The Invisible Boy

by Alyssa Hollingsworth

  The lady clears her throat. “I would give anything to see the angel, but I haven’t yet.”

  “Right…” I slow my note-taking. Does she think he is a real angel? Maybe this isn’t the best source, even if she’s the only one to give me any sort of lead.

  “I wish I had something more…” A man comes out of her house and the lady’s expression brightens. “Maybe my grandson knows.”

  “How’s it going?” the man—her grandson—says as he walks up. He has dark skin, short black hair, and a trimmed beard. I’d guess he is a few years younger than my mom. He shifts an envelope into his left hand and offers his right to me, like I’m an adult. “Hi there. I don’t think we’ve met? I’m James Wilson.”

  “Hi, I’m Nadia Quick.” I shake his hand but glance at his grandmother. “Sorry—I should have introduced myself.”

  She waves off my apology. “Don’t fret. I’m Mary Barton, but most people call me Mrs … Mrs. B.”

  Mrs. B’s gaze grows distant, and she trails off into silence. Now that I think about it, I’ve seen an old man before, taken to and from the house in a wheelchair. He’d smile at me sometimes. I suppose that’s the husband she talked about losing.

  James touches Mrs. B’s arm, and she seems to wake up again. She explains about my questions and her angel. He listens to it all with attention, even the more far-fetched bits. When she finishes, he squats to pet Wonder. “I haven’t seen anyone, but I can keep a lookout.”

  “Okay. I live at the end of the street.” I point toward my house. A loud rumbling starts from over there, and my mom comes down the driveway, pulling the recycling bin. I raise my hand to wave but Mom doesn’t notice. I tell James, “I’m on summer break, so I can come by and check for updates.”

  James glances at me, below my eye level now. “You live at that house by the osprey nest?”

  “Yeah.” Ospreys are huge water birds and kind of a big deal to Virginians. “I did a report about the babies for school last spring. They’re pretty big now, though.”

  “Neat.” He scratches his beard thoughtfully.

  “James is a photographer,” Mrs. B adds. “He’s been documenting local wildlife while he’s staying with me.”

  Photographer? That’s not so distant from being a journalist. Lois Lane and Clark Kent had a friend named Jimmy, a well-intentioned but often silly photographer at the Daily Planet. I’ve never known a photographer before, but maybe this James could be handy to have around.

  “You can come and see them,” I offer. “There’s a pretty good view from my yard. And I’ll introduce you to my mom! She knows stuff about animals—well, about birds mostly.”

  “Oh—ah—Are you sure your mom won’t mind?”

  “No! She’s right there.” I point to her—now back up the driveway to get the trash can. “I just gotta check this last house and then I can bring you over.”

  “Well, then—I’ll grab my camera.” James stands and hurries inside.

  Mrs. B laughs softly. “It was good to meet you, Miss Quick.”

  “You too!” While she turns to her birdhouse, I run across the yard. Wonder taps her nose against my ankle, which means, Tired! “I know, girl. This is the last stop, I promise.”

  I take the couple of steps to the whitewashed house’s front door two at a time, then press the doorbell. It’s a small button framed in shiny polished metal. On the other side of the wood, I hear a faint ding-dong echo through the house. But no one comes.

  I wait a few moments, then lift the knocker—which gleams so brightly it could be gold instead of brass, I can’t tell—and ram it down three times. Wait.

  Nothing.

  James comes out of his house, and I ring the doorbell again. This is the only house on the street where I haven’t spoken to someone.

  James calls to me, “You should try back in the evening.”

  “Huh?” I say as Wonder and I join him on the sidewalk.

  “I’ve only been here about a week, but that place is totally abandoned during the day. She—that is, the owner—has parties almost every night.”

  She. My heart pounds. Does he mean the woman in the picture? But this house is white and sterile, with none of the purple town house’s quirky charm. Now that I think about it, I remember seeing a brown-haired lady greeting guests on the doorstep. She definitely isn’t the mom in the photo, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t his house. It does have a high privacy fence around the backyard and thick curtains in all the windows. It could be a hideout. And lots of heroes have mentors disguised as butlers—like, Batman has Alfred and Iron Man has Jarvis. That could explain the woman.

  James is still speaking, I realize a bit too late. “… this week. We’ll probably go.”

  “Oh.” I have no idea what he’s talking about.

  Mom’s standing halfway down the driveway, apparently without noticing us, and is turned away talking to someone on her phone. Judging by her goofy laugh, I’m guessing it’s Dad. I look down at the big camera in James’s hand. “Do you only take pictures of wildlife?”

  “Actually, I shoot weddings. Mostly. It can be fun.” He shrugs. “My grandmother let me set up an office in her sewing room while I’m helping her.”

  “Helping her?”

  He glances down at me, and the smile fades from his face. “My grandfather passed away a couple weeks ago. Cancer.”

  Oh.

  “I offered to stay with her until … That is, she’s going to have to sell the house and … it’s difficult.” He fidgets with the settings on his camera.

  I’m not sure how to answer. No one in my family has died. I can’t even imagine what it might be like.

  “Look!” I spot the mom osprey landing in her gigantic nest. “They’re home! Come on.”

  I cut away from the driveway and head directly to the creek, James on my heels. Even hurrying, it takes us a minute or two to cross the lawn. The swollen Little Hunting Jr. comes up almost to the grass, and then there’s a peninsula between us and Little Hunting Creek. The osprey perches on a large nesting pole on the other side of the peninsula. “There. You have to get closer to really see it. Here—it’s kind of tricky.”

  “Thanks!” James says when I point out a gap in the thorn bushes. When the creek isn’t so flooded, there’s a path here down to the water’s edge. Right now, most of that is underwater. Wonder paws at the mud, but I pull her back before she can follow him.

  I show James a tree he can use for balance. “Careful, though—that branch right there is rotting.”

  He smiles at me. “You sure know this area, Nadia Quick.”

  I beam. “That’s basically my job. I’m the neighborhood reporter.”

  “Really? That’s awesome.”

  While James uses the tree for support and lifts the camera to his eye, I flip open my notepad and jot some thoughts. There is a lot to update since my conversation with Mrs. B—even if there’s not a whole lot to update about him.

  Behind me, the rumbling starts again. I glance over my shoulder to see Mom finally continuing with the trash to the curb. At the same time, a car pulls into our driveway. My aunt Lexie slows to a stop, and a second later she steps out. I grin. She raises her hand to wave at Mom but walks toward me. Wonder spots her, too, and gives a great big excited bark.

  James starts and flails.

  I cry, “Not the br—”

  He grabs the rotten branch for balance and it breaks, dumping him in the thorny mud. With a gasped adult-word, he’s down. But he keeps one arm straight up in the air, holding his camera high away from the water and bushes and muck.

  “Ouch,” he says with a laugh. He sits up, and the mud slurps around his legs. “Thanks for the warning.”

  Aunt Lexie kicks off her heels and runs over to us. “What—”

  “This is James Wilson. Photographer,” I explain as quickly as I can. “I warned him about the branch, but he grabbed it anyway.”

  Aunt Lexie comes to a stop beside me and looks down in the briars at James. “A
re you okay?”

  “No harm done.” James had been looking for an escape route, still sitting, but he glances up at Aunt Lexie and almost drops his camera.

  “Camera!” I cry, and he straightens his arm.

  “Thanks. Um—”

  “Here.” Aunt Lexie pushes her long hair over her shoulder, wraps an arm around the solid part of the tree, and extends her other hand. James rubs his muddy palm on his T-shirt and shifts to reach, and she grabs him by the wrist and hauls him out. The mud almost sucks off his shoe as he stumbles free. Wonder rushes to assess his condition while James opens and closes his mouth. Aunt Lexie starts to wipe tree bark pieces off her suit jacket, then gives up with a shrug.

  “What happened?” a new voice calls. Mom jogs up to us and gets a good look at James. “Oh dear!”

  “Is your camera okay?” I ask, barely keeping Wonder from tripping him again with her attentive sniffing.

  “Yes—uh—” He looks down at it. “Yes, it’s fine. Yes. Thank you.”

  I’m not sure if he’s saying that to me or Aunt Lexie or Mom, because he’s not really looking at any of us.

  Aunt Lexie smiles at him. “Are you—visiting my sister?” But when she turns to Mom, her smile is tight. “I know you’re making a big dinner, but I didn’t know you’d invited…”

  “Oh, I hadn’t—” Mom starts to say.

  “No, no!” He goes to put his hands in his pockets, seems to remember he still has his camera, starts to put both hands around it, then drops his dirty hand again to his side. “No, I live down the street. And I’d better get back home, actually. My grandmother will be—that is—not that I have to—I’m just staying with her for a bit.”

  Aunt Lexie is still smiling, but her eyebrows quirk up in a confused way. “Okay. Well, I hope you have a good evening. Sorry about the mess.” She nudges me.

  “Yeah, sorry,” I chime in, even though technically I had nothing to do with it.

  “Do you need a towel or anything?” Mom asks. Her gaze darts from him to Lexie. “You know, I could set an extra place…”

  “It’s fine! I’m good!” James backs toward the driveway. “Have a nice night!” Then he turns and hurries off.

  Aunt Lexie watches, one hand on her hip and one coming to rest on my shoulder. “Miss Nadia Quick, where do you find these characters?”

  I beam. “Oh, just wait until you hear who I met today!”

  Chapter 3

  PUBLIC DEBRIEFED

  After a quick bath for Wonder, and a quicker shower for me, I rush downstairs in clean fox leggings and a big orange T-shirt. As I round into the living room, I ask, “Is Dad home yet?”

  A moment too late, I realize Mom was in the middle of talking softly to Aunt Lexie about something. But she straightens and smiles at me. “He got held up at the Pentagon. Told us not to wait for dinner.”

  We all grab plates and food from the kitchen—Mom pausing to snap a picture of the dish en route—and then settle back in the living room. Aunt Lexie sits on the couch, curls her legs under her, and pats a nearby cushion. I plop down beside her. Even though she’s changed into a pair of yoga pants and a comfy shirt from my mom, she still smells like fresh printer paper.

  “I’m guessing we don’t get your scoop until your dad’s here, hmm?” Aunt Lexie asks. “You’ve got me on pins and needles!”

  “News only breaks once,” I tell them in a sage voice. “Everyone should be here for it.”

  Aunt Lexie sighs and asks me about summer break instead. I update her on the Junior Journalists Contest, and let her know I have a good lead for my story without giving away too much information.

  Mom is busy typing on her phone. Aunt Lexie glances over. “Sis. Are you really posting a food picture right now?”

  “Sorry,” Mom says, not looking up. Distracted, she speaks slowly. “Just … adding some hashtags. An air force spouse … gave me this recipe, and I wanted … to let her know…”

  Aunt Lexie and I share a look. In a loud whisper, I point out, “And people say it’s the kids who are addicted.”

  “Hey—you both already ate some, right?” Mom glances up, apparently missing what I just said. “How was it? Give me a mini review.”

  Aunt Lexie indicates that I should go first, but I shake my head.

  “No comment,” I say, keeping to my personal goal of staying off her blog as much as possible. Then I return to eating the (admittedly very good) tikka masala. I tune out the rest of the conversation—Aunt Lexie giving an answer and then the two of them talking about the blog, affiliate links, followers, etc., while Mom eats her now-cold food. Instead, I run the afternoon’s action over again in my head. If the boy does live in that whitewashed house, I need to find a way inside …

  Something loud scrapes outside—the garage door opening. Wonder leaps from her bed and runs down into the basement, barking. I grin. “Dad’s home!”

  A minute later, Dad comes into the living room, sweaty and smelly in his bicycle clothes. He puts an envelope down on the side table and gives Mom a quick kiss.

  “Hmm, salty,” Mom says.

  “Gross!” Aunt Lexie and I chime at once.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Dad says, ignoring our commentary. “Admiral Sauron decided to drop an assignment on my desk at four forty-five, and it had to be done tonight.”

  “That’s my husband, saving the world one piece of paperwork at a time.” Mom pushes him gently away. “Go clean up.”

  Dad salutes and dashes upstairs, Wonder escorting him. We’re barely done with dinner when he’s back again, clean and in fresh clothes. He ruffles my hair and gives Aunt Lexie a side hug, then grabs his meal and plops down by Mom.

  “Now will you share your news, Nadia?” Aunt Lexie asks, putting her empty plate aside.

  I clear my throat and launch into the story. Paddle Boy’s attempt at cupcake sabotage. Wonder almost drowning. A strange boy saving her life and then vanishing right in front of us. I pass the photo around and conclude with James Wilson’s fabulous plunge into the mud of our creek.

  “Hmm, so that was the nice-looking man in need of rescue?” Mom asks, glancing toward Aunt Lexie.

  My aunt rolls her eyes.

  “I don’t think anyone could have saved him from his epic fall.” I can’t help laughing. “But he seems cool—other than that.”

  “All the boys on this street are particularly skittish today.” Mom shakes her head. “Poor Kenny! I bet you surprised him, just up and shouting.”

  “Mom.” I level a serious look at her. “Paddle Boy deserved it. He’s evil.”

  “Your mom always has a soft spot for the bad boy,” Dad says with a wink.

  Aunt Lexie groans. It strikes me that everyone is paying attention to the wrong parts of the story.

  Mom smiles and shrugs. “What can I say? I like complex people.” She drums her fingers on the couch cushion. “I wonder what he was doing with those cupcakes…”

  “Baiting Wonder,” I remind her.

  “Ah. Right.”

  “Oh, hey.” Dad goes to put his plate down and picks up a letter from the side table. He passes it to Mom. “This was in the mail slot when I came in.”

  Mom tears the envelope and pulls out a crisp white piece of paper with fancy silver lettering on the front. She flips it over. “Huh. It’s an invitation to a house party.” She scans the words and then lifts her eyebrows. “At 9000 Stratford Lane, that house on the corner.”

  My heart does a flip. James said there are parties almost every night. Maybe the superhero boy will be at this one.

  “When is it?” Dad leans to read over her shoulder.

  “This Friday at seven.”

  Dad asks, “Do we have to go?”

  At the same time, I say, “Can I go?”

  All the adults look at me. Dad chuckles. “Why? It’s going to be adults complaining about traffic and politics.”

  “But this is an excellent opportunity for investigation,” I point out.

  When my mom looks a tin
y bit worried, Aunt Lexie adds, “Discreet investigation.”

  “We should at least drop in, Richard—it’s the neighborly thing to do,” Mom tells Dad. She passes the invitation to Aunt Lexie. “You’re staying with us while your apartment gets fumigated, right? Do you mind watching Nadia?”

  “I don’t need to be watched,” I interrupt, sitting at my full height. “First, because I’m twelve. And second, because I can come with you.”

  Dad snaps his fingers. “I know. You disguise yourself as me, and I’ll stay home.”

  “Not helping, Richard.” Mom shoots him a look before she adds to me, “I think you’d be bored, Nadia. And anyway, we can’t just abandon Lexie—and I don’t want her to have to come socialize after a long work week.”

  Dad opens his mouth like he’s going to make a smart comment, but Mom nudges his arm and sharpens her look from Unamused to Definitely Annoyed.

  “You and Lexie can have a pj’s marathon of Superman,” Mom offers, turning back to me with a peacemaking smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

  She does know how to tempt a person, but my mission is more important. However, I know it’s useless to argue with Mom now. I have to be clever to get her to budge.

  “It’s settled, then.” Mom grabs a pen from the coffee table and ticks a box on the invitation. “I’ll put down me and Richard, and you two can stay in.”

  While Mom keeps talking to Dad about the party, Aunt Lexie leans over and whispers in my ear, “You’re still planning to investigate, aren’t you?”

  I glance up, worried she might rat me out to my parents.

  But Aunt Lexie winks. “I’m in. I want to meet this superhero— Hold on, does he have a name?”

  “Not that I know.”

  “As his first contact with the press, you get naming rights, I believe.”

  It’s a good point. After all, in some versions of the comics, Lois Lane is the one who originally coins Superman’s name. I run through everything I know so far—tragic past, water-saving abilities, vanishing … No one has seen him in this neighborhood, except me. It’s almost like they can’t see him.