What You Can't See
Invisible Boy

Olivia stared, unsure whether to be amused at what the young man in front of her had just said.

Yet, watching him carefully, how he looked at her in shock, and how his body tensed, she couldn't help but believe that he believed she shouldn't be able to see him sitting there on the bus. And for some reason, she found it quite amusing. She turned her head, carefully glancing around, her fingers tightening on the edge of the seat. A voice in her head kept saying she shouldn't find it amusing and hide her amusement.

But she couldn't.

"You say that, but I very clearly see you."

His gray eyes blinked. His pale skin became somehow even paler as he sucked in his breath. His mouth opened and closed, his eyes blinking even more, the confusion apparent. No words came out of his mouth; this boy who, for some reason, thought he was invisible to the girl in front of him.

"So," she said. Her finger lifted, pointing at the book held in his hands. "The reason I wanted to talk."

"What?" His eyes blinked, a word finally coming out as he stared at her in confusion.

"What are you reading?" Olivia said, finally conversing with the cute boy who was constantly reading books whenever she saw him on the bus.

He startled again, snapping the book shut and shoving it into his book back as he stared at her. "You're not supposed to see me."

"So you've said," Olivia said. "And obviously, since I'm speaking with you, that means I am talking to you, right?"

"Right," he said, his eyes narrowing, the color of which became darker.

She observed him, her eyes watching as a stick slipped from his sleeve, her mind wondering why anybody would carry a stick up their sleeve. "What is," she started to say, watching him tense, to which she looked up at him, watching as his mouth pressed into a frown, his eyes wide as if he was surprised she'd noticed. She took a deep breath. "Alright. I'll pretend I didn't see."

"But you saw me," he said in a low whisper.

Her eyes opened, watching him look around as if he were expecting someone else to notice him. She pointed at his hand. "I mean the stick."

At that moment, the stick slid back up his sleeve. His hands formed fists, and he glanced away as if wanting to avoid eye contact with her, almost as if he was trying to continue the game he was playing of being invisible.

Olivia took a deep breath. "So, can I sit by you?"

"What?" he said, turning to look at her. "Why?"

The tone of voice was dark and slightly threatening, yet she didn't feel any actual malice from the boy pretending to be invisible. More of, it felt as if he didn't know what to do in the given situation of someone bursting that false reality of being invisible. Olivia pushed her lips together. "Books?"

"Books?" He said, frowning, but books did seem like a topic he felt more comfortable with. "What about them?"

"Do you like books?"

He stared.

"I've noticed you were sitting there reading every time you ride the bus," Olivia said.

"Wait," he said, Adam's apple bobbing on his pale throat.

"And I've been trying to work up the courage to talk to you."

"Hold on. How long have you been able to see me?" he choked out.

"I don't know. I first saw you last summer."

She watched as his head went backward, lightly hitting the window behind it, a groan escaping from him.

"Wait? Have you really thought you've been invisible this entire time?"

"Yes," he muttered. "My," he started to say, shaking his head before gripping the seat.

"So, where do we go from here?" Olivia asked.

"What do you mean?" the boy asked. "We go to our destination and get off the bus."

The corners of her mouth twisted, fully amused at what he said. "You misunderstood the question, didn't you?"

"What do you mean," he started to say, a slight irritation appearing, before turning his head to look away. "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Likely. I'm not exactly," he let out a sigh. "I'm told certain things go over my head."

"Isn't that normal for the bookish types?"

"I'm a bookish type?" he asked.

"Well, there's nothing wrong with being a bookish type, is there?"

"Are you a bookish type?"

Olivia frowned. "Do you think I'd be wanting to strike up a conversation about books if I wasn't?"

She watched a slight blush spread across his cheeks; his gray eyes now focused on his hands which had transferred to his knees. The stick was still up his sleeve.

"Look, I don't know what kind of weird stuff you're into," she spoke low.

"Weird stuff?" his head shot up. "Do you think I'm weird?"

"Does it matter?" Olivia asked.

And the tips of his ears started to flush up, almost as if—

"Hey, are you not used to talking to girls or something?" she asked, wanting to figure out why he pretended to be invisible on the bus."

"Am I not," he sat up straight, his cheeks turning red as well. "Um, no." And then he said low, glancing to the side. "I'm really not used to talking to anybody, really."

"Oh!" Olivia said. "If it makes you more comfortable, I could do all the talking. About books, that is? Can I sit by you rather than across the aisle, though? So I'm less likely to bother the other passengers?"

"I guess," he said.

Olivia nodded her head and moved over. "So, I guess I'll start with Shakespeare. Do you know Shakespeare?"

She turned to look at him, watching his eyes widen. His cheeks flushed slightly, adding to his already flushed ears. He didn't say yes or no; he simply turned his head to look away nervously before turning his head back.

"So, his play Twelfth Night. My name…."