Invisible Inkling

Hank Took My Pulp

It’s late.

I wish Inkling was here. I saved him some pumpkin pulp. When no one was looking, I managed to get a lot of it from the bucket Nadia used. I put it in a Ziploc bag and hid it under the sink in the bathroom.

He’s going to love it, though of course he prefers to eat the whole pumpkin.

But where is he?

He’s only gone out once or twice on his own.

I open the window by the fire escape so he can climb inside when he comes home.

Nadia has finally finished her pumpkins. One of them is carved to look like a skull. The orange skin is peeled off and only the white shows. Another has a silhouette of a black cat.

The third one looks like a sea urchin. She gave it a small, surprised face and then stuck candy corn into the skin from top to bottom. Spiny. The fourth is just carved like a giant eyeball, with veins threading across it.

We put them on the dining table. Mom lights candles and Dad leaps around taking pictures.

Somehow, I’m not mad at Nadia anymore, even though she’s still wearing my hoodie. The pumpkins she’s carved are just so, so good. I can’t be angry.

But then she turns to Dad and says, “Hank took my pulp and hid it in the bathroom.”

Just like that, I’m mad again. “So what?” I say. “You weren’t using it.”

“I told you you couldn’t have these pumpkins,” says Nadia.

“And then you took my pulp.”

“It’s just pulp!”

“I’d have given it to you if you’d asked,” Nadia says. “The point is you were being all secretive and it was only this morning I told you not to touch my pumpkins.”

“Stop being so bossy!” I cry. “Stop acting like you don’t go in my room!”

“Oh, little dude,” Dad coaxes.

“Leave me alone!” I yell.

I’m not just mad at Nadia. (Though I am mad at Nadia.)

I’m also upset about Chin being upset.

And I don’t know why Inkling’s disappeared.

And I hate all this lying I’ve been doing.

I’m just—

I don’t know what I am.

I don’t know.

I run to my room and slam the door.