The Invisible Read Online Free PDF

he can’t help it. It feels too good to be near her.
    They are from different worlds in every way. Him, the one they call The Hope. A ridiculous name, since he has less hope than almost anyone. He’s certain it will catch up to him, that he is destined to die in the act. To die fighting them.
    And her, Bedlam royalty. Her father in many ways responsible for the way the money rolls upward in this city, all concentrated at the top, in real estate, banks, and politics. And the rest of them with nothing. Gina Fleet, raised in a glass tower built of dirty deals.
    Gina Fleet, whose father would be shocked to learn what a radical she really is. More radical even than he is. He’s got his reasons for what he does, only some of them to do with making the city better. But Gina believes in it. She calls it a movement .
    And then her coat is zipped, hat pulled low on her head. She kisses him on top of his head. “I left the paper on the table,” she says. “You’re everywhere in it.”
    Before he can answer, she’s closing the door. Heading back to her other life. Without her, he might have stopped already. But she makes him feel like it can maybe be done. All the violence, ended. The crime, the fear, all obliterated by his own fists.
    And then what , he wonders. What happens after?

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
    HarperCollins Publishers
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CHAPTER 3
    Monday morning arrives with a torrent of pounding rain, the dark skies matching my mood. The halls of Cathedral Day School smell like the gym locker room, the air close and sweaty and the floors slippery with tracked-in rainwater, everyone’s galoshes wet and squeaking on the slick stone floor. There are only nine more weeks until the end of the semester, which means graduation for us seniors. Nine more weeks of wearing the regulation pleated plaid skirt, the white blouse with cap sleeves, the scratchy burgundy or gray cardigan, the coordinating-with-the-cardigan knee socks.
    Nine more weeks until I never see most of these people again.
    If I don’t get into the Bedlam Ballet Corps, I’ll be heading to the U with Zahra. If she doesn’t flee the city and head south to try to be an actress, that is.
    After I take my books out of my wet knapsack and put them in my locker, I thread my way through a group of beefy rugby players nearly bursting out of their uniform blazers as they jostle and slam one another. I pass by Z’s locker, but she’s not there.
    I wait around a minute or two, avoiding eye contact with Olive Ann Bang, the principal’s daughter, as she struts by with one of her henchgirls, Clementine Fitz. In my peripheral vision I see Fitz lean over, whisper something to Bang, and give me the side-eye, but I turn away and face the lockers. These girls are toxic. Ever since I staged an “intervention” with my ex-boyfriend Will’s parents and had him sent to rehab, they’ve been giving me disapproving looks. They likely have no idea that he planted a camera in my room, discovered who I became after the surgery, and used the footage to blackmail me. But even if they knew the truth about what Will did, they’d probably still take his side.
    Nine more weeks , I tell myself, and I never have to see them again . I wait a couple more minutes but Zahra doesn’t show, so I head to homeroom.
    On my way, I pass a group of Martha Marks’ friends gathered in a tight cluster, huddled around a video playing on one girl’s cell phone.
    I edge closer. “Anyone hear from Martha today?” I ask Alexandra Veern, one of her best friends, but she shakes her head and shushes me, gesturing at the phone held in the middle of the cluster of people by a petite blond girl wearing pearl earrings. I recognize her from the horse show the other day. Her whole posse has their eyes glued to her phone.
    “Have you seen this yet?” hisses Alexandra.
    I shake my head, and she pulls me by the elbow until I’m in the circle, able