They don't know that I'm watching them.

They don't know that I'm watching them. I see everything they do. And I can hear everything they say. I've been spying on them since

I was in fourth grade. I wonder if they've ever caught me spying on me? Probably not because I'm a really inconspicuous hider. I've always been jealous of them since they

Who could have guessed that later, I would master both at once. Fear of death and a dislocated shoulder were enough to remind me of the spell of invisibility from Harry Potter,

but what was my therapist always telling me? Something about how I have problems telling reality from fantasy? Honestly, I don't remember. I don't really listen to him.

He is far less interesting than the voices in my head. He talks about wellness and feelings-booooring. But the fat bus driver in my head talks about accidents he's seen, now that

dude was batshit crazy. No, this girl was a woman of danger, excitement, intrigue. I would go down to the K of C Wednesday Bingo Night and slam my pink bingo applicators down

next to her. She'd shoot me that crazed Bingo-lady look, like I'd wrecked her rhythm. "B-4" droned the caller. "And after!" howled the players, scanning their B-columns. She glared

down at her B-column and the glare ran away from her face, chased away by giddy delirium. "Bingo," she screamed, knocking her chair to the floor as she leapt to her feet.

The prize was exactly the amount of money she needed to finish up her plastic surgery so that she could start fresh in a new town where no one would recognize her.