Invisible Inkling Read Online Free Page A

another piece of broccoli. “Anyway, I’m only sticking around until the Hetsnickle is paid.”
    â€œHetsnickle?”
    â€œHetsnickle was a famous bandapat. The debt of honor is named after her. You know, how I have to save your life because you saved me from that rootbeer? That’s the Hetsnickle debt.”
    I nod, but I’m not thinking about the Hetsnickle. What I’m really thinking is:
    I have an invisible friend .
    It is not my imagination.
    It is true, real life.
    I have an invisible friend.

Get Some Squash
in That Thing
    I n the early morning, before anyone else is up, I give Inkling a tour of the Wolowitz apartment. Dad’s seven hundred books, spilling off the shelves and piled on the floor. Nadia’s stash of cosmetics and hair products. The TV, the big worn sectional couch, Mom’s plants, and the photograph of me and Nadia when I was just a baby, blown up larger than life and hanging in the dining area.
    â€œYou got squash in that thing?” Inkling wants to know as I show him the refrigerator.
    â€œI doubt it.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œNo one in my family likes squash.”
    â€œYou don’t like squash?”
    â€œNah.”
    â€œThat’s completely insane,” says Inkling. “I swear, I will never understand human beings.”
    â€œYou can eat breakfast cereal or bread or leftovers,” I say. “But if you eat something special like strawberries or chocolate milk, my mom might notice.” I pour some Oatie Puffs onto the kitchen counter for him and set out a dish of almonds.
    â€œThanks,” he says. “But see if you can get some squash in that thing. I can’t stick around if there isn’t going to be squash.”
    â€œI’ll try,” I tell him—but then I don’t think much more about it. Tomorrow is the first day of school. I notice Mom has put my backpack on the kitchen counter alongside a stack of folders and notebooks, plus the pencil case I picked out.
    The first day of fourth grade.
    Without Wainscotting.
    Who will I sit with at lunch?
    Who will I play with at recess?
    â€œDo you miss your friends?” I ask Inkling. “I mean, your fellow bandapats in the Woods of Mystery or wherever?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œDo you write to them?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œHow come? Don’t bandapats write?”
    â€œWe write.”
    â€œSo why don’t you write to them?”
    â€œI don’t choose to discuss it.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI don’t choose to discuss it.”
    â€œDon’t choose to discuss what?” I persist. “Writing?”
    â€œI told you before, Wolowitz. Bandapats are an endangered species.”
    Oh.
    I feel like a jerk now. But he’s said so many different things, I haven’t known what to believe.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I say.
    There’s no answer. Several Oatie Puffs disappear from the kitchen counter.
    â€œDid you have a best friend?” I ask. “Someone you miss in particular?”
    At first, he doesn’t answer. “I was very popular,” says Inkling finally. “Let’s leave it at that.”
    â€œCome with me tomorrow,” I blurt out. “Come see what school is like.”
    â€œWhat? No way.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t sit lonely at home all day,” I coax. “Plus, you know all about popularity. That would be a big help to me, actually, since my best friend moved away. You could give me advice.”
    â€œNot happening,” Inkling says.
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œI hate crowds. Especially crowds of children. They’re dangerous for an invisible person.” Inkling makes a shivering noise. “All those feet.”
    â€œPlease?”
    â€œIf it’s a matter of life and death, I’ll come,” says Inkling. “Because of the Hetsnickle. Otherwise, I want to stay home and look at your pop-up books.”
    â€œCome on, you’ll like