Hannah had perfected the art of being invisible by the time she was seventeen.
She kept her eyes on the floor when she walked the hallways. She wore her dark hair brushed forward on the left side, where the birthmark spread across her cheek — a deep wine-colored mark that stretched from her cheekbone to her jaw in a shape she had spent years trying not to think about. Other kids had spent years making sure she did.
She lived with her mother in a small apartment near the edge of town. Her mom worked two jobs — a day shift at an office supply company and evenings at a diner three nights a week. Most nights Hannah heard the front door click open past midnight, the quiet sound of exhaustion coming home.
On a Tuesday in late March, her mother happened to be home for dinner, which was rare enough to feel like an occasion. She set a plate of spaghetti in front of Hannah and sat down across from her with a sigh that said she had been carrying weight all day and was finally setting it down.
“You’ve barely touched your food, sweetheart.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Her mother studied her face the way mothers study their children’s faces — not looking at the surface but reading underneath it.
“Is it school again?”
Hannah shrugged. “They put up the prom posters today. Brittany was handing out the tickets like she personally organized the whole thing.”
