Free The Opposite of Invisible by Liz Gallagher

swing even though it’s wet. “You said you wanted to play.”
    He remembered.
    “Let’s swing!” he says.
    I step up to the swing next to his and grab the chain. “I can’t believe you remembered I thought about coming here.”
    “I remember everything you’ve said to me.”
    Is that a line? Do I care? This is so sweet.
    “The swing’s wet,” I say. “I don’t want my dress to get wet.” It crosses my mind that he might ask me to sit on his lap. Then he gestures to his lap.
    This is so like a movie.
    I walk over to him. He reaches for my waist and pulls me down to him.
    “This isn’t how kids play,” I say.
    “You’re gorgeous.”
    He digs his feet into the grass below us and we sway. I feel his breath on my neck. I feel gorgeous.
    His eyes are closed. His hands are on my hips. Thismight be the most rewarding thing ever: wanting a guy and getting him.
    Our reverie ends when a truck passes.
    “Race ya to the slide,” he says.
    Simon wins. When I get up the ladder and reach the slide’s platform, he’s waiting for me, kneeling. I kneel in front of him, careful of my dress.
    “I’ve never kissed a witch,” he says. And then he does, over and over.
    “I’ve never kissed Mike Corrigan,” I finally tell him.
    “And you never will.”
    “No!” We’re laughing.
    On our way to the Bath, he holds me like I am a prize, arm all the way around my middle, frequently squeezing. It’s like he’s making sure I’m real. I squeeze him back.
    Jack-o’-lanterns with jagged mouths grimace on the steps of the school.
    When we reach the door, Simon holds it open and ushers me in, his free hand between my shoulder blades. People definitely notice us. A devil holding the hand of a genie waves to Simon.
    It still smells like chalk in here, but the school feels different tonight. Magical? Okay, that’s going too far. But special. The school’s all dressed up for Halloween too.
    I’m not the only witch in the lobby, but one of the two others just has orange yarn stapled to the inside of her pointy hat, something you’d get at the drugstore. The other witch has green warts all over her face. Not attractive.
    I spot Clara and Jeremy walking through the lobby, dressed as salt and pepper shakers.
    Corrigan is over by the boys’ bathroom, talking to Molly from Spanish class. She’s dressed as a purple fairy and he’s got Simon’s jersey. Her back is turned toward me; her wings shimmer. Corrigan catches my eye. The look in his eyes is … I don’t know, something like I’m steak and he’s really, really hungry.
    It’s gross. I grab on to Simon’s hand.
    A guy standing by the water fountain has loads of that fake cobwebby stuff taped around himself and he’s got a jump rope sticking out of his white turtleneck.
    “Who’s the tampon?” asks Simon.
    “Eew. I don’t know.”
    Mandy comes out of the bathroom; her butterfly costume isn’t slutty like I imagined it might be. She looks really cute in a black minidress with wings and antennae. She waves hello.
    Nine Inch Nails is blaring from the gym. I thank my Dove Girl that I have been spared Monster Mash-esque torture.
    Again Simon ushers me through the door. It takes my eyes a minute to adjust to the dark.
    Smoke fills the corners of the room, from what must be dry ice inside trash cans. The cans have shovels next to them and mounds of dirt, like someone has been digging graves all around the dance floor. Nooses hang from both basketball hoops.
    “What’s that box by the locker room?” Simon points. It’s loud in here.
    I can’t tell, so I grab his hand and lead him.
    I’m pretty sure a football player winks at us.
    The box turns out to be a room created from the tall corkboard dividers where our art show was displayed.
    Simon pulls me through a black curtain into the box.
    We’re alone; no teacher. The room is lit by black light. Simon looks like a bright white football ghost with too many teeth.
    Stools are scattered around the space with glowing