Bob Page 6

  “Sure.” Go away, I tell the stomachache.

  “She can’t wait to have some real time with you, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re going to make that cake together, remember?”

  “Yes.”

  Then Mom asks if I want a story. And of course, I do.

  “Close your eyes,” she says. “Once upon a time, there was a remarkably brave mouse named Leah.” And she tells me about a mouse princess with a baby mouse sister who cries at exactly four p.m. every day, and there’s a giant frog and a magic wishing well and a pie made out of flies and cheese. It’s the kind of story she hasn’t told me in a long time, the kind she used to tell me when I was little.

  My stomach doesn’t feel any better, but it doesn’t feel worse, either.

  “Did you make that up?” I ask when she gets to the happily ever after part.

  She kisses my forehead. “It’s my own silly version of an old fairy tale.”

  A fairy tale about a magic well?

  Mom turns out the light, kisses me again, and whispers, “See you in a few days.”

  “Mom?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re not leaving until the morning, right?”

  “Right.” She blows me one more kiss and closes the door behind her.

  * * *

  “Did you hear that story?” I whisper to Bob when she’s gone. “I wish our well were magic.”

  I feel him turn his head, and all I can see in the dark are his big wet eyes.

  “I wish I had a mother,” he says.

  I don’t know what to say. Bob is alone in the world. Totally, completely alone.

  “Bob,” I say finally. “Maybe you do have a mother. Maybe you have a whole big family!”

  But he doesn’t answer.

  CHAPTER TEN

  BOB

  “Are you ready?” Livy asks, standing by the door. She has a pink towel slung over her shoulder and a fresh bar of soap in her hand. She has decided I need a bath.

  “It’s been five years,” I point out, arms crossed. “What’s another few days?”

  She makes a big show of pinching her nose closed.

  “But what if I drown? We don’t know if I can swim.”

  “You won’t drown in the tub,” she assures me. “It’s not even halfway full because of the drought.”

  “What if I slip down the drain? Maybe when a not-zombie gets wet all over he shrinks up into nothing?”

  “I put the stopper in.”

  “Fine,” I grumble, allowing her to lead me out of the room. “But I can’t promise to use the soap.”

  “You’ll use it all right,” she says, pushing me ahead of her into the bathroom. She places the bar firmly into my hands and drapes the towel over the rim of the tub. I notice she has taken the liberty of filling the bathtub with a few inches of water. And bubbles. And is that … one of Gran’s plastic roses floating on top?

  “I thought your first bath in five years should be special,” she says.

  I roll my eyes but pull off the red sweatshirt and fold it carefully on the counter. I step cautiously over to the tub. I wouldn’t want to slip on a puddle and knock myself out.

  “You’re going to wear your tutu in the bathtub?”

  I look down, half surprised to still be wearing it. I shrug. “I’ve grown accustomed to it.” I dip one toe in the bubbly water. “It’s warm!”

  “What did you expect? It’s a bath.”

  I had expected it to be cold, but I don’t know why. I dip my toe again, then extend my foot out to Livy. “Does my toe look smaller to you?”

  Livy groans. “Your toe does not look smaller. You are not shrinking.”

  It’s true. I seem to be my same size.

  “I’ll be right outside, reading.” She waves the book with the half knight, half person on the cover. “If Gran comes up I’ll duck back in. Will you be okay alone?”

  I nod.

  “Don’t forget to wash under your arms and behind your ears.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “With soap!” she says before shutting the door behind her.

  I double-check that the stopper is in place, then put my whole foot in the tub. Then the other. It feels … inviting. I slowly lower myself the rest of the way in, feeling the water cover my legs, then my belly, then my neck and arms. I lean back and feel myself relax.

  “Ahhh, that feels nice.” It does. It really does feel nice. But it’s more than nice. It feels like … like home. Livy must have known the bath wasn’t just about getting clean. She wanted to take both our minds off of last night. She doesn’t know it, but her mother crept into our room early this morning and kissed her good-bye. I stood right in front of her mom and waved. It was dark in the room, but not that dark. She didn’t see me at all.

  I close my eyes to think. If Livy’s mom doesn’t see me at all, and a kid like Danny, who doesn’t know me like Livy knows me, sees a chicken, then maybe age is another clue to my magic.

  Baths are very good at helping one think.

  I had lots of time to think in the closet, of course. I was alone, but I wasn’t alone at the same time. I made a home for myself inside my head and I decorated it with all the things I learned and thought about and made with my Legos. I got in touch with my inner Bobness.

  I know Livy feels awful about leaving me in there all those years, but after that admittedly rocky adjustment period, and once I taught myself to read, it was actually kind of awesome. My eyes pop open. I let her feel guilty when it wasn’t even her fault. I never told her any of the good stuff!

  I quickly scrub the places she told me to—and a few she left out. The bathwater is brown with dirt. Guess I did need a bath after all!

  I climb out of the tub just as the doorbell rings. I stay quiet, clutching my towel and dripping water onto the rug. Livy was right, I should have taken off the tutu.

  “Sarah!” Gran Nicholas says a few seconds later. “How lovely to see you! Come in, come in.” I hear Livy stand up from her post outside the bathroom door and join Gran downstairs. Now Gran says, “Why don’t you and Sarah catch up in your room for a while? You two used to giggle for hours.”

  Ugh. I need to talk to Livy RIGHT NOW and also I need to move my knight to f3 on my next turn instead of sacrificing my bishop as I was going to do. Baths are also good for chess strategizing.

  “I actually only came by for my hoodie,” Sarah says quickly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything. It’s just always cold at the restaurant.”

  Okay, I may not know a ton about human nature, but it sounds like the sweatshirt is just an excuse to see Livy.

  “Don’t be silly,” Gran Nicholas says. “We’re happy to have you, aren’t we, Livy?”

  “Sure,” Livy says. “Your sweatshirt is upstairs. I’ll go get it.”

  But Gran insists there’s plenty of time before lunch and they should go up to play.

  Super fast like the Flash, I grab the sweatshirt from the counter, run to the bedroom, throw the sweatshirt on the bed, run into my closet, and close the door.

  The girls come into the room. Livy is talking REALLY LOUDLY to warn me she’s not alone, but she forgets I have super hearing. Or maybe I never told her.

  While they get settled I struggle to put on the chicken suit, which has shrunk at least two sizes. I pull on the neck to try to stretch it out, but it doesn’t help much.

  “You still have Rufus!” Sarah exclaims.

  I put my eye up to the crack in the doorframe. She is taller than Livy, with yellow hair, and she is hugging Rufus. My Rufus. Well, not mine exactly, but more mine than this girl’s.

  I recognize her even though she got a lot bigger. After Old Livy left, this girl used to come up to read the books on the bookshelf a few times. She even took one once. I saw her tuck it under her jacket. She stops by to see Gran now and again with her family, but for the past few years she’s only been a voice downstairs. And now she’s here at a really bad time and I wish she’d
leave.

  “You know Rufus?” Livy asks her.

  Sarah nods.

  Gran Nicholas comes in with a tray of cookies and sets it down on the dresser. “Are you two getting reacquainted?”

  The girls don’t answer. I don’t think they know what reacquainted means. I do, though, because the Rs had a lot of good words. It means getting to know each other again. I’ve had a lot of personal experience with that lately.

  “I also brought you this.” Gran Nicholas hands Livy something small and rectangular, but I can’t tell what it is.

  “Your tape recorder?” Livy asks.

  “Don’t be so surprised. You girls used to record yourselves singing into it.”

  Livy reddens. “I have such a bad voice.”

  “That’s not what I remember,” Gran says.

  Sarah takes the tape recorder and presses a button. A few seconds later the unmistakable sound of two five-year-old girls singing a pop song fills the air. Even though I’m annoyed at having to wait like this, I can’t help but smile. They sound so happy and carefree. Livy sounds like the old Livy. The one who didn’t care if her singing voice wasn’t the best in the world.

  “That’s embarrassing,” Livy says, reaching over and switching it off.

  “Totally,” Sarah says.

  “I think it’s lovely,” Gran says, leaving the room. “You two have fun.”

  Livy grabs a cookie. “Sorry about taking your sweatshirt home.”

  “That’s okay,” Sarah says. I hear the bed squeak as she sits down. “I didn’t really come here for the hoodie.”

  I knew it!

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  LIVY

  “You didn’t?” I ask Sarah.

  She shakes her head. “I wanted to see you. And I kind of wanted to see if you still had Violet and Abigail.”

  “Who?”

  Sarah points to the other side of the bed, where there are two dolls sitting up on the bedside table. I haven’t even really looked at them before.

  “I think those are my mom’s old dolls,” I say. And I get this pang. My brain still hasn’t forgotten about trying to sleep here without Mom in the house tonight.

  Sarah nods. “You were Violet. I was Abigail.”

  “Really? Did we play with dolls last time? That’s hilarious.”

  “Why hilarious?”

  “Oh, not hilarious—I just mean, you know: I haven’t touched a doll in like three years.”

  “I like dolls,” Sarah says. “Sometimes.”

  “Really? But you’re—”

  “I’m what?”

  “Um, you just seem kind of grown-up. You sort of have a job, even.”

  “Not ‘sort of.’ I do have a job,” Sarah says. “Every Friday night and every Sunday afternoon, at Mom’s restaurant. It’s fun when I’m in the mood. Which is definitely not every Friday night and Sunday afternoon.”

  “So—they make you?”

  “It’s not like that. We all help out. You know, do what we can. Even Danny does stuff to help.”

  “What can he do? He’s only seven, right?”

  “He’s pretty good at setting the tables before the restaurant opens—he knows where everything goes.” Sarah glances at Mom’s dolls again and says, “Confession. I come over here sometimes.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugs. “To talk to your gran. To look at your mom’s books.” She smiles. “And to get away from Danny. I know you always wanted to be a big sister, but trust me, it can be annoying.”

  I always wanted to be a big sister?

  “And now you are one, which is cool. I know your baby sister can’t do much yet. But soon she’ll follow you everywhere.”

  “Everywhere? Even to the bathroom?”

  Sarah nods and then makes a face. “Everywhere. So sometimes I used to come over here and pretend this was my room, and my bed, and my books.…”

  “And your dolls?”

  She looks at them again.

  “Have you ever played truth or dare?” I ask her.

  She shakes her head.

  “I’ll teach you.”

  Truth or dare is simple: You either do the dare or you have to answer one question, and you have to answer it honestly. I start off easy, daring Sarah to go down to the kitchen and bring something back without saying one word to Gran, even if she’s standing right there.

  Sarah nods and marches off. As soon as she’s gone, I run to the closet to check on Bob.

  “When is she leaving?” Bob asks. “I have something to tell you.”

  “Soon,” I say. He’s wearing what’s left of the chicken suit. It’s tight.

  He huffs a little. “How soon?”

  “Do you know her?” I ask. “She says she hung out in here sometimes.”

  He nods. “Sometimes she came and looked at the dolls. Once she almost opened the closet! I hope you’re not thinking of playing chess with her, because I have a really good move. That’s our game. Oh great, here she comes!” He pulls the closet door closed one second before Sarah walks in holding an egg.

  “My turn!” she says.

  I casually turn my back to the closet as if there isn’t a jealous green mysterious creature inside. “Okay. I pick … dare.”

  “And you have to do whatever I dare you to do? Or answer one question with the absolute truth? Is that right?”

  I tell her yes, that’s exactly right.

  And then Sarah dares me to drink a raw egg.

  “Are you sure that you haven’t played this game before?” I ask suspiciously. “You seem very good at it.” Because this is exactly the kind of dare I would come up with if I really wanted to make someone choose truth.

  “I’m a fast learner,” she says, holding up the egg. “So are you going to drink it? I could get you a cup.”

  I shake my head. “I’ll take truth.”

  Sarah smiles, throwing herself onto the middle of the bed. She leans over to grab Abigail and Violet, and then gets up on her knees, holding up one doll in each hand. “Here’s my question: Do you really not like playing with dolls anymore? Or do you just think you’re too cool to play with dolls?”

  She kind of sticks her hip out when she says cool, but she’s still smiling, and suddenly I like Sarah. I walk over and say, “Which one is Violet again?”

  She waggles the one wearing the blue dress. I take it from her and push Violet’s black yarn hair out of her cloth face. Her dress is nice, actually. It’s got puff sleeves and a shiny purple sash. “Okay, fine,” I say. “Dolls are sort of fun.”

  “I knew it!” Sarah hugs Abigail to her chest and says, “Let’s forget truth or dare. Let’s have a dance party with Abigail and Violet!” She hops off the bed and presses play on the tape recorder, which is still lying on the floor, and our screechy five-year-old voices start spilling out of it again.

  She grabs Abigail’s hands and starts dancing her around at the foot of the bed, looking totally ridiculous. So I hold Violet’s tiny little hands and start doing the tango. It’s this crazy old dance my dad showed me once. When the horrible singing finally stops, we fall down on the rug, breathing hard. It’s kind of great. I wonder if Sarah might be the kind of friend I can talk to. At home, some of my friends are like that. But not all of them. I thought Maya was like that, until she told Audrey how my dad had to come and pick me up because I was too scared to sleep over.

  There’s a clicking sound from the tape recorder, which I guess we left running. And then I hear my voice, alone, saying:

  “This is a story for when you’re lonely, Bob. It’s called, um … ‘The Cow and the Pig.’ One day a dog named Tucker was walking down the road…”

  I slam my hand down on top of it, hitting all the buttons at once. My voice stops.

  “That was so cute!” Sarah says. “A story about a dog called ‘The Cow and the Pig’!”

  “Yeah, ha!” I say. “Funny.”

  “Who’s Bob?” she asks, sticking a cookie in her mouth. “You asked about him before. There
’s no Bob around here.”

  When I can’t think of what to say, she says, “Maybe Bob was your invisible friend.”

  “I … had an invisible friend?”

  She flops back on the rug and says, “Sure, we both did. Mine was called Philippa.”

  I hear a little noise from inside the closet behind me and quickly move my foot so it might seem like I just kicked the door by accident.

  “You remember a lot about when I was here before,” I tell Sarah.

  “Well, we don’t get a lot of visitors. Hey, speaking of your invisible friend, have you dug up your time capsule yet?”

  “My what?”

  “Your time capsule! That’s what you called it. You said you were going to bury it before you went back home.”

  This feels important. “Do you happen to remember where I buried it?”

  She smiles. “Sorry. I can’t remember things I never knew. You said it was for your invisible friend. Maybe you should ask him.”

  And then she laughs.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  BOB

  Livy laughs, too, but only for a second. Then she asks, all casual-like, “Is Philippa still around?”

  My little green heart is beating so fast (at least I think my heart is green). AM I AN INVISIBLE FRIEND? Is that what I am? No superpowers or magic? Is that why Livy’s mom couldn’t see me? And perhaps most importantly, IS THERE SOMEONE ELSE LIKE ME? I hold my breath until Sarah answers.

  “Not anymore, of course.”

  Instead of being disappointed, my heart quickens even more. Does that mean Sarah’s invisible friend found her way home? Maybe Sarah knows how to get ME home, too. Ask her, I want to shout to Livy. Ask her how she got Philippa home.

  “Oh,” Livy says quickly. “I mean, duh, of course.” She grabs a cookie from the plate. I can tell she’s not going to let this drop. Still making it sound like no big deal, she asks, “So, what kinds of things did you guys do together? Philippa, I mean.”

  Sarah reaches for another cookie, too. At the rate they are chomping through these cookies the hope of any being left over for me is shrinking. I am amazed that I can still think of snacks at an important moment like this, but there you have it.