Invisible Inkling

Probably Only Small Ponies, Though

I drop Inkling and pretend to scratch my arm. “Oh, hi, Patne,” I say.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Buying radishes for my mom. What are you doing?”

“Dad and I are going swimming at the gym on Court Street.” He takes his glasses off and digs a pair of goggles from his bag. He puts them on. They make him look like a supervillain, which I like. “What I meant was, why are you yelling at the air?”

Patne and I are kind of friends.

I mean, we were. Kind of.

He went to Science Fellow camp with me and my best friend, Wainscotting, after second grade. I went to his birthday party in third grade and he went to mine. But Patne was out of town all last summer, and when school started again and Wainscotting moved away to Iowa—well. I don’t hang around with him anymore.

Why not?

I don’t know.

He goes to after-school every day, and I get picked up. Plus, his family moved to Clinton Hill and now he gets to Public School 166 on the subway instead of walking. Still, after-school and geography are not really reasons to stop being friends with a guy.

“Swimming sounds fun,” I say.

“But why were you yelling at your hand?”

“I was, ah, speaking of swimming, do you ever think there might be a giant lizard in the swimming pool, even though you know there isn’t? Like, you’re sure it’s lurking in the deep end, the part where the water is cold.”

“Not really,” says Patne.

“I always think of giant lizards,” I say. “Or maybe water snakes. The faint-banded sea snake is insanely poisonous. And the anaconda isn’t venomous but it’s very huge. It can squeeze ponies to death and eat them.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” says Patne. “But that’s cool about the ponies.”

I can’t believe he doesn’t ever think about creatures lurking in the swimming pool. I mean, I know I have an overbusy imagination, but that was something I thought everybody worried about.

At least he’s stopped asking why I yelled at my hand.

“Probably only small ponies, though,” I say. “Pygmy ponies. I—whoa!”

A jack-o’-lantern rolls across my feet. A large one.

Inkling!

I stop the pumpkin with one foot and smile up at Patne like nothing weird is happening.

“Is that your pumpkin?” he asks.

“No,” I say, loudly and meaningfully. “This is not my pumpkin. It is not a pumpkin belonging to anyone I know. This is a stranger pumpkin that just rolled off its stoop. We should put it back. It belongs to somebody who cares very much about it.”

I lug the pumpkin back to the stoop. It is really, really heavy.

There is a quiet chewing sound. Coming from inside it.

Oh no.

Inkling is eating the stranger pumpkin from inside. Should I try and talk to Patne like a normal person? Pretend like it’s not happening? Or should I save the pumpkin by taking off the cap and yanking Inkling out, which means Patne will think I am crazy?

I whack the pumpkin with my open palm. “This is someone’s special jack-o’-lantern!” I say loudly. “It’s good to respect our neighbors and their holiday decorations!”

“Hank, I still have no idea what you’re talking about,” says Patne. “I have to go to the pool now.”

“Okay!” I say, slapping the pumpkin again. “Goodbye and have a nice day!”

As soon as Patne’s gone, I yank Inkling out and tuck him under my arm like a towel. “You’re insulting my dignity,” he mutters.

“You lost that a long time ago,” I tell him.