My Best Friend Is Invisible (6 page)

“I mean it. You have to go,” I said softly. I didn’t want to hurt his
feelings. I just wanted him to go.

“But I don’t want to leave,” Brent replied. “I want to be your best friend. I
really do.”

“I can’t be your best friend,” I told him. “It’s not working out.”

“Just give it a chance,” he insisted. “We’re going to have a great time
together. You’ll see….”

“Sammy! Time for dinner!” Mom called up the steps.

“I’m going downstairs to eat,” I told Brent. “And when I come back—”

“Don’t worry, I’ll still be here,” he said cheerfully.

He’s never going to leave, I realized as I headed down for dinner. Never.
What am I going to do? How am I going to get rid of him?

There was only one thing to do.

I took my seat at the dinner table. “Mom. Dad. I have something important to
tell you.”

My parents gazed up from their plates.

I took a deep breath while they waited for me to go on.

“There’s an invisible kid in my room—and I need your help. I have to get
rid of him!”

I had to tell Mom and Dad.

I didn’t know what else to do.

Mom and Dad were really smart—for parents. They were scientists, after all.
They’d know how to get rid of Brent.

“Not now, Sammy,” Mom said impatiently. “Your father and I had a very hard
day today. We worked for hours on the Molecule Detector Light—and it’s still
not working properly.”

She sighed. “After dinner we’re going down to the basement to work on it some
more. So eat quickly. We don’t have time for your wild stories.”

I felt a kick under the table. “Cut it out, Simon.” I glared at my brother.

“It wasn’t me.” Simon smirked. “It was the invisible kid!”

Great. Simon, the serious mutant, is trying to be funny.

I kicked Simon back.

“Hey—that hurt!” he whined.

“It wasn’t my fault. Your legs are in the way. They must be growing. Quick!
Measure them!” I snickered.

“Ha ha.” Simon rolled his eyes. “Is the invisible kid as funny as you are?”
He kicked me again.

“Simon—” I started.

“Cut it out, you two!” Dad shouted.

I turned to Dad. “But there really is an invisible kid. You’ve got to believe
me. I need your help.”

“Not tonight,” Dad groaned. “Please. Your mom and I had such a terrible day.”

I tried again. “He could be dangerous. He’s upstairs and—”

“Sammy—not another word. I mean it,” Dad said. “No more crazy stories.”

So much for smart parents.

Now what am I going to do? I wondered as Mom placed our dinner on the table. I’ve got to get rid of Brent. But how?

All through dinner, I thought and thought. And by the time Mom served
dessert, I had an idea!

“Brent? Are you here?”

I held out a few pieces of chicken wrapped in a napkin. It was easy sneaking
it out of the dining room.

Mom and Dad talked about work all through dinner. Light refraction. Frequency
waves. The usual stuff. They didn’t pay any attention to me.

And Simon was too busy worrying about his science project. He was still the
same size. He even measured his fingernails, but they hadn’t grown, either.

When no one was looking, I wrapped the chicken in my napkin and placed it in
my lap—and Brutus wailed.

Brutus loves chicken.

He tried to jump into my lap.

He clawed at the napkin.

He wailed some more.

“Can’t you do something about that cat?” Mom asked. “Your father and I can’t
think.”

“Come on, Brutus.” I shoved the napkin under my T-shirt. “Let’s go upstairs.”

I jumped up from my chair and waved for Brutus to follow me. He let out a
sharp cry—and ran in the other direction.

Wow! Brutus knows! I realized. Brutus knows that something weird is upstairs
in my room.

I bet that’s why he won’t sleep in my room anymore!

I hurried to my room and held out the chicken. “Brent—aren’t you hungry?” I
stood in one spot. I turned in a circle, holding out the chicken.

“I’m starving. Thanks. Thanks a lot.” I felt a light tug as Brent took the
food from my hand.

I watched the napkin unfold by itself.

“Mmmm. Fried chicken.” A big bite disappeared. “This is excellent. Your mom
is a great cook! Thanks.”

“Roxanne’s mom is a great cook too,” I said. “Better than my mom. Much
better. I eat at Roxanne’s house all the time. Whenever I can.”

Brent kept on eating.

“You should eat at Roxanne’s. You’d see what I mean.”

Brent kept on eating.

“Hey! I just thought of a great idea!” I said. “You should be
Roxanne’s
best friend. Roxanne needs a ghost for our school project. You could be the
ghost! That would make Roxanne so happy! She would have a ghost right in her own
house. And you’d be happy too—eating all that great food! Come on! I can take you
over there right now!”

Brent stopped eating.

“I am
not
going to Roxanne’s house,” he declared. “She’s a girl. I
don’t want to be a girl’s best friend. I want to be your best friend. And I
already told you—I am not a ghost.”

The empty napkin floated toward me. “Is there any more chicken?” he asked.
“I’m still hungry! And how about some dessert?”

I sat down on my bed and waited for Brent to finish his second helping of
chicken and the bowl of ice cream I sneaked upstairs for him.

Then I tried again. “Brent, you have to leave. You have to go.”

“But I want to be your best friend!” he insisted. “I’m never leaving. NEVER!”

“Don’t you get it? I don’t
want
you to be my friend,” I told him. “I
have plenty of friends—at least I did, until you came along.”

I stood up and paced back and forth across my room. “You are ruining my
life,” I said. “I want you to leave. I want you to get out of my house and never
come back!”

Silence.

“Do you hear me?”

More silence.

“I know you’re here, Brent. Answer me!”

“Please—can we talk later?” he finally replied. “I’m way tired. I need to
get some rest.”

The covers on my bed began to fold down. Then an invisible hand punched the
pillow.

“Ahhhh,” Brent sighed. “Your bed is so great!”

That’s when I lost it. “We
cannot
talk later. We have to talk now. I
want you to get out!” I screamed. “NOW!”

“Really?” Brent’s voice changed. Deeper—and meaner. A lot meaner.

“Y-yes. Really,” I stammered.

“And what if I won’t go?” he asked.

I took a step back—away from the bed.

I didn’t like the way Brent said that. It sounded like a threat.

“Well, Sammy—what if I won’t go?” he repeated menacingly.

I took another step back—and felt a hot hand clamp down on my shoulder.

I tried to break free—but I couldn’t. He was too strong.

Brent grabbed my arm. He held it tightly.

“Leave me alone!” I shouted. “Let me go!”

But he started to pull me—toward the open window!

What did he plan to do?

Push me out the window?

“Stop! Let go! Hey—let
go
!” I shot my arms up—and broke free.

“Sorry,” Brent muttered. “I was just goofing. You know. Good friends wrestle
sometimes—right? Just for fun?”

“Fun?” I cried weakly. My heart pounded in my chest.

He’s dangerous, I realized.

I don’t think he was kidding around. I think he wanted to shove me out the
window.

Frightened, I turned and started to run to the door. But I stumbled over his
invisible feet and fell hard to the floor.

Before I could scramble up, I felt his strong hands grab me again.

“Let go!”
I screeched, my voice high and shrill in panic.

“I was just trying to help you up,” Brent said.

His hands released me.

I rubbed my sore wrists.

“Really. I was just helping you up,” Brent insisted. “You believe me, don’t
you? Say you believe me.”

“Okay. Okay,” I grumbled. “I believe you.”

“Great!” Brent cheered.

“But you still have to leave,” I told him. “Everyone already thinks I’m too
weird. I can’t have an invisible boy following me around, talking to me, living
in my bedroom. Now go. Really. I mean it.”

“But I can help you,” Brent cried. “I helped you already—with that math
equation.”

“Oh, yeah. You helped me all right.” I started pacing my room again. “You
helped me look like a total geek in front of all my friends—and my teacher.” I
winced just thinking about it.

“Okay. I made a mistake. One little mistake,” Brent said.

“ONE little mistake!” My voice started to rise. “What about in the library
today? Now the librarian thinks I’m totally crazy. She wants me to see the
guidance counselor!”

I couldn’t help myself. I was yelling at him now. “And what about the track
race? You ruined everything! You made me fall and lose the race. You made me
disappoint everyone.”

“Sorry,” Brent said softly. “I thought I could help you win. I just wanted to
give you a boost.”

“A
boost
?” I screamed. “You—you—”

My closet door opened.

My new, dark-blue Yankees baseball jacket floated out. “Hey—cool jacket!”
Brent exclaimed. “I think the sleeves are too long, though. I don’t think it
will fit me.”

The jacket slid off the hanger.

“Give that to me!” I snatched the jacket out of the air. “Now—leave! I
don’t want you here.”

“Sammy—who on earth are you yelling at?” Mom stood in my bedroom doorway.

“The invisible kid!” I cried. “He’s here! He’s right here! You’ve got to
believe me! Brent—say something!”

Silence.

“PLEASE, Brent!” I begged.

Nothing.

Mom walked over to me slowly, staring at me, shaking her head. She placed a
hand on my forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever.”

“I’m not sick, Mom. I’m fine. Really. And I’m telling the truth.”

“I don’t know…” Her voice trailed off. Then she studied me carefully.
“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said.

“Then why are you holding your jacket?”

I stared down at the jacket. “Oh, I just wanted to see if it still fits,” I
lied. I mean—what else could I say now?

“Of course it still fits. We bought it for you last week.” Mom stared hard at me. She placed her hand on my forehead again. “I
don’t know,” she repeated. “You haven’t been yourself lately.”

She glanced at my jacket again. Then she shook her head some more. “Now tell
me—who were you shouting at?”

“Uh… no one. I was just rehearsing my lines… for the school play.”

“You’re in the school play?” she asked.

“Uh… no. Not exactly,” I said. “I’m rehearsing… in case they ask me to
be in it.”

“Sammy, if something is bothering you—you know you can always tell me about
it. Right?”

“Right,” I said.

Mom felt my forehead for the third time. She shook her head—again. She
started for the door—and stopped.

“Your father and I have been working very hard. I know we haven’t been paying
much attention to you. But that’s going to change now. We’re going to be here
for you. In fact, we’re going to be watching you very closely.”

Great.

Mom and Dad were going to start studying me—like one of their science
projects.

“It’s way too chilly in here, Sammy.” Mom walked over to my window and closed
it. Then she left the room.

“Are you still here, Brent?” I snapped.

“Yes.”

“Why did you do that to me? Why wouldn’t you speak to my mother?” I demanded.

“Sorry,” Brent said. “But I don’t want anyone else to know about me. I just
want to live with you and be your friend.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen,” I replied sharply.

I suddenly felt hopeful. Because Mom had just given me a great idea!

Now I knew exactly what I had to do—to get rid of the invisible boy.

I ran straight across the hall to the bathroom. I turned the hot-water faucet
in the shower up all the way.

Yes! A few seconds later, the mirror started to cloud with steam. Then I
turned on the hot water in the sink—and in the bathtub too.

Wow. Was it hot in here! Hotter than a tropical rain forest, I thought.

Excellent!

I wiped the sweat from my forehead and raced back into my room. I made sure
the window was closed tightly. Then I opened the valve on my radiator. I kept
turning it—until I heard the loud hiss of steam escape into my room.

Perspiration dripped from my face as the moist, warm air from the bathroom
drifted into my room.

“Sammy, what are you doing?” Brent wailed. “It’s too hot in here!”

I laughed. “Sorry. But this is the way I like it!”

I raced down the hall and opened the valve on Mom and Dad’s radiator, then Simon’s radiator too. I made sure all their
windows were shut tight.

“Sammy, stop!” Brent begged. “It’s too hot! Too hot!”

I sat in my bed—and waited.

Beads of sweat formed on my upper lip. My T-shirt, drenched with sweat, clung
to me.

Perfect!

“I—I can’t take it anymore.” Brent’s voice started to grow faint. “I—I
can’t stay here. It’s… too… hot.”

Over his low cries, I heard my window slide up.

And I knew that my plan had worked. Brent was gone—for good.

On Saturday night, Roxanne and I had planned to go to the movies to see
School Spirit.
But the plan had changed. Roxanne insisted that if I didn’t
go to Hedge House with her, she’d never speak to me again.

I believed her.

“Can you walk a little faster?” Roxanne asked. “It’s getting cold out here.”

She was right. A heavy fog had settled in. And a strong wind began to blow.

I shivered in the damp night air.