Invisible Inkling

Can’t I Be an Art Lover?

Nadia isn’t able to redo her pumpkins on Wednesday because of PSAT study group; she can’t do it Thursday, either. She has to work at Big Round Pumpkin till closing.

She and I either don’t talk to each other. Or else we yell.

Silence, yelling. Silence, yelling.

That’s how the next two days go.

Friday afternoon, I work at Big Round Pumpkin for a bit after school. I get paid—five dollars for the week.

Inkling comes by, and I let him have a waffle cone. On the way home, I buy a tiny pumpkin at the corner market and tell Dad it’s for my squash project. It costs $4.76, which doesn’t leave me enough to buy even the cheapest kind of candy.

It’s a good thing I got paid today, though, because it’s the day of the dangerous pumpkin contest. Nadia’s got two more jumbo pumpkins on the table when Dad and I walk through the door. I need that tiny, expensive pumpkin to distract Inkling. I put it on a tray in my closet for him and come back to the dining area to watch Nadia work. She’s hollowing out the second pumpkin. The first one is finished already. It’s a witch’s face, etched into the white of the peeled squash.

“These are going to be even better than the ones you did before,” I say.

Nadia turns and puts her hands on her hips. “This contest is important to me. Did you even think of that when you ruined everything? If I win, I can put it on my application to the Parsons summer art program. And on my college applications, too. Now look. I only have two entries, instead of four.”

“Sheesh!” I say. “I’m trying to be nice!”

“Here’s a hint,” Nadia says. “I don’t care what you think about my sculptures. And I don’t care what you say.”

“But—”

“I only care what you do. Like, when you smash them all, or don’t smash them.”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“That’s my point!” cries Nadia. “Don’t tell me you like them and don’t tell me you’re sorry. It’s all just words. The eyeball, that might have won, but can I make it again? No. All those veins took forever, and the contest starts at seven thirty.”

“But what am I supposed to do?” I whine. “There’s nothing for me to do to fix things!”

“Then don’t do anything.”

Dad hangs out with Nadia while I do schoolwork in my bedroom. Mom comes home and makes everybody eat something healthy. Nadia finishes her second pumpkin—a silhouette of a striped dragon with a long wavy body and a scary, beady eye.

When it’s nearly time to go to the contest, I head back to my room to put on my jacket. “Wait a minute,” says Inkling. The pages are turning on my medieval castles pop-up book, so I can tell he is on my bed. “I want to see this picture with the drawbridge that goes up and down.”

“You’re not coming,” I say.

“Am too.”

“No way. You got me in enough trouble already with the dangerous pumpkins. I can’t risk it.”

“Wolowitz! I was really hungry Tuesday night. But now? I ate that whole tiny, expensive pumpkin, plus broccoli with hot sauce, Oatie Puffs with chickpeas, and half a blueberry yogurt. I couldn’t eat a pumpkin if it rolled over and begged me to.”

“Oh, you can always eat a pumpkin.”

“On my life, I’m full. Just let me come with you!”

“You don’t like crowds. Why do you want to come if you’re not going to eat the pumpkins?”

Inkling huffs. “Can’t I be an art lover? Can’t I want to see if Nadia wins the contest?”

“Um…no.”

“Fine. I want your company, all right?”

“What?”

“Don’t make me beg, Wolowitz.”

“I’m not, I—”

“I just want to hang around with you. I’m lonely all day when you’re at school.”

Oh.

Well, if that’s how he feels, what can I say? “Fine,” I tell him, against my better judgment. “Come on, then.”