Invisible

Invisible Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Traitorous Jeans

(Olivia)

Waking up feels like trying to peel wallpaper off the wall. My eyes simply refuse to open when the morning sunlight attacks me from the window. Why are the curtains open, anyway? I always close them at night ever since I caught our neighbor, Timothy Dugger, staring at me one day. Intent on getting up, closing the curtains, and falling back into bed, I finally force my eyes open. The sight of navy blue curtains, instead of the deep purple ones in my room that block out light so well, freezes thought and movement alike.

The reason for why I’m so tired comes back to me when I realize my arm is draped across Mason’s chest. Even better, my head is on his shoulder with his arm around me and my leg is crossed over his, putting my knee in a very delicate place.

My first thought is to close my eyes and pretend I’m still asleep. My second, more realistic thought, is that if someone finds me in here, we are both going to be grounded for the rest of our lives. Self-preservation beats out self-indulgence. It kills me to do it, but I wriggle out of Mason’s arms and make a break for the hallway.

I feel like I just ran a marathon as I pull the door closed behind me. My eyes dart up and down the hallway. It’s a miracle that it’s empty at this time of day. Usually everyone is scurrying around getting ready for work and school. I’m halfway down the stairs before I remember Dad is out of town until late tonight. That takes care of one person.

One look at the old pendulum clock hanging in the hallway tells me it’s barely six in the morning. That takes care of Evie, who never crawls out of bed a minute before she has to. Mom is always up at the crack of dawn, so it’s not surprising when I stumble into the kitchen and am welcomed by eggs and pancakes.

“You’re up early,” she says with a smile.

“Long night,” I grumble.

Mom puts an arm around my shoulder. “Mason’s nightmares again?” When I nod, she frowns. “I really wish you’d come and get one of us. You shouldn’t have to deal with that every time.”

I nearly choke on my orange juice at her suggestion. She looks over at me curiously. “It’s fine,” I say after a coughing fit. “I don’t mind handling it.”

If she has the same doubts Dad does about Mason and I—which apparently are well grounded—she doesn’t express them. She only smiles and goes back to flipping pancakes. Fifteen blessedly quiet minutes later, Evie ruins the moment when she plops into the chair next to me, looking like she rolled down the stairs.

I doubt I look much better, though, so I save any snappy comments for later. If only my dear sister would be so kind.

“Are those Mason’s pants?” she asks through sleepy eyes.

The spatula Mom was just holding clatters to the pan. She picks it back up quickly, but I can tell from the tension in her shoulders that she’s listening very closely.

“I borrowed them. So what?” I ask, glaring at Evie.

“Why? They’re way too big.”

“I couldn’t find mine.”

Evie looks over at me, no longer half asleep. “Not a single pair?”

As a smile creeps onto her face, I have no doubt her big mouth is about to get me in serious trouble. So I run. I push away from the table and my half-eaten breakfast, all but running for the stairs. I am cursing Evie as I grab for the bathroom door knob. One quick twist and the hope of a few minutes alone evaporates at the sight of Mason.