Current

Translucent

Eli had been part of a group long enough that no one remembered when it started.

Not officially.

There was no first invitation. No moment where someone said you can sit here.

He just... did.

One day in middle school, Mason dropped his pencil in math.
Eli picked it up. Mason said thanks. Kara asked to borrow a charger. Jules needed a partner for a project. Theo laughed at one of Eli's jokes—quiet, surprised, like he hadn't expected it to be funny.

After that, Eli was there.

In the space between lockers.
At lunch tables, sitting at the end.
In group chats where he mostly reacted instead of talking.
In photos where he was sometimes cropped out by accident.

They said his name. They knew his face. They waved in hallways.

That counted for something.

He learned how to walk half a step behind them without making it obvious. How to laugh when they laughed, even when he didn't know the joke yet. How to hold his phone so it didn't look like he was waiting for messages.

Sometimes Mason would throw an arm around his shoulders, warm and heavy, like proof.

Sometimes Kara would text him homework answers.

Sometimes Jules would save him a seat.

Sometimes.

And when it happened, Eli stored it away carefully, like batteries in his chest. Little charges of maybe I matter.

On bad days, he replayed them in his head.

On good days, he almost forgot he was trying.

[Power Introduction]

The first time it happened, he thought he was dying.

It was sophomore year. November. Cold enough that his breath smoked when he walked home.

Mason had gotten a new car.

Everyone wanted rides.

There were only four seats.

Eli stood on the curb with his backpack cutting into one shoulder, watching them pile in, laughing, doors slamming, music already loud.

Mason leaned out the window. "Tomorrow, yeah?"

Eli nodded too fast. "Yeah. Totally."

The car pulled away.

Eli stood there until the street was quiet again.

Then his hands started to shake.

At first, he thought it was the cold.

Then the air snapped.

A sharp, glassy sound—like something breaking inside his bones.

Blue light crawled across his fingers.

Eli gasped and dropped his bag.

Electricity spilled out of him in thin, frantic lines, spiderwebbing over his skin, jumping to the metal fence beside him.

The fence sparked.

A streetlight flickered.

Eli screamed.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, skin burning, heart trying to claw out of his chest. The light dimmed. The air settled.

Nothing else exploded.

No one came running.

He stood there shaking, smoke curling faintly from his sleeves, and waited for the world to end.

It didn't.

After that, it came back whenever he felt too much.

Embarrassment.
Fear.
Anger.
That hollow, sinking feeling when he was *almost* included.

Static under his skin.

Lights buzzing when he passed.

His phone glitching when he held it too long.

Once, during a test, the classroom projector shorted out when Mason laughed with Kara over something written on her arm.

The teacher blamed old wiring.

Eli kept his hands folded tight in his lap.

He learned how to breathe slow.

How to lock his fingers together until his knuckles hurt.

How to smile while his pulse screamed.

No one noticed.

Why would they?

He was good at being background.

And backgrounds weren't supposed to glow.