Chapter 1 The Girl Who Vanishes in Crowds

Monday morning smelled like floor wax, cheap perfume, and burnt coffee.

Rhea Campbell stood in front of her locker, forehead pressed lightly against the cool metal, pretending she didn't exist - which wasn't hard. In this hallway, she really didn't.

The hallway between first period and homeroom was an ecosystem all its own. There were the girls who held the corners like territory - hair sleek, lips glossed, phones glued to palms, laughter sharp enough to slice skin. There were the boys who hadn't learned their voices yet, who jostled each other with their sports bags and half-baked insults. And then there were the rest - the floaters like her, drifting through the middle of it all like ghosts.

Her left hand fiddled with the dial on her locker. The metal gave way with a gentle click, and she sighed at the small satisfaction. Small victories. You took what you could get.

Rhea liked being small. Unseen. Invisibility was a superpower, really - if you could master it. She'd been mastering it since she was eleven, when her mom first told her to "make yourself scarce when the neighbors come around." It stuck.

She stacked her books: Pre-calc, AP Chem, American Lit, the heavy brick of her Debate binder. Her backpack strained at the zipper, threatening to burst. She made a mental note to fix it - but she wouldn't. She'd tell herself the same thing tomorrow.

Behind her, someone's locker slammed shut so hard she jumped. Stay calm. She exhaled. Not worth it. Nothing here was worth it, except for the escape plan: straight A's, early graduation, a scholarship so big she could leave this town and never look back.

She tugged her hoodie sleeve down over her wrist, eyes scanning the hallway without moving her head too much. Observing. That was the other thing she was good at. Watching people who didn't know they were being watched.

There they were - the untouchables. The shiny ones. The noise in her quiet corner. Jace Rivera, golden boy incarnate, leaned against his locker like he'd been placed there for an Instagram shoot. His hair was sunlit, skin warm olive under the harsh fluorescent lights. He wore his letterman jacket like a crown. Surrounding him were his loyal satellites: the basketball guys, the girls who draped themselves across the locker doors like living mannequins, the underclassmen who'd do anything for a passing nod.

Rhea's eyes lingered for a second, just long enough to see him smile at something one of his friends said - that smile that made people write his name in hearts on their notebooks.

People like him don't even know people like me exist. She snorted under her breath. He didn't even look in her direction. He never did.

"Rhea!" A voice pinged her phone, vibrating in her pocket. She dug it out, screen cracked at the corner, thumb tapping the message open.

Naomi: Where are you? Debate meeting today, don't forget. Mr. Lewis is gonna kill you if you're late.

Great, she thought. She tapped out a quick reply:

Rhea: Relax. I'm at my locker. Five minutes away.

She could practically see Naomi's exasperated face through the screen. Naomi Park, her best friend since eighth grade - the only person on earth who could spot her in a crowded hallway and still wave like a maniac. Naomi was everything Rhea wasn't: loud, opinionated, impossible to ignore. The yin to her invisibility yang.

Rhea glanced back toward Jace's crowd. One of the girls - the blonde one with the cruel laugh - giggled and smacked his shoulder playfully. He grinned back, easy, golden. A Greek statue with a perfectly messy backpack slung over one shoulder.

Rhea rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt. High school is a bad soap opera with a terrible budget, she thought. All they do is swap lines, swap faces, and forget who was here last year.

She slammed her locker shut with a metallic clang. The noise bounced off the tiled floor, but no one even flinched. Perfect. She tugged her hoodie tighter, settled her bag on her shoulder, and joined the river of bodies trickling toward first period.

---

The hallway turned into a living obstacle course - laughter, cheap cologne, the slap of sneakers on linoleum. She navigated it like she always did: shoulders hunched, eyes on the floor, ears open for drama she'd never be a part of.

A couple was pressed up against the wall near the science wing - hands tangled in hair, lockers rattling behind them. Another girl squeezed past with her makeup bag open, applying mascara mid-stride. Someone yelled about a test they hadn't studied for.

Rhea ducked her head, tuned it all out. She thought about the Debate team instead. Mr. Lewis was a stickler for punctuality - if you weren't five minutes early, you were ten minutes late. And she needed that team. The scholarship application basically wrote itself if she could keep stacking trophies on her résumé.

She checked her phone again. One new text.

Naomi: Bring coffee? You owe me.

Rhea typed:

Rhea: On my budget? Dream on. I'll owe you till college.

She slipped the phone back into her hoodie pocket, her fingers brushing the tiny worn patch on her backpack. She'd been meaning to fix that for months. But new zippers cost money - and money was for college, not zippers.

Someone bumped her shoulder. She murmured an apology, even though she wasn't sure why. She was like that - always sorry for taking up air.

---

She passed the trophy case by the stairwell, its glass smeared with fingerprints. Inside, the soccer team's championship plaque shone bright gold. Jace's name was on it, of course. He was practically carved into this building - the coaches, the teachers, the girls in homeroom - they all treated him like the second coming.

Rhea wondered what it would be like - to be seen like that. Not just once in a while. Not just when she raised her hand with the right answer. But to be looked at like you mattered. Like your existence wasn't background noise.

She scoffed at herself. Gross. She'd die before she'd admit she ever wanted that.

---

In the stairwell, she could finally breathe. No one lingered here long - everyone too busy crowding the main hall. She paused on the landing, adjusted her bag. Her phone buzzed again - Naomi, probably about the debate meeting. She didn't check. She liked the silence for a minute.

A poster caught her eye: Spring Fling Dance: This Friday! Tickets on sale now! Two glittery hearts, a badly drawn disco ball. She laughed. She'd rather do a chem lab than stand around pretending to be someone worth slow dancing with.

Focus, Rhea. Focus. She climbed the last flight of stairs, dodging a freshman who looked lost, clutching a crumpled map of the building like it might save his life. She almost offered directions - almost. But he turned and vanished into the second floor hallway before she found the words.

---

Homeroom was halfway down the corridor, next to the dusty old art classroom. She could already hear the dull murmur of people filing in. Her phone buzzed again.

Naomi: Where are you? You're gonna miss roll call!

Rhea quickened her pace. Books piled high in her arms, phone still clutched in her fingers, backpack half-zipped and gaping open like a mouth about to scream.

She rounded the corner, blind, trying to stuff her phone back into her hoodie pocket. Her hair fell into her eyes. She pushed it away, books slipping dangerously in her grip. Please don't drop it all, she begged herself. Not now. Not when she was this close.

She took one more step - and that's when it happened