Tamsin

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When I was really young, if there was one thing I wanted in the world, it was to be invisible. I used to sit in class and daydream about it, the way the other kids were daydreaming about being a movie star, being a big basketball player. The good part was, if I was invisible, Mister Cat—my cat—Mister Cat would always be able to see me, because invisible doesn’t mean anything to a cat. As I know better than anyone, but that comes later.

I used to let Sally see me, too—Sally’s my mother—in the daydream. Not all the time, not when I was mad at her, but mostly, because she’d have worried. But I really liked it best when it was just me and Mister Cat drifting along, just going wherever we felt like going, and nobody able to tell if my butt was too fat or if my skin had turned to molten lava that morning. And if I got my period in P.E., which I always used to, or if I said something dumb in class, nobody’d even notice. I used to sit there and imagine how great it would be, not ever to be noticed.

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