Invisible Inkling: List 3

“So despite the fact that I’m seriously squash-deprived, I see the urgency of your problem. I’ve got a new plan.”

I try and feed him the rest of my tofu, but he just pops up and snags the last dumpling when Chin is in the bathroom and Dad is talking to the waiter.

“I’m coming to school with you, pizza Friday,” Inkling announces. “Got that?”
“You hate crowds. You’re squash deprived.”

We can’t ambush Gillicut till Friday, and I have to stay alive for that to happen, so I’d better just not go to school.

I tell Mom at the breakfast table: “I think I got bit by a rare South American beetle, one of those ones with venom that gives you a fainting sickness and makes your legs swell up all weird and red.”

Her hair is showing gray because she hasn’t gone to the salon like she usually does.

He heaves a sigh.

I wouldn’t even know he was there with me if it wasn’t for an occasional cough from his favorite corner.

Because if I can see him, I’ll have something concrete to remember when he’s gone.

I pounce. Fur and muscle flail in my hands.

“Put me down!” He twists and flails. “You’re insulting my dignity!”

His face isn’t shifty or clever or content.

He scrabbles as he falls and grabs the back of the wooden chair.

Inkling sulks in the laundry basket the rest of the evening.

“You’re cute, you know.” I start with flattery.

“I meant it as a compliment.”
“I woulda been cuter if you hadn’t been holding me by the scruff,” complains Inkling.

“That means I’m not visible, and not visible means you can’t see me. Not visible is how I like it to be and how bandapats have survived through the ages until we got endangered. Really, just what part of this did you not understand when you lured me into the bathroom with cereal and pop-up books—just so you could jump me?”

Inkling’s voice is cross. “Thanks for being gentle when you were sneak-attacking me. Thanks for being gentle while you bullied me just like Gillicut bullies you. Thanks for being gentle while you manhandle me like I’m a stupid pet.”

She clutches her hair, which is rapidly unwinding, as if by magic.

She falls to the floor, yowling and thrashing as if some invisible—

“Boys!” says Ms. Cherry, sharply. “Are you two fighting?”

“Let me help you get some napkins,” says Gillicut, fake and hearty.

Gillicut and Inkling and I are all tangled up now. There’s fur in my face and a foot against my shoulder—
“Hank! This is deeply inappropriate!”

I am suspended for the rest of the day and sent home from school directly.

I feel a twinge of remorse. It probably really hurt, if Gillicut was crying.

I feel a twinge of remorse. It probably really hurt, if Gillicut was crying.

Apparently they have something called a Pumpkin-Carving Extravaganza, and he doesn’t want to miss it.

“I still owe you, Wolowitz. Dropping on Gillicut was nothing compared to what you did for me when that rootbeer attacked,” says Inkling. “Or when people mauled me at the Health Goddess. Or even just when your dad sat on me. What you do for me all the time, actually.”

He wants to be here, with me, more than he wants a whole patch full of pumpkins. More than he wants the Halloween Pumpkin-Carving Extravaganza.

The Tupperware lifts, and a small avalanche of sprinkles pours into Inkling’s mouth. Then they go invisible.