Chapter 1 — Invisible Girl

Bailey

The hum of the school hallway was a familiar blanket of noise—locker doors slamming, rushed footsteps, bursts of laughter. Bailey Rhodes kept her head down as she walked, hugging her worn canvas bag to her chest. Her sneakers squeaked faintly against the polished linoleum floor, a sound so soft it was swallowed by the chaos around her. She didn’t want to make eye contact or give anyone a reason to acknowledge her.

Not that they would, anyway.

Bailey had long accepted her place as a background character in the story that was high school. She wasn’t the kind of girl who turned heads or made people stop mid-conversation. She was the kind they glanced past, a fleeting blur of oversized sweaters and loose braids, quiet and unintrusive. She tugged the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder as a group of students brushed past her, one of them accidentally bumping her arm. The apology never came. She faltered for a moment, then continued walking, as if her invisibility was so ingrained it even protected others from noticing their mistakes.

As she passed a group of cheerleaders chatting by their lockers, Bailey caught a snippet of laughter that felt too sharp, too pointed. She glanced down, her fingers toying with the frosted glass pendant around her neck. It wasn’t that she thought they were laughing at her—that would require them noticing her in the first place. But the sound still pricked at her skin like static, a reminder of the gulf between her and the world around her.

She slid into her usual seat in the back corner of the classroom just as the bell rang, relief washing over her as the noise of the hallway dimmed. Pulling out her sketchbook from her bag, she ran a hand over the soft, frayed leather. This was the one place where she allowed herself to feel just a little bit seen—not by others, but by herself.

Flipping open to a blank page, she let her pencil hover for a moment before the familiar motion of her hand took over. The soft scratch of lead against paper was enough to soothe the tight knot in her chest. The world outside faded as she let herself sketch—nothing specific, just the outline of a tree branch bending against the wind. She loved drawing moments like this, moments that felt still and alive all at once.

Her mind wandered as she shaded the delicate veins of a leaf. She thought about the art competition Sophie had mentioned during lunch earlier that week. Sophie had been so enthusiastic, practically vibrating with excitement as she waved the flyer in Bailey’s face. “You’re entering this,” she’d declared, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Bailey, of course, had argued anyway. “It’s not my thing,” she’d mumbled, but Sophie had only rolled her eyes.

“You’re amazing, Bailey. People should see that.”

Bailey’s pencil paused mid-stroke. People should see that. The words unsettled her, curling in her stomach like smoke. What would it feel like to share her drawings, to let someone else see this part of her she kept hidden? The thought sent a mix of longing and dread coursing through her, and she quickly pushed it away.

“Bailey.”

The voice startled her, and she looked up quickly, her pencil smearing a line across the sketch. Mrs. Callahan, her English teacher, was staring at her expectantly, one eyebrow raised.

“Page twenty-two,” Mrs. Callahan repeated, gesturing toward the textbook. Her tone was calm but firm, the kind of patient exasperation reserved for students she didn’t quite understand but tolerated nonetheless.

Bailey ducked her head, heat rising to her cheeks. “Sorry,” she murmured, fumbling for her book. A few students turned to glance her way, their interest fleeting, like a flicker of static on a muted television. She hated being caught off guard like this. It made her feel exposed, like her invisibility had cracked for just a moment, only to remind her why it was better to stay unnoticed.

The rest of the class dragged on, and when the bell finally rang, she was the first to slip out the door. She didn’t want to linger—not when she had a safe haven waiting for her at home. Or at least, what passed for a safe haven these days.

The crisp autumn air greeted her as she stepped outside, wrapping her sweater tighter around her. Her usual route home took her past the hockey rink, its walls plastered with posters of the team’s upcoming games. The bold colors and sharp lettering seemed to shout for attention, a stark contrast to her own quiet existence. She slowed as she passed one of the posters, her gaze catching on the face of Charlie Adams, the team captain. His confident smirk seemed to jump off the page, larger than life.

For a moment, Bailey lingered, her fingers brushing the strap of her bag. She wondered what it would be like to be someone like him—someone who couldn’t help but be noticed, who seemed to command attention effortlessly. The thought was as fleeting as it was foreign, and when a group of hockey players emerged from the building, their laughter loud and easy, she quickly averted her eyes and hurried her steps, blending into the rhythm of the falling leaves swirling at her feet.

Her house looked small against the overcast sky, its faded blue paint and sagging porch a familiar sight on the quiet, tree-lined street. She pushed open the door, the faint creak announcing her arrival. The smell of coffee lingered in the air, though the mug on the counter sat abandoned, its contents gone cold. Her mother’s heels clicked sharply against the hardwood floor as she paced the living room, phone pressed to her ear.

“I told you, the buyers want a final walkthrough before they commit,” Claire Rhodes said, her tone clipped and efficient. “If that’s not clear, then maybe I need to hire someone else.”

Bailey hesitated in the hallway, the weight of her mother’s words pinning her in place. It wasn’t just the tone—it was the practiced certainty of it, the way Claire’s voice held no softness, no space for anything but results. Bailey slipped past the living room unnoticed and into the sanctuary of her bedroom. The door clicked shut behind her, muffling her mother’s voice.

Her room wasn’t much—just a small space with a twin bed, a scratched-up desk, and shelves lined with books she’d read a dozen times over. But it was hers. She sank onto her bed, pulling her knees to her chest as she opened her sketchbook again.

She stared at the unfinished drawing of the tree branch, the smudge trailing across the page like a wound. Her mother’s voice echoed faintly through the wall, sharp and full of purpose. Bailey couldn’t remember the last time Claire had spoken to her like that—with urgency, with focus. Most of their conversations now felt like bullet points in a to-do list: Have you done your homework? Don’t forget to eat. You need to start thinking about college.

She picked up her pencil and began shading the leaves, her mind drifting. It wasn’t that her mom didn’t care. Bailey knew that. She cared about her grades, her future, her potential. But sometimes it felt like Claire cared more about the idea of her than the reality.

The memory surfaced unbidden—a few weeks ago, when Bailey had overheard her mom on the phone. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but the words had hit her like a slap.

“I just don’t know what to do with her,” Claire had said, her voice low but exasperated. “She has no drive, no ambition. It’s like she’s content to coast through life doing the bare minimum.”

Bailey had frozen in the hallway, her heart hammering in her chest. She’d waited there, motionless, until the conversation ended, her mother’s words echoing in her ears. Even now, the memory clung to her like smoke, heavy and suffocating. Anger and hurt had flared in her chest when she first heard them, but now, sitting here with her sketchbook, all she felt was a hollow ache.

“Bailey?” Claire’s voice called from the hallway, followed by a soft knock. “Dinner’s ready.”

Bailey hesitated, her fingers tightening around her pencil. “I’m not hungry,” she answered, her voice barely audible. She fidgeted with the corner of her frosted glass pendant, the cool weight of it grounding her. For a moment, silence stretched between them, and Bailey thought Claire might argue. But then the footsteps retreated, and she exhaled, sinking back into the quiet of her room.

The weight of the day pressed down on her, and she curled up tighter, the sketchbook resting on her knees. She traced the lines of the tree branch absently, her mind wandering to the characters in her books, the ones who were brave and clever and everything she wasn’t. She wished—just for a moment—that she could step into their world. A world where invisibility wasn’t her default setting.

But instead, she stayed where she was, hidden in the quiet corners of her own life, pencil in hand, sketching dreams no one else would see.