Invisible Inkling by Emily Jenkins

yogurt.

    â€œThanks,” I say. I kick my feet against the bench. “And thanks for saving my life today.”
    â€œBandapat code of honor,” Inkling says. “Glad to do it.”

Little Dude, Don’t Bite
    I am suspended for the rest of the day and sent home from school directly.
    My parents are really, really mad at me. I have never seen them this upset.
    It is not pretty.
    When they calm down, Dad sits me down in the grown-up bedroom for a private talk.
    â€œLittle dude.” His eyes are sad and concerned. “Don’t bite.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œDon’t bite. No matter what happens. Ever.”
    â€œI didn’t bite him,” I say.
    â€œThere were teeth marks,” he says. “The school nurse found your teeth marks.”
    â€œThey were—”
    I give up and go silent. I can’t explain.
    Dad rubs his scraggle beard. “In this family, we are pacifists,” he says finally. “There is always a peaceable solution, little dude. Always.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œThat means no more biting, or you’re in big trouble.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œI know he pinched you, and even knocked you down, but . . . It’s like the laws of the outback took over that lunchroom or something. What you did was wrong.”
    I see how sad he looks, how disappointed in me he is.
    I think, He doesn’t even know I said that awful, awful thing about Gillicut’s mom.
    I hate knowing I’m the kind of person who’d hurt someone’s feelings that way.
    But I do know it.
    And I can’t erase it.
    â€œI’m really sorry, Dad,” I say.
    * * *
    Saturday afternoon, Inkling is at the library looking at maps of upstate New York so he can find Land o’ Pumpkins. Chin comes to the ice-cream store with her mom. She gets strawberry and hot fudge in a dish, and joins me in the overlook.
    She says Gillicut had his ankle washed out with rubbing alcohol. Rumor from the kid who was his “nurse buddy”: He bawled like a baby. He got bandaged up and came back to class walking with a limp.
    His father picked him up early.
    I feel a twinge of remorse. It probably really hurt, if Gillicut was crying.
    Chin says she tried to tell Ms. Cherry that Gillicut started it all, “but Ms. Cherry said that she was there, sitting at our table. She said she saw everything, thank you very much. Bruno fell over on Hank and apologized for the accident. He even offered to get napkins. Then, for no reason at all, Hank bit Bruno. End of story.”
    I sigh.
    There is no arguing with Ms. Cherry.
    â€œWhat would you say, Chin,” I ask, “if I told you it wasn’t me that bit Gillicut?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œIt was my . . . um . . . invisible friend who bit him. And we planned the ambush. What would you say?”
    Chin laughs. “I’d say, how dumb do you think I am?”
    â€œStill, what if I told you I really did have an invisible friend?”
    â€œI’d say you should have your eyes checked.”
    â€œFor serious.”
    She eats a spoonful of ice cream. “I’d say, I’m not invisible.”
    Wow.
    Chin has been hanging out with me for almost a year, but she’s never called me her friend until now.
    I feel pretty cheerful at that.
    â€œHey,” she says. “Do you think your parents would let you walk with me to the corner store? I got my allowance today, and I really want a box of Altoids.”
    I swear, I will never understand girls. Who would want Altoids when they could buy Oreos or Gummi worms?
    â€œYeah,” I say. “I bet they will.”
    Then an idea comes to me.
    A good idea. An important idea. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.
    An idea to maybe make Inkling stay. Even though he’s paid his Hetsnickle debt.
    â€œWait five minutes, ’kay?” I tell Chin. “There’s something I realized I gotta