"You think she's even going to show up?" Saige checks the time on her phone for the millionth time in the past ten seconds, glancing at the double doors of the hallway, as if waiting for Emmie to appear.

"I don't know, S," I admit with a shrug. "She did say she was going out with Asher. And you know what that means."

"Trouble," Saige and I say in unison, giving each other knowing grins. I turn back to my locker, shoving my bookbag inside the small quarters. "Let's just give her five more minutes," I propose, glancing at Saige over my shoulder. "If she's not back by then, we'll head to class."

"All right," Saige agrees. "I really hope she's okay. You know how she gets around that boy."

"Speaking of that boy." Saige laughs softly as I eye her skeptically. "I don't think I've seen Asher yet, either."

Saige wrinkles her nose, sticking her tongue out in disgust. "You don't think they're . . . together, do you?"

I shrug, sighing. The rush of air from my lips sends hair blowing out of my face. "Who knows with those two?"

As if it's her cue, Emmie suddenly appears by the double doors. Saige nudges me to get my attention, gesturing toward what used to be our best friend with wide eyes.

Emmie notices us staring, strolling toward us slowly. Her normally wavy blonde hair is flat. She wears giant sunglasses that cover half of her face, and she walks like she's sleeping. When Emmie finally reaches me and Saige, neither of us say a word. To be honest, I don't think either of us even know what to say.

"I know what you're thinking." Emmie's voice is hoarse, like she's smoked a pack a day for twenty years.

"Really?" Saige asks, finally speaking. "Because I don't even know what to think."

"What happened to you, Em?" I ask softly. "You look like a mess."

"Yeah?" Emmie snorts, running a hand through her matted tresses. "Well, I look better than I feel, if that's saying anything." She raises a hand to her face, whipping the sunglasses off to reveal eye bags bigger than Texas and darker than night. Her skin is pale, and she doesn't wear any makeup, which is a first for her.

"Yikes," I say unintentionally, making Emmie glare at me. She immediately pulls the sunglasses back on, making me feel kind of bad for opening my mouth.

"You don't look that bad." Saige gives me a thanks-a-lot look. I shrug, not knowing how to respond.

"It's not about how I look," Emmie hisses, resting her head against the lockers behind us. "It's about how I feel. And how bright it is in here. And why is everything so loud?"

"Oh," Saige says, suddenly sounding way less friendly. "You're hungover."

"Yeah. Duh. Isn't it obvious?" Emmie doesn't hide the bitter tone to her voice, either. If I don't step in now, I know the two of them are going to go at it. That's one of the downsides to being friends with someone for so long. Once you reach a certain level of comfort, you can fight about nearly anything. It doesn't help that Saige and Emmie don't exactly see eye-to-eye on a lot of things, especially underage drinking. We're all seniors at Day View High, which makes us seventeen (except in Emmie's case, she turned eighteen in August).

"Why'd you even come to school, then?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows in confusion.

"Because," Emmie hisses with an attitude. "I didn't want my mom to know I snuck out. Or saw Asher. Or went to a concert on a school night. Or drank. She'd flip, and then I'd be dead."

I nod, understanding that those are all very good reasons to not want to be home. Saige, on the other hand, only seems more annoyed.

"If you're really so worried about your mom finding out, why do you even bother doing all of those things?" Saige has her impatient face on, narrowing her eyes at Emmie. Once again, if I don't step in, I know they're going to start fighting.

"Excuse me if I like to—" Emmie stops short, suddenly falling silent. That's when I notice that it's not just Emmie that's gone quiet; it's the whole hallway. I look around curiously, wondering what's going on. When I turn back to my friends and still don't have an answer, I lean forward and whisper, "What is it?"

I kind of unintentionally answer my own question. My gaze falls on the double doors just across the hallway, landing on a boy. Not just any boy, either, the boy from yesterday. I fall silent, too, for reasons of my own. He didn't look familiar yesterday, and he still doesn't. Nobody else around me must recognize him, either, because they're all gawking as if they've seen a ghost.

If the boy notices, he doesn't show it. He has one hand curled around the strap of his bookbag, the other shoved into the front pocket of his jeans. He makes his way down the hallway easily, ignoring the stares and whispers directed toward him. It registers in my mind that he's good looking, but I still don't get why everyone's suddenly started to act so weird.

He's only feet away from me now. I'm wondering if he recognizes me just as he starts to pass me and my friends. He turns his head slightly toward my direction, our gazes meeting for the second time in two days. We hold each other's glance longer than I ever have with a stranger, making me shiver. The way he looks at me . . . like he's really seeing me. It freaks me out.

And then—get this—he winks. At me. Again! With that he walks on, disappearing down the hall. Conversations start again. Around me, people go back to normal. It's like someone has just hit the play button on a movie that was paused. Except, I'm still paused. And frankly a little scared, too. I'm Mia Rose McHenry, otherwise known as the invisible girl. People don't see me. They don't stare at me in the hallway. And they definitely don't wink at me.

But that doesn't change the fact that this boy—whoever he is—has done all three of those things. Twice.

And suddenly, I don't like the feeling of not being invisible so much. In fact, I hate it. I want the feeling to disappear, the way I'm supposed to. I want to cover myself with a blanket and hide from the boy with the knowing eyes. I never want him to look at me again.

Which shouldn't be hard, considering I'm supposed to be invisible.

Emphasis on the supposed.

★ ★ ★

"Who was that boy?" I don't mean to ask the question. I don't mean for the words to fall out of my mouth. I only mean to think them to myself, where they are safe in my mind from listening ears. Still, I said them and now they're out there. I can't take them back.

When Saige and Emmie just give me blank stares from across the lunch table, I clear my throat. I could let the question drop. Tell them to forget about it and then move on. Only, I kind of want to know the answer.

"In the hallway this morning? Everyone was acting so weird. Who is he?"

"Oh," Emmie says with a nod. "Him."

Saige raises an eyebrow at me, giving me a strange look. "You don't know?" she asks questioningly. I shake my head, not sure what to say. Am I supposed to know who this guy is, or something? Is he famous? He sure looked the part.

"That was Thorne Baxter." Emmie practically whispers the words, which doesn't make any sense. It's like she doesn't want anyone else to hear. We sit at a small table in the courtyard, the closest people two tables away. No one is listening.

"Thorne . . . Baxter?" The name doesn't ring a bell. By the looks Saige and Emmie are giving me, I know I should probably know who this guy is. But the problem is that I don't.

"You know him," Saige says with a frown. I shake my head, flustered. "I don't."

"You know his type," Emmie corrects Saige, smirking. "Even if you don't recognize him or his name, you've definitely heard about him. This is a small town, Mia."

I feel like screaming. It's like they're not even listening to me! How many times do I need to tell them I don't know Thorne for them to get it? And how many times are they going to tell me I know him when I don't?

"He's the epitome of bad boy," Saige tells me, rolling her eyes. "Like Emmie said, you definitely know his type. He's basically just like Asher. Only better looking." Emmie turns her head to glare at Saige, who only shrugs in defense.

"What's so bad about him?" I don't care that I sound stupid. I'm genuinely curious to know what this boy has done in his lifetime. What could be so bad that he makes everyone in the hallway fall silent at just the sight of him? Thinking about it now, I don't recall seeing him at all last week (which was the first week of school).

"There's nothing necessarily bad about him," Emmie clarifies. She takes a long swallow from her water bottle before adding, "It's just the things he does. And, well, the people he associates with."

"What did he do?" I feel like a child, and Saige and Emmie are the know-it-all older sisters. Not knowing about Thorne and whatever it is that he's done to make a name for himself makes me feel like I've been left out of some sort of loop.

Saige and Emmie share a look. I can tell they're fighting without using any words the way they sometimes do. Saige widens her bright blue eyes. Emmie narrows her slightly darker blue eyes. Finally, Saige looks away, exhaling sharply.

"Drugs," Saige says the word calmly, like it's natural for her to say. I raise my eyebrows, not quite sure where she's going with this.

Emmie rolls her eyes, shoving Saige with her elbow. "Let me explain," she says, taking over. "Thorne got mixed up with some bad people back when we were in tenth grade. One thing led to another, and he ended up joining some sort of street gang. He was their druggy, if you know what I mean."

I shake my head, confused out of my mind. "I don't."

"He sold drugs, Mia," Saige says. She speaks slowly, like she's trying to explain addition to a child. In a way, she kind of is. "For the gang. Then he got caught, which led to an arrest. Shortly after that, he was expelled."

"From Day View?" I can feel my features crumpling into an expression that must resemble confusion. I mean, if he's been expelled, why is he here?

"Yeah." Emmie nods, popping an M&M in her mouth. "I guess he got readmitted. That's why everyone freaked earlier. He's, like, not supposed to be here."

"But he is." Saige shakes her head, a disapproving look on her pretty face. "And that can only mean one thing. Trouble. And lots of it."

"Don't judge a book by it's cover," Emmie mumbles, making Saige crack up. "Although, I guess you're right. Not much good can come from Thorne being back."

"Well, he must have changed." I don't realize I'm saying the words until Saige and Emmie are staring at me skeptically. "You know, because they let him back in."

Saige rolls her blue eyes. Emmie snorts, choking on her candy. "People never really change, Mia," Saige tells me. "You are who you are."

I purse my lips, deciding to hold my tongue. I don't think I quite believe Saige. How is it impossible for a person to change? You can be a good person and get mixed up with bad things. Maybe that's how it was for Thorne. Maybe he was having a rough time. Maybe he needed the money to get by. Maybe—

I stop the thought short, wondering what I'm thinking. Why am I defending a person I don't even know? I could be completely wrong about him.

Then again, there's always the chance that I'm not. I don't know him. I can't say anything about a person I don't know.

"Speak of the devil," Emmie mutters, letting out a low whistle. She gestures across the courtyard, toward where the school doors are. Sure enough, there stands Thorne himself. I can see him leaning against the school's brick wall clear as day.

"Great," Saige mutters, looking disgusted. "You know what else Thorne being back means? The girls here are going to go crazy."

"You think he's hot, too?" Emmie doesn't even stop staring at him as she says the words. The girl has no shame. Then again, I guess I'm staring at him, too. For the third time in two days. It's like I can't escape him.

Saige snorts, reminding me that there are other people besides Thorne here. "I don't think he's hot. The whole bad boy vibe he's got going on isn't my thing."

"It's working for me." Emmie wiggles her eyebrows as she turns back around, but I can't say I notice. Because Thorne has turned around. And he's looking in my direction. Scratch that, it's not just the direction. He's looking at me. Again.

"Why does Lil M look like that?" Saige mutters, though I barely hear the words.

"She looks scared."

"What is she staring at?"

"She's staring at Thorne. Can't say I blame her."

"Oh no. Oh God no. Mia, cut that out." The next thing I know, Saige's hand is waving around in my face, making me blink. I turn to her with a confused expression, wondering what's wrong with her. "Do not tell me you're falling for Thorne Baxter." Saige says Thorne Baxter the way one would say serial killer.

"I'm—"

"Oh, let her look," Emmie interrupts. She's got that troublesome smirk of hers painted on her lips as she turns to Saige that means she's up to no good. "No one ever got hurt by looking at something. Besides, Lil M would never go for someone like Thorne. She's too . . . pure."

I don't know why, but I feel a small twinge of hurt when Emmie calls me pure. Pure is a good thing to be called, right? It means you're a good person. Innocent. Young. Inexperienced. Babyish. Prudish. Like a Grandma. Who am I kidding? Being called pure is the equivalent of being called nothing.

I'm the invisible girl. Emmie's words shouldn't hurt me. I know that there's no way she was intending for them to be taken that way, either. But they do. And I can't help that part of me doesn't want to be the invisible girl. That part of me doesn't want to be called pure by her friends. Somewhere deep down inside, it resonates that I want to be less pure and more fun. Wild. Crazy. Beautiful. The kind of girl a boy like Thorne would look at twice.

I stop in my tracks, blinking. Because it's only just now hit me that I'm not that girl. I'm invisible. I'm pure. I'm quiet. A wallflower.

And Thorne Baxter hasn't only looked at me twice. He's looked at me three times.

Now it's just up to me to figure out what that might mean.