My Best Friend Is Invisible Novels & Stories

But today… today was different. It wasn’t easy. My heart had been pounding in my chest most of the day, and every time I walked past a group of giggling girls, my stomach flipped, bracing for some cruel comment. But it never came — not today. And for once, I didn’t feel like a ghost trailing in the shadows of my brother and his friends. “Well,” I said softly, “maybe visible isn’t such a bad thing.” Mariah gasped dramatically and pressed a hand to her chest. “Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?”

“Go on. What do you think about at night when the world goes quiet?” I hesitated. “...That I’m scared of being invisible. Of being someone people rely on but never really see.” He looked up slowly. And at that moment, Gavin King didn’t flirt. He didn’t joke. He didn’t even smile. He just saw me. “You’re not invisible,” he said quietly. “Not to anyone who is paying attention.” My heart stuttered. I didn’t respond,I just took a sip of my soda and looked away. ... Fifteen minutes later, we were still talking (we had forgotten our dumplings, our chairs moved closer without us realizing)then I felt it.

I don’t know the extent of his home life and I never push to find out about it but I know it wasn’t good. He once told me one of his favorite things about me was that I never pried into his business, which is ironically what most people hate about me. I’ve been called a bad friend so many times because when someone is crying, upset, angry, irritated, they want you to ask about it but I never do. I guess I just feel like if you want me to know then you’ll tell me. I lucked out with my roommate Lydia, we are great friends because I never have to ask what’s wrong or if she’s ok she will just bust in and tell me exactly what’s going on. She’s the talker and I’m the listener, we work perfectly.

My Brother's best friend was dragging me like he owned me. At the top of the stairs, he shoved open a door to a private VIP booth. The room was dark, soundproofed, with deep couches and low lights. He threw me inside, slamming the door shut behind us. The bass from the club was muffled now, but my pulse was louder. I spun around to face him, breathing hard. My hair was messy from the dance floor, eyes wide but defiant. “What the hell was that?”

“Kieran, why are you wearing sweatshirts in this heat? You do not have to hide your scars. They are a testament to how much you loved your parents, how much you would have done for them,” I shake my head. “Nani, my scars haven’t healed. My arms are bandaged. That’s why I wear sweatshirts,” I tell her. Her face falls. “Oh.” “And I don’t hang out with my friends because none of them have reached out since my parents died. Everyone knows I’m here, and no one has even sent me a message,” No one says anything. “I mean no disrespect, but the next time you all want to talk about me, ask before making assumptions about things you know nothing of,” I say, taking a step back. “And seeing as how much y

“How about you? Did you find a new guy?” “Yes, in fact I did.” She fanned herself. “I a bit embarrassed to say because he is a friend of a friend, you know kinda situation,” “I see, so you know him?,” she nodded and I nodded as if she asked me the same question. “Well the less we know the better,” I said pointing back and forth between us. “We don’t need details.” Tony

R A Y M O N D I'm not sure what was going on, but when my people looked her up, there was no mention of a boyfriend. So, why was this guy—who, according to my people, was supposed to be her best friend—holding her waist like he was her boyfriend?

The glass fogged up from my breath. My tea's gone cold. My face is stiff with half-dried clay, but I can’t move. I can’t do anything but stare at the city that looks so far away all of a sudden. Because my best friend is suffering. Really suffering. And I’m not there. I’m here, in this stupid silk robe with a vitamin C mask and an overpriced view, trying to act like I have peace when the person who knows me best is crumbling on the other end of the line.

Ashley pouts, her lips downturned but her eyes giving her away—disappointment and longing written all over her face. "Is the D really that good?" Chelsea asks, smirking over her coffee. "Better," Ashley says without hesitation, her tone so flat it's clear she's not exaggerating. I nearly choke on my donut. Fantastic. Now my appetite's gone. Nothing kills a sugar rush faster than hearing your best friend rate your brother's dick like it belongs on Yelp. Tuning them out before Ashley can scar me further, I slide my phone out of my pocket and open the group chat. My thumb hovers for a second, hesitation twisting in my gut like it always does when I feel like I'm bothering them while they're han