“That’s because it is.”

“For...?”

“My invisibility services. See, I was thinking about it,” I say, injecting as much confidence into my voice as possible. I imagine myself a businesswoman, like the ones you see on TV, all fresh-ironed pencil skirts and swishing ponytails and clacking stiletto heels as they sell their pitch to a table of bored executives. “And it seems like a waste not to monetize what’s otherwise a pretty shitty situation, don’t you agree?”

He folds his arms over his chest. “I thought you said you couldn’t control it.”

“I can’t,” I say, fighting back a small surge of annoyance as I recall our last conversation. “But I’ve been tracking the instances I turn invisible, and there’s a sort of pattern to it: I always get the same strange cold sensation right before—almost like my body has an inbuilt warning system—which gives me about two to three minutes to run to a deserted area. It’s not ideal, of course, but it’d be enough for me to work with if—when we get this business running.”

He glances down to study my notes again, his expression unreadable. “And this business would be...you carrying out whatever tasks people at our school want from you while invisible.” He says it like a question, like he’s not sure if I’m joking.

“It wouldn’t be any task,” I tell him. “I’m not down to help some creep get his hands on his crush’s underwear or set the school on fire or whatever. But imagine how much money people would be willing to pay just to—I don’t know, see if their exes secretly still look through old photos of them, or if their best friend’s been gossiping about them behind their back. We’d turn a profit in no time.”

“And where do I fit into all this?”

“I need an app,” I say, pacing before him. His gaze follows the soft shuffle of my footsteps. “Something that can allow people to send their requests easily, without getting caught. Or maybe a website, some sort of device. It’s your call—you’re the tech guy. But once we get our communication channels sorted, I’ll be doing all the dirty work.”

I study his face carefully as I speak, watching for the telltale sign that he’s lost interest. If you look close enough, you can always catch it: the second his eyes grow distant, cold, even as he continues smiling and nodding and saying all the right things in that polite-but-bored way of his. Years of careful observation have shown me that trying to hold Henry Li’s undivided attention is like trying to hold water in your hands.

Which is why I’m so surprised to see the light in his eyes now. Feel the intensity of his gaze and focus on me, even if he can’t see me, can only hear the words coming out of my mouth.

When I’m finished, he nods once and says, slowly, “That does sound like a plan...”

“But what?” I say, catching his tone.