Chanel laughs, too, but it’s a sound of incredulity. “As if.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Yeah, you’re always serious, Alice. But what you’re saying—it doesn’t make any sense. Like, at all. If you’d entered the room with my dad, he would’ve called security on you—”

“If he saw me,” I interrupt. “But he didn’t.”

She stares at me, now looking a bit concerned for my sanity. “Again, I’m hearing you, I am. But I honestly don’t understand how that would work, unless you could camouflage or turn invisible or something.”

I know she’s only joking, but I take the opportunity. “Actually, you’re right.”

“About...?”

“I can turn invisible. See”—I quickly zoom in on the photo for proof before she can protest—“that mirror in the background? If someone were standing there to take the photo, you should be able to see their reflection, right? Or at least a shadow. But here—”

“There’s nothing,” she murmurs, finishing the sentence for me. Then her brows crinkle. “You’re sure you didn’t just like, Photoshop this? Because I’ve seen Grace’s Instagram posts, and photos can be very deceiving.”

I wave aside whatever weird beef she has with this Grace girl, and look her straight in the eye. “Chanel, I swear I’m telling the truth. If I’m not...” I pause, trying to come up with the best way to convince her that I mean every word. “If I’m not...then let me get below average on every single test from now on. Let me end up rejected from all the Ivy Leagues I apply to. Let me—” I swallow. Even though this is all hypothetical, it’s still painful to say out loud. “Let me do worse than Henry Li in absolutely everything.”

Chanel’s hand flies to her mouth, and I’ve never been so grateful for my competitive overachiever reputation in my life. “No. No way.”

I nod grimly. “Yes. That’s how serious I am.”

I wait for realization to truly sink in this time. A long silence passes, and then—

“Wocao! I mean—wow. Holy shit. Holy fuck...” As Chanel makes her way through what seems like every single expletive in both the English and Chinese languages—some of which I don’t even recognize—I’m struck by the ridiculousness of this situation. These kind of late-night, bare-all, I-can’t-believe-that-happened conversations were exactly what twelve-year-old me would’ve wanted. Just never in these circumstances.

“When did it—How did it...” Chanel begins once she’s managed to compose herself a little.

“I’m not completely sure,” I admit. “There are still things I’m trying to figure out.”

“Wow,” she says again on a drawn breath, eyes wide. She wraps the blankets tighter around herself and leans all the way back against the wall, as if unsure she can keep her body upright much longer.

“Yeah,” I say awkwardly. “So, um—”

“Is this why you wouldn’t go to the mall with me?”

“Huh?” I glance up at her, certain I’ve heard wrong.

“When we first moved in here. I asked you to go shopping with me a few times and you always turned me down. Is it because of this whole invisibility side gig you’ve got going on?”