Transparent by Natalie Whipple

that makes it feel like we’ve known each other for more than a couple weeks. “Siblings?”
    “Two older brothers. They’re nineteen and twenty-two, so they don’t live with us anymore.” I neglect to mention the dozen or so half siblings I have. I try to pretend they don’t exist, which is fairly easy because I rarely see them. Dad’s smart enough to keep his women separated—heaven forbid they gang up on him. I accepted a long time ago that Mom and Dad would never get married, but it’s still gross to think about how many other women and children he has, how he plays with their minds like he does with ours.
    “Cool.” Bea takes the turn sharp, and I grab the windowsill so I don’t slam into her. She drives faster than a getaway man, but I don’t complain. I don’t want her thinking I’m a wuss or something. Besides, there’s no air-conditioning and my butt is sweating way too much. The wind she generates barely takes the edge off the heat.
    “So …” She grips the steering wheel tighter as she glances at me. “How’s the invisible gig?”
    I hold back my surprise. No one ever asks or points it out, just like they don’t point out the blue people or the ones who smell like turpentine. “What do you mean, exactly?”
    She scrunches her face. “My voice thing isn’t so obvious. When we go to Tucson or something, no one knows and I can be normal for a while. I’m just curious what it’s like not being able to hide it. I mean, you’re
the
Invisible Girl. How does it all work?”
    I watch her long hair fly in the wind. It’s none of her business, but if I’m being honest I’ve always wanted someone to ask, to treat me like I’m normal. Miles is the only one who acts like it’s no big deal, but Bea’s trying.
    I take a deep breath. “The doctors don’t really know how it works, except that the mutation likely affects my pigment. They have a few theories, but they can’t exactly study invisible blood or do surgery. They’ve tried dyeing me, but it disappears once I absorb it. All they know is everything my body makes is invisible—spit, blood, pee …”
    “Wait, your spit is invisible?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Spit on me! I want to see!” She bounces in her seat.
    “You won’t see; that’s the point. I’m not spitting on you.” I can’t help but smile at the ridiculous request.
    “C’mon! Do it! Would it look wet on my shirt? Or would I just feel it?”
    “You wouldn’t see it at all.”
    “I have to see! Please!” She shoves my arm. “I’m
asking
you to spit on me. How often are you allowed to use your invisible spit?”
    “Fine.” She has a point. I haven’t spit on anyone since I was a kid, and even then I only used it on Graham. I work up a good loogie and spit. She flinches, which is the only way I know I hit her. After touching the spot, she looks at her fingers with amused disgust.
    “It doesn’t even glisten, but it sure feels wet. Wow.” She wipes my spit on the seat. “So what about eating? Could I see food in you?”
    “No. Well …” I sigh, embarrassed. “If I ate with my mouth open you could see it for a second. Once it blends with my spit it goes invisible, and anything inside me can’t be seen.”
    She laughs. “That’s a relief. I was totally picturing this lump of mushy food under your shirt.”
    I snort. “Gross.”
    Her laughter dies out, and her eyebrows cinch together. “So no one has ever seen you?”
    “No.” It comes out harsher than I intended, but I didn’t expect her to go that far.
    She winces. “Sorry. I’m not good with boundaries.”
    “Don’t worry about it. And no, no one has ever seen me. Not the real me, at least. I don’t think X-rays and infrared count, because it’s not my actual face, just a vague image.”
    She purses her lips. “Well, I bet you’re banging hot. Your body is, from what I can tell of your clothes.”
    I stare at her, trying to convince myself I heard right. Then I laugh. Hard.
    Her perfect eyebrows