“No—no—listen, I get that you’re trying to comfort me, and I love you, but you...you don’t understand.” She draws a long, shaky breath. The taps squeak and the water pumps out louder. “This is like, a big fucking deal. If someone leaks it onto Weibo or some shit like that—it’s going to be a witch hunt. It doesn’t matter if it’s technically illegal, they’re all going to blame me anyway, you know they are, they always do and—Oh god, I’m such a fucking idiot. I don’t even know what I was thinking and now—now it’s all over—” Her voice cracks on the last word, and she’s crying again, her sobs rising in pitch and intensity until they barely sound human anymore, more like some wounded animal’s keening.

Guilt stabs at my stomach. The last thing I want is to sit here and listen in on what are clearly some pretty serious private issues, but there’s no way for me to step out now. Not without giving Rainie a heart attack.

I’m still trying to figure out what to do next when I realize the bathroom has gone quiet again, save for the splash of water hitting the sink.

“Is—is someone there?” Rainie calls out.

My heart falters a beat. How could she know—?

Then I look down and see my own shadow spilling around my feet, black and firmly outlined against the light pink floor. My form must’ve returned some moments ago without me knowing.

I grit my teeth. This whole invisibility thing seems about as predictable as Beijing’s pollution—here one second, gone the next.

“Uh, hello?” Rainie tries again, and it’s clear I can’t keep hiding in here any longer.

Bracing myself, I unlock the toilet door and step out.

The instant she sees me, Rainie’s expression changes with unnerving speed, the crease between her long, defined brows smoothing out, the corners of her full lips lifting into an easy smile. If it weren’t for the puffiness around her eyes and the faint red patches rising up to her cheeks, I might’ve thought I’d imagined her whole breakdown.

“Oh, hey girl!”

Rainie and I haven’t had a single proper conversation since she started school here in Year Seven—unless you count that time I helped her with her history homework—but from the way she’s greeting me now, you’d think we were best friends.

As I try to come up with an appropriate response, she slides her phone into her skirt pocket, then cranes her neck toward the stall I just came out from. Frowns slightly. “Were you...in there long? I didn’t see you when I came in.”

“Yeah, no,” I babble. “I mean—yes. A...relatively long while.”

She studies me for a beat. Then she grabs my wrist, her eyes wide with sympathy. “Girl, do you have cramps or something?” Before I can protest, she continues on, “Because I just got the best scented heat pack to help with that—like, I know they sponsored me, but I’d never recommend anything I haven’t tried myself, you feel?”