Mia's POV

I don't look in the mirror for long in the mornings, just enough to check if my hair covers what I want it to cover and if my shirt hangs the way it should. I don't want to give anyone a reason to look at me twice, looking twice never works out for me.

"Mia, you're going to miss the bus!" Mom yells up the stairs.

She says it every morning, even though I never actually miss it.

"Coming!"

I grab my bag and run down the stairs, If I stay in front of that mirror any longer I'll start picking myself apart and I don't have time for that before seven-thirty.

Mom's in the kitchen, already dressed for work, pouring coffee into a travel mug. "You want eggs? I've got time."

"I'll grab something at school.”

"You never eat breakfast anymore."

"I eat breakfast."

She gives me a look that says she knows I'm lying, but she doesn't push it because we've had this argument before and neither of us wins it, she just hands me a granola bar as I pass and I take it because it's easier than arguing and because some tiny part of me appreciates that she keeps trying.

"Have a good day, honey."

"You too."

I eat the granola bar on the walk to the bus stop, mostly out of guilt and by the time the bus pulls up, i've already put my earbuds in and my head down, ready for the day to start.

Westbrook High has a parking lot full of cars that cost more than my house, kids climb out of them like they're walking onto a stage. I've gone to this school for three years and I know exactly where I fit into that picture.

Nowhere, that's how you survive a place like this, you find the nowhere and you stay there.

I keep my head down and my earbuds in, even with nothing playing, It gives people a reason not to talk to me. Ines catches up with me by the science hallway, her backpack falling off one shoulder like always.

"You look like you're bracing for impact," she says.

"I'm always bracing for impact, It's basically my personality."

Ines laughs, It's the first real sound I've heard all morning.

We've been best friends since seventh grade, when we got seated together because our last names both start with and she's the only person here who talks to me like I actually matter.

We turn the corner and there they are, Madison Blake and her friends standing by the trophy case like they were placed there for a photo. Madison's laughing at something, head tipped back so everyone can see her laugh, next to her, Brooke Ellison has her phone up, filming again. She's always filming something, nobody really notices her doing it anymore and leaning against the lockers near them, not quite in the group but close to it, is Dylan Hayes.

I don't look at him, that's a rule I made for myself freshman year, don't look, don't linger, don't let your face give anything away but old habits slip sometimes and my eyes land on him for one second before I catch myself and look at the floor instead.

He's talking to one of his teammates and he laughs at something the guy says back, It's not a performance. That's the thing about Dylan's laugh, it sounds real, like he forgot anyone was watching.

"You're doing the thing," Ines says.

"I'm not doing anything."

"The Dylan thing. Looking without looking."

"No idea what you're talking about."

She lets it go because she knows there's no good way to finish that conversation, we keep walking before Madison notices us. She doesn't always let us pass without noticing.

By second period, I've made it through the hallway without any trouble which counts as a good morning around here. I sit down in English and Ines drops into the seat beside me, already doodling instead of taking notes.

"Group project," Mr. Alvarez says, and the whole room groans. "I'm picking the groups. No, you don't get a say.”

He starts reading names off a list, i do the math before he even gets to my row and wiith my luck, there's a real chance that I end up stuck with someone I've spent three years trying not to be noticed by.

"Group four. Carter, Ellison, Reyes, and Hayes."

I don't react. I've gotten good at not reacting.

Beside me, Ines goes very still, trying not to look at me and failing, I keep my eyes on my desk, on a water stain shaped kind of like Florida and tell myself it's fine. Four people at a table for two weeks, It doesn't mean anything.

Across the room, Brooke's chair scrapes as she gathers her things, already complaining to someone about always getting stuck doing the work. Dylan doesn't say anything, when I finally glance up, just for a second, he's not looking at his friends or his phone like everyone else already counting down to lunch.

He's looking at me.

Not the way people usually look, not really looking at all, just glancing past, confirming I exist without confirming I matter. This is different, It only lasts a second but it's long enough that something in my chest does an uncomfortable little flip.

I tell myself it's nothing, I've told myself that before, about him, more times than I want to count.

Ines leans over while Mr. Alvarez keeps reading names for the other groups. "This could be interesting," she whispers.

"It's a project, It's two weeks, It's nothing."

"You're saying that a lot for someone who claims it's nothing."

"Because it is nothing."

"Okay." She holds up both hands like she's surrendering but she's smiling a little, the kind of smile that means she doesn't believe me and isn't going to say so twice. I go back to my notebook and pretend to write something down, mostly just to have somewhere else to put my eyes.

The bell rings, and I gather my things a little too fast. If there's one thing three years at Westbrook has taught me, it's that the safest thing to be is gone before anyone decides you're still worth noticing.