Let's Get Invisible! Read online

  He stared at me intently. “That’s what I am, you know,” he said. “I am your reflection. Your other side. Your cold side. Don’t be afraid of me. Your friends were not afraid. They made the switch without much of a struggle. Now they are inside the mirror. And their reflections …”

  His voice trailed off. He didn’t have to finish his sentence. I knew what he was saying.

  Now I understood about Erin and Zack. Now I understood why they looked different to me. They were reversed. They were their own reflections.

  And now I understood why they pushed me into the mirror, why they forced me to disappear, too.

  If I didn’t do something, I realized, my reflection would switch places with me. My reflection would step into the attic. And I’d be trapped inside the mirror forever, trapped forever with the sad, bobbing faces.

  But what could I do?

  Staring at myself, I decided to stall, to ask questions, to give myself a little time to think.

  “Whose mirror is it? Who built it?” I demanded.

  He shrugged. “How should I know? I’m only your reflection, remember?”

  “But how —”

  “It’s time,” he said eagerly. “Don’t try to stall with foolish questions. Time to make the switch. Time for you to become my reflection!”

  I pulled away.

  I started to run.

  The sad, distorted faces hovered in front of me.

  I shut my eyes and dodged away from them.

  I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

  My legs pumped. My arms flew out at my sides. It was so clear and bright, I couldn’t tell if I was moving or not. My feet couldn’t feel a floor. There were no walls, no ceiling. There was no air brushing my face as I ran.

  But my fear kept me moving. Through the clear, cold, shimmering light.

  He was behind me.

  I couldn’t hear him.

  He had no shadow.

  But I knew he was right behind me.

  And I knew that if he caught me, I’d be lost. Lost inside this blank world, unable to see, to hear, to smell, to touch anything, lost in the cold glass forever.

  Another silent, bobbing face.

  And so I kept running.

  Until the colors returned.

  Until light bent to form shapes.

  And I saw shadows moving and shifting in front of me.

  “Stop, Max!” I heard my reflection’s voice right behind me. “Stop right there!”

  But now he sounded worried.

  And so I kept running, running into the colors and moving shapes.

  Suddenly, Zack turned off the light.

  I came bursting out of the mirror, into the tiny attic room, into an explosion of sound, of color, of hard surfaces, of real things. The real world.

  I stood up, panting, gasping for breath. I tested my legs. I stomped on the floor. The solid floor.

  I turned my eyes to my friends, who were standing in front of me, startled expressions on their faces. My mom, I realized, must have retreated back downstairs.

  “Did you make the switch?” Zack asked eagerly, his eyes glowing with excitement.

  “Are you one of us?” Erin asked at the same time.

  “No,” said a voice — my voice — coming from just behind me.

  We all stared into the mirror.

  Inside it, my reflection, red-faced and angry, glared out at us, his hands pressed against the glass. “He got away,” my reflection told my friends. “The switch wasn’t made.”

  “I don’t understand!” I heard April cry. “What’s going on, guys?”

  Zack and Erin ignored her. They stepped up quickly and grabbed me by the arms. They spun me around roughly.

  “The switch wasn’t made,” my reflection repeated from inside the glass.

  “No problem,” Erin told it.

  She and Zack forced me up to the mirror.

  “You’re going back in, Max,” Zack said heatedly.

  He reached up and pulled the light cord.

  The light flashed on.

  I went invisible.

  My reflection remained in the mirror, open palms pressed against the inside of the glass, staring out.

  “I’m waiting for you, Max,” he said. “In a few minutes, you’ll join me in here.”

  “No!” I shouted. “I’m leaving. I’m going downstairs.”

  “No, you’re not,” my reflection said, shaking his head. “Erin and Zack won’t let you escape. But don’t be so frightened, Max. It’s all quite painless. Really.” He smiled. It was my smile. But it was cold. Cruel.

  “I don’t get this,” April was protesting back by the door. “Will someone tell me what’s going on?”

  “You’ll see, April,” Erin told her soothingly.

  What am I going to do? I wondered, frozen in panic.

  What can I do?

  “Just a few more minutes,” my reflection said calmly, already celebrating his victory. His freedom.

  “April, get help!” I cried.

  She spun around at the sound of my voice. “Huh?”

  “Get help! Go downstairs. Get help! Hurry!” I screamed.

  “But — I don’t understand —” April hesitated.

  Erin and Zack moved to block her path.

  But the door suddenly swung open.

  I saw Lefty stop at the doorway. He peered in. Saw my reflection.

  He must have thought the reflection was me.

  “Think fast!” he shouted, and he tossed a softball.

  The ball smashed into the mirror.

  I saw the startled look on Lefty’s face. And then I heard the crash and saw the mirror crack and shatter.

  My reflection didn’t have time to react. He broke into shards of glass and fell to the floor.

  “Nooooo!” Erin and Zack shrieked.

  I popped back into view just as Erin’s and Zack’s reflections floated up off the floor. They were sucked into the broken mirror — screaming all the way — sucked into it as if a powerful vacuum cleaner were pulling them in.

  The two reflections flew screaming into the mirror and appeared to crack into hundreds of pieces.

  “Whoa!” Lefty cried, gripping the door with all his strength, pressing his body against the door-frame, struggling to keep himself from being sucked into the room.

  And then Erin and Zack dropped onto the floor on their knees, looking dazed and confused, staring at the pieces of shattered mirror that littered the floor around them.

  “You’re back!” I cried happily. “It’s really you!”

  “Yeah. It’s me,” Zack said, climbing unsteadily to his feet, then turning to help Erin up.

  The mirror was shattered. The reflections were gone.

  Erin and Zack gazed around the room, still shaken and dazed.

  April stared at me in total confusion.

  Lefty remained outside the doorway, shaking his head. “Max,” he said, “you should’ve caught the ball. That was an easy catch.”

  * * *

  Erin and Zack were back. And they were okay.

  It didn’t take long to get everything back to normal.

  We explained everything to April and Lefty as best we could.

  April went home. She had to baby-sit her little sister.

  Erin and Zack — the real Erin and Zack — helped me sweep up the broken glass. Then we closed the door to the little room. I latched it tightly, and we all carried cartons over and stacked them up to block off the door.

  We knew we’d never go in there again.

  We vowed never to tell anyone about getting invisible or the mirror or what happened in that little room. Then Erin and Zack headed home.

  Later, Lefty and I were hanging around out in the backyard. “That was so scary,” I told Lefty with a shudder. “You just can’t imagine what it was like.”

  “Sounds pretty scary,” Lefty replied absently. He tossed his softball from hand to hand. “But at least everything is okay now. Want to play a little catch?”


  “No,” I shook my head. I wasn’t in the mood. But then I changed my mind. “Maybe it’ll take my mind off what happened this morning,” I said.

  Lefty tossed me the ball. We trotted behind the garage, our usual place for tossing the ball around.

  I lobbed it back to him.

  We were having a pretty good game of catch.

  Until about five minutes had gone by.

  Until …

  Until I stopped and froze in place.

  Were my eyes playing tricks on me?

  “Here comes my fastball,” he said. He heaved it at me.

  No. No. No.

  I gaped open-mouthed as the ball shot past me.

  I didn’t even try to catch it. I couldn’t move.

  I could only stare in horror.

  My brother was throwing right-handed.

  My name is Amy Kramer, and every Thursday night I feel a little dumb. That’s because Thursday is “Family Sharing Night” at my house.

  Sara and Jed think it’s dumb, too. But Mom and Dad won’t listen to our complaints. “It’s the most important night of the week,” Dad says.

  “It’s a family tradition,” Mom adds. “It’s something you kids will always remember.”

  Right, Mom. It’s something I’ll always remember as really painful and embarrassing.

  You’ve probably guessed that on Family Sharing Night, every member of the Kramer family — except for George, our cat — has to share something with the rest of the family.

  It isn’t so bad for my sister, Sara. Sara is fourteen — two years older than me — and she’s a genius painter. Really. One of her paintings was chosen for a show at the art museum downtown. Sara may go to a special arts high school next year.

  So Sara always shares some sketches she’s working on. Or a new painting.

  And Family Sharing Night isn’t so bad for Jed, either. My ten-year-old brother is such a total goof. He doesn’t care what he shares. One Thursday night, he burped really loud and explained that he was sharing his dinner.

  Jed laughed like a lunatic.

  But Mom and Dad didn’t think it was funny. They gave Jed a stern lecture about taking Family Sharing Night more seriously.

  The next Thursday night, my obnoxious brother shared a note that David Miller, a kid at my school, had written to me. A very personal note! Jed found the note in my room and decided to share it with everyone.

  Nice?

  I wanted to die. I really did.

  Jed just thinks he’s so cute and adorable, he can get away with anything. He thinks he’s really special.

  I think it’s because he’s the only redhead in the family. Sara and I both have straight black hair, dark green eyes, and very tan skin. With his pale skin, freckled face, and curly red hair, Jed looks like he comes from another family!

  And sometimes Sara and I both wish he did.

  Anyway, I’m the one with the most problems on Family Sharing Night. Because I’m not really talented the way Sara is. And I’m not a total goof like Jed.

  So I never really know what to share.

  I mean, I have a seashell collection, which I keep in a jar on my dresser. But it’s really kind of boring to hold up shells and talk about them. And we haven’t been to the ocean for nearly two years. So my shells are kind of old, and everyone has already seen them.

  I also have a really good collection of CDs. But no one else in my family is into Bob Marley and reggae music. If I start to share some music with them, they all hold their ears and complain till I shut it off.

  So I usually make up some kind of a story — an adventure story about a girl who survives danger after danger. Or a wild fairy tale about princesses who turn into tigers.

  After my last story, Dad had a big smile on his face. “Amy is going to be a famous writer,” he announced. “She’s so good at making up stories.” Dad gazed around the room, still smiling. “We have such a talented family!” he exclaimed.

  I knew he was just saying that to be a good parent. To “encourage” me. Sara is the real talent in our family. Everyone knows that.

  Tonight, Jed was the first to share. Mom and Dad sat on the living room couch. Dad had taken out a tissue and was squinting as he cleaned his glasses. Dad can’t stand to have the tiniest speck of dust on his glasses. He cleans them about twenty times a day.

  I settled in the big brown armchair against the wall. Sara sat cross-legged on the carpet beside my chair.

  “What are you going to share tonight?” Mom asked Jed. “And I hope it isn’t another horrible burp.”

  “That was so gross!” Sara moaned.

  “Your face is gross!” Jed shot back. He stuck out his tongue at Sara.

  “Jed, please — give us a break tonight,” Dad muttered, slipping his glasses back on, adjusting them on his nose. “Don’t cause trouble.”

  “She started it,” Jed insisted, pointing at Sara.

  “Just share something,” I told Jed, sighing.

  “I’m going to share your freckles,” Sara told him. “I’m going to pull them off one by one and feed them to George.”

  Sara and I laughed. George didn’t glance up. He was curled up, napping on the carpet beside the couch.

  “That’s not funny, girls,” Mom snapped. “Stop being mean to your brother.”

  “This is supposed to be a family night,” Dad wailed. “Why can’t we be a family?”

  “We are!” Jed insisted.

  Dad frowned and shook his head. He looks like an owl when he does that. “Jed, are you going to share something?” he demanded weakly.

  Jed nodded. “Yeah.” He stood in the center of the room and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. He wears loose, baggy jeans about ten sizes too big. They always look as if they’re about to fall down. Jed thinks that’s cool.

  “I … uh … learned to whistle through my fingers,” he announced.

  “Wow,” Sara muttered sarcastically.

  Jed ignored her. He pulled his hands from his pockets. Then he stuck his two little fingers into the sides of his mouth — and let out a long, shrill whistle.

  He whistled through his fingers two more times. Then he took a deep bow. The whole family burst into loud applause.

  Jed, grinning, took another low bow.

  “Such a talented family!” Dad declared. This time, he meant it as a joke.

  Jed dropped down on the floor beside George, startling the poor cat awake.

  “Your turn next, Amy,” Mom said, turning to me. “Are you going to tell us another story?”

  “Her stories are too long!” Jed complained.

  George climbed unsteadily to his feet and moved a few feet away from Jed. Yawning, the cat dropped onto his stomach beside Mom’s feet.

  “I’m not going to tell a story tonight,” I announced. I picked up Dennis from behind my armchair.

  Sara and Jed both groaned.

  “Hey — give me a break!” I shouted. I settled back on the edge of the chair, fixing my dummy on my lap. “I thought I’d talk to Dennis tonight,” I told Mom and Dad.

  They had half-smiles on their faces. I didn’t care. I’d been practicing with Dennis all week. And I wanted to try out my new comedy routine with him.

  “Amy is a lousy ventriloquist,” Jed chimed in. “You can see her lips move.”

  “Be quiet, Jed. I think Dennis is funny,” Sara said. She scooted toward the couch so she could see better.

  I balanced Dennis on my left knee and wrapped my fingers around the string in his back that worked his mouth. Dennis is a very old ventriloquist’s dummy. The paint on his face is faded. One eye is almost completely white. His turtleneck sweater is torn and tattered.

  But I have a lot of fun with him. When my five-year-old cousins come to visit, I like to entertain them with Dennis. They squeal and laugh. They think I’m a riot.

  I think I’m getting much better with Dennis. Despite Jed’s complaints.

  I took a deep breath, glanced at Mom and Dad, and began
my act.

  “How are you tonight, Dennis?” I asked.

  “Not too well,” I made the dummy reply in a high, shrill voice. Dennis’s voice.

  “Really, Dennis? What’s wrong?”

  “I think I caught a bug.”

  “You mean you have the flu?” I asked him.

  “No. Termites!”

  Mom and Dad laughed. Sara smiled. Jed groaned loudly.

  I turned back to Dennis. “Well, have you been to a doctor?” I asked him.

  “No. A carpenter!”

  Mom and Dad smiled at that one, but didn’t laugh. Jed groaned again. Sara stuck her finger down her throat, pretending to puke.

  “No one liked that joke, Dennis,” I told him.

  “Who’s joking?” I made Dennis reply.

  “This is lame,” I heard Jed mutter to Sara. She nodded her head in agreement.

  “Let’s change the subject, Dennis,” I said, shifting the dummy to my other knee. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  I leaned Dennis forward, trying to make him nod his head yes. But his head rolled right off his shoulders.

  The wooden head hit the floor with a thud and bounced over to George. The cat leaped up and scampered away.

  Sara and Jed collapsed in laughter, slapping each other high fives.

  I jumped angrily to my feet. “Dad!” I screamed. “You promised you’d buy me a new dummy!”

  Jed scurried over to the rug and picked up Dennis’s head. He pulled the string, making the dummy’s mouth move. “Amy reeks! Amy reeks!” Jed made the dummy repeat over and over.

  “Give me that!” I grabbed the head angrily from Jed’s hand.

  “Amy reeks! Amy reeks!” Jed continued chanting.

  “That’s enough!” Mom shouted, jumping up off the couch.

  Jed retreated back to the wall.

  “I’ve been checking the stores for a new dummy,” Dad told me, pulling off his glasses again and examining them closely. “But they’re all so expensive.”

  “Well, how am I ever going to get better at this?” I demanded. “Dennis’s head falls off every time I use him!”

  “Do your best,” Mom said.

  What did that mean? I always hated it when she said that.

  “Instead of Family Sharing Night, we should call this the Thursday Night Fights,” Sara declared.