The Invisible Girl

by Laura Ruby

  More worried for Noodle than herself, Gurl stopped struggling. “Where are you taking us?” Gurl squeaked.

  “Where do you think?” snapped Mrs Terwiliger.

  Another orphanage? The animal shelter? Jail? Gurl couldn’t imagine. Because of her fear, she tingled all over. It seemed that her body was as confused as her head and flashed an alarming array of colours and textures. One arm was striped like Mrs Terwiliger’s coat, the other arm seemed to be made of red brick. Both her legs somehow mimicked the shadows behind them, so that it appeared she had four instead of two. She kept silent until they reached the front door of the main building.

  “Open the door and be quiet about it,” Mrs Terwiliger said. “We don’t want to wake anyone else now, do we? Children need their rest.”

  Gurl clutched the brass door handle, noticing that her hand immediately turned the same bright yellow colour. Mrs Terwiliger noticed too. “That’s quite a talent. Better than flying, that talent is,” she said, not talking as much as muttering to herself as she led Gurl down a long dark hallway. At the end of it was a black door, upon which were five separate locks and the words Matron Geraldine Terwiliger in looping golden script.

  “Reach into my right pocket,” said Mrs Terwiliger, “and remove the keyring.” Gurl did as she was told, the keys making a faint jingling noise as she pulled them from Mrs Terwiliger’s jacket.

  “The silver key opens the top lock,” Mrs Terwiliger told her. “The red key opens the second, the blue key unlocks the third, the gold key opens the fourth and the tiny little key you use on the doorknob.”

  Gurl fumbled with the keys, not because it was too dark to see, but because sometimes her hand would turn the colour of the key or the key would turn the colour of her hand.

  “I’m waiting,” said Mrs Terwiliger, tapping her high-heeled shoe impatiently. Noodle mewled and Gurl’s hands shook.

  Gurl finally managed to unlock the five locks and open the door. “Now,” said Mrs Terwiliger as they stepped inside, “close the door and return the keys to my pocket. Good. Use the chain to turn on the lamp. Ahhh, that’s better, isn’t it?”

  The small lamp cast an eerie glow around the office and Gurl gasped when she saw a hundred pairs of eyes gaping at her from all around the room. “What are they?” Gurl asked. Mrs Terwiliger’s overlarge teeth flashed in a wicked smile, but she didn’t answer the question. “Have a seat,” she said, pushing Gurl into a chair next to a huge marble desk. She set the backpack on the desk and produced a set of handcuffs from her left pocket. As soon as she saw them, Gurl tried to rip her arm from Mrs Terwiliger’s grasp, but because of the bruised hip and elbow, she couldn’t move fast enough. One click and Gurl was cuffed to the chair, unable to get away. Mrs Terwiliger sighed, walked around to the other side of the desk, and sat in her own chair, a red velvet one the size and shape of a throne.

  “Well,” she said. “Here we are. At least, here I am. If I didn’t know what you were capable of, I might think I was the only one here. I saw that you were starting to…er…fade this afternoon in the hallway. I got curious, so I kept an eye on you. I saw you sneaking in and out of the dorm to bring this animal”—she gestured to the backpack on the desk—“some of your dinner. And then I watched you sneak out this evening, and I waited for you to come back. Did you know that you simply appeared out of nowhere, right in front of the orphanage gate? Astonishing! And you’re nearly invisible right now. You blend right in with that chair. You’re like a chameleon. Or a stick insect. Have you ever heard of a stick insect?”

  Gurl didn’t respond to this speech. Her eyes had adjusted to the light, so now she could see that every shelf, every filing cabinet and every surface was covered with monkeys. Hundreds of mechanical monkeys. Some of them were no bigger than a fist; others were as high as a foot. On the end of the marble desk, facing her, sat a monkey wearing a little gold fez and holding tiny gold cymbals. Gurl wondered if its fur was real, and worried all the more for the fate of Noodle.

  “A stick insect is a type of insect that appears to be a stick, yet is not a stick but an insect,” Mrs Terwiliger was saying. “Isn’t that fascinating, dear? Gurl? Are you admiring my monkeys? They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

  Beautiful was not the word that Gurl had been thinking of. Creepy, bizarre, freakish—those were the words that she had been thinking of. And now that she was thinking of it, those words sort of summed up the whole night. What was that thing that chased her down the street? And here, all these ugly monkeys, some with hats and waistcoats, some with bugles or drums, some grinning very unmonkeylike grins—no, they were not beautiful. Noodle was beautiful, but how would Gurl ever get her back? How could she get them out of here? And then, even if she could get them out of here, where would they go?

  Mrs Terwiliger reached across the desk, plucked up the fezwearing monkey and wound a key in its back. She set it down on the desk and it promptly began clapping its cymbals, its mouth opening and closing. Noodle, still in the backpack on the desk, peered out at the clanging thing with her ears flat to her head.

  The monkey kept banging away, and the sound went right up Gurl’s spine and into her brain, ringing there like a fire alarm. She wanted to shut it up somehow, to tell it something to make it quiet. A secret. She felt something inside her opening up, yearning to spill her innermost thoughts. Yes, it wanted her secrets: her secrets would make it happy. Monkeys loved to hear secrets.

  But she didn’t know any secrets. It was obvious she was as changeable as a chameleon. That was no secret, at least not to Mrs Terwiliger. And Noodle was sitting right there, peeking her head out of the backpack, so she wasn’t a secret either. Wasn’t there anything she could give to this noisy, banging monkey to shut it up? There’s the umbrella man that came out of the subway, a little voice in the back of her head whispered. You could tell that secret. Why don’t you? If you do, it will be quiet and then you can relax, maybe even take a nap…

  Noodle howled, snapping Gurl out of her reverie, and the monkey stopped clanging. Feeling slightly dazed, Gurl looked at Mrs Terwiliger. She could have sworn that the matron was disappointed, but about what she had no idea.

  The monkey seemed to have another effect on Gurl; she was visible. “Ha, there you are,” said Mrs Terwiliger. She pulled another monkey from the shelf behind her, this one with a purple waistcoat and a pair of maracas. “This monkey is one of my favourites,” said Mrs Terwiliger, her rubbery lips twisting like licorice. “They talk too, you know.”

  “They talk?” said Gurl, too startled to keep her mouth shut.

  “If you give them a penny they do. Do you have a penny? Oh, silly me! Orphans don’t have extra pennies, do they, dear? I’ll lend you one, how about that?” Mrs Terwiliger opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a penny. She tucked the penny into the purple waistcoat. Then she sat down and set the monkey in front of Gurl.

  The monkey’s eyes rolled until they focused in on Gurl. It opened its mouth and yelled: “MONKEY CHOW!”

  Gurl was so surprised that she jumped. The chair fell over backwards and she went with it.

  “Oops!” said Mrs Terwiliger, rushing out from behind the desk to help Gurl right herself. “I should have warned you that they can be a bit…er…vehement about what they have to say.” And then she added, “Although I do wish that when they talked, they would have something of substance to offer.” She glared at the monkey. The monkey shook its maracas over its head before going completely still.

  Gurl rubbed the back of her head where it had connected with the floor. The umbrella man, the talking monkey—she was having some kind of nightmare, but she was too tired to wake herself up.

  On the wall next to the desk, the only space not taken up with shelves of monkeys, there was a full-length mirror. Gurl imagined Mrs Terwiliger spent many hours twirling around in her chair, gazing at herself. “What do you want?” Gurl asked wearily.

  Mrs Terwiliger leaned her liposuctioned posterior on the desk. “What do you think! What�
��s best for you, of course. What’s best for Hope House. And I think that there’s a way for you to help me to do what’s best.”

  “There is?” said Gurl.

  “Absolutely!” said Mrs Terwiliger. “We’re going to have to start small, I think. With some shoes.”

  “Shoes?”

  Mrs Terwiliger frowned (as much as a woman who’d had weekly Botox shots to paralyse the muscles in her forehead could frown). “Gurl, I’m surprised I have to explain this to you. I am the matron of Hope House, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “And as the matron, I represent the children wherever I go, correct?”

  “Uh. I guess.”

  “So I can’t walk around looking like last season, can I? I have a certain responsibility, a certain image to maintain. For the sake of Hope House. And your sake. So I’d like you to pick me up a few things.”

  “Besides the shoes?”

  “I did see some gorgeous new scarves at Harvey’s.”

  Gurl was more dazed than ever. “You want me to go shopping?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon you’ll go to Harvey’s an hour before closing,” said Mrs Terwiliger. “Then you’ll hide in one of the changing rooms until you hear the workers lock up. Then you can turn on the stick insect act and fetch me some of those scarves. You can’t miss them. Silk scarves in the display case at the back of the store. Oh, I wouldn’t mind some new gloves. Shoes, the highest heels you can find. Size six. And a coat. Make it a fur coat. Fox, if they have it.”

  Go to Harvey’s? Hide in the dressing room? Make like a stick insect? “Wait a minute. You want me to steal for you?”

  “Steal? Who said anything about stealing? It sounds so harsh.”

  “But that’s what it is!” Gurl said. “I can’t do that! What if someone sees me?”

  Mrs Terwiliger looked at her as if she were as dumb as one of the mechanical monkeys. “You’re invisible. Who’s going to see you, silly?”

  “But it just happens!” Gurl said. “I can’t control it!”

  “Oh, you’ll learn,” said Mrs Terwiliger.

  “I don’t want to learn. I don’t want to become a thief.”

  “What does it matter what you want?” Mrs Terwiliger said sharply, then caught herself. “You’re an orphan, Gurl. I’m offering you an opportunity. You act as if I’m asking you to commit a crime!”

  “You are asking me to commit a crime,” said Gurl.

  “Just a little one. It barely even counts. It’s not like robbing a bank.”

  “I won’t do it!” said Gurl.

  “You will,” said Mrs Terwiliger. From behind her chair, she hauled out a large birdcage, which she put on top of the desk. Then she opened the clasp on the backpack, deftly scooped Noodle from the interior and tossed her into the cage.

  “Don’t hurt her!” said Gurl, skin tingling.

  “You’re invisible again. Now, see how easy that was?” said Mrs Terwiliger as she latched the cage. “I’m going to keep your pet in a safe place and you’ll do a couple of things for me. Just to prove that I can trust you again. You do want me to trust you, right? And when you’re done with your errands, a few teeny-tiny errands, then you can have the cat back. What do you say?”

  Gurl watched as Noodle pawed at the latch on the cage and meowed forlornly. “What if I don’t?” Gurl said, pulling at the handcuff that held her, even though she could no longer see the wrist that it chained. “What if I can’t?”

  “That would be terribly unfortunate,” said Mrs Terwiliger. She opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out the notice that had been tacked to the gates of Hope House. “Because then I would be forced to call the number on this notice. I’d have to return, uh, Laverna here to her rightful owner. How could I leave her in the hands of such an irresponsible, ill-behaved, untrustworthy girl? I just couldn’t. I couldn’t live with myself.” Mrs Terwiliger shrugged and stood. “The choice is really up to you,” she said. She dangled the huge birdcage over Gurl’s head and swung it like a pendulum. “But children often like to learn the hard way.”

  Chapter 7

  What Not to Wear

  SICK WITH APPREHENSION, GURL TOOK the long walk uptown to Harvey’s, wishing that she could melt into the sidewalk. She tried to see some way out of her predicament, but what? Mrs Terwiliger had hidden the cat. And even if Gurl knew where to find her, she didn’t know how to get her away or where to take her. She felt as helpless and useless as when Digger was knocking on her head.

  But, despite the sick feeling in her gut, she did as Mrs Terwiliger had told her to; Gurl entered Harvey’s an hour before closing, pretending to browse among the $100 belts and $250 ties. Her normally straight, long hair was curled in stiff but frizzy corkscrews and she was wearing clothes that Mrs Terwiliger had given her: a lacy yellow dress, a limegreen velvet jacket, tights and white vinyl boots. She also carried an overlarge vinyl tote bag. Gurl thought the outfit made her look like a reject from the Radio City Music Hall’s annual Christmas show, but Mrs Terwiliger had insisted that the hair and clothes would allow Gurl to fit in with Harvey’s wealthy clientele until she could slip into the changing room and disappear. If this is what rich people wear, Gurl thought, then I’d rather be an orphan.

  Instead of helping her blend in, however, the outfit made Gurl stick out like a frog among peacocks. Other girls her age—and Gurl couldn’t believe there were other girls her age with a need for $250 dollar ties—wore everything but yellow dresses, lime green velvet jackets, tights and vinyl boots. These girls eyed Gurl over the racks, smirking and snickering.

  Totally humiliated—and totally itchy under all that lace and nylon—Gurl meandered back to the changing rooms with the intention of hiding until closing time. But the rooms were locked. All of them. For the plan to work, she would have to act as if she really intended to buy something.

  She milled around for ten minutes before pulling several sherbet-coloured designer dresses from the racks. Finally, she walked over to a saleswoman who was stacking $1,000 cashmere sweaters on a shelf. She took a deep breath to calm herself; she had lived her whole life in an orphanage and had only rarely talked to strangers. “Um…excuse me?” she asked the woman timidly. “Can I try these on?”

  The woman—silver haired, silver eyehadowed, silver suited and thin as a greyhound—turned and gasped, dropping all the sweaters to the floor.

  “I’m sorry,” Gurl stammered, “I just wanted—”

  “Jules,” whispered the woman, staring. And then she shouted, “Jules! Get over here! Now!”

  A man with short dark hair, tiny rectangular glasses and purple leather trousers flew out from the back room. “What are you caterwauling about, Bea? Oh. My. God.” He too stared at Gurl, his jaw hanging open.

  Gurl had no idea what they were so upset about. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your work, but I need to try—”

  “Bea,” said the man, Jules, tipping his head at Gurl meaningfully. “I think she represents the Lullaby League.” His voice was deep and yet sort of raspy-squeaky, as if he had borrowed it from an old woman with a bad smoking habit. “Or maybe,” he continued, “she represents the Lollypop Guild.” Gurl thought she detected a British accent, but then again, a lot of people in the city had British accents, though most of them weren’t British.

  Bea looked down her sharp nose at Gurl and then at the dresses she held. “She’s obviously in the theatre.”

  “Please tell us you’re in the theatre,” said Jules, clasping his hands together as if in prayer.

  “No,” said Gurl miserably. “I just wanted to try these on. Uh…I need something for…uh…my cousin’s wedding.”

  “Your cousin’s wedding,” said Bea, her lips curling. Her eyes slid down Gurl’s green jacket.

  Gurl’s palms began to sweat. These people didn’t believe her. Maybe it was the huge tote bag, she thought. Maybe they suspected she was there to steal something. They would throw Gurl out and Mrs Terwiliger would send Noodle away. Gurl couldn’t bear the thought of
it. “Please,” said Gurl. “The wedding’s this weekend and my…my…grandmother will kill me if I don’t get a dress. I just need some help with a changing room.”

  “You need more help than that, young lady,” Bea said. She pursed her lips, took the dresses from Gurl’s hand and returned them to the rack. She pointed to Gurl’s jacket. “Where did you get that outfit?”

  “Uh…my grandmother bought it for me.”

  “Well, she should be brought up on charges,” Jules barked.

  Gurl didn’t disagree.

  “Do you understand what we’re saying?” asked Bea.

  Gurl burned with embarrassment and horror under the disapproving stares of the two salespeople. “I think so.”

  “Do your other clothes look like this?” said Bea in a grave tone of voice that one might normally use when discussing funeral arrangements.

  “And what,” said Jules, “is going on with your hair?”

  Bea tried to fan herself with one of the cashmere sweaters. “Is that green eyeshadow you’re wearing?”

  “Your fingernails are all broken!” said Jules. “Were you buried alive somewhere? Were you forced to dig yourself out with your bare hands? Should we call the police?”

  Bea collapsed in the pile of sweaters. “I think I need to sit down.”

  “This is no time for hysterics, Bea,” said Jules. “Is Paulo still upstairs in the salon?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Tell him that he has one more client today.”

  Gurl’s eyes widened. “Oh, please, no. I just came in to buy a dress for—”

  Despite his disgust with Gurl’s outfit, Jules’s eyes were warm and kind. He took both Gurl’s hands in his own. “Darling, don’t look so upset,” he said. “We like you; we just hate your clothes. What’s your name?”

  “Gurl.”

  “Gurl?” said Jules. “How…obvious.” He turned back to Bea. “Take her to Paulo. I’ll round up some respectable clothing and set up changing room five.”