by Dan Rix
“I told you not to look.” Dark matter crept across my scalp, joining around the roots of my hair and climbing each individual strand. I ran my fingers through my hair. It felt sticky, like I’d sprayed on hairspray, then silky smooth when the dark matter soaked in.
Sticky.
Like Ashley’s diary.
The one missing piece.
I thought back to Monday’s conversation with Emory, and my prior frustration came rushing back. He hadn’t called me or texted me once since then. Had I offended him with the book? The idea that I had blown my one chance at redemption nearly brought me to tears, and I instinctively turned away from Megan to hide my already invisible face.
Could Ashley really have been in contact with dark matter way back then? Why not? Her dad worked for Rincon Systems, the defense contractor supposedly under contract with Major Rod Connor’s space division or whatever, the guys trying to contain the stuff.
No, not trying to contain it . . . collecting it.
So many new questions. That night Ashley died, she had been sleepwalking. Sleepwalking . . . did I ever sleepwalk? I had woken up once clutching the meteorite with no memory of grabbing it. I could have done other things, too. Maybe dark matter had influenced Ashley like it had influenced me. Maybe it was dark matter that had sent her out to Foothill Road to die that fateful night three months ago.
Maybe it wasn’t really my fault . . .
I shook those desperate thoughts out of my head, all too familiar with the cycle. The what-if path only brought more pain.
Once Megan and I were both invisible—and both clutching invisible phones—we stepped out of her car. A chilly breeze lifted my hair and swept it across my back, instantly unleashing shivers. I unclasped my hand from Megan’s and squeezed my arms to my chest, teeth chattering.
It was only the second day of October, but I was feeling it.
“Stop being a pansy, it’s not that cold,” said Megan’s voice, already drifting toward the party.
I scrambled after her and groped around until I caught her hand again, which I gripped tightly. We came to a waist-high gate. High schoolers gathered in loud groups on the other side, no one looking our way.
“Hold my phone,” said Megan, prying my fingers off her hand and replacing them around the device. Then she let go.
“Megan!” I hissed.
“Shh . . .” The gate rattled, followed by a grunt, a clumsy landing, and a loud, “Ow!”
The heavy bass pouring from the house masked the sounds. No one looked over. I found her again, handed off the phones, and vaulted the gate myself. Then she dragged me across the yard, weaving between the groups and around a pair of kegs, where my toes sank in wet, trampled grass and sloshed through muddy pools of spilt beer.
What the hell was I doing here?
We reached the porch, just as someone pushed open the screen door. Megan hurried to catch it, yanking me up the steps. The screen swung shut, magically stopped mid-swing, and I was tugged into a humid living room. An obstacle course confronted us inside. Gesturing and shouting wildly over the music, drunk kids barreled about the room, colliding and squeezing past each other like the intermeshing teeth of so many gears.
Not one of them could be allowed to touch us.
I had two seconds to take it all in before Megan’s hand was roughly yanked out of my own, leaving me alone.
“Megan,” I whispered.
No reply.
Typical. So fucking typical.
I had my phone up, finger already on the screen, when I spotted Tina Wilkes in the kitchen pouring out drinks, all the way across the living room. Megan must have seen her. Bet that was where she went.
But how to get to the kitchen . . .
Hugging the wall, I slid into the party, squeezing behind a group of jocks. My hip bumped a side table, shaking a lamp and drawing a brief glance from a nearby girl. I took a deep breath to calm my speeding pulse, then darted around the table and backed against the wall again. No one saw, no one noticed.
Tina Wilkes had been our friend last year, probably our best friend, aside from each other. We’d quit hanging with her at the beginning of summer, after Ashley. Murder had a way of doing that. She’d taken it as a snub, and now she talked crap on us to anyone who’d listen.
I really, really couldn’t give less of a shit. I felt bad for her.
But Megan took these things personally.
I scooted another foot along the wall, turned the corner, and ran into the couch, a tangle of groping limbs . . . like the wriggling feelers of an amoeba.
I had to go around.
So I left the security of the wall and tiptoed into the center of the room, moving an inch at a time. My eyes scanned the bodies, calculating which ones might move into my path.
It happened in a blink.
A girl peeled away from a group to my left and came at me like a locomotive, oblivious to my presence.
I jumped out of the way, right into the path of an oncoming boy, drinks in hand. I skirted around him, barely, and found myself careening through the 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 tilted the vodka over the glasses, but the bottle swayed back and forth like someone else was pushing it, spilling all over Andrew’s forearms. Tina flinched and dropped it, and it rolled off the bar and shattered on the kitchen floor, splashing Andrew’s jeans. He jumped back and shook himself out.
At the crash, half the people in the living room glanced over.
“Party foul!” someone shouted.
Her hand went to her mouth. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I’m drunk.”
Alright, Megan, you’ve had your fun. I lifted my phone and tapped the invisible screen to dial her number, then squeezed it to my ear to hear it above the party. Ringing . . . yes!
But then it stopped.
Huh? Had she rejected the call? I listened for the voicemail, but it never came. It had just stopped cold.
While Tina cleaned up the mess, pink in the face, a red cup slid across the counter.
Enough, Megan.
I slid out of my hiding place and darted across the kitchen, falling into a crouch under the counter. She had to be close by. “Megan?” I whispered.
The red cup tilted off the bar and dumped beer on Tina’s head, splashing me with a few drops. Tina shrieked, and slipped on the spilt vodka, then peered angrily around at the kids who had made a circle around the mess. “Who did that?” she said.
This was going too far.
“Megan!” I whispered, groping around. My fingers brushed her leg, but she slipped away from me before I could grab on, moving toward a basket of chips and salsa. I leapt to my feet and caught an arm, but she wrenched it out of my grip. The bowl of salsa began sliding toward Tina.
People had begun to notice. The music had stopped, and mutters flittered around the room. I touched a shoulder and followed it to her ear, then leaned in to whisper at point blank range.
“Megan . . . STOP!”
The bowl kept sliding.
Why was she ignoring me?
The salsa dumped on Tina, spilling gooey chunks of tomato all down her hair and the back of her dress. She gasped and spun around. “Who did that?”
Twenty blank faces stared back at her from the living room. No one spoke. Had they seen?
The basket of chips inched toward her.
“The chips!” someone said, pointing.
“Who’s moving that?”
“Megan! Enough!” I hissed, tugging her arm. It refused to budge.
The chips kept moving.
I balled my fist and punched her hard on the shoulder. At last, she stopped, and I felt her hands groping my body.
“Leona?” Her whisper tickled my ear. “Leona, is that you?”
“Who else is invisible?” I spat. “We’re leaving.” I grabbed her wrist and dragged her out of the kitchen. Our feet splashed through the pool of vodka.
“Look—” a girl pointed at my feet. I didn’t care. We needed to get out of here right now.
A wall of bodies blocked our escape from the kitchen, they’d come to spectate. I swatted the nearest pile of red cups, spraying them with beer and vodka. The group flinched out of the way, and I dragged Megan past them and out into the living room, making a beeline for the door. My shoulder bumped another guy, and he staggered sideways, eyes wide. I shoved through another group, rubbing up against a guy I did not want to rub up against. I didn’t care, I didn’t care about anything, just getting us out of here. Eyes tracked our progress, following the commotion of jostled bodies. The remaining kids standing between us and the door got the hint real quick and bolted out of the way like bunnies.
People could be smart sometimes.
Holding hands, a terrified boy and girl split in opposite directions, and their hands snapped taut. They both tried to cross over to each other’s side and ended up colliding back in the middle and barely stumbling out of my way.
And there she stood.
Ashley Lacroix.
The last person between us and the door. I halted right in front of her, and Megan slammed into my back.
Ashley’s blue eyes glared straight into mine, and she yelled, “My name is Ashley Lacroix, and this is my second attempt to communicate!”
My breath cut off.
Megan’s hand clamped on my arm. She heard her and saw her too.
But not the others at the party. Because she wasn’t really there. They were anxiously watching the door, waiting for it to open on its own.
“I figured out how it got to me,” Ashley continued. “It’s been reading my diary . . . it knew about my sleepwalking . . . it used me . . .”
I pulled Megan around Ashley and fumbled for the screen with my elbow, cell phone still in hand. Ashley turned and continued to speak at us, never blinking, her gaze hot on my back. At last the screen opened, and Megan and I tripped over each other scrambling to get out.
“Avenge me,” Ashley called, but she didn’t chase us. I’d half expected she would.
We didn’t stop until we reached Megan’s car, two bodies slamming into metal, before we collapsed to catch our breath.
“Whoa,” said Megan’s voice. “What was that about?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” My hurting lungs rose and fell. “We’re not doing what we’re supposed to be doing. We’re supposed to be avenging her, Megan . . . helping people . . . not scaring the shit out of them at parties.” I picked at the dark matter around my phone, but my fingers trembled, uncoordinated, and I gave up.
It’s been reading my diary . . .
She didn’t mean dark matter, did she? The thought gave me a chill. Emory had said her diary was sticky.
“Tina deserved it,” Megan muttered.
“She was our friend,” I spat, peeling the dark matter off my nose.
“You heard her,” said Megan. “You heard her talking trash.”
“How would you feel if your two best friends quit hanging out with you for no reason?” I peeled off the rest of the dark matter, hardly caring if anyone saw me naked.
She said nothing, but I heard the tension in her breathing.
“And why’d you ditch me, just like I told you not to do?” I said.
“Oh, come on, you knew why we were there. You were right next to me.”
“I told you to stop. When I tell you to stop, you need to stop.”
“I get it, Leona.”
“Megan, I’m serious.”
“Why didn’t you just call me? I was ho
lding my phone.”
“I did,” I cried. “And I grabbed your arm, and you ignored me . . . you ass.”
“And I stopped,” she said.
“After ten minutes.”
“How long were you trying to get my attention?” She sounded genuinely confused.
“Did you not feel me?” I gasped in exasperation. “Did you not hear me yelling your name?” What was her deal?
“Look, I can’t interpret all your dumb little clues, okay?”
I sighed and climbed to my feet, flashing a passing car. “Just pay attention next time.”
My mom opened the front door before I even touched the doorknob.
“Mom—” I stepped back, startled, bumping into Megan.
“You’re late,” she said, and then to Megan, “Leona needs to deal with something right now, so you should probably go.”
My jaw fell open. “Mom, it’s Friday . . . she’s spending the night. She always spends the night!”
“Not tonight, Leona.” Her tone left no room for argument.
Mortified, I glanced back at my best friend, who looked equally stunned.
“Okay, uh . . .” Megan backed away. “Bye Leona. Bye Mrs. Hewitt.”
“Bye, Megan,” said my mom.
Shame flushed my cheeks. Was it because we were late? I told my parents we’d be back at ten, and now it was almost 10:30. But they were always chill about that. Besides, it was Friday.
Something was wrong.
“Mom?” I whispered, my voice coming out in a whisper.
My mom waited until Megan’s headlights disappeared from view. “Come inside. You can explain everything to her tomorrow.” She closed the door behind me, but hesitated in the foyer. “Leona?”
“Yeah?” I croaked.
“You know you can talk to us, right? Dad and me? You know you can tell us anything, and we’ll never judge you, right?”
I nodded slowly, feeling sick.
She peered at me, her eyes hard. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me right now? Are you in any kind of trouble?”
