invisible to irresistible

Bee never expected to stand out, not really. For years she’d drifted through life almost invisible—not the sneaky, magical invisibility, but the kind that just stings. People walked past her like she was part of the wallpaper, low voices whispering, some snickers trailing behind her at school. Most days, she wondered if anyone even remembered her name. She used to think she was weird. Awkward, too. And hard to look at. Those huge glasses weighed down her nose, wild hair framed her face like a lion’s mane, and the acne seemed glued to her brown skin, stubborn as little brothers tagging along where no one wanted them. But Mia was different. Mia always stuck with her. Mia was loud, beautiful, always laughing—even when she wasn’t supposed to be. She collected boys’ numbers like it was a sport. People called Mia gorgeous, but Bee could see through that. Flirty and playful, yeah, but Mia was quick to shut things down if they crossed a line. “She’s my friend. Leave her alone,” she’d snap, her chin high. Most of the time, that worked. Not always, but enough. Still, Bee never shook that feeling: ugly, unwanted, and absolutely invisible, unless Mia was there to stick up for her. So when Mia called that Friday night, begging her to go to a party, Bee almost hung up. “I don’t do parties,” Bee said, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not really a party,” Mia chirped. “Just a chill gathering. Come on, it’ll be fun, promise.” Bee hesitated, as always. But Mia pleaded, and Bee’s resistance fizzled out. She threw on her usual: jeans, an old sweater, sneakers, nothing anyone would notice. She mumbled into the mirror, “It’s just a few people. This’ll do.” Then she hurried downstairs—only to run into her mom, sleeves rolled up and dinner halfway cooked. “And where do you think you’re going? Dinner’s almost done.” “Party at Mia’s. I’ll be home by eight, I swear. Love you, bye!” She was halfway out the door before her mom finished, “Wait a—” but the door thunked shut. Bee walked into Mia’s place and stopped dead. This was not a “small gathering.” The house was packed, music blasting so hard she felt it in her bones, wall-to-wall bodies laughing, yelling, dancing. Bee’s heart hammered in her chest. She wanted to bolt. This was too much. Way, way too much. “I should leave,” Bee muttered to herself. But Mia—of course—snatched her arm. “Bee perfect! Come on in!” And before Bee could protest, Mia steered her through the chaos. Upstairs, jammed in a room crowded with boys and girls (and Mia shining bright in the middle), Bee still wanted to vanish. “Isn’t this party outside?” she asked, voice small. “Just relax,” Mia slurred, flopping onto the floor. “Seriously. Try to have fun.” Bee spotted all the bottles and frowned. “Mia, we’re not eighteen.” Mia just rolled her eyes and shoved Bee gently toward the couch. “Don’t be boring.” Bee landed right next to Floyd Carter. Floyd: smart, easygoing, with that lazy smile she’d pictured in her daydreams for years. He was everything she wished he was—and he was inches away. Her mind raced: Don’t spill your drink, don’t say something weird, don’t do anything embarrassing. She tried to focus on something else. Instead, her hands shook and her cheeks burned. Floyd caught her eye for a split second, and she thought she might actually faint. Everything went quiet. Someone clapped their hands. “Truth or Dare!” someone shouted. Oh God, not this. Bee wanted to crawl under the coffee table. She hated party games, especially ones like this. But Mia looked at her, pleading, and Bee—because she always did—nodded yes. Somewhere in the back of her mind, there was a faint, wild hope that maybe she’d get dared to kiss Floyd. The game started. Bottles spun. Dares happened—embarrassing, hilarious, loud. Bee sipped her drink and fixed her gaze on the floor, hoping no one would pick her. Then, the bottle landed on Floyd. “Truth or Dare?” He grinned. “Dare.” Someone in the circle—a little too gleeful—said, “I dare you to kiss Bee.” Time slammed to a halt. Bee’s heart hammered, ears ringing. Did they just say her name? She glanced around. Everyone was watching. Whispers, giggles. All eyes, all of them, were on her. Floyd looked calm. He just studied her for a second, face unreadable. Bee’s whole body buzzed, knees weak, palms sweaty. She tried to look casual, brushing hair from her face, but inside she was spiraling, torn between wishing the floor would open up and wanting, desperately, for this moment to be real. Floyd leaned in, so careful, like he was deciding. But then—he stopped. The room felt like it was holding its breath. Bee could hardly breathe, either. Her mind spun out: run, hide, scream, wake up—but she stayed put. Because, for the first time ever, Floyd was actually looking at her. Not past her. Not through her. At her. And something in his eyes said things might be different from here on out. Bee didn’t know if she was ready for that. But, for once, she wanted it to be true.