The Invisible Girl

by Laura Ruby

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” said Bug. “I can’t let you go.”

  Sweetcheeks turned to stare at Bug, a look of the utmost disdain falling like a curtain over his face. “You always were such a useless little brat. No guts at all. ‘I want to be a Wing, Daddy, I want to be a Wing!’ Never knew what was good for you. And look, you want nothing to do with me, but you’re zipping around with this girl who isn’t anything more than a thief. No better than I am.”

  “She’s the Bloomingtons’ daughter,” Bug said.

  “So what? How does that change what she’s done?” Bug said nothing and Sweetcheeks nodded. “You know I’m right. But it doesn’t matter if I’m right because you won’t listen to me anyway. You’re just like your mother. She wanted me to settle down and be a ‘normal’ person. Who wants to be a normal person? What was I supposed to do, get a job selling insurance?”

  “Why not?” said Bug.

  Sweetcheeks clucked his tongue. “You think the Bloomingtons are going to care about you just because you’ve been hanging around with their brat? You’re a Grabowski! A gangster! It’s in your blood!”

  “It might be in my blood,” said Bug. “But I can still choose who and what I want to be.”

  Sweetcheeks tried again. “You think that this girl won’t cut you out of her life as soon as she gets into that big penthouse?”

  “I’d never cut Bug out of my life,” said Gurl.

  “Right,” Sweetcheeks said, trying to tug his arm from the Rat’s paw and gnashing his teeth in frustration. “You two little fools deserve each other! You’re gutless, spineless, senseless and hopeless. You’re just less, how about that? Less than zeros.”

  Bug looked at Gurl, and Gurl looked at Bug. Bug cocked a fist and, for a moment, it appeared he might bloody his knuckles on his father’s nose. But then the hand dropped to his side.

  “Maybe I am less,” Bug said. “But I’m a whole lot more than you.”

  Chapter 28

  Golden

  AFTER THE BLACK DUST HAD settled, the police were called in, Sweetcheeks and his gang were rounded up, the poison bumblebee was contained and a certain oddity was dispatched to the Museum of Natural History. Then Mayor Iggy Fleishman held a special press conference. Cameras were set up at the penthouse of The Richest Man in the Universe, where Bug, Gurl, the Bloomingtons, The Professor and several hundred friends gathered for the celebration of the century.

  “Well, folks, this has got to have been the most exciting Flyfest ever held!” Iggy said as the press corps laughed and the cameras flashed. “We saw a monster unmasked, a twelve-year-old kidnapping solved and a notorious gangster brought to justice. We also saw,” he said, “some of the most spectacular flying we’ve ever seen. Sylvester ‘Bug’ Grabowski, would you approach the podium, please?”

  In the audience Bug stood immobile until Gurl punched him in the arm. “Bug, it’s you! Go on!”

  In a trance, Bug walked up to the podium.

  “Look at this modest boy, walking instead of flying. Say ‘hi’ to the city,” Iggy said cheerfully, waving at the TV cameras.

  “Uh…hi?” Bug said.

  Iggy slung an arm around Bug’s broad shoulders. “We witnessed this young man,” he announced, “battle a fiendish beast over twenty storeys in the air, all while holding on to his pet cat. Yes, I said twenty storeys. That’s a world record, my friends! Then he dived straight down, coming to a full and complete stop just an inch before he hit the ground. An inch! We have never seen a feat like that before. Never. Therefore, this year’s Flyfest judges—Peter Paul Allen, Rosy B., Nathan Johnson and I—are proud to award this year’s Golden Eagle to the youngest Wing in the city’s history. Rosy?”

  Rosy B., dressed in a foil T-shirt and hot pants made of yellow feathers, sashayed to the podium carrying a dazzling gold statue. “By a unanimous decision, this year’s Golden Eagle goes to Sylvester ‘Bug’ Grabowski.” She handed the statue to Bug, grabbed his face between her two hands and gave him a long, juicy kiss.

  The reporters and cameramen whooped and hollered, the Bloomingtons’ party guests clapped and The Sewer Rats of Satan—each of whom cradled a brand-new kitten in their arms—said, “Nice!” (Only Gurl seemed to find Rosy B.’s performance a little over the top.)

  As Iggy chattered on and the press conference wrapped up, Gurl wandered around the Bloomingtons’ lavish penthouse. Instead of being stuffed with antique furniture the way that Gurl imagined a rich person’s house would be, the Bloomingtons’ penthouse was huge and airy, with floor-toceiling windows that made the night sky a part of the décor. For the party the Bloomingtons had imported thousands of butterflies, and they fluttered about the penthouse, daubing the air with bright splashes of colour. A monarch alighted on Gurl’s finger, fanning itself. As she watched the butterfly’s wings open and close, Gurl tried to comprehend the events of the last few hours and found it impossible, dreamier than any daydream she’d ever had.

  Bunny Bloomington hovered nervously. After the whirlwind following the Flyfest, there had been a lot of hugging and crying. Sol and Bunny had told her how much they had loved her, how much they had missed her, and how glad they were to have her back and that everything was all right. But Gurl couldn’t help but think that while the Bloomingtons might have loved her as a baby, she was someone else now. A person with a history. Someone who had done things, good and bad, and would have to live with them. She knew that she and her parents were strangers, and didn’t know quite what to say to one another after all these years.

  “I just saw your cat go into the bathroom and shut the door,” Bunny said.

  “She does that,” Gurl told her. “Don’t be surprised if you hear the blow-dryer.”

  “The blow-dryer? She must be a remarkable cat. But since you are a remarkable girl, that makes sense.”

  Gurl flushed and looked down at her feet, at the new shoes that the Bloomingtons had given her before the party.

  “Are you having a good time? Can I get anything for you?”

  “Oh, no,” Gurl said shyly. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “All right, if you say so.” Bunny tugged at her pearl necklace, clearly not sure what to say to this girl, a girl she had yearned for, a girl gone for so long. “It might take a while for us to get used to each other,” she ventured. “I hope you’ll be patient if I seem a little overprotective.”

  “I think I might like you being a little overprotective.”

  Bunny smiled then, a small smile that showed just a hint of the pretty woman she was before Gurl was taken away. “Thank you for saying so, Georgie. Or maybe I should call you Gurl?”

  “Gurl. For now.” Gurl thought that this would be a good time to hug Bunny, to tell her that she loved her or at least hoped she would one day, but she didn’t know how to do it. And then the moment was gone.

  “Well,” said Bunny, patting her on the arm. “Here’s your friend. I’m going to find Sol and let the two of you talk.”

  “Hey,” said Bug. His face was flushed and his mouth was covered in lipstick. He had a butterfly on each shoulder.

  “Maybe you ought to wipe your face,” Gurl said. “Unless you plan on kissing her again.”

  “I didn’t kiss her, she kissed me.”

  “You didn’t stop her.”

  “Enough! Give the boy a little slack,” said a low growling voice. “He just won a Golden Eagle, for pete’s sake.”

  Gurl turned to find a dark-haired man in a slim-fitting pinstriped suit standing next to them sipping a pink drink. “Jules! What are you doing here? Where have you been?”

  “Been? Here, there, everywhere, what do you think? But ever since I saw you at Harvey’s that day, I’ve made it my business to keep an eye on you.”

  “Keep an eye on me?” Gurl laughed. “What are you? My fairy godmother or something?”

  “Fairy godmother! Do you see any glass slippers or pumpkins around here? I’m no fairy godmother. The correct terminology is ‘Personal Assistant’, if you don’t mind. U
nlike fairies, we Personal Assistants can’t involve ourselves directly in your affairs, we can only assist, you understand?”

  Gurl laughed again, sure that he was only kidding, but stopped when Bug nudged her and Jules glared.

  “Personal Assistant?” Gurl said incredulously. “I don’t believe it.”

  “After all that’s happened to you, you don’t believe in me?” said an indignant Jules.

  “But—but—” Gurl said. “How come you only appeared once in a while? How come you didn’t come to me at Hope House? Why didn’t you come to me in The Black Box or in the subway?”

  “I’m not Superman,” Jules said. “I’m not a bird or a plane or whatever. I have a lot of clients, OK? And they all want something. You cannot believe how many keys I have to find, how many computers I have to reboot, how many weddings I have to call off. I show up when I can and that’s all there is to it. Only so much Jules to go around. Besides, if I came every single time one of you had a problem, all you’d ever grow up to be is a giant whining baby. We Personal Assistants just give a person a little push every once in a while. A little encouragement is all you need.”

  “But why did you have to be so weird about everything?” Bug wanted to know. “Like all that stuff about the French movies at the theatre. Why couldn’t you just tell us about the monkeys?”

  Jules looked genuinely perplexed. “But that would have ruined the whole mystery for you. Where’s the fun in that?” He turned and called to one of the tuxedoed food servers. “Excuse me? Hey! You! This girl needs some ice water. And can I have some of that puff pastry with the little frankfurters? Thanks!” He turned back to Gurl. “What was I saying?”

  Gurl decided that since she had got everything she’d ever dreamed of, who was she to question the help that Jules had given her? “I was saying thank you,” said Gurl. “For the excellent Personal Assistance.”

  Jules winked at her. “You’re very welcome, darling.”

  “Does everyone have one?” Bug wanted to know. “A Personal Assistant?”

  “We have our assignments, but some of us do a little freelance work when we see a worthy candidate. When I’ve got a few minutes, I’ll be checking in with you. And your little friend there.” He waggled his fingers at Bug. “He’s got a unique look, but I think he’s a keeper.”

  Bug flushed an even deeper red, red enough to match Rosy B.’s lipstick stains.

  “Oh! Speaking of looks, that reminds me.” Jules reached into his jacket and pulled out a slip of paper. “Here’s an article I thought that you might find interesting.”

  Gurl read the headline out loud: “Merciless Matron Cheats Hope House out of Thousands.”

  “Get out!” said Bug. “Let me see that.” He grabbed the article from Gurl’s hands and read further. “‘Geraldine Terwiliger, matron of Hope House for the Homeless and Hopeless for over thirty years, has been charged with twenty-two counts of embezzlement. The matron, who is now sixty-nine, confessed to her crimes after a freakish plastic surgery accident left her lips blown up four times their normal size and much of her face hanging down around her chin. After a search of the orphanage premises, tens of thousands of dollars worth of name-brand fur coats, designer scarves and other merchandise was found. Detectives suspect that Terwiliger was the head of a ring of petty thieves.

  “‘In a bizarre twist, the orphans of Hope House seem to be suffering a collective memory loss, the cause of which is being kept under wraps. The children will remain in the care of a team of psychologists and neurologists.’”

  “So what do you think we should call Mrs Terwiliger now?” asked Gurl.

  “Hmmm…” said Bug. “How about ‘Hangdog’?”

  “I wonder if they found the monkeys?” said Gurl.

  “You know, I wouldn’t mind if I never saw another monkey again,” Bug said.

  “Now don’t say that,” Jules said, clicking his tongue. “You are who you are because you forgot who you were. And don’t forget it.” Jules frowned into his drink. “Or maybe I’ve simply had too many of these.” He looked past Gurl’s head. “Oh. My. God,” he said. “Excuse me, Gurl, but there’s a serious rhinestone emergency I need to take care of. I’ll be in touch.” And with that, he floated off into the sea of guests.

  “Well,” said Gurl.

  “Well,” said Bug.

  “Nice eagle.”

  “Thanks. Nice penthouse.”

  “Thanks.” Gurl tucked her hair behind one ear and struggled, once again, for something to say. The one who thought he had a father now didn’t and the one who thought she didn’t have a father did. If they weren’t the people they believed themselves to be, who were they?

  “What are you going to do now? I mean, where are you going to live?” Gurl lowered her voice to a whisper. “If you need help hiding out, I can help you.”

  Bug smiled and glanced down at his trophy. “I don’t think I could hide out for very long with this. Besides, I’ve got some offers to do some advertisements and stuff. Solomon, Mr Bloomington…uh…your dad said he would help me.” Bug paused a minute. “Your dad also told me that he never once stopped looking for you. Never.”

  “Yeah, well,” said Gurl. Her throat tightened around what had been bothering her through the whole party. “He couldn’t have looked that hard.”

  “Are you sure about that?” said Bug.

  “Look at all the money he has,” Gurl blurted. “He could have hired a thousand detectives.”

  “Maybe he did,” Bug said. “You remember what The Professor said. That sometimes Walls disappear just when people are looking for them? Maybe that’s what happened with those detectives. Besides, having money doesn’t guarantee that you get what you want. I speak from experience.”

  “Oh,” said Gurl. “Right. Are you…?” She trailed off. She had found her dad, but Bug had lost his. Even if he hated the guy, that had to be harder than anything Gurl could imagine.

  “I’m all right,” Bug said. “I think. It’s not like we ever had a normal relationship. I don’t think I even know him. And I’m sure he doesn’t know me.”

  “Yeah,” said Gurl, thinking about her own parents. She could barely absorb everything that had happened, and if she thought about it for longer than three minutes, she started to get dizzy. “So. You said something about advertisements?”

  “I know, it’s funny. With my weird face and everything.”

  “Your face isn’t weird!” Gurl said.

  “Sure,” said Bug, smiling.

  “OK, it’s a little weird. But in a totally good way.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” Bug scanned the room. “Where do you think The Professor’s gone?”

  “I don’t know. He was sulking in the corner just a few minutes ago.”

  “We should probably find him. He doesn’t like people. And he said that his clothes were itchy and he kept scratching. In very personal places.”

  The two of them pushed through the crowds of revellers, but as they were stopped over and over for more kisses, congratulations and “welcome homes”, it took more than forty—five minutes to search a single room. Finally, after checking the living room, the sitting room and the library, they peeked into Solomon Bloomington’s office. There they saw Solomon, Bunny and The Professor chatting among the broccoli, cauliflower, daisies and dandelions that pushed themselves up through the carpet.

  “Oh, sorry,” said Gurl. “We didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “No, no!” said Solomon. “Come in, come in.”

  Gurl and Bug walked into the office and shut the door.

  “Have a seat. We were just talking about the two of you,” said Solomon. “And we wanted to give The Professor a place where he could get comfortable.” Solomon was leaning against his vine-covered window, Bunny perched on top of the desk and The Professor sat in a wing chair beside the fire, now wearing his favourite housedress and holding a sleeping Noodle on his lap.

  “Wait a minute!” said Bug, plucking a pea pod from the top
of the desk. “I remember this place! We’ve seen it before. The first time we went flying. We were right outside your window. You waved at us!”

  “I know,” said Solomon. “I remember that day too. That was the day the garden grew, the day I knew that Georgie was alive. It was like summertime.”

  He gazed at Gurl with such a gentle, fatherly expression that Gurl crossed both arms and hugged herself.

  “I like the garden,” said Gurl, watching the butterflies flit from blossom to blossom. (Noodle loved the butterflies, but seemed too sleepy to chase them.)

  “I like the room this way too,” Solomon told her. “So does Bunny.”

  “How did you grow stuff like this?” Bug wanted to know. “In the carpet? And how do you water them?”

  “You’ll have to ask The Professor about that,” said Solomon. “He knows everything.”

  “Hardly,” said The Professor.

  “And what about the pen?” Bug said. “Gurl told me that my…that Sweetcheeks wanted to steal a pen?”

  “Yes,” The Professor said. “Only he knows why. An old faulty thing really. No use to anyone now. Not that your father…I mean…Sweetcheeks would have known that.”

  “Guess not,” said Bug.

  But Gurl wasn’t paying attention, she was watching the fond way in which The Professor petted Noodle. Her heart sank. “I suppose that you’re taking your cat back now?” she said, trying, and failing, to keep her voice from cracking.

  “What? No,” The Professor said. “Just borrowing her for a bit. She’s yours. Chose you and all that. Besides, I’ve got a lot more where she came from.”

  “More?” said Bunny. “What about all those kittens you gave to The Sewer Rats?”

  The Professor scratched Noodle under the chin and the cat sighed. “Oh, Riddles are always popping up. I can’t stop them. I wouldn’t want to.”

  “Riddles?” said Solomon. “You mean the cats?”

  “Yes, the cats. Cats are Riddles.” He glanced up from the cat and saw that his audience was frowning at him in confusion. “There are problems,” he explained, clearly trying to be patient, “and there are Riddles. Problems you can solve. Problems are my business. Riddles? Well, Riddles are fascinating to think about, but you can never find the right answer to them, can you? You can never quite figure them out. And as soon as you think you have one solved, another Riddle pops up. I won’t even get into when a Riddle coughs up a hairball.”