Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend (12 page)

‘Gym,’ Max says, quickly this time. ‘And art. And recess. It’s a tie.’

‘Who is your least favorite person at school?’

Max looks up for the first time. His face is pinched.

‘Is there anyone at school who you don’t like?’ Dr Hogan asks.

‘Yes,’ Max says, and then his eyes go back to the thinker toys.

‘Who do you not like the most?’

Now I understand what Dr Hogan is doing. She’s trying to talk to Max about Tommy Swinden, and Max is about to open the door and let her inside. It’s bad enough that Max’s mom knows about Tommy Swinden. This could make things even worse.

‘Ella Wu!’ I say, hoping that Max will repeat what I say.

‘Tommy Swinden,’ Max says instead, not looking up as he says it.

‘Do you know why you don’t like Tommy Swinden?’

‘Yes,’ Max says.

‘Why don’t you like Tommy Swinden?’ Dr Hogan asks, and I can see that she is leaning forward ever so slightly. This is the answer she has been waiting for.

‘Because he wants to kill me,’ Max says, still not bothering to look up.

‘Oh no,’ Dr Hogan says, and it sounds like she really means it, like she’s really surprised, even though I think that she knew about Tommy Swinden all along. She probably heard all about him from Max’s mom.

This appointment was one giant trap, and Max just fell in.

Dr Hogan doesn’t say anything for a little bit, and then she asks, ‘Do you know why Tommy Swinden wants to kill you, Max?’

Adults always stick Max’s name at the end of their questions when they think their questions are important.

‘Maybe,’ Max says.

‘Why do you maybe think that Tommy Swinden wants to kill you, Max?’

Max stops moving again. He has a chunk of newfangled thinker toy in his hand and he just stares at it. I know the look on his face. It is the look that says he’s going to lie. Max is not a good liar, and it always takes him a long time to think of a lie.

‘He doesn’t like boys named Max,’ Max says.

But he says it too fast, and his voice sounds different, so I’m sure that Dr Hogan knows it is a lie. Max probably got this idea from a fifth grader who once told Max that he has a stupid name. Even though there was a real kid who didn’t like his name, I do not think this is a good lie. No one wants to kill someone because of their name.

‘Is there anything else?’ Dr Hogan asks.

‘What?’ Max says.

‘Is there any other reason why you maybe think this boy wants to kill you?’

Oh,’ Max says, and then he pauses again. ‘No.’

Dr Hogan doesn’t believe him. I want Dr Hogan to believe him, but she does not. I can tell. Max’s mom has talked to her. I know it. I wonder when Max’s mom and dad decided to send Max here. I wonder when Max’s dad lost this fight.

Maybe when I was at the gas station last night.

But even if Max’s mom didn’t talk to her, Dr Hogan would still know that Max is lying. He is the worst liar on the planet.

And Dr Hogan is really smart. That scares me even more.

I wonder what she plans on doing next.

I wonder if I can find a way to get her to talk to Max about Mrs Patterson.

CHAPTER 19

I’m following Max. He told me to wait by the doors again, but this time I am going to sneak up to Mrs Patterson’s car and see what’s going on inside. I don’t care what he says. Something is not right.

Max and Mrs Patterson are halfway to the parking lot when I pass through the glass doors and leave the school. There is a tree to the right of the walkway, and I go there first and hide behind it. I don’t usually have to hide like this. I can’t remember ever hiding from Max, and no one else can see me, so in a way I am always hiding from everyone except Max.

This is the first time I am hiding from everyone.

There’s another tree down the walkway a bit, this one on the left side and a little farther off the path, so I run there next. If I actually touched the ground when I ran, I would be walking instead, tiptoeing so that Max would not hear me. But when I move, I am silent, even to Max, so running is a better idea, because it means I will stay unhidden for less time.

I peek around the tree. Max and Mrs Patterson have almost reached the car. Mrs Patterson is moving fast, much faster than adults who don’t ask kids to keep secrets and bring them out to their cars in the middle of the school day. From the tree, I am going to have to crawl over to the parking lot. There is a row of cars in front of me, about thirty steps away. If I crawl, I can stay hidden behind the row of cars, especially since Max is so short and cannot see over the tall cars. It’s funny, because as I crawl, every little kid in the two classrooms behind me should be able to see me, crawling through the grass in front of the school. It feels strange, hiding in front of so many faces.

I hear a car door open. Max and Mrs Patterson have reached the car.

I have an idea. I’m crouched behind a little red car, the first one in the row, and I’m peeking through the windows, trying to see if Max is inside Mrs Patterson’s car yet. I can’t quite see Mrs Patterson’s car, which is farther down and in the opposite row of cars across the aisle. But I can pass through the cars in front of me, because they all have doors. This is my idea. Instead of walking down the aisle, I will crawl through the cars.

I climb into the red car and crawl over the seats. This is a messy car. The front seat is piled with books and papers and there are empty soda cans and paper bags on the floor. This is probably Mrs Gosk’s car. It reminds me of her classroom. It is full and messy. I like it. I sometimes think that neat and organized people spend too much time planning and not enough time doing. I don’t trust neat and organized people.

I bet that Mrs Patterson is a neat and organized person.

I pass through the door on the opposite side of the red car and then pass through five more cars until I am crouched over inside a big car with four doors plus a door in the back. I can see Mrs Patterson’s car through the back window. Mrs Patterson pulled her car in face first, not like crazy Mrs Griswold who spends five minutes every morning backing into a spot while all the kids laugh at her. This is good because it means that she and Max are looking away from me, which is perfect for me to sneak up on them. I pass through the back door of the big car and run over to Mrs Patterson’s car, crossing the pavement between the two rows of cars. I keep my head low in case Max turns around.

Mrs Patterson’s window is open. It is warm and her car is not running, so she probably opened the window for fresh air. I want to look in the back seat and see what Max is doing, but I can hear Mrs Patterson’s voice from where I am standing. She is talking on her phone. I get down on my hands and knees and crawl over to the side of the car with Mrs Patterson’s door, so I can hear better. I am crouched alongside the car, in between the front and back doors.

‘Yes, Mom,’ I hear Mrs Patterson say.

Then there is a pause.

‘Yes, Mom,’ she says again. ‘I love you so much.’

Another pause.

‘No, Mom, I won’t get into any trouble. You’re my mom, and I should be able to talk to you during the day. Especially since you are so sick.’

Another pause.

‘I know, Mom. You’re right. You’re always right.’

Mrs Patterson laughs a little, and then she says, ‘I am so lucky to have this young man helping me.’ Then she laughs again. Neither laugh sounds real. ‘His name is Max,’ she says. ‘He is the kindest, smartest boy I know.’

She pauses for a second or two and then says, ‘Yes, Mom, I will be sure to tell Max how grateful you are about his help. I love you so much, Mom. And I hope you feel better real soon. Bye bye.’

Nothing about the conversation sounds right. I have heard Max’s mom and dad talk on the telephone many times, and it never sounded like this. Everything about it was wrong. Her laugh wasn’t real. The amount of time that she was listening and not speaking was too short. She said the word
Mom
too many times. Everything she said came out perfect.

No ums. No stutters.

It sounded like a first-grade teacher reading a book to her class. It sounded like everything she said was for Max and not for her mom.

I start to move, crawling backwards, trying to get to the back of the car again, when Max’s door opens. I’m on my hands and knees right in front of his door, and the bottom part of the door passes right through me as it opens because it is a door.

As he gets out, Max sees me. His smile turns to a frown. His eyes first widen and then shrink to slits, little wrinkles popping up between them. He is mad. But he says nothing, because Mrs Patterson’s door opens a second later and she steps out of the car. I feel foolish, crouched on my hands and knees between them, but I’m too embarrassed and ashamed to stand up. I just stay there as Mrs Patterson closes her door and reaches for Max’s hand. He takes one more look at me, and then he takes her hand. I have never seen Mrs Patterson hold Max’s hand before and it looks odd. Max hates to hold hands. Max does not look back. I stand up and watch him enter the school. He disappears down the hallway. He never looks back.

I look inside Mrs Patterson’s car. There is a blue backpack on the back seat where Max had been sitting. It is closed, so there’s no way for me to see inside. There is nothing else in the car except the backpack. The car is clean and empty.

I was right. Mrs Patterson is neat and organized.

She cannot be trusted.

CHAPTER 20

Max won’t talk to me. He didn’t even look at me for the rest of the school day, and when I try to sit with him on the bus ride home, he shakes his head and gives me his
No way, José
look. We have never sat apart on the bus before. I take a seat in front of Max, right behind the bus driver. I want to turn around and look at Max, smile at him and try to get him to smile at me, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Because I know he won’t smile back.

I have to talk to Max about Mrs Patterson when he’s not mad at me anymore. I still don’t understand what is happening, but I know that it is not good. I am even more convinced of it now. The more I think about Max sitting in that car with that blue backpack in the middle of the school day, and that phone call from Mrs Patterson that didn’t sound like a phone call, and especially the way that she and Max were
holding hands
, the more afraid I become.

For a while, I thought I might be overreacting. I thought that maybe this was like one of those television shows where all the clues point to one killer but then it turns out to be another person. A surprise killer. Maybe Mrs Patterson is a sweet lady and there is a perfectly good reason why she and Max sit in that car. But now I know that I am right. I am not overreacting. I can’t explain how I know, but I know. This is probably how those characters on television feel, too. The ones who think it’s one killer when it is really another. Except this is real life. There are no television makers sprinkling lots of fake clues for me. This is real life, and real life can’t have this many fake clues all in a row.

The only good news is that tomorrow is Friday, and Mrs Patterson almost never comes in on Friday. It makes the principal, Mrs Palmer, crazy. I once heard her talking about Mrs Patterson to a lady who nodded and hummed and said that Mrs Patterson has a right to use her sick days if she is sick, and that was the end of the conversation. I don’t know why Mrs Palmer didn’t tell the suit lady that no one gets sick once a week on the same day, but she didn’t. After the suit lady left, Mrs Palmer blamed it on the
damunion
. I still can’t figure out what the
damunion
is, and when I asked Max, he didn’t know either.

So Mrs Patterson will probably be sick tomorrow, or pretending to be sick, and I’ll have the weekend to get Max to forgive me so we can talk.

I was scared for a little while, wondering if Max might stop believing in me since he is so mad and refuses to talk to me. But then I realized that Max couldn’t be mad at someone who didn’t exist, so I actually think that this is a good sign. He must really, really believe in me to be this mad.

Maybe I should have found a way to make Meghan mad at Graham. Maybe that would have saved Graham’s life.

I’ve been thinking about Graham a lot, lately. I think about how she doesn’t exist anymore, and how everything that she ever said or did doesn’t mean anything to Meghan anymore. Even if Graham still means something to me and Meghan, and maybe even Puppy, none of that matters because she doesn’t exist anymore.

That’s the only important fact of Graham’s nonexistence.

When Max’s grandmother died, Max’s dad said that Grandma would live on in Max’s heart, and as long as they remembered Grandma, she would remain alive in their memories. That is fine for Max, and maybe it made him feel a little better, but it didn’t help Max’s grandmother at all. She is gone, and even if Max is keeping her alive in his heart, she doesn’t exist anymore. She doesn’t care what’s going on in Max’s heart, because she can’t care about anything anymore. Everyone gets so worried about the people who are still living when the people who are really hurting are the dead ones. People like Grandma and Graham.

They don’t exist anymore.

There is nothing worse than that.

Max hasn’t talked to me all night long. He worked on his homework, played his video game for thirty minutes, read about a world war from a book as big as his head and then went to sleep without saying a word. I am sitting in the chair beside his bed, waiting for him to fall asleep, hoping to hear his small voice say, ‘Budo, it’s okay.’ But he never speaks. Eventually his breathing gets steady and he is asleep.

I hear the door open. Max’s mom is home. She had a doctor’s appointment so she didn’t put Max to bed. She comes into the room and kisses Max, pulls the covers up to his neck and kisses him three more times.

She leaves.

I follow.

Max’s dad is watching a baseball game. He presses the mute button on the remote control when Max’s mom enters the living room, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the screen.