Read Online Invisible Inkling by Emily Jenkins - Free Book Online Page B

Nadia’s hair stuff, but just to tease her I put the eyeliners in the cup where the toothbrushes live. I’m only in there for a minute or two when I see the door swing.
    Ha ha!
    I pounce. Fur and muscle flail in my hands.
    Ha ha again!
    â€œLet go, you crazy human!” Inkling barks, wiggling madly.
    I keep holding on. “I’m just going to look at you!”
    â€œPut me down!” He twists and flails. “You’re insulting my dignity!”
    Ignoring his struggles, I put one hand under Inkling’s backside, and with the other I grab the scruff of his thick neck. He’s kicking hard with his back feet, snorting. I know he has a right to be mad—but I can’t stand it anymore.
    I need to know what he looks like.
    I need to know his face, the way I know the faces of my family. I need it now, before he leaves me for Land o’ Pumpkins. I need it— today— because yesterday I was meaner than I’ve ever been to anyone; and ’cause tomorrow, Gillicut may kill me.
    Keeping tight hold of Inkling’s wiggling body, I climb onto a chair I’ve pushed in front of our medicine cabinet.
    â€œMy teeth are by your neck, Wolowitz!” cries Inkling. “I can bite your neck if I want to! Bandapats have serious teeth!”
    â€œBe quiet,” I whisper. “You don’t want Nadia coming in here.”
    â€œMy serious teeth are right by your neck!”
    But I know he won’t hurt me.
    He would never hurt me. I trust Inkling completely, which is why I need to see him so badly. I lift his squirming body and: There we are, in the mirror.
    Me, just how I always look.
    Inkling, twitching and snapping.
    He’s reddish orange with black stripes around the neck. Big black eyes. Creamy white ears. Stripy rings down his fat tail.
    His face isn’t shifty or clever or content. It’s . . . friendly. Even though he’s struggling in my arms.

    â€œHank!” The door opens all the way, and Nadia is standing there.
    I drop Inkling.
    He scrabbles as he falls and grabs the back of the wooden chair.
    It tips.
    I tip.
    We all three tip backward and—
    Bam!
    The chair hits the Oatie Puffs bowl,
    the cereal sprays across the room,
    I land in the tub,
    Inkling’s underneath me,
    my head hits the tile,
    Nadia shrieks,
    the room spins,
    Oatie Puffs rain down on us—
    and I am lying in pain in the tub, staring up at the shower head and feeling Inkling worm himself from under my legs. He heaves out and then I hear the soft click of claws going across the bathroom tile.
    â€œAre you okay?” Nadia pulls me to a sitting position.
    Everything aches.
    Nadia inspects my head where I hit it. She strokes my hair. “I don’t think you’re bleeding. Does it hurt? Are you going to cry? Poor Hank.” She puts her mouth on my head but doesn’t exactly kiss.
    â€œI’m okay,” I say, squirming. “I’m fine.”
    â€œThen why were you standing on a chair?” She sounds mad now. “Why were you yelling at the mirror?”
    â€œI—”
    â€œAnd why, why, why were you eating Oatie Puffs in the bathroom? Why can’t you just watch TV like a normal person?” Nadia rakes her hand through her green hair. “Why, Hank, why?”
    â€œBecause I’m not a normal person!” I scream. “I’m not. Why can’t you just like that about me?”
    Nadia doesn’t answer. I climb out of the tub and stomp off to my room.
    Inkling sulks in the laundry basket the rest of the evening. After my parents come home and Mom tucks me into bed, I try to make up with him.
    I crawl into my closet so we can talk. “You’re cute, you know.” I start with flattery.
    â€œWhat, you’re surprised?” Inkling barks. “Of course I’m cute.”
    â€œI knew you were furry,” I say, “and very soft and nicely fluffy, but—”
    â€œJust stop there. Don’t