From "Rippler" by Cidney Swanson

The screaming was the first clue that I’d turned invisible again. Above the steady roar of the river, my teammates shouted: some with paddles flailing, others frozen mid-stroke. I’d never disappeared in front of anyone. Before this, I hadn’t even known if it was real or if I was losing my grip on sanity. But now, surrounded by people who looked terrified, I knew it was real.

Which didn’t exactly comfort me.

It wasn’t until I heard Gwyn shouting about me drowning that I realized no one had actually seen me turn invisible. For a heartbeat, I felt relief—it wasn’t real after all!  But then I realized that the fact that people were staring straight at my position, aft, on the back of the raft, and not seeing me confirmed what I feared. My body had vanished.

And now I had an additional problem. If I came solid right now, someone would definitely see it happen. So did I want screaming because I’d drowned or screaming because I’d materialized out of thin air?