1

“Move it!”

Parker heard the words, followed by the crash of a student getting shoved into a nearby locker. He looked over and saw MJ Mursh, a senior, laughing with his friends and walking away from where Mark Pollack, a sophomore, bent down to pick up the books he’d just dropped.

Some things never change, Parker thought to himself, walking past Mark as he headed toward the school theater. This happened nearly every day.

No one paid Parker any attention as he moved through the halls. He had trouble being noticed at all, and not just by other students. Last year, a teacher had marked him as absent for a class because simply she hadn’t realized he was there.

Sometimes Parker preferred things this way. Not being noticed meant less of a chance that he’d get picked on. He’d rather stay under the radar if it meant people left him alone.

He’d had a few friends in middle school, but most of them had gone to a different high school once they all got to ninth grade, and the one or two that did come to the same school lost touch pretty quickly after they joined different clubs and sports. Nowadays, Parker tended to prefer solitary activities over social ones, and making new friends wasn’t exactly in his wheelhouse, so he soon found it was easier to just keep to himself.

Then last year he signed up to work in the theater crew for the fall play just to have something to put on a college application. Ms. Frasier, the theater director and drama teacher, had put him to work building props because the students who did it previously had all graduated. The quiet, secluded workshop and the nature of crew members remaining behind the scenes suited him well, and Parker had signed up to work on the crew for every production since.

He was heading to the workshop now. This year’s spring production was just getting started, and Parker had to build numerous set pieces—trees, bushes, benches, a rocking chair, the side of a house with a window and a door, an entire living room.

He and Ms. Frasier would go over designs for set pieces, and he would work on them in the solitude of the theater’s workshop. During the actual performances, Parker, along with several other students, would wear all black clothing and move sets around between scenes. It was perfect—he could contribute without ever being seen.

The theater was empty except for Ms. Frasier sitting on the edge of the stage, facing the empty seats and reading through the script with a pen in her hand. She looked up from the pages when he entered.

“Ah, Parker, my saving grace, what would I do without you?” She was always like this, treating everyone as if they’d just pulled her from a burning building. “I’ve seen some of what you’ve built so far—fabulous, Parker, absolutely fabulous!”

All I’ve built so far is a bench, Parker thought to himself. And it’s not even painted yet. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

The door to the theater opened. Ms. Frasier waved an arm dramatically as students started walking in. “Good afternoon, everyone. Let’s get started!”

He was grateful to leave the director’s presence. She was nice, but sometimes she was a little . . . too much. The workshop was empty off to the left, or stage right in theater terms. Through a hallway, the door to the workshop was a sliding piece of plywood with a lock that wasn’t attached to anything. Parker usually had the space to himself since he was the only person on the theater crew who built props. The other crew members worked on sound and lighting and other production jobs.

That was fine with him—the more solitude, the better. Occasionally, someone would walk by or poke their head into the workshop, but it was mostly to ask him when a prop would be ready or where a tool was. Ms. Frasier had tried to have the shop teacher oversee Parker in his projects, but Parker had quickly proved he was capable of doing nearly everything by himself. So after two productions, the shop teacher decided to take back his evenings.

Parker put his bag on a hook by the door and got to work painting the bench. He could hear the play practice going on down the hall, but he tuned it out. When he’d first started working crew, he occasionally brought in a small set of speakers to listen to music. But that started to draw more attention to the workshop than he liked, so now he stuck with headphones.

He hadn’t gotten to everything he’d wanted to, but when he saw it was 5:15, he stopped what he was doing, grabbed his bag, and left through a side door so he wouldn’t disturb the rehearsal. He had to be home by 6:00 for his birthday dinner.

When he came through the front door, his dog, a yellow lab named Foster, greeted him excitedly. “Hey, buddy,” Parker said, scratching him behind the ear.

His dad came out from the living room. “You ready to go?” he asked. “I’m starving.” They were going to Parker’s favorite Greek restaurant.

“Yeah,” he said. “I just have to toss my bag upstairs.”

Parker, his parents, and his little sister, Jamie, got into the car and headed to the restaurant. Other than the special location, dinner was exactly like the meals they had at their house. Parker’s family didn’t typically make a big deal out of birthdays. It suited Parker just fine—he didn’t particularly like being the center of attention, even on an occasion like this.

When they arrived back at home, Parker quietly followed his sister back into the house.

“Mom, can I watch TV downstairs?” she asked.

“Jamie,” their mom said, shrugging out of her coat, “it’s Parker’s birthday—how about we do something as a family?”

“Board game?” their dad suggested.

Parker gritted his teeth. He really didn’t mind everyone doing their own thing for the rest of the night. He’d endured enough attention today already. “I’ve got a paper due actually,” he said. “I should get to work on it.”

“You can work on it later,” his dad protested. “You only get one birthday a year—and this one is your sixteenth birthday! Let’s have some fun!”

But Parker was already shuffling out of the kitchen. “I’m already pretty tired. I’d rather just get to work and turn in early.”

His parents exchanged a glance before his dad shrugged and said, “If that’s what you want.”

Parker went upstairs and shut himself away in his room. When he was about halfway through writing the paper for English on his laptop, he decided to take a break and grab a soda from the kitchen. As he moved to sit back down at his desk, one of his feet got hooked on the other, and he tumbled into the chair, dropping the open can right over his computer.

It should have fallen and landed right on the keyboard, spilling the drink and ruining the computer. But it didn’t. Parker felt his jaw drop as he looked at the open can hanging in midair, upside down, about a foot above the desk. Parker could see the brown, bubbling cola inside. It stayed in the can as if an invisible barrier was keeping it from pouring out the open top.

He quickly moved his computer out of the way, laying it on his bed. He turned back to the can, unable to believe what he was seeing. He poked his finger into the opening and felt the sticky soda fizz around it. There was nothing holding up the can or blocking the mouth opening. What he was looking at was impossible.