June 1st, 2028, Entry #10

This is officially the Tenth Anniversary of our partnership for my mental health! Between my writing in you and you keeping my thoughts inside your pages… I really don’t see much difference, no offense, but I’m not quite sure how my mental state needs to improve. Okay sure I don’t enjoy interacting with my fellow humans, and will go through drastic measures to avoid it, but honestly, those measures should be considered impressive! I mean, when I saw Mike Cummins heading over to talk to me about the talent show(I may or may not have a skill for lip sync), I set a plan in action, first I turned around, gritted my teeth, and asked the eternal blather mouth Gabe Bartland how his guitar lessons were going.I knew then he would chatter on for ours about them, despite the fact that I would be gone. Which brought me to my next evasive action, how to escape. Easy, all I had to do was throw my taco to the ground, and run like mad with my hands over my mouth, with my generic hood pulled over my face, no one would notice it was me. All they would see was a kid who had to throw up and was rushing to the bathroom while Mike asked Gabe if he would play guitar in the talent show. I am a genius.

So while I don’t quite understand how you can help, or even what the issue is, I’d rather not get yelled for not following parental orders, plus, I find reading my own escapades…amusing.

I think the worst part is, in order to stay invisible, you also can't talk in class. I hate it, those minutes that tick on for ages, when Mr Beck asks a simple question and the silence stretches until it is punctuated by the rythym of: hand up, yes you there, is it this sir? no, it isn't: anyone else? Rinse and repeat until this rigamarole has eaten through half the lesson, and you've already screamed the correct answer out in your head, and written it down on paper, until the teacher eventually gives up and sighs, resigns himself to the chalkboard, and writes the answer down for you, identical to the one you've already written down.

This is not to say that I am arrogant, or self-conceited, or even, really, a nerd.

What I am, is invisible. And the best place for folks like us to stay is in the library, especially on Tuesdays and Thursdays, because that's when Mrs Jenkins, the parttime librarian is in, and you don't even have to say hello to her because she's almost always asleep anyways. That is where I was today, curled up in the corner on a big, moth-eaten armchair that no one knows exists, head buried in a massive tome of Assorted Poems and Prose From Medieval Spain. Not that I had ever taken an interest in assorted poems or prose from any era of Spain, but that having your head buried in a fat tome like this one was a surefire way to look busy enough or bad company enough for everyone to leave you alone.

Except, that wasn't the case today.

Today, Alison Sheridan, the girl in the grade above me, swaggered over to my spot in the history section, and stared me right in the face. I caught a glimpse of her perfect powdered face over the top of my book and ducked down. What would the perfect, pretty, cheerleading captain Allie Sheridan want with me? I heard her heels clack across the library's floor, blonde hair swinging, pink skirt swaying as she stopped right in front of me.

"Peter. I want you to tech me how to become invisible."

Continued from June 1st, 2028.

I couldn’t believe she had snuck up on me! I strictly picked that book that way I wouldn’t get sucked in, but I had obviously failed.

I looked around, making sure nobody was nearby before I spoke, “Peter? You must have me confused with someone else, I’m Jonny, and you are..?”
Alison didn’t buy it for a second, “Nice try Peter, I’ve noticed your tricks, and am not falling for that one.” Dang it! Maybe try the social aspect, “Look Alison, I am a loner, you are a popular girl. I, am 15, you are older than fifteen, maybe 16, or possibly 17. Whatever, there is no way we could spend anytime together without ruining each other’s stadus.”

”I’m tired of being the popular girl, who has to follow the trends and is assumed brainless, and actually, we’re the same age, I just skipped second grade.”

Dang it! Another good answer, if she wasn’t so annoying I would have to be inpressed.

”Come on Pete, just show me how to be… Average”

I sighed and got up, I would have to be a jerk, which I didn’t enjoy being.

I walked to the hallway door, stalling till the right moment

”Alison-“

”Call me Allie,”

”Alison, there’s so thing you have to understand, in order to teach to be invisible, I must stay away from popular people, so in teaching you to be invisible, I would give up my own,”

She stared hard, “Your just trying to find a good reason to say no without saying it’s simply because it would require human interaction in order to teach me, your smart enough to find a way.”

The time came,

“As much as I enjoyed our talk,” I turned around and smirked, “Time for my to disappear.”

The bell rang and I hid in the current, you see journal, part of the trick of this maneuver is to slowly backtrack to the person looking for you.

Alison looked impressed. “Clever.”

I managed to avoid her the rest of Friday, but what happens Tomorrow, who knows?

June 2nd, 2028 — Entry #11

I woke up Saturday, bursting with pride at myself for successfully dodging a social grenade. I’d avoided Allie Sheridan for an entire Friday. That alone should earn me some kind of medal: preferably one I never have to accept publicly.

But fate, as usual, hates me, and Mom insisted I go to the farmer’s market with her that morning. “Fresh air will do you good,” she said. “You need to get out more,” she said. “You can’t hide in your room forever,” she said.

Incorrect, mother. I absolutely can. Still, I went, because arguing with her is like arguing with gravity.

The market was crowded, loud, and smelled of rotting strawberries. I stuck close to Mom, hoping proximity would make me invisible by association. She wandered off toward a stall selling artisanal honey, leaving me alone near a display of handmade soaps.

“Peter!”

I froze. Allie Sheridan stood there, holding a smoothie the colour of radioactive bubblegum. She looked like she’d stepped out of a commercial for summer itself, her blonde hair flowing in perfectly teased waves, lemon-yellow tank-top and frilled denim shorts bright beneath the sun.

“Found you,” she said, grinning with her teeth stained nuclear-blue.

I croaked, “Hi.”

“You were going to help me,” she said, as if we were continuing a conversation from five minutes ago instead of yesterday.

“I... no. No, I was not.”

“Yes, you were.”

“No, I’m--”

She cut me off. “Peter, I followed you for twenty minutes yesterday.”

My jaw dropped. “You what?”

“I wanted to see how you do it,” she said, sipping her neon smoothie. “You’re like… a ghost. People look at you and then immediately forget you exist. It’s amazing.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

“It is to me.”

I rubbed my face. “Allie, you don’t understand. Being invisible is a commitment. A sacred art. You can’t just--”

“Teach me,” she said. “Please.”

I looked around. People were everywhere. Moms with strollers, kids with polka-dot balloons, old men selling vegetables, and in the middle of it all, Allie Sheridan, staring at me like I was the last puzzle piece in the box.

“Why?” I asked.

She hesitated. “Because,” she said quietly, “I’m tired of everyone seeing me but no one actually seeing me. I hate just being the dumb blonde, bimbo that everyone thinks they can gossip about, because I wear too much makeup, or have too many exes, or--" she sighs. "I just hate being me. No one thinks I have feelings, Peter. I want it to stop."

I paused. I, personally, had barely given her a second thought, but when I did, it was usually because of a rumour, or some gossip, about her alleged boob-job, or sex life, or the juicy details of when she had an eating disorder last year. I realised that I didn't know her at all, outside of being the latest school headline. And, for that fact, looking at her face, with its welling up eyes, and blue stained lips, I felt like I owed her.

“Fine,” I said. “One lesson. Rule number one is that people don’t notice what they expect to see.”

She frowned. “Meaning?”

I pointed at a group of teenagers gathered around a stall selling novelty sunglasses. “Meaning,” I said, “you’re going to walk over there, stand with them, and act like you belong.”

She blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s not fun.”

“It is,” I said. “If you do it right.”

She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and marched toward the group. She stood near them, smiled, nodded, and pretended to leaf through the neon coloured hearts, stars, and alien spaceships, before landing on a simple, circular blue pair. And then, they ignored her. She jogged back to me, eyes wide.

“Oh my gosh,” she whispered. “It worked.”

I shrugged. “Told you.”

She walked back, practically vibrating with excitement. “Okay. What’s next?”

I groaned. “Next?"

Continued from June 2nd, 2028, Saturday.
“What do you mean by ‘Next?’ We’re done.”

Her face fell, I felt zero percent guilty, yup, no guilt here. Why should I feel guilty? I taught Alison to blend in, to be unnoticed, right?

She started to speak, “But Peter, you saw me, I can do it! Why stop now?”

”Two Reasons. One, I have nothing to gain, and Two, the only reason I wasn’t at risk, nobody knows me here, so us being seen together doesn’t matter.” Why did she keep making me act like a jerk?

”So if I gave you something in return, you’d help me?”

”Only if it’s overcomes the risk, and even then there’s no guarantee.”

Alison thought and squinted for a while, I was starting to think she fell asleep, when she finally replied, “How about this, if you teach me how to be invisible, then I won’t tell the other popular girls about you, and will think of something else I can give you.”
Crap. She had me there, I’ll tell you one thing about Alison, she wasn’t stupid.

I tried bluffing, “They won’t care about a loner like me, they probably don’t even know I exist.” I tried to sound steely, but most likely failed.

Alison smiled, “They will when I tell them how handsome and charming, they’ll be all over you, they’ll probably find the whole ‘I hate people’ thing cute.”

Double crap, I ever tell you that she was smart? My mom started heading over.

”Fine, we’ll start Monday, 5:00 AM, don’t be late.”

Alison beamed, “Thank you, and don’t worry, I’ll figure something out for you.”

She left right as my mom approached,

”I see your making friends, isn’t she a cheerleader at your school?”

I played dumb, ”Who? Her? I dunno maybe.”

“Well maybe if you paid attention you’d stand a chance.”

She might be right, I paid Alison no attention, and I don’t stand a chance.

June 4th, 2028:

Everything went as awfully as I predicted. I met Alison at 5am outside the school, and Mom was blowing up my phone asking me if I was sure school started this early. I made up some lie about an early morning study group and hoped she wouldn't bring it up later. It was dark, the November morning staining the sky inky-grey, frost forming a thin lacy layer on the ground, and I felt my fingers going numb as I waited for Alison.

I checked my watch. She was nearly 15 minutes late.

And the I heard her, from behind the corner, laughing at loud at a video on her phone.

"Alison!" I exclaimed. "What on Earth were you doing! I was freezing my hands off waiting for you."

Allie looked up and shrugged. "I've been here since 5am, Pete."

"I didn't see you."

"I've been practicing," she winked.

I stared at her, unimpressed. "Standing behind a corner for fifteen minutes isn't invisibility, Alison. It's just standing behind a corner."

"Details," she said, waving a hand like she was swatting away my logic. "The point is, you didn't notice me until I wanted you to."

"I noticed you giggle. Was that intentional?"

She smiled "Maybe."

I sighed, my breath curling into the cold air like smoke. There was no winning with her, not this early, not ever, apparently. "Fine. Lesson two. Today we're working on stillness."

She perked up. "Stillness?"

"People's eyes catch on movement first. Fidgeting, checking your phone, tapping your foot, all of it screams look at me. You want to disappear, you learn to be a rock."

Alison frowned. "That sounds impossible for me."

"That's why it's lesson two and not lesson one."

She squared her shoulders, planted her feet, and tried to go statue-still, chin lifted like she was posing for a photograph rather than trying to vanish. I almost laughed.

"You look like a mannequin," I said. "Like one of those avant-garde models. Look naturaller."

"Rude," she said. "Teach me properly, ghost boy."