Invisible Inkling

“Mom worries about you,” she says. “She thought I could talk to you better than she or Dad could, maybe.”

I stamp my foot at her and make a mean face. “Is Jacquie even giving up a hedgie, or were you just making that up to get me talking to you about stuff?”

Nadia ruffles my hair and laughs. We’re in front of PS 166 now. “Eat your corn muffin and go to school,” she says.

“I’m dropping you at a shelter,” I say. “You’ll be in with a bunch of sad dogs and you’ll be really sorry you did Mom’s dirty work for her.”

“Yeah, right,” says Nadia.

Then she hugs me.

Ugh.

Lord Baldy Is with Us or against Us

That afternoon, Dad picks up me and Chin from school and takes us to play on the big rock in the playground. We play alien schoolchildren for a bit, like usual, and then Chin says, “Let’s play supervillains instead.”

“Okay,” I agree, “but is The Architect of Doom fighting Reptiliopolus, or are they teaming up to take over Manhattan?”

“Hm.” She furrows her brow. Chin gives this kind of question a lot of thought. “I think we should take over all of Manhattan’s food trucks!” she finally says. “We’ll make them servants of our evil ice-cream empire.”

Wow. Sometimes that girl’s mind is impressive.

“We can write out the details of our evil plan,” she goes on. “Then when Joe comes over, we can see if Lord Baldy is with us or against us.”

“Joe is coming over?” I say. “Like, Joe Patne?”

“What other Joe is there?”

“He’s coming over to your apartment?”

“Sure,” says Chin. “My mom invited him and his dad to come over and stay for dinner. It’s tomorrow night, I think. We’re getting pizza.”

“Oh.”

“To be honest though,” Chin continues, “I’m kind of nervous. Do you think he’ll make fun of my ballerina calendar?”

“What’s there to make fun of?” I lie, because that ballet calendar is really foofy.

“Or the Great Wall of China we built?” she wonders. “Or the Barbies? Or my purple bedspread? I don’t want to just let Joe Patne loose in my room. I feel like he’s the type of guy who would make critical remarks.”

“Like what?”

“Like, ‘Ooh, ballerina calendar.’”

“That’s not critical.”

“Yes it is.”

“It’s just ‘Ooh, ballerina calendar.’”

“No,” says Chin decisively. “You would say, ‘Ooh, ballerina calendar,’ and what you’d mean is ‘Hey, where’d ya get that?’ Or ‘Do you take ballet?’”

“Right,” I say. Though really, when I saw that ballerina calendar I just kept my mouth shut because, you know, if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything.

“Joe would mean something different,” Chin explains. “What Joe would mean is: ballet is stupid.”

“Yeah,” I say, with a prickle of guilt.

“And Joe does this thing,” she goes on, “where he acts like whatever he does is normal and whatever you do is weird. Have you noticed?”

“Oh yeah,” I say. “One time I told him how I always imagine there are giant lizards lurking in the bottom of swimming pools—you know, in the deep end where the water’s dark? And he acted like he’d never, ever, heard of giant lizards. Or deep ends. Or swimming pools, even.”

“I always worry about sharks,” says Chin.

“Exactly!” I say. “And my dad worries about piranhas. Every single person I know understands about the giant lizards, but Patne just goes ‘No idea what you’re talking about.’”

Chin nods and clutches my arm. “Will you come tomorrow night? For dinner?”

“Huh?”

“Come help me be friends with him,” she says. “I’m sure my mom won’t mind. She’s just ordering pizza.”

Oh.

“Joe and Henry are fun and everything,” Chin goes on, “but they’re just not that easy to be friends with somehow, you know?”

“I do,” I say.

We are silent for a moment. Chin lowers her voice. “Will The Architect of Doom and Reptiliopolus tame Lord Baldy with the awesomeness of their Great Wall of China? Or will Lord B sneer at The Architect’s ballet calendar—”

“—and mock the poor swimming skills of Reptiliopolus?” I add.

It feels weirdly good to say that out loud. Poor swimming skills.

Yeah, I’ve got poor swimming skills. It stinks.

I do wish they were better. Maybe I could actually practice or something.

But real friends don’t care. Chin and I built a Great Wall of China out of matchsticks. That’s what matters. Not that she’s a Hammerhead and I’m a Neon.

“We will kill Lord Baldy with kindness,” I tell her. “Just you watch.”

They Are Pies of Evil

Next day, Patne skips after-school. We both go home with Chin. Once we’re in the building, I pretend I want to drop my backpack upstairs and I go collect Inkling.

He made me promise to bring him over for dinner. Pizza is one of his favorite foods.

Chin’s mom is making salads in their kitchen. We kids are supposed to go play. “Do you want to see our Great Wall of China?” I ask Patne.

“He’s not interested in that,” says Chin. “Let’s stay in the living room.”

“We built it out of matchsticks,” I explain. “It took a really long time. Now we’re starting on the Taj Mahal. You can send away for kits.”