Thursday.

She didn't take a shower, even though she felt dirty.

Instead she covered her eyes with what Claire had called "that black shit" and picked up the same clothes from the previous day, covering them with an unbuttoned checkered shirt she had inherited from her Oliver's closet. She didn't want to be pretty. She just wanted to build herself a cocoon and sleep in it.

She walked down the stairs slowly, careful not to make any noise. She closed her eyes when she finally made it downstairs. She wondered if Jake would be in the car with her brother. For once she truly wished she was invisible.

(It didn't matter. She didn't matter. She didn't want to matter.)

She climbed in the car, numb, cold, dirty. Stared out the window until she noticed the engine wasn't turned on, and she was the only one inside the car. Oliver had either forgotten about her or simply overslept. She sighed. She wanted to be invisible, and it was OK.

(It still sort of stung.)

She got late to school. She walked the halls and wandered aimlessly until she almost got caught, and soon ducked into the girls bathroom. She waited for the hour to pass and walked to her history class, trying not to make a sound, trying not to look at anyone in the eyes.

(Invisible.)

When Mrs. Carlson asked for the assignment Allison had completely forgotten about, she briefly worried. The teacher asked for the assignments to be passed over to the front, instead of picking them up one by one herself, and Allison shrugged, ignoring the others that dutifully passed theirs.

It didn't matter. She didn't matter, and, as expected, no one noticed.

"Nice to see you could finally join us, Miss Standish."

Claire blushed in the entrance of the classroom, muttering something that must have been an apology because it seemed to appease Mrs. Carlson. Before sitting down she surveyed the seats, her gaze resting for a moment on Allison. Startled she looked around herself, trying to identify what she was looking at. Claire frowned slightly, never looking away, and finally sat down somewhere in the middle rows.

Allison belatedly waved awkwardly, then became transfixed by her hand, imagining what it would be like to be transparent. Would it be much different from then?

(Would it matter?)

She frowned, took some paper and a couple of pencils from her bag and tuned out whatever the teacher was saying. She drew carefully, but decisively. Soft traits laced with the certainty of experienced manipulation, slowly forming a landscape of grays. Some mountains, some clouds. A place that no one but her knew. A few trees, fallen branches, shadows in the snow. She accentuated the picture with darker shades now, creating the effect she was looking for. A puddle of mud, fallen leaves, strangely shaped rocks.

(Loneliness.)

She used her fingers to play with the shadows on the paper. She perfected the shading, added a few highlights with the eraser, reinforced a few traits. When she was finally done, she inspected her work. The landscape was beautiful, and it made her think of adventures and dreams yet to come.

("How come you never draw people?" her art teacher had asked once. "It all seems so desolate.")

As she looked at the finished pictured, she imagined herself in the middle of it, as she often did.

(Perfectly invisible.)

The bell rang, and classes flew by. She didn't pay any notice, having opted instead for hiding inside her parka, the excessive heat of her hiding place making her sleepy. When school was finally over she slowly made her way out, eyes fixed on the floor, ignoring all noises around her. For the first time during the whole week, she didn't care about where the Breakfast Club may be or what they would do if they saw her.

They wouldn't see her. Or maybe they would, but it didn't matter.

(She didn't matter.)

She felt disconnected from everything around her. She decided to walk home, after all no one would have remembered to pick her up. She was surprised to discover Jake waiting for her outside the school, and for a brief moment she considered running the other way, or yelling at him to make him stop with this absurd fixation he seemed to have developed, or asking someone for help. Asking whom for help? There was no one (no one that cared).

She slowly made her way towards him, too tired and invisible to put up a fight anymore.

"Hey, Allison, Oliver couldn't come so I came to pick you up instead, OK?"

She didn't reply, let him caress her cheek tenderly as way of greeting, climbed in when he opened the door for her, waited for him to climb in after her. It didn't matter. She turned her head to look out the window, and found Andy looking her way, a confused look on his face. She would have waved, but she didn't know if it would make a difference.

She felt absolutely transparent.

(Irrelevant.)