle anything. What was that? A panic attack? I throw on some clothes and check my hair in the mirror. It’s fine. I’m presentable. And even if I wasn’t, I’m invisible so it really doesn’t matter.
    Here’s the thing. I’m sure Becca is willing to help me learn to talk to people. I’m sure she’ll take me out and in that no bullshit way she has, she’ll tell me everything I’m doing that’s wrong or weird and we’ll find a way for me to learn to be normal. Or at least more normal. But I don’t know when she’s going to be home and I’m apparently losing my mind here. I’ve got to do something. And that something I’ve decided to do is go out and try to stop being invisible.
    I have no clue if this is going to work or not or even what it is I think I’m going to do, but I’ve been a broken bird long enough and it’s time I started working on fixing it.
     

Chapter 6
     
     
     
     
     
     
    I don’t know what I expect to happen. Just because I’ve decided to no longer be invisible doesn’t necessarily mean that I’ll be seen. How can I make any changes when I don’t know what it is about me that makes people see through me? I blow