Free The Invisibles by Cecilia Galante

faster and faster as she traced her wish in the sky; for a moment, Nora thought Ozzie was joking, because her wish was so long. But then Ozzie’s hand grew limp, and when she turned and faced the rest of them, Nora could see the glimmer of perspiration along the line of her nose. Her lower lip trembled and she sat down quickly.
    â€œYour turn,” she said to Monica. Her voice was low, hoarse, shaken.
    Monica stood up and wrote her wish out for the moon in stick letters. Grace followed, and then Nora, who stood for a full minute under the orb, just staring at the milky glow it cast on the yard below, how the light of it bathed the steeple tip of Saint Augustine’s church in the distance, turning it a silvery blue.
    â€œIt can be anything,” Ozzie whispered behind her. “Anything at all.”
    Nora moved forward then and lifted her arm and began to write.
    S he woke with a start as the plane began to descend. Beneath her, she could feel the wheels of it emerging from the belly, its iron legs stretching and creaking like the heavy branches of trees.
    The large woman in purple leaned toward her. “We’re here,” she said. Her breath smelled like salted peanuts. “You slept through the whole thing.”
    Nora breathed a sigh of relief. Past the old man, out the window, she could see land again, a line of trees, and sheets of pavement as they came closer and closer into focus.
    It was time.
    For better or worse, it was time.

Chapter 5
    N ora!” The voice, soft and slightly hoarse, emerging from the beautiful woman at the top of the ramp was Monica’s, but the face, framed with sharply cut white-blond hair and tight, poreless skin, could not possibly belong to her. “Nora!” Monica rolled up on her tiptoes, waving frantically. “Nora, it’s me! Over here!”
    Nora stared as Monica began to run, her gait steady and pronounced despite four-inch heels, her rail-thin figure accentuating the sharp planes in her face. She was dressed like one of those women Nora had only seen in magazines: a black knee-length skirt secured with a red patent-leather belt, black alligator pumps, and a crisp white blouse. Her legs were gazelle-like, with keyhole-shaped knees and tiny ankles. A silk scarf, smattered with bits of black and red and blue, had been wrapped twice around her neck, the edges dangling in the front, and a handful of thin gold bracelets clattered around her wrist. “Monica?” Nora whispered.
    Monica squealed and grabbed Nora all at once, squeezing sohard that Nora could feel the breath leave her body. “Oh, Nora! I can’t believe it’s you! I can’t believe you’re here!” She exuded an expensive scent: good perfume and exotic shampoo, the kind of things Nora found it silly to spend money on and then, for a split second, wished she didn’t. A man behind them cleared his throat. They were still in the middle of the ramp, blocking the rest of the plane traffic. Monica pulled Nora to the side with one hand, giggling as she grabbed her bag with the other. Her nails, a perfect square shape, had been painted shell-pink, and a gold ring set with a dime-sized blue stone adorned her right hand. “Baby doll!” she said, bending her knees so that she could make eye contact. “Look at you! You look so wonderful!”
    Nora shook her head, still trying to wrap her head around the fact that this was the same Monica who just yesterday, it seemed, had looked like a marshmallowy Pippi Longstocking. Where had the braided orange hair, fleshy frame, and jack-o’-lantern teeth gone? When had she learned how to apply makeup so expertly, the black eyeliner and mascara making her eyes even bluer than Nora remembered? And her nose . . . Nora reached out and touched it with one finger. “Your nose . . .” she said.
    Monica laughed. Her teeth were devoid of the previous spaces, shellacked a shiny white. “I got it done,” she