The Invisible Girlfriend Chapter 2

Someone had commented on Vanessa's photo:

Did Hayes finally bag the girl?

Vanessa had replied: Stop it 🙈

The friend shot back:

Hey, nobody can resist Vanessa Taylor for long. Only a matter of time.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was a text from Beckett:

We're heading over to the late-night oyster bar on the wharf. Vanessa wants you to come out. Rowan’s buying.

I shut off the screen and left the phone face-down on the wooden table.

Beckett knew better than anyone that raw shellfish late at night ruined my stomach. After my appendix surgery three years ago, anything heavy past nine in the evening gave me violent cramps and feverish chills. He used to keep peppermint tea and heating pads in his glove compartment just in case.

Now, caught up in the warmth of the boys' camaraderie and Vanessa's bright, shining approval, he had cleanly excised that detail from his memory.

The next morning, the bedroom door rattled under a series of aggressive, heavy knocks.

My heart jumped into my throat. Terrified that something had happened, I didn't even bother pulling my hair back or fixing my rumpled sleep shirt before tearing the door open.

All five of them stood in the narrow hallway.

Beckett’s brow was drawn in an irritated knot. "Why didn't you answer your texts? We spent half the night wondering where the hell you were."

Zach rolled his eyes, leaning against the doorframe. "Vanessa was worried sick about you. We walked all the way across town to check on you."

Vanessa stepped forward, her eyes rimmed with theatrical moisture. "I'm so sorry, Hannah... did we wake you? I feel terrible if I ruined your night."

Foster crossed his arms. "Seriously, Han, what was that yesterday? You used to be cool. You never used to pull this petty, girlie silent-treatment crap."

Rowan held out a greasy paper bag containing cold, congealed fried clams. "Here. We had them bag the leftovers for you. Eat up."

I didn't reach for the bag.

It was barely six in the morning. A heavy haze of cheap gin, fried grease, and sweet perfume wafted off their clothes. They had clearly closed down the bars, stumbled through the streets until dawn, and only now remembered that I existed.

And somehow, I was the one who had made things difficult.

"No, thank you," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "I’m exhausted. I just want to be left alone."

"Hannah," Vanessa said softly, tucking her hair behind her ear and looking down at her pristine white sneakers. "Is my being here making you uncomfortable? If I'm intruding, I can just leave..."

Zach’s expression immediately hardened. "Cut it out, Hannah. You're supposed to be our friend. If you were really one of us, you’d be helping us take care of Vanessa instead of making her feel guilty."

Vanessa glanced up, her eyes wide with innocent curiosity. "Wait... you're not one of those 'pick-me' girls the internet is always talking about, are you? The kind who hangs around groups of guys just to make other women feel unwelcome?"

Foster hurried to reassure her. "No way, Vanessa, you've got it all wrong. Hannah’s basically one of the guys. We treat her worse than we treat each other."

Rowan chimed in with a forced chuckle. "Exactly. As if any of us could ever look at Hannah that way."

A single, delicate tear tracked down Vanessa’s cheek. She turned her gaze to Beckett.

"Beckett? What about you?"

Beckett looked momentarily paralyzed, caught in the beam of her undivided attention. Then he laughed—a thin, brittle sound that scraped against my eardrums.

"Hannah? Man, I think I was eighteen before I even realized she was a girl."

The words hung in the stale morning air, vile and suffocating.

On his eighteenth birthday, Beckett hadn't thought I was a boy. He had shown up at my bedroom window in the pouring rain, soaking wet, clutching eighteen individually wrapped boxes.

Hannah, he had said that night, pulling me into the warmth of his jacket, my past eighteen years were just waiting to find you. Every birthday from here on out belongs to us.

I looked at him now, and all I could manage was a quiet, sad shake of my head.

"I’m going back to bed," I said. "If that’s all, please get out."

Zach muttered under his breath, "Unbelievable. Good luck trying to get through to her."

The boys turned, annoyed that their grand gesture of cold leftovers hadn't been met with gratitude. Vanessa lingered for half a second. Her eyes drifted over my messy hair, my unwashed face, and my oversized thrift-store t-shirt.

She leaned in, her voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper meant only for me.

"Pathetic," she murmured, a smirk curving her lips. "You really think you stand a chance against me?"

Then she spun around, her golden hair catching the morning light, and fell into step beside Beckett with practiced elegance.

By three that afternoon, Foster had texted the group demanding we all come down to his suite for video games.

When I pushed the door open, the five of them were already huddled around the TV, controllers clicking furiously in a storm of shouts.

Vanessa looked up with a radiant beam. "Come on in, Hannah! The console only supports five players, but you’re up next as soon as this round ends."

Rowan laughed from the couch. "Yeah! Loser has to swap out and let Hannah play."

As if letting me join the game was a penalty inflicted on whoever failed.

Vanessa lost the first round of Super Smash Bros. Her smile vanished instantly. She dropped the controller onto the coffee table with a hard clatter, crossing her arms and turning her shoulder to the room, radiating icy displeasure.

The room’s energy plummeted.

Zach cleared his throat nervously. "Hey, it's fine, Ness. Hannah’s absolute garbage at this game anyway. This match will be over in thirty seconds."

The match started. It was supposed to be a free-for-all, but the four of them immediately cornered my character on the edge of the virtual platform, chaining attacks with brutal coordination.

In less than twenty seconds, the screen flashed: GAME OVER.

Foster threw his hands up in triumph. "See, Vanessa? Come back! We set the board for you—you’re gonna crush this round!"

Rowan shook his head at me. "Honestly, Hannah, why did we even bother subbing you in? You just threw off Vanessa's rhythm."