My Best Friend Is Invisible (3 page)

I heard footsteps behind me. Footsteps pounding the pavement. Running toward
me.

“Sammy—wait up!” It was Roxanne.

I pretended I didn’t hear her. I kept walking.

“Sammy!” Roxanne caught up—out of breath. “What happened to you today?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Something happened,” she insisted. “Something happened to you in math
class.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I told her.

“I’m really good at math,” Roxanne said smugly. “I’d be happy to help you—if you don’t understand it.”

“I… don’t… need… help,” I replied through gritted teeth. I began to
walk faster—but Roxanne kept up with me.

We didn’t talk.

Finally, Roxanne broke the silence. “Let’s go to the haunted house Saturday
night. For our project. Okay?”

“Maybe. I have to get home now. I’ll call you later to talk about it.”

I broke into a run—and left Roxanne on the sidewalk, staring after me.

I wanted to get home.

I wanted to think about everything that had happened.

I wanted to think about it—by myself.

As I headed into the house, I wondered about my bedroom window. Would it be
open? I made sure it was closed before I left this morning. But that didn’t mean
anything.

I started up the stairs. But I stopped when I heard Brutus meowing loudly in
the kitchen. He always does that when he wants to go out.

“Okay. Okay. I’m coming.”

Brutus started to wail.

“Hold it down, Brutus. I said I was—”

I stopped in the kitchen door.

There was Brutus—crouched on a chair. His fur stood straight up. He pulled
back his lips in a menacing hiss.

I followed his gaze—and let out a shriek.

A pizza sat on the table.

A slice from the pie floated above the plate—floated up by itself.

I stared in shock as it rose higher and higher.

“Who—who’s there?” I stammered. “I know someone is there! Who ARE you?”

“Who are you?” I demanded again.

No answer.

I stared at the pizza slice. Stared as it floated in midair.

I watched as it was chewed up. Bite by bite.

“Tell me who you are!” I shouted. “You’re really scaring me!”

Another bite disappeared from the floating slice of pizza. And another.

“This isn’t happening. It can’t be,” I whispered.

I’ll close my eyes. When I open them—I’ll see that I imagined the whole
thing, I told myself.

And I’ll never read a ghost book again, I promised.

Or watch a sci-fi movie.

Another bite of the pizza disappeared.

I closed my eyes.

I opened them.

The slice of pizza was gone.

I let out a long sigh of relief.

Then I realized it was gone—EATEN.

“WHO ARE YOU?” I demanded. “Tell me—right now. Or I’ll—”

“Sammy—who are you talking to?” Mom stood in the kitchen doorway, staring
at me.

“There’s someone here!” I cried. “Someone eating pizza!”

“I can see that!” Mom said. “I can see that someone has eaten half a pizza—before dinner. Sammy, you know you’re not supposed to eat before dinner!”

“I didn’t! It wasn’t me!” I cried.

“Of course it wasn’t you,” Mom said. “It was the ghost from this morning—right? The one who ate your cereal. Sammy, please. This is serious. How many
times have I told you—no snacking before dinner. You’re old enough to know
better!”

“But, Mom—”

“No buts! I want you to go up to your room and straighten it up before we
eat,” Mom ordered. “You left it a mess this morning. Please put your dirty
clothes in the hamper and make your bed.”

“But half the day is over. It doesn’t make sense to make my bed now,” I
argued.

“Sam-my!” Mom narrowed her eyes. Mom narrows her eyes when she’s angry. Right
now her eyes were really narrowed. “GO!”

Mom opened the refrigerator to get a drink.

I turned to leave the kitchen—and froze.

Right behind Mom, Brutus started to rise up from the kitchen chair. Floating up. Rising higher and higher.

His fur stood straight up. He gazed down at the floor and let out a cry. He
stretched out his paws to leap—

“Mom, look!” I cried. “Look at Brutus!”

Mom whirled around—too late. Brutus had landed safely back on the kitchen
chair.

Mom’s eyes grew really, really narrow. “Go up to your room now, Sammy!”

What could I do?

I left the kitchen and headed for the stairs. I turned into my room—and
gasped.

My room!

My room looked like a garbage dump.

Cereal boxes were strewn on the bed. Greasy food containers and crushed juice
boxes littered my desk, my dresser, my chair—everywhere.

I took a step inside and heard a loud crunch. I glanced down—and groaned.
Frosted Flakes and Corn Pops carpeted the floor.

“Who did this?” I cried. “WHO TRASHED MY ROOM?”

I collapsed on my bed—and felt something sticky on the back of my pants.
“Oooh, gross!” I moaned. “Peanut butter and jelly.”

I pulled back the blanket for a clean place to sit—and found strands of
last night’s spaghetti and some half-eaten chicken legs.

“Who would do this?” I shook my head. “WHO?”

Does Simon’s room look like this? I wondered. And Mom and Dad’s room? I ran
down the hall to check.

Simon’s room was spotless. Mom and Dad’s room was perfectly clean too.

I walked back to my room—and froze.

“Sammy!” Mom planted her hands firmly on her hips. Her face burned red with
anger. “What have you done?”

“I—I didn’t do it, Mom!” I cried. “I didn’t make this mess!”

“Give me a break,” Mom sighed. “If you didn’t do it, who did? I didn’t do it!
Your father didn’t do it! Simon didn’t do it! Tell me, Sammy—who did it?”

“M-maybe it
was
Simon.” I didn’t know what else to say. But I
shouldn’t have said that.

“First you trash your room. Then you try to blame your little brother! Sammy—I don’t know what’s gotten into you! I don’t want to see you downstairs until
this room sparkles. Your father and I will discuss what to do about you later.”

Mom turned to leave. “And don’t come down for dinner. You’ve eaten quite
enough!”

I stood in the center of my room and listened to Mom’s footsteps fade down
the stairs.

“How am I going to clean this mess?” I moaned. “It will take me a year.”

“I’ll help you.”

Who said that?

I spun around to face the doorway.

No one there.

“Come on, Sammy,” a boy’s voice urged. “Let’s get going, or we’ll never clean
up this mess.”

I watched in disbelief as a cereal box floated up from my bed. Floated up and
threw itself into the trash.

“Who—who are you?” I stammered. “How do you know my name?”

Another cereal box started to rise. And another. They tossed themselves into
the trash too.

I waited for the boy to answer me.

But he didn’t.

I stared at the last cereal box—waiting for it to rise up.

It didn’t move.

“Where are you?” I whispered.

No answer.

I scanned my bedroom—searching for a sign of him.
Where did he go?

I heard a rustling sound and spun around.

My pillow hovered in the air. I watched as the pillowcase slid off it—all
by itself!

“Where are the clean sheets, Sammy? You know, you should make your bed in the
morning—like Simon.”

“How do you know me?” My voice started to rise. “How do you know my name? Who
are
you?”

“Calm down,” the boy said. “No reason to get stressed. I arrived last night. I found out your name from Roxanne.”

“You—you know Roxanne?” I sputtered.

“No. I don’t know Roxanne. I heard her use your name last night,” he
explained. “When she came over to do homework with you.”

“
What…
are… you?” I asked slowly.

My heart pounded as I waited for the boy’s answer. But he didn’t answer me.

“WHAT ARE YOU?” I cried out. “Tell me! WHAT ARE YOU? Are you a… GHOST?”

“A ghost!” The boy broke into a fit of laughter.

“You don’t believe in ghosts—do you?” the boy asked.

“No, of course not,” I shouted. “I don’t believe in ghosts. I just believe in
invisible kids!”

“Okay. Okay. I see your point,” he said. “No—I’m not a ghost. I’m alive.”

A loud, scraping sound cut through the air.

I jumped in surprise—and saw my chair move out from my desk.

“I hope it’s okay if I sit down,” he said. “Wow—is it hot in here.”
Yesterday’s math homework floated up from my desk and began fanning the air.

“Are you the one who keeps opening my bedroom window?” I demanded.

“Uh-huh. It’s really hot up here. Why do you keep it so hot in your room?” he
asked.

“Forget about the window!” I said. “What do you want? Why are you here? Did
you trash my room?”

“Uh… I guess I really made a mess in here. I was really hungry. Sorry. But
I’ll help you clean up.” The boy’s voice grew softer. “I just want to be your
friend, Sammy.”

“That’s ridiculous!” I said. “How can you be my friend? I can’t even see you!
You’re invisible!”

“I know,” the boy said softly. He sounded kind of sad. “I’ve been invisible
for as long as I can remember. That’s why it’s so hard to have friends.”

“Well—where are your parents?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I really don’t. My parents left me here for some reason. I
don’t know where they went. I know my name. That’s about it. My name is Brent
Green, and I’m twelve.”

Brent Green. An invisible boy. Right in my room.

It was hard to believe.

I mean, I’ve read a ton of science-fiction books. And I really believe in a
lot of that stuff. But an invisible boy right in my room. Whoa!

“Brent, I don’t know if I can be friends with you. I mean—this is weird.”

“Sammy, who are you talking to?” Simon walked into my room. He glanced
around. “Hey! There’s no one here. Were you talking to yourself?”

I turned away from my desk chair. “Yeah, Simon. I was talking to myself.”

I didn’t want to tell Simon about Brent. Not yet anyway. I wanted to find out
more about him first.

I wanted to be an expert on invisible people before I told anyone in my
family!

“You’re nuts, Sammy. You’re really nuts.” Simon gazed around the room. “Boy,
this place is a total mess. How could you do this? No wonder Mom is so angry.
You are in major trouble. Major trouble.”

Simon picked up a chicken bone from my bed. “Yuck!” He held it between two
fingers, then let it drop back on the sheet. “That’s gross!”

He tiptoed carefully over the cereal on the floor.

He slowly made his way to my chair. Brent’s chair.

“Don’t sit there—” I tried to warn Simon.

But it was too late.

I watched as the chair flew out from under Simon. Flew out—all by itself.

Simon landed hard on the floor! He sat in a glob of grape jelly, his mouth
gaping open in shock.

“That was mean, Sammy! I’m telling Mom!”

“I didn’t do anything!” I protested. “You missed the chair. It was your own
fault!”

Simon struggled to his feet and marched out of my room.

“Ha! Ha!” Brent laughed. “Good one! Right, Sammy? I pulled the chair right
out from under him!”

Simon was downstairs right now—telling Mom what a horrible thing I had done
to him. But I was already in trouble, I decided. So what difference did it make?
And I had to admit it—watching Simon fall was pretty funny.

Maybe having an invisible friend wouldn’t be too weird after all. I mean—it
could be kind of fun.

“Brent—what is it like to be invisible? I mean—can you walk through
things?” I asked.

“No,” Brent answered. “I can’t walk
through
anything.”

“Are you… uh… dressed?” I asked.

Brent laughed. “Don’t worry, Sammy. I’m dressed,” he said. Then he sighed
loudly. “You know, I’m just a regular kid. I’m just like you—only invisible.”

I’m just like you—only invisible.

Suddenly I had a great idea.

“Brent, could you make me invisible? Just for a little while. So I could see
what it’s like?”

“I wish I could. That would be fun. But I don’t know how to make someone
invisible. Sorry,” he apologized. “Hey! I think we’d better get back to work
here. This place is still a disaster.”

Brent and I finished cleaning the room just as the front doorbell rang.

I heard Mom answer it. A second later Roxanne burst into my room, carrying
about a thousand books. She let them drop to the floor with a crash.

“Hi, Sammy.” She smiled. “I came over to help you with your homework. I
brought all my math books.”

“Boy, am I glad you’re here!” I said.

Roxanne smiled. “I knew you’d want my help.”

“Not with that.” I shoved her books aside. “I want you to meet someone. His
name is Brent—and he’s an invisible boy. And he’s here! Right in this room!”

Roxanne’s eyes opened wide. “An invisible boy?” she whispered.

“Yes!” I said. “He’s here!”

Roxanne glanced around my room—and screamed. “I—I see him!”

“You DO?” I asked.

“Yes!” she repeated, pointing to my desk. “I see him. He’s standing right
there!”

“You can
see
him?” I gasped, amazed.

I faced my desk.

I squinted.

Stared really hard.

I didn’t see a thing.

Roxanne laughed. “Gotcha!”

She gave me a not-so-friendly clap on the back, and I stumbled forward. “I’m
tired of this dumb game.” Roxanne groaned. “Do you want to do math or not?”

“But—I’m not kidding,” I insisted. “This is not a joke.”

Roxanne dropped down on my bed and sighed.