Chapter 1 — Invisible

They called me useless again today.

I’ve gotten used to it— the laughter, the whispers, the way they look at me like I’m a joke that never gets old.

Sometimes, I wonder if they even remember my real name.

Jack.

That’s me.

Just Jack

My days start the same way they end — quietly. I sit by the back window of the classroom, where the glass is cracked in one corner, and the wind sneaks through. The teacher’s voice fades into background noise as I trace the crack with my fingertip, pretending it’s a road leading somewhere far away. Somewhere, no one knows me.

When the bell rings, I pack my books fast, hoping to leave before they notice me. But they always do. They always do.

“Hey, Jack the Jinx,” one of them calls out. “You hiding again?”

The others laugh. I keep my head down. If I don’t meet their eyes, maybe they’ll lose interest.

They don’t.

Someone shoves my shoulder; my bag falls open, spilling books onto the floor. Another foot kicks one across the hall. My chest tightens, but I force myself to kneel and pick it up. If I speak, it’ll get worse. If I cry, they’ll never stop.

So I stay quiet.

They lose interest eventually, like cats that get bored by a broken toy. When they walk away, I count to ten before standing up. My palms sting where I clenched them too tight.

After school, I go to the alley behind the convenience store. That’s where she waits — a little gray kitten with a torn ear and mismatched eyes. She meows the moment she sees me, tail flicking like she’s been waiting all day.

“Hey there,” I whisper, crouching down. “Missed me?”

She nudges my fingers, purring like I’m her whole world.

It’s funny — I’m invisible to everyone else, but to her, I exist.

I open a small can of tuna I saved from lunch. Watching her eat makes the ache in my chest loosen just a bit. Sometimes, I talk to her, telling her about my day. She doesn’t answer, but I like to pretend she understands.

The sky starts to darken, bruised clouds rolling in. I stay longer than usual because home isn’t much better — silence, shadows, and a father who’s always too tired to notice when I flinch.

When the rain begins to fall, the kitten curls beside my leg, and I pull my jacket over her. The world feels softer when it rains — like it’s crying with me.

I don’t know why people are cruel. Maybe they need someone weaker to feel strong. Maybe I was born to be that someone.

Still, there are moments — tiny, fragile ones — when I feel something close to peace. Like now, holding this small, warm life in my hands

The streetlights hum to life. My reflection stares back at me from a puddle: tired eyes, cracked lips, bruises fading yellow. I almost laugh. I look like a ghost who forgot how to disappear.

“I’ll try again tomorrow,” I whisper. “Maybe they won’t notice me.”

The kitten meows softly, as if saying I’m lying.

She’s right. They always notice.

But tonight, under the rain, it’s just me and her.

For once, that’s enough.

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