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there’s nothing to draw when I get to him. I don’t know what he looks like.
    I crumple the picture and toss it into the recycling.
    After school, Nadia comes by to walk me home, but we go over past our building to Smith Street first because she wants to look in the window of this store that sells funny hats.
    She’s talking about how she wants to buy one for her boyfriend, Max, but can’t decide between the one that looks like a Mohawk and the one that has skulls on it. I’m about to tell her that the one with stegosaurus spikes is much better and it’s three dollars cheaper than either of the ones she’s thinking about—when I see the face of an animal, down by my knee, reflected in the window.
    It disappears almost as soon as I see it—takes off down the block, and I’ve caught nothing but a flash of black eyes and a puff of orangey fur—but I’m sure it’s Inkling. “I’m running home!” I shout to Nadia, and zoom around the corner and to the end of the block where our apartment building is.
    As I get to our steps, I can hear Inkling wheezing from the run. Nadia is still at the other end of the street, moving slow, weighed down by schoolbooks.

    â€œI just saw you in the store window,” I gasp.
    â€œNo, you didn’t.”
    â€œYes, I did.”
    â€œYou saw a rootbeer.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen you saw a squirrel.”
    â€œNo squirrel is that big.”
    â€œYou saw nothing, Wolowitz. Stop imagining.”
    â€œI saw you !” I say. “But barely. Won’t you let me see you some more?”
    â€œNever.”
    â€œInkling!” I say. “Please? Now that I know I can actually see you, I can hardly stand it.”
    â€œI can’t take the chance, Wolowitz. Bandapats are nearly extinct. If they put me in a lab or a zoo surrounded by mirrors, I don’t think I can take it, that’s all. I can’t live that way.”
    â€œPretty please?” I beg.
    â€œNo, no, no,” says Inkling. “This conversation is over.”

I Play a Mean Trick
    M y parents both work until eight o’clock tonight, so Nadia’s in charge of dinner. She steams broccoli and makes us a package of organic macaroni and cheese. Then she plugs her headphones into the computer and does her homework.
    I decide to get a proper look at Inkling, whether he wants me to or not.
    Because he’s leaving me for a pumpkin patch upstate.
    Because if I can see him, I’ll have something concrete to remember when he’s gone.
    I’m not sure where he is in the apartment, but I put some Oatie Puffs in a small bowl. I tuck that and my most special pop-up book under my arm. “I’m going to the bathroom to have a snack of delicious Oatie Puffs and to read about helicopters,” I say loudly. “And I’m leaving the door open, because I don’t need privacy right now!”
    â€œDon’t touch my volumizer putty,” Nadia says, taking off her headphones. “Or my scrunchy gel.”
    â€œI would never,” I say. And it’s sort of true: Since I fluffed my hair at school three weeks ago, I have zero interest in hair products.
    â€œWell, someone messed with it yesterday.”
    Inkling. He’s been volumizing his fluff!
    â€œMaybe Mom borrowed some,” I say. “Did I mention I’ll be reading my helicopter pop-up book out loud? And that there will be Oatie Puffs?”
    â€œWhy are you bringing cereal to the bathroom?” asks Nadia. “That’s kind of disgusting.”
    â€œI like the light in there,” I say. “The tiles are cool on a hot day.”
    â€œYou have a weird brain,” says Nadia. “I’m telling you, Hank.”
    â€œI’m taking these super yummy Oatie Puffs to
the bathroom now,” I yell.
    â€œGood- bye already,” says Nadia, putting her headphones back on.
    I get settled in the bathroom. I don’t touch