Melanie Mint was in the right place at the right time, doing the right thing at the right second: taking a photo — just as an accident occurred and just as I was there to save lives, incognito.

At least, I was supposed to be incognito.

But Invisibility Boy was, for certain inexplicable and supposed-to-be-improbable reasons, half visible that icy morning in that busy intersection. Half visible.

And there that photo now is, scrolling by on every phone’s Momentgram’s feed: my upper half hanging by itself, mid-air, stopping a spinning car from bowling into the crowded sidewalk.

The features of my face are as clear as water — the color of my eyes, the small mole on my right ear lobe often mistaken for an earring, my university coat because there was no time to change. All there for anyone to recognize me by. And, as this intersection leads to my school’s main entrance, there will be plenty who recognize me.

I suck in my breath as I read her caption: Caught this on my phone! Is it a ghost?? Superman?!

This is it, I sigh angrily. I need to move. Again. And track down Subliminal Sally in the Alps somewhere to come and brainwash them all.

I scroll to the comments, expecting to see my name, my department, my anything mentioned there, and hold my breath as I read. . .

Mooblycon4: “Photoshopped”

Bentley94: “Nice try. Worst photoshop ever. Lmao.”

Sarahcunninghamproperties: “That corner shop is for rent! 15000sq ft of prime commercial property! DM me for details!”

Istillplaywithhotwheels: “I know him. Kid from the IT department. 😂 terrible photoshop.”

I should feel relieved. I should, right? I should.

But somehow it’s all. . .so. . .deflating.