The Last Moonshine

"You're the girl who disappears, aren't you?" The words hit me like a slap. I froze in Millbrook High's main hallway, textbooks clutched against my chest, knuckles white. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting that sickly yellow glow. Students swarmed around me like a river parting around a stone—small, unremarkable, easily stepped over. The speaker was a cheerleader with glossy hair and perfect teeth. She looked at me like I was an amusing bug on the sidewalk. "I'm sorry?" My voice was barely a whisper. "You know," she said, flipping her hair. "Every year, there's one. The new girl who thinks if she makes herself small enough, no one will notice. But we always notice. You're like a ghost. A sad one." Her friends laughed, sharp and deliberate. My face burned. The familiar sting of humiliation crawled up my spine, settling deep in my chest where I kept all the things I never talked about. I opened my mouth, but words got stuck. They always did. I could write brilliant comebacks in my head, but when it came time to speak, my voice died. "Tiny Tilly!" A jock shouted as he passed. "Still hiding in the shadows?" I flinched. The nickname had followed me since my first day, when senior boys decided I was entertainment. Every time I heard it, I shrank another inch. I didn't fight back. Not because I didn't feel the sting—I felt every word, sharp as needles pricking invisible wounds. But fighting back invited more attention, more cruelty. Being invisible meant being safe. It meant no one asked questions I couldn't answer, no one poked at the secrets I carried like stones in my pockets. I slipped away to the library, my sanctuary. I'd mapped every hiding spot in this school within my first week—the forgotten corner behind the reference section, the third-floor bathroom no one used, the alcove near the art room. I'd been in Millbrook for three months and still felt like a stranger. The town was small, the kind of place where everyone knew everyone else's business. I was the outsider with no history and no explanation. The teachers were polite but distant. Students were curious for five minutes before losing interest. That was fine. I preferred it that way. My mother and I had moved here three months ago. I still missed our old house—a small bungalow with a garden where I used to sit with Lilly, my ferret, and read for hours. Our new apartment was cramped and sterile, with thin walls and no escape. Mom had promised this move would be different. "We're going to stay here, Brienne. Long enough for you to finish high school." I wanted to believe her. But hope was dangerous. Hope made you believe tomorrow would be better, and tomorrow always brought more moving, more starting over, more pretending I didn't notice my mother's shaking hands or the way she checked the locks three times before bed. She never talked about my father. He'd disappeared when I was four. That was all I knew. Whenever I asked, she changed the subject. I'd learned to stop asking. But some questions refused to stay buried. Why did he disappear? Why had we moved so many times? And why did I feel like there was something about myself even I didn't understand? The library was empty when I arrived. I found my usual table in the back corner, behind outdated encyclopedias. The smell of old paper and dust was comforting—the one constant in every school, every town, every new beginning. I pulled out my chemistry homework, letting equations soothe my frayed nerves. Math made sense. It didn't care about popularity or whether you made yourself small. I didn't notice Mia and Cody approaching until they slid into the chairs across from me. "Brienne!" Mia's voice was warm. "We've been looking for you." Mia was everything I wasn't—tall, confident, with wild red hair and a laugh that filled rooms. Cody was quieter, with kind brown eyes and a gentle way of making you feel seen. He'd been my friend since the second week, when I knocked over his books and he just laughed and helped me pick them up. "You weren't at lunch," Cody said. "We were worried." "Just needed quiet. The cafeteria was... a lot." "Tiny Tilly again?" Mia's expression softened. "That's such bullshit. You're not tiny. You're petite. And those cheerleaders are jealous because you're actually smart and interesting." I smiled despite myself. "Thanks." "Seriously. If anyone gives you trouble, tell me. I'll handle it." I nodded, though we both knew I never would. History class was my last period. Mrs. Patterson was already at her desk, a plump woman with kind eyes and a warm smile. "Miss Cole," she called as students packed up. "Could you stay a moment?" I approached slowly, clutching my bag. "Yes?" "I wanted to tell you how impressed I was with your World War II essay. Thoughtful, well-researched, beautifully written." I blinked. "Thank you." "You have a gift, Brienne. You see things others don't." No one had ever called me gifted. I was just the quiet girl, the invisible girl. "How are you doing?" she asked softly. "Moving is difficult. Are you settling in?" I hesitated. I wanted to tell her about the cheerleaders, the bullies, the drowning feeling. But showing weakness only made things worse. "I'm okay. It's been hard, but I'm managing." "Try to socialize a little more," she encouraged. "Having people to lean on is important." "I'll try," I said, knowing I wouldn't. I walked home in a daze. The apartment was small, but it was home—for now. Mom wouldn't be back from the hospital for hours. Lilly was waiting, her ferret nose twitching. I scooped her up, burying my face in her fur. "I got a compliment today," I told her. "Mrs. Patterson said I was gifted." Lilly chittered. I flopped onto the couch. Maybe things were finally looking up. Maybe I could survive this. But deep down, I knew it was just a moment. Tomorrow, I'd go back to being invisible, back to Tiny Tilly, back to the girl who disappeared. And that was safer. Mom got home around eight, exhausted but smiling. She looked older, the lines around her eyes deeper. "How was school?" "Good. Mrs. Patterson said my essay was excellent." Her face lit up. "I always knew you had a gift." I leaned against her shoulder. "Any other news?" she asked casually. I opened my mouth to tell her about the humiliation, but the words stuck. She had enough to worry about. "Nothing eventful. Just a normal day." She kissed my head. "That's good." We sat in comfortable silence. I pretended to watch the news, but my mind was elsewhere. Later, alone in my room, I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about Mrs. Patterson's words. "Try to socialize." As if it were that easy. Lilly was asleep in her cage. I envied her. She didn't worry about bullies or loneliness. I stared at the ceiling, willing myself to stop thinking. It didn't work. And somewhere in the darkness, I could have sworn I heard a wolf howl.