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𝑇𝐴𝐿𝐸𝑁𝑇 𝑆𝐻𝑂𝑊 𝑇𝑅𝑂𝑈𝐵𝐿𝐸𝑆

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　　 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 of reheated pizza and industrial floor cleaner. The four of us sprawl across one of the long tables, our backpacks tossed carelessly at our feet. I lean against Chase, my head resting comfortably on his shoulder while Leo bounces with nervous energy across from us.

'Tomorrow's the annual Mission Creek talent show, and this time I'm ready,' he says, words tumbling out of him like he's been rehearsing in front of a mirror all morning. 'This year, I'm doing magic.'

Chase lets out a quiet scoff. 'I can't believe it.'

'It's true—' Leo starts, but Chase cuts him off.

'I'm invisible at this school,' he mutters, the kind of half-joke that lands heavier than he means it to. 'Everyone got a 'Most Likely' except me.'

Leo's eyes light up as Chase shoves his yearbook across the table. He flips it open and practically shouts with joy. 'I got a 'Most Likely'?! Let me see!' His grin widens as he reads. '"Most Likely to Never Get a Most Likely." I made it! I'm officially on the board!'

'Addilynn even has two,' Chase says, voice dropping into that defeated tone he uses when he wants someone to notice how much he cares.

Bree, ever the voice of reason, leans forward. 'At least you didn't get something awful, like "Most Likely to Drop Out." Besides, just because you weren't nominated doesn't mean you're invisible.'

'Yeah, if you were invisible, I couldn't do this,' Adam adds, punching Chase's shoulder with too much enthusiasm.

'Ow!' Chase winces and rubs at the spot. He flips back to his yearbook page, jaw tightening. 'No, I really am invisible. Look.' He holds it up for us to see. Where his picture should be, there's only the gray outline of a person with a giant question mark stamped across it. Underneath: Chip Davenport.

My chest tightens. 'You're not invisible, Chase. Not to us. People might not know your name or what you do, but we do. Isn't that what matters?'

He shakes his head, not even looking at me. 'Easy for you to say. People notice you. They don't notice me. No one cares.'

'We do,' I insist, softer this time. He doesn't answer.

Leo breaks the tension with his usual brand of optimism. 'You could try out for the talent show. Everyone from school will be there. If you pull off something big, you could actually get noticed.'

Before Chase can respond, Owen suddenly slams his paintbrush down like a gavel. He's been lurking at the edge of our table this whole time, sketchbook balanced on his knees. 'Absolutely not,' he declares, pointing the brush at Leo like it's a weapon. 'Talent shows are a crime against art. You can't turn creativity into competition.'

'Stick a paintbrush in it, emo-dwell,' Principal Perry snaps as she strides past, not even slowing down.

Owen gasps like she's physically stabbed him. 'I refuse to let this woman crush the artistic soul of our student body. I'll... I'll sketch my feelings.' With dramatic flair, he storms off, Bree's eyes following him like he's some tragic hero straight out of her favorite YA novel.

'He's so tortured,' she murmurs, almost dreamily, before drifting after him.

Leo clears his throat loudly, dragging the spotlight back to himself. 'Anyway. The talent show is the perfect way to build my fan base.'

Chase lets out a short laugh, finally loosening his grip on the yearbook. 'Leo, you don't have a fan base.'

'Exactly,' Leo shoots back, grinning like he's cracked the code of the universe. 'That's why I need to build one. And I will—with magic.'