The Invisible Boy

by Alyssa Hollingsworth

  Wonder gives a few worried barks. Good. That will draw attention.

  “I’m stuck and I can’t get down!” I wail in my most desperate voice. “I might just fall!”

  The neighborhood, however, gives no response. Everything is quiet. Abandoned.

  Blowing a strand of hair out of my face, I try to shift my aching hands. But when I settle them into a new spot, something buzzes against my palm.

  Bee!

  I jerk without thinking, lose my hold entirely, and plummet with a scream. I claw air for a second, then my arm smacks into one of the lower branches. I cling to it, legs waving over emptiness.

  Wonder yowls, frantic, and I can’t think over the sound of her barks and the humming in my head. The wood creaks. The branch bends under my weight. Oh no. It holds for a breath, and I don’t dare blink.

  Then it snaps.

  I fall. Before my life can flash before my eyes or I can get air to scream again, I hit the ground with a heavy thud.

  Except. I’m not on hot asphalt.

  “Ouch,” groans a voice below me.

  I landed on someone.

  I’m sitting on someone’s chest.

  The Invisible Boy, wearing the red hoodie and fully visible, rubs his face as he winces up at me.

  I can’t help it. I let out a loud whoop and fist-pump the sky. “I found you!”

  “Can you—um—move?” he asks hoarsely. “I can’t exactly—”

  “Oh yes, sure! Right!” I scramble to stand up, beaming at him. To my yappy dog, I murmur, “Shush.”

  The boy pushes himself up carefully. He looks pretty much the same as I remember—his skin a shade lighter than mine, his hair somewhere between brown and black. It’s straight and hacked, like it was cut with kiddie scissors. His jeans are faded and raggedy at the hem and around the knees. He’s barefoot. I’d guess he’s a year or two older than me. Maybe fourteen.

  “Oh my gosh,” I gasp. “It worked. I can’t believe it worked!”

  The Invisible Boy frowns at me, but then in one quick movement he rolls over, gets his feet beneath him, and bolts.

  “No!” I shriek, tackling his legs and sending him sprawling before he can vanish. “You’re not going anywhere until I get answers!”

  He wiggles around so he can face me. His dark eyes could shoot laser beams if he had heat vision, so I guess it’s a good thing he apparently doesn’t.

  “No way are you just disappearing again,” I declare, keeping ahold of his ankles. “I want an interview!”

  “A—what?” He looks from me to Wonder, who’s still barking her head off.

  “Where do you live?” I ask. Like an ace reporter, I launch my questions rapid-fire. “What’s your name? Why weren’t you there when Paddle Boy almost got run over? Where did you come from? Mars? Krypton?” I narrow my eyes. “Texas?”

  “Can you let me go?” he says. He tries to kick me off. “I need to get back inside.”

  “Why? What’s inside? What are you working on?”

  The Invisible Boy struggles, trying to yank his legs free. “Who are you?”

  “A journalist.” I grin. “And I want the exclusive on whatever scoop you’re dishing.”

  “What does that—?” The boy’s eyes dart toward Wonder Dog—still barking—and the other houses. “Can you—?”

  “Look, I’ll sweeten the deal. I won’t tell anyone where you live. You live in that house right there, yeah? The white one?”

  He just stares at me without answering. I press on.

  “I’ll interview you there, so you don’t even have to leave. I won’t get in your way. I just want to see what you do. But you have to promise not to disappear on me again!”

  I hold my breath while he thinks. He could just turn invisible right now, right in front of me, and—disintegrate into the air. I won’t be able to find him if he hides. He could drop off my radar; it wouldn’t be hard.

  “Monday,” he says suddenly. “One thirty.”

  That would leave me hanging—metaphorically—for two whole days. “Can’t I come sooner?”

  “No. Not on weekends. Monday, or nothing.”

  “Fine. I’ll be there.” I lift my hands off his ankles.

  Immediately, he springs to his feet and takes off toward the whitewashed house. At the last moment, he veers for the gate to the backyard.

  I call after him, “Hey!”

  The Invisible Boy skids to a stop and looks back.

  I lift my hand in a wave. “Thanks for saving my life!”

  He blinks. A smile appears—a wide, sudden smile. Then he ducks through the gate.

  * * *

  Monday. 1:25. Wonder Dog and I—having narrowly survived a weekend of suspense—approach the gate. I have a sense he’s not going to open the front door, and I saw him run in here last time, so it seems likely that he might be waiting in the backyard.

  In front of the fence, I take a deep breath and savor the moment. A few small steps for girl and dog, one giant leap for reporting-kind. Today, I’m getting a real interview with a real superhero.

  I pull my Lois Lane press pass from under my shirt and fix it across my chest. Straightening my shoulders, I lift my hand to knock.

  Before my hand falls, the Invisible Boy pulls open the gate, looking at me like I’ve broken the law. “You’re early.”

  “Hi!” I grin. “How are you today?”

  “Shh.” He glances over my shoulder at Mrs. B’s empty yard. Reluctantly, he makes room for me to pass through the gate, closing it swiftly behind me. “Keep your voice down.”

  Wonder Dog pulls the leash and has a sniff at the Invisible Boy’s bare feet. He holds still for a moment, then offers her his hand. She gives it a sniff and nuzzles her face against his fingers.

  “She likes you,” I point out.

  A smile pulls at his mouth, but he seems to swallow it down. “What’s her name?”

  “Wonder Dog. Can I let her off the leash? Your fence goes all the way around, right?”

  He hesitates. “Will she dig?”

  I huff. “She is a civilized dog. She will not dig.”

  He nods slowly. I unhook her leash and Wonder goes off sniffing. For the first time, I really examine the yard. At night, it looked pretty. But it’s a thousand times more beautiful in the daylight. It’s like the centerfold in my grandma’s Home & Garden magazine. Flowers spring up in well-ordered bunches, little mulch paths meander into a maze of color, the firepit is spotlessly clean and surrounded by matching outdoor chairs, arranged in the perfect reading spots.

  “Uh, so there is one rule if you’re going to talk to me,” the Invisible Boy says, shifting on his feet. “You have to promise to tell no one about me. Or this. Or anything.”

  I already promised not to tell anyone where he lived, but this sounds like standard superhero protocol. I nod. I can always get his approval for my article later, when he’s ready for me to take it public. “Okay. I promise.”

  “Right. Good.”

  “Oh! And”—I pull the picture of his mom out of my notepad—“here you go. I kept it safe.”

  “Thank you.” He takes the photo carefully and studies it a moment, a solemn expression in his eyes. Then he tucks it into his hoodie pocket and zips it closed. He pauses. “You said you had questions?”

  I look him up and down. Even with my bribe/gift, he’s more tense than a jack-in-the-box ready to spring. If I ask him for the real scoop right now, he’ll outright deny the truth—or try to get me to leave. I need him to trust me before I can count on him being honest.

  So I smile in my best harmless-girl way. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” I hold out my hand. “I’m Nadia Quick.”

  He pauses. Small circular scars on his arm shimmer when he shakes with me. “Eli.”

  His skin is coated in a layer of dirt. I glance behind him at some of the flower beds. “Were you gardening?”

  “Um, yes. And—I can’t talk long. I need to get a lot done today.”

  �
��I can help,” I volunteer. One way to get people comfortable around you is to share their interests. Every good reporter knows that. “I do gardening sometimes with my grandparents.”

  He hesitates again. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s just a timid preteen boy who doesn’t do anything without heaps of anxiety. But of course, that is the perfect alternate identity for a superhero. It’s almost the same as Clark Kent’s act. No one would suspect this boy is capable of jumping into a rushing river or catching someone midair.

  “I—suppose you can help.” He walks toward one of the mulch paths. A pile of smooth stones sits at the edge of the patio. “I was finishing off the trail edging,” he explains. “Some weeds have grown up around the rocks, so I had to pull them and … yeah. I’m just putting these back now.”

  I pick up one of the rocks, prepared to get an armful, but they’re heavier than I expected. The Invisible Boy—Eli—casually loads at least six into his arms. Super strength might need to be added to his list of powers. I manage to add another rock to my own haul, but there’s no way I can carry more without dropping them.

  Eli heads down the path, his bare feet making absolutely no noise on the mulch. I crunch along behind him.

  “Do you like superheroes?” I blurt.

  “I … what?” He glances at me, confused.

  “Superheroes. You know.” Wonder Dog trots on my heels, and I nudge her away a little. Even with just these two rocks, my arms are getting tired fast. “DC Comics. Marvel. Do you have a favorite superhero?”

  Eli doesn’t answer. He gets to the end of the stone-edged path and kneels, carefully putting down his pile. I add my rocks next to his, then watch while he carefully examines one, finds the apparently superior side to put faceup, and places it exactly at the edge of the mulch. I start wondering if he’s ever going to answer.

  “I like Spider-Man,” he says at last. “And Batman.”

  “They’re cool!” I exclaim, so excited that he actually replied that I forget to keep my voice down.

  He glances in the direction of Mrs. B’s house, and I quickly whisper, “Sorry.”

  “Do … you have a favorite?” he asks.

  “Superman.” I kneel opposite Eli and put the next stone down. Wonder Dog flops on her side in a circle of sunlight, apparently ready for a nap. “Superman is the best, in my opinion.”

  “Isn’t he kind of … boring?” Eli takes the stone I just placed and nudges it a little closer to the mulch, adjusting its angle so it makes a clean link to the one before it. “He’s practically invincible.”

  I shake my head. “No, it isn’t about how he has all these amazing powers—though that’s really neat. What’s great about Superman is that he’s got all of that, but he has to hide it. He has to be a normal person when really he’s a billion times stronger and faster and more incredible than regular people. It’s not about how Superman can level a city without even trying, it’s about how he has to try not to.”

  I stop to catch my breath. Eli is watching me—well, watching in a general-direction sort of way. Not actually looking me in the face. This is when most kids at school—or anonymous commenters—would tell me I’m weird or wrong or something. But Eli’s listening. Excitement makes my pulse race.

  “And that’s what is so freakin’ cool about him and Lois Lane,” I gush. “Lois Lane is an ace reporter, but she’s also just a plain old human being. And whatever people say, she is crazy smart.”

  “I thought she never realized Superman was Clark Kent because of his glasses.” Eli makes circles with his fingers and holds them over his eyes. “How would anyone be fooled by that?”

  I shoot him my most serious glare. “Okay, mister. If your teacher looked exactly like the president of the United States, would you assume it actually was the president? And just, like, hanging around your school for the fun of it? Or would you think they’re two different people?”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s right.” I nod, pleased. “You have to remember, Superman’s been around since like the 1940s—tons of different people have written his comics. Sometimes they make the characters act really dumb. But there are so many good stories, too! I could bring my favorites to show you. I’ll have you converted in no time. Anyway—” Time to start circling to my real questions. I put another rock down, which Eli almost immediately repositions. “What’s your favorite superpower?”

  “Flying,” he says, almost immediately.

  Not what I expected. I’m almost disappointed.

  But clearly I’ve just asked the wrong question. I asked for favorite, not actual. Maybe flying isn’t one of his actual superpowers, and he’d like to have that one. Doesn’t mean he can’t turn invisible.

  “I’d like to stop time,” I tell him, “so I can always record my observations.” I glance over at Wonder Dog, sprawled out in her sunshine spot. “I think Wonder would like super speed so she can catch human food before it even touches the ground.” He doesn’t say anything to that, still busy with the rocks. I’ve given up on helping, because every time I put one down, he fixes it. “Okay, so, what would your name be?”

  “Huh?” He glances toward me.

  “Your superhero name.” I pause, letting him mull it over. “Perhaps … the Invisible Boy?”

  He frowns. “I … suppose. Why would a flying superhero be called that?”

  “Because if you’re going to fly around this area, you definitely need to have some camouflage.” I grin at him. “I think when I stop time, it looks like I flash from one place to the next—just, BAM, I’m somewhere else. So, I’ll be Lightning Lane.”

  “Lane—like the reporter?” he asks.

  I nod. “Right—like, a superhero but still in the Lane family. Like the superhero sister. Who’s also a reporter.”

  “Oh.” He doesn’t look any less confused, but he pushes himself to his feet and brushes dirt off his knees. “I need to get more stones.”

  “Aye, aye.” I hop up and follow him. “How many can you carry at once?”

  He frowns, thinking. Most boys I know (cough Paddle Boy cough) would say something dumb and exaggerated just to seem extra cool, but Eli takes the question seriously. “I did ten once,” he says slowly. “But the hardest part is keeping them all balanced while I hold them. If someone else helped, I could probably do more.”

  “Want me to stack them on you and see?” I ask, curious myself. For scientific research.

  “Sure.” His eyes brighten. When we get to the pile, he cradles his arms in front of him. One by one, I place the rocks, being extra careful to ensure each one is secure.

  “Tell me when it gets too heavy,” I remind him, once we’ve passed eleven stones. He’s so wiry and skinny; I’m more impressed than ever that he doesn’t just buckle under this weight.

  Eli doesn’t speak for another three stones. Then he nods and tucks his chin over the highest one to hold it. “I think that’s enough.”

  “Okay.” I grab just one for myself. “I’m right here if you need me to take some.”

  Stoically, Eli turns and makes his way down the path again. I watch, but he seems totally fine—he doesn’t even wobble when he sets them down in our new spot. Maybe this isn’t a case of a superstrength superhero (who, I imagine, would take on more like fifty stones), but it is still supercool.

  “That’s awesome,” I blurt. “How did you get so good at this?”

  He shrugs. “Practice?”

  I make a mental note to add to my record later, and move on to my next question. After the incident with Paddle Boy in the parking lot, I want to find a way to be sure Eli will come save the day if he’s needed. “So, if you were Batman, what would you use instead of a Bat-Signal? Like, how would someone let you know they needed help?”

  Eli leans back on his heels. “Would it need to be a symbol in the sky?”

  I shake my head. “Not necessarily. Just something you’d be able to notice from a distance.”

  While Eli is thinking, his stomach lets
loose a huge rumble. Like, I can hear it standing next to him. I feel my cheeks get hot, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. I wonder how long he’s been working out here.

  “Maybe we should take a break?” I suggest. “For, like, a snack or something?”

  “No, I need to finish this up.” Eli presses a hand to his middle, then leans forward to continue placing rocks. “If I was a superhero, I would use a mourning-dove call.”

  “A what?”

  He searches the treetops around us and points to a pigeon-like bird with pretty brown feathers. “That’s a mourning dove. They have a really distinct song.” He cups his hands around his mouth and makes a funny birdlike sound, sort of like, Woo WOO ooo ooo ooo. The bird in the tree swivels its head, cocking it one way and then the other in confusion.

  I giggle and try to mimic the call. “Woo OOO ooo woo.”

  The bird flies away. Eli grins—that nice grin that just appears all of a sudden. “Softer than that.” He demonstrates again.

  I plant my hands on my hips. “That sounds exactly like what I just did!”

  “Yours sounds more like a person,” he says. “Mourning doves do it really gently. Sort of floating.”

  I smile. “You’re going to have to come up with an easier signal if you want anyone to get ahold of you. And anyway—if it sounds just like a bird, how will you know whether it’s that dove or a person needing help?”

  “I’d use my super hearing to tell the difference,” he says offhandedly, working on the next stone.

  “Do you have that?” I ask, a bit too eagerly.

  Eli frowns and then lifts his eyebrows. “Um. No.”

  “Just wondering.” I shrug and study the trees around us like they’re the most interesting things I’ve ever seen. Before I can come up with another angle to try to get him to talk about his real secret identity, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I dig it out and a text from Mom flashes on the screen.

  The winky face means she’s sort of joking. But it has been a while. If I leave now, I can claim Wonder Dog and I just went on a longer-than-usual stroll. I promised Eli I wouldn’t tell anyone about him, and a good reporter keeps her sources confidential. So I need to act like everything’s normal.