Isabel the Invisible

by Christine Bush

  You don't know how frustrating it is to look at a math test and have absolutely no clue as to where to start. I mean, if you could show the work, you'd have the right answer, right? But for today, the work was being shown! I knew how to do this. I felt so proud. I whipped through the ten problems, carefully writing the answers on the answer column on the side of the page.

  I even went over my work. This is also a hard thing to do when you have trouble with a test. I mean, how can you go over work that you didn't even do? I'd love to meet the maniac who invented math tests. But I settled for being happy that I actually had work to go over, for once. I could also tell that all the answers were right. It was an incredible feeling.

  I felt good until I looked up toward the front of the room, and saw shy Elizabeth. She had that look on her face. I recognized that look. It was the "No work, no answer, I must be an idiot look". Elizabeth had a lot of trouble with math. She was new this year, too. The school she had come from had been behind this school in math, so she had a lot to learn to catch up.

  Now catching up is one problem, but Elizabeth had a worse problem. It was Brenda the Brainiac. Brenda sat right behind Elizabeth, and she seemed to make it her sacred duty to point out to everyone "Elizabeth's deficiency" in math.

  Mind you, Elizabeth wasn't the only one that Brenda tortured. She also had George, Mary, and Carl on her list. She probably would have had me, too, except I sit all the way across the room, and I avoid Brenda like the plague. I mean, I really stay out of her way. Like I have said before, I don't like mean people.

  I was done, so I handed my test in. Mrs. Perkins looked it over and smiled. "This looks wonderful, Isabel. You have been working hard." I smiled back, wondering if my wonderfulness would get me out of the classroom.

  "May I go to the girls' room, Mrs. Perkins?" She handed me the hall pass.

  "Certainly, Isabel." I have found that teacher's are prone to being agreeable when you do smart things.

  I slipped out into the hall, feeling like I had escaped jail. The girls room was boring, so I didn't stay long. I couldn't get poor Elizabeth's face out of my mind. Here I was, gloating over my right answers, and Elizabeth was going to have to deal with Brenda's nasty grade evaluation when the tests came back. I sure wished there was a way I could help her.

  I put my hand in my pocket, which was becoming a kind of good luck habit, and felt the bottle. Instantly, I got a brilliant idea. I was going to make Elizabeth's day.

  Three drops on each wrist, and I was visible history again. I tore down the hallway and back into the classroom. No one could see me. I slipped up the aisle, and looked over Elizabeth's shoulder. I swallowed hard. She had 4 wrong, which would give her a 60%. Brenda would make hamburger out of her.

  On one problem, she had the right answer, with only one little, but tragic error. She had forgotten the decimal point. Now this was a mistake that practically warranted death, according to Mrs. Perkins. I couldn't help myself. I took my pencil out of my pocket, and stuck in a little dot. One little dot could make a great difference. Instant 70% - passing grade. I vowed that I'd volunteer to help Elizabeth with her homework for a week, just to ease my conscience.

  I was going to quickly leave the room, back to the safety of the girls' room, before the potion wore off, but something held me. I looked at the desk behind Elizabeth. Brenda had that cat-that-ate- the-mouse-look. Why was she always so proud of herself? It made me crazy.

  I didn't really think things through, being under time pressure and all. I mean, three minutes is three minutes, and it doesn't leave much time for debate. I stopped at Brenda's desk. My pencil flew again.

  I stuck in one extra decimal point. Then I changed a few numbers in the answer column. A "1" became a "4". A "3" became an "8". It was easy. And effective. Instant 70%. Brenda would have a fit.

  Now time was extremely short. I sprinted for the doorway, and out in the hall, just as the tingling started. I didn't even make it to the girls' room. I turned visible in the hall, grateful that no one else was around. Close call.

  I returned to the class, handed in the hall pass, and listened to Mrs. Perkins as she collected the rest of the math tests. She said she would hand them back after lunch. Brenda looked pleased as punch, and Elizabeth looked miserable. I smiled. We'll see who looks miserable later! The bell rang.

  At lunch, Elizabeth said hello, so I asked if I could sit next to her, and she said yes. It really felt good to sit with someone at lunch. Usually I sat by myself, eating peanut butter, and pretending that I liked to be alone. Which is not true, but it's a way of saving face. But today I was with Elizabeth.

  "That math test was horrible," she complained, her face screwed up in a grimace. "I think I failed."

  "I have a feeling you passed," I said confidently. "Maybe you just have a problem with decimal points. Want me to help you sometime? I've been doing lots of work, and I think I'm getting the hang of it."

  "That would be awesome, " she said through her peanut butter sandwich. We each had two cupcakes in our lunch packs. We traded one. I felt almost dizzy with happiness. I had a friend.

  On the one hand I wished that lunch would go on forever. On the other hand, I couldn't wait to get the math tests back. Of course, lunch ended, because that's how time works. But I enjoyed every minute of it.

  Mrs. Perkins had a frown on her face as she handed out the tests. She would walk around the room, putting them face down on each desk. She said our grades were "private". Of course, that was a joke, because Brenda was usually like a loudspeaker, announcing her grade, and comparing it (favorably, of course) to everyone around her. Today, the loudspeaker was quiet.

  "I don't know what you were thinking about, perhaps you didn't go over your work," said Mrs. Perkins as she put the test on Brenda's desk. Brenda had turned very pale. After a minute, she started turning her head every which way, trying to see everyone else's test. George had an 80%. Elizabeth had a 70% (surprise, surprise). Brenda didn't like what she saw.

  "It's ok, Brenda," said Elizabeth kindly. "At least we passed."

  "That may be a miracle for you, Elizabeth, but it's hardly something for me to brag about."

  Elizabeth looked crushed. I should have changed two more numbers on Brenda's paper. A 50% would look good on her, right about now.

  "Isabel," Mrs. Perkins said, as she returned my paper. "You got a 100%. It's so wonderful to see you working up to your potential. I'm going to put you on the tutor list this week. You may tutor Elizabeth - and Brenda."

  Elizabeth smiled, and Brenda glowered. Now this was going to be interesting.

  "Sure, Mrs. Perkins. I'd love to tutor."

  "Gee, Brenda," piped up George. "I got an 80% and you got a 70%. According to my calculations, that's 10% higher!"

  "Stuff it, moron," said a very pale Brenda.

  "Now Brenda, be nice. We don't call each other names in the classroom. George, it isn't kind to make fun of people's grades. I'm sure you feel bad when Brenda does that to you."

  Do people learn their lesson? I wasn't sure if Brenda would be able to control her bragging after this, but I could tell she was thinking at least.

  I kept busy the rest of the day dreaming up my first tutoring session. Plus, I could name the planets in order, perfectly. Gram would have been proud.

  Chapter 9

  That night, my mom and I started painting my room. I guess that once I was agreeable, Mom didn't want to give me a chance to change my mind.

  We moved all the furniture to the center of the room, and then covered it with a big grey tarp. It looked really neat, as if a giant, scraggly mountain had suddenly grown in the middle of our house. When I said this to Mom, she said that Gram always said I had a vivid imagination.

  Mom thought it looked like a pile of furniture with a tarp over it. Mom's a realist. I love her anyway, though I think she'd have more fun if she exercised her imagination a little. Mom said she'd like to imagine me having a clean room. Mom also thinks she's a comedian.

  S
o the wall paper with the little blue bells was disappearing quickly, drowned in a sea of yellow. The yellow made the room look really bright, even by lamplight. I told her I was going to love it, and she looked really happy.

  We got finished everything but a bit of the woodwork, which Mom said could wait. I thought I had done a pretty good job, and to the best of my knowledge, had only gotten a little bit of paint in my hair. Mom helped me to get it out.

  I slept in the guest room, since the paint smell was so strong in my room. I felt like a guest (though no one brought me breakfast in bed or anything.)

  The next morning, I was actually looking forward to going to school again, which made the third day in a row. This was definitely a world record for Isabel Robbins.

  I had a friend, a yellow room, and a job as a tutor. Life was pretty good, in my opinion.

  The school day began about the same as usual. There was a lot of work to do, but I was doing it. Since my grades were improving, the work didn't seem to be such a pain. I loved getting those good grades.

  When we arrive at school, we put our coats (when it's cold) and lunches in the closet. The coats go on hooks, and the lunches go on the shelf. Most kids bring brown bags, writing their names on in crayon or pencil. Mary brings a bright pink lunch bag. The only other exception is Milton. Milton brings a big black lunch can. It reminds me a bit of a barn, with a big rounded roof. Of course, I have never seen a black barn, but I think you get the idea. "Milton Martin" is written on the side of the can in square white letters.

  Now if anyone else in the world were to bring a lunch can like that to school, there would be no end to the conversation. Claire, who was the absolute classroom authority on coolness, would have berated the person for carrying such an "uncool" lunch box, and her army of friends would have joined in. Personally, I don't think it matters a bit what people bring their lunch in, but Claire is into things like that.

  She wouldn't dare to criticize Milton, though. She wouldn't say one single word to Milton. For one thing, he loved his lunch. For another thing, he loved everybody else lunch, too. So everyone wanted to keep out of his way.

  If the teacher left the room in the morning, you would see Milton sneaking around in the back closet, like he was on a twinkie raid. He would go through people's lunches and take what he thought looked good. He was like a human garbage disposal in that department. He could eat more than you would think was humanly possible. And he didn’t spend any time worrying about the healthy food pyramid or anything like that.

  No one stopped him. This puzzled me at first, when I was new in September. But these kids were used to him, since most of them had been together for years. You didn't want to make Milton mad. You didn't want him picking on you. After watching him in action a couple of times, I saw the wisdom of their decision, though I still didn't think it was fair.

  After all, a person's lunch was a person's lunch. He had his own, to start with. The can was jammed with two sandwiches, an apple and some goodies, like cookies or cupcakes. But that wasn't enough for Milton.

  I had mastered the art of hiding my lunch bag in the far corner of the closet. It was hidden back where it was dark, and where it would be hard for Milton to get to it without calling attention to himself. The only time he got caught was when the teacher saw him. No one was going to be labeled tattletale where Milton was concerned. He was pretty good at getting away with it.

  Today, he was getting on my nerves. Mainly, because I had seen him in the corner of the closet out of the corner of my eye, and I was pretty sure my twinkies had been snatched. I was hungry. It wasn't fair. Action was needed here.

  "May I go to the girl's room?" I said sweetly to Mrs. Perkins after my math tutoring session.

  "Certainly, Isabel. You're doing a fine job with Elizabeth and Brenda." Elizabeth looked grateful. Brenda stuck her tongue out behind Mrs. Perkin’s back.

  I rushed to the bathroom and came back invisible. The class was busy, making maps of Africa for social studies. Mrs. Perkins was talking about famine there. Little did she know, we had lunch time famine right in our own classroom.

  I slipped over to the closet and retrieved Milton's lunch pail. I took out all the stolen goodies. My twinkies were right on top. I recognized George's brownies, Mary's sandwich, Brenda's girl scout cookies. The rest in the pail belonged to Milton. I took that out, too. Into the lunchbox, I placed two chalkboard erasers, and a note that said "The ghost is on to you. Change your ways. Stealing is evil."

  Milton had gone up to talk to the teacher. I slipped over to his desk. I'm creative, but I'm not heartless. I slipped his food into his desk, where he'd find it eventually. Milton was such a food machine, he's probably pass out without it. Believe me, no one, no one, would volunteer to give him "mouth to mouth.”

  I put everyone's dessert back into their right bag, and slipped back to the girls room. I made it in plenty of time, and returned to the class to work on my map. I'm not that good at making maps. I had left out the entire country of Uganda by mistake, and had made Algiers much too big. If there were any African cartographers here, I would be in big trouble. But I carefully labeled everything else, and the map looked pretty good when you saw it...from a distance. And if you weren’t trying to find your way to Uganda.

  When it was lunch time, I sat back and waited for the roar.

  "NOOOO!" he wailed at the top of his lungs when he opened his lunch pail. Milton held up the erasers. He was so mad, he looked like smoke was going to come out of his ears. When you mess with Milton's food, you are really going to cause a reaction.

  He threw the erasers across the room. He missed Alex by an inch.

  "Milton Martin," said an angry Mrs. Perkins. "We do not yell in this classroom. We do not throw erasers. You may stay after school today for detention."

  "I can't stay after school," he wailed, as if heartbroken. "I'll be too hungry!" He sounded pathetic.

  "Here, Milton," said Mary. "You can have my brownies." She held it out.

  He looked in the can in amazement. "I thought I already did."

  "Here's a cupcake." "Here's an orange." Classmates started offering him food.

  "Gee, thanks," he said.

  He looked down again, and saw the note, and read it, his face starting to twitch. Milton Martin didn't like the idea of ghosts, though he was careful not to mention it.

  He opened his desk to put the note away. He saw his lunch had magically appeared in his desk. He was very quiet, as he handed back the donated food.

  When we went to the lunch room, he sat by himself and didn't tease anybody. When we went back into the classroom, he walked up to Mary. She flinched.

  "Thanks for offering to give me something to eat, Mary." Her eyes opened wide. No one had EVER heard Milton say thanks before.

  "You're welcome, Milton. When you NEED something, people will always share what they can. But you shouldn't ever TAKE it if you don't need it. Nobody likes that."

  Milton nodded, probably thinking of the lunch pail ghost. "I think I'll just eat my own lunch from now on."

  The whole class breathed a sigh of relief.

  Chapter 10

  Danny was getting pretty good on his bike. I would sit on the porch and cheer for him each day after school now. When Mom and I went to the store to get groceries, I used my two dollars from babysitting to buy a box of donuts and a bottle of juice. Actually, the bill had come to $2.25, but Mom had kicked in a quarter. I told her about my plan to surprise Mrs. Clancy and Danny after school, and she thought it was a great idea.

  I took my bag of goodies over to the Davis house after school, and invited Danny and Mrs. Clancy to a party. Of course, we had the party in Danny's kitchen, so I can't really say that I "invited" them to a party. They were already there. But I provided the stuff. We had a really good time, and Mrs. Clancy was very happy.

  "You didn't have to do this, Isabel," she said when I explained.

  "I know. Maybe why it feels so good. I made a choice to do it.”

&nbs
p; I felt grown up, even if we were just pigging out on donuts.

  "You're great, Isabel," Danny said. He looked really cute, with that white donut sugar all over his mouth. Personally, I'm a chocolate freak. "I wish you were my sister."

  I blushed at that one, but I didn't disagree with him.

  We talked a lot about our families. I talked about my time in the city, and my practically nonexistent father. Mrs. Clancy talked about growing up in Chicago, which was quite a distance away. She had a lot of good stories, and remembered a lot of neat things, like cars that you had to crank up to start, and what the old fashioned telephones looked like.

  There are some definite benefits to being old. I think you know a lot by the time you are Mrs. Clancy's age. I loved listening to her.

  I wished that Gram was still alive (what's new), and that she had been able to live to be as old as Mrs. Clancy. She had a lot of good stories too. I told Mrs. Clancy that, and she held my hand.

  "Isabel, life is like that. We never know how long we have someone in our lives. That's why it's important to pay attention to the people we love every day."

  She reminded me of Gram when she said that. That's exactly the kind of thing that Gram would say, so I thought about her words really hard.

  "I miss my mommy," Danny said softly. He looked really sad, but he didn't cry. "My mommy had cancer, Isabel. She died when I was three."

  I sucked in my breath, unable to talk for a minute, which is unusual for me. I was so shocked. I mean, I knew his mom didn't live here, but I had imagined that she lived someplace else. Maybe she was married to a new man, or having a wild and crazy job (like being an astronaut) where you can't take your kids.

  But dead--now that was final.

  And unavoidable. I mean, she didn't leave on purpose. It seemed impossible that someone would have left this super kid if they had a choice.