The perfect name springs to mind.
“The Invisible Boy.”
Chapter 4
INVESTIGATION ONGOING
That Friday of the party, I tug on a dress covered in Superman logos and pull my hair into two loose braids. I can hear Dad opening the door for Aunt Lexie, so I head down to join them. He’s in a sort of casual suit, and my aunt looks fabulous in a yellow dress that swishes around her knees when she turns.
“You really don’t have to stay in your work clothes, Lex.” Then Dad sees me. He shifts Aunt Lexie’s overnight bag into his other hand and narrows his eyes. “Wait, why are you all fancy?”
Aunt Lexie gives me a thumbs-up. “Excellent choice.”
“Where’s Mom?” I ask, right as the bathroom door by the dining room swings open and Mom walks out.
“Sorry,” she says. Her skin’s kind of greenish, and she gives me and Aunt Lexie a confused look. She’s wearing a loose black dress. Very boring. To Dad, she says, “I think something at dinner disagreed with me.”
“Are you up for going?” Dad asks, brushing back her hair.
“Absolutely.” She loops her arm through his. Then she turns to us. “You’re awfully dressed up for a Superman marathon.”
“We’re coming with you,” I announce. I have been working on my argument all week, to find the one that would make Mom relent. “As a good neighbor, it is my responsibility to join my family in meeting our community.”
“In other words, you still want to investigate,” Mom says.
I hesitate, then shrug.
Mom shakes her head. “Well, if you’re that set on it, fine. I don’t think we’ll stay too long anyway.”
Dad brightens. “That’s good to know.”
Mom ignores him. “You sure you don’t mind, Lexie?”
“Nope.” Aunt Lexie smiles. “I’m curious about what we’ll find.”
Dad passes me Aunt Lexie’s bag, and I run it upstairs to the guest room. While I’m there, I make a quick check to be sure Wonder Dog has her comfort animal—a stuffed squirrel—and plenty of water. Then I hurry after the adults so Dad can lock the door behind us.
Outside, the cool wind brushes against my bare legs. I wish I had worn leggings under my dress. It’s barely seven p.m., and the sun hasn’t set yet. The air shimmers with clouds of gnats as we head down Wakefield Street. Aunt Lexie takes my hand and swings it, making the bracelets on her arm jingle.
“So, have you had any luck in your investigation of the Invisible Boy?” she asks me.
“No,” I admit. “I haven’t seen him. Paddle Boy’s been quiet, too. He seems to know that I’ve got a new ally, because whenever he sees me, he goes back inside his house.”
Aunt Lexie smiles. “And I suspect there has been a drop in criminal activity?”
“Some new litter in the median, but I suppose that can’t be directly linked to him.” I frown. “It’s been a pretty boring week.”
“Don’t be too disappointed. I’m sure things will get hectic again before you know it.” Aunt Lexie sighs. “I would give anything for a boring week now and then.”
Aunt Lexie works in Washington, DC, on something to do with traffic. You can’t get anywhere around here without traffic, so someone’s got to deal with it, I suppose. I’m not sure exactly what Aunt Lexie does, but I try to sound like I know what I’m talking about when I say, “Traffic been bad?”
Aunt Lexie rolls her eyes. “Don’t get me started. It should’ve taken thirty minutes to get to your house today—not an hour and a half!”
I nod sympathetically while flipping my notepad open with my spare hand. We’re getting close to the whitewashed house on the corner, and I need to focus on my objective. Cars are parked along the street out front, and the windows shine bright and cheery. As abandoned as it seemed when I knocked earlier this week, it’s bursting with life now.
A woman with brown hair stands by the open door, welcoming people. She has the typical business-lady DC haircut (straight and exactly framing her jaw) and smiles with commercial-style white teeth. Her quietly commanding presence would make her an excellent butler-mentor. I make a note.
“Hello!” she says as we approach. She holds out her hand. “I’m Candace Goldenberry. And you must be…?”
“Karen Quick,” Mom answers, shaking her hand. “And my husband, Richard; daughter, Nadia; and sister, Lexie.”
“So nice to meet you.” Candace shakes all our hands in turn. Her manicured nails prick my skin. Even though Candace has on heels, she isn’t very tall, and Aunt Lexie stoops slightly to greet her. I don’t think my aunt even knows she does it.
“I’m so happy you all could come,” Candace continues once everyone has been greeted. She waves us toward the hallway, her gaze on the next family. “Go ahead and make yourself at home. Drinks and snacks are in the kitchen.”
Mom and Dad lead the way in, me and Aunt Lexie following. Stylish adults mill around the living room, wearing slacks and button-ups and blazers and dresses. I examine the small crowd, half listening as Mom starts to introduce herself to some of the guests. She passes Dad and Aunt Lexie glasses of red wine but takes water for herself.
I don’t see anyone my age. And I definitely don’t see a boy/superhero.
Though, if he does have the power of invisibility, spotting him isn’t going to be easy.
James Wilson stands at the other side of the room with Mrs. B. Mrs. B’s talking to another lady, but James looks over at me and my family—and keeps looking. I wave, but he doesn’t seem to notice. I glance over my shoulder. He’s looking at Aunt Lexie.
Hmm.
People have gathered closer to speak with Mom, and she’s launched into blog-talk. Dad stands at her elbow, eyes a little glazed as he listens to the jokes she uses for catchy first impressions. Aunt Lexie smiles and laughs.
I glance across the room again. James sees me when I wave this time, and he smiles back. He leans over to Mrs. B and says something, and then the two of them start coming toward us.
I tap Aunt Lexie’s elbow, wanting to get her away before Mom starts on stories of the military spouses she’s interviewed.
“Aunt Lexie,” I whisper, “come meet James’s grandma. She’s really cool!”
Aunt Lexie turns away from my mom’s audience. “Oh, okay.”
I pull her toward the patio door, so we’ll meet James and Mrs. B a convenient distance from my parents. Aunt Lexie smiles politely at them, and James grins in a super-goofy way.
Hmmmm.
“Hi,” James says as soon as they get to us. “How are you?”
“Doing well.” Aunt Lexie shifts her gaze to his grandmother. “And you must be Mrs. B? Nadia has told me about you.”
Introductions are made. Mrs. B asks questions about Lexie’s work, and she mentions trafficking and DC, and Mrs. B starts talking about her garden and her job as a counselor before her husband got sick … James stands to one side, attentively listening to them both. Well, listening to them both but mostly watching Aunt Lexie.
HmmmmMMMMM.
Aunt Lexie is single.
James is nice. Clumsy, but nice. And he didn’t mention a girlfriend.
Maybe this is another scoop, right under my nose.
“What about you, James?” I cut in, trying to get him to stop standing there like a speechless weirdo.
“Oh—I—you know, I do wedding photography.”
Aunt Lexie nods. “I’m sure that must be a handful.”
“It is, sometimes,” he agrees. This would be the perfect time to talk about wedding disasters. Based on the movies, I imagine at least half the ceremonies end with someone running through the door declaring “I object!” But instead of sharing a story that would be conversation gold, he opens and closes his mouth and says nothing at all.
For a moment, no one talks.
Then Aunt Lexie goes back to asking Mrs. B about her old job.
This scoop is going nowhere fast.
A steady stream of people have trick
led in since we arrived, and out of the jumbled voices I suddenly recognize one in particular. A creaky, slightly-too-loud voice. A voice that personifies pure evil.
I lean away from Aunt Lexie and try to peer around the adults between me and the hallway.
Suddenly the crowd shifts. He sees me and cuts off midsentence.
I narrow my eyes.
Paddle Boy is here.
Which, with any luck, might mean the Invisible Boy is not far behind.
Chapter 5
THE SEARCH CONTINUES
Paddle Boy approaches. I flip open my notepad, just so he knows this conversation will absolutely be on the record. He stops in front of me and crosses his arms over his polo shirt. His mom or someone probably helped him spike his hair with gel, because it is looking particularly dumb tonight.
“Hi, Nadia.”
I nod, civil. “Paddle Boy.”
“My name is Kenny.”
“Sure it is, sure it is.” I poise my pen over the paper. “Are you here to sniff out the new hero on the block?”
“New hero…?” He blinks at me like I’m speaking another language. “Seriously, could you be any weirder?”
I maintain enough professionalism not to outright roll my eyes. “I’m talking about the boy who saved Wonder Dog. People call him the Invisible Boy.”
“Wait—someone saved your dog? From what?”
This feigned slowness is not actually that unusual for Paddle Boy. We’ve talked a total of ten times since the paddle incident, and he always acts thick. “Right. From you.”
He lifts one eyebrow. It is super annoying that he’s figured out how to do that. I still haven’t mastered full eyebrow control. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I think you do.”
For a few long seconds, we say nothing. I stare at him. He stares at me. I keep my hand closed firmly around my pen, so he won’t be able to snatch it and break it. The crowd—and the possibility that the Invisible Boy might be nearby—is good insurance that he won’t try something more dramatic. And even if the Invisible Boy didn’t come to stop him, I have my own forms of defense.
Where is the Invisible Boy, anyway? Shouldn’t he have shown up by now?
Though maybe he is here. Just invisible.
“I heard that your mom is going to make a big announcement in a few weeks,” Paddle Boy says. “Do you know what it’s about?”
My grip tightens and my spine goes rigid. “I told you to stay off her blog.”
“I didn’t go on her blog—my mom’s super curious and she wanted me to ask. That’s why she had me bring—well, I was supposed to bring over those cupcakes. To be nice. Until you ruined it.” In a tone of dismissal that might be a tad disrespectful, he adds, “It’s not like I intentionally follow your mom’s blog for military spouses.”
But his eyes shift away as he says it. He’s a liar, through and through.
Here’s the thing about being a sleuth when your mom is a viral blogger: Sometimes you end up in her updates. Sometimes the updates are totally about you.
And sometimes, supervillains use that blog to gain information they should never, ever have.
I snap my notepad shut. Paddle Boy is giving me nothing new to work with, and he is just as insufferable as always. Without even saying goodbye, I turn on my heel and march to the closest exit—a sliding glass door that opens to the backyard. Aunt Lexie is still talking to Mrs. B, James is still failing to talk to Aunt Lexie, and my parents are still surrounded by neighbors. No one notices me leave.
Outside, the sun has set and the air has gone from cool to downright chilly. I rub my arms, looking around. Fairy lights strung from trees lead down paths deeper into the yard. Other guests linger on the patio, some people sitting on nice matching furniture around a comfy firepit. The guy who was listening to news during my neighborhood survey is now explaining very loudly about some breaking story. Politics, I think. The lady he’s talking to keeps trying to respond, but he just talks louder.
Wrinkling my nose, I cross the patio and head down one of the paths. The mulch softens my footsteps, until I hardly make any sound at all. Smooth round stones mark the border of the trail. Soon, the noise of the party fades. The yard goes back pretty far—much farther than I would have guessed. Candace must be way rich to have this big of a yard.
More important: This big of a yard presents a new possibility. Because it’s perfectly sized for a secret hideout.
I stop to peer beyond the lights. My eyes don’t want to adjust to the darkness, so I glance around to make sure no one is nearby. Then I step over the rocks and slip into the grove of trees.
At first, everything looks the same—trees with cleared ground beneath, so empty you’d hardly even find a root to trip on. Bushes and flowers weave around trunks artfully, but in the dark I can’t see much detail.
Then, among the shadows, I spot something unusual. Squarish. A shed.
If anything screams Fortress of Solitude, this does.
Maybe there’s a secret elevator inside. One that drops below ground to a full lair of high-tech equipment and costumes. An invisible scooter, maybe? Or jet? Wonder Woman has an invisible jet.
Holding my breath, I step around bushes and feel for a way in. Rough wood rises under my fingertips, coarse enough that it might give someone a splinter (perhaps a security measure for the fortress?). I find a cold metal latch. It lifts easily, and the door opens without even a squeak.
I wait for motion-sensor lights to flicker on. A secret wall to slide back. A robot voice to ask for a password.
But the shed remains dark and silent.
I fumble for a light switch, but there isn’t one, so I just have to guess at the different shapes. Gardening stuff. Bags of soil. Rakes. And amid the sharp angles of tools and shelves, I don’t see anything that looks remotely like a boy. I poke at the walls blindly, but have no luck there, either—I can’t find a button that would make the floor turn into a slide and dump me in a real, actual hideout.
“Hello?” I ask the air, figuring it’s worth a shot. After all, he is invisible.
Nope.
The shed is completely still.
Exhaling, I slip out and shut the door softly. This night is not going well for my investigation. On my way back to the path, I drag my feet. Maybe the Invisible Boy doesn’t have anything to do with this house. Mrs. B said she thought an angel was around here, which could have been the boy, but she’s old and clearly confused.
My shoe catches on something and I fall, yelping in surprise. My knee hits one of the rocks on the edge of the path, and pain shoots up my leg. It takes a full five seconds before I can inhale again.
Cautiously, wincing, I turn my leg toward the dim light. My knee is dirty and—I think—bleeding a little.
Sighing, I shift to see what tripped me.
It’s a bundle of cloth.
A sweatshirt?
My heart stutters.
I grab it. The path lights illuminate the shapeless lump in my hands. It’s a hoodie—an unusually heavy red hoodie. The thick fabric frays around the hem. Along the right sleeve are random, scattered holes. They’re as small as the tip of my pinky, with hard, dark edges. The whole thing smells like boy sweat.
The Invisible Boy wore a hoodie just like this when he saved Wonder Dog.
I shift the weight between my hands. Something slides around in the zipped pockets. I open them and pull out whatever I can grab—a protein bar, small flashlight, and two wrinkled photographs. I click on the flashlight and wince at the sudden white-blue beam. I shine it at the first picture, where there’s a woman with a toddler on her shoulders—the same woman who’s in front of the purple house, but here she’s younger and her hair is less frizzy. Nothing’s written on the back.
I flip to the second picture and gasp. In this, a golden retriever sits and stares at the camera—and beside it, in a blur, is the very edge of the outline of a boy. The left side of his body is just about there, but the rest has vani
shed.
My breath hitches in my throat. The Invisible Boy.
I return the stuff to the pockets and zip them closed again, almost shaking with excitement. He’s here. I know it. A superhero wouldn’t leave something like this lying around—that would be like Clark Kent forgetting his glasses, or Superman discarding his cape.
And if he’s here, I’m going to find him.
I push myself to my feet. My knee stings and throbs, but I ignore it, rushing back into the house with the hoodie folded over my arm. No parents, aunts, or guests notice. I send up a prayer of thanks to Lois Lane, patron saint of snooping.
Paddle Boy is waiting for me right inside, but I lift my chin and walk past him. He follows me anyway.
He asks pointedly, “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” I snap my notepad open and weave between adults toward the hallway. Candace is talking to my parents, and James is handing Aunt Lexie a new a glass of wine. I continue to the hall and pause to take stock of the layout. Just off the front door is a living space with a bunch of white furniture and white carpets. A few guests are chatting there. On my right is a staircase to the second floor.
I head up the stairs.
“I bet you aren’t allowed up there,” hisses Paddle Boy from behind me.
I spin around on the step. “I’m looking for a bathroom.”
“Well then, there’s one by the kitchen.” He frowns. “Why are you sneaking around?”
“I’m not.” I point down at my hurt knee and embellish the truth with some creativity. “I need a bathroom with a first aid kit, and the one down here doesn’t have one. It’s fine, Candace gave me permission.”
“Right.” He looks skeptical. “Sure…”
I don’t wait to convince him. I hurry up the stairs. My knee hurts with every step, but it doesn’t slow me down. Paddle Boy may be easily confused, but it’s only a matter of time before he tries to interfere with my investigation. I’ve got to find the Invisible Boy first.
On the second floor, I take a quick inventory.
The Invisible Boy Page 3
