Read The Invisible Enemy Online
Authors: Marthe Jocelyn
The Invisible Enemy
The Invisible Harry
illustrated by Abby Carter
The Invisible Day
illustrated by Abby Carter
Earthly Astonishments
Hannah and the Seven Dresses
Hannah’s Collections
For Nan—
thanks for the island
M.J.
For Live Oak School
A.C.
1 •
Brownie Brat
2 •
The New Boy
4 •
Stone-Face
5 •
Detention
6 •
Field Trip
8 •
Black Magic
11 •
Hot Air
12 •
Jane and Harry
13 •
Cornered
14 •
Help Wanted
15 •
UFO (Unseen Flight Operator)
16 •
Phone Frenzy
17 •
In the Dark
18 •
Flustered
19 •
On the Spot
21 •
Now What?
22 •
At My Dad’s
24 •
The End
O
n the first day back to school after winter break, I was the only person who knew there was going to be a new boy in the sixth grade. Being the daughter of the school librarian has few benefits, but getting the occasional inside scoop is one of them.
This was my chance to make good on my New Year’s Resolution Number One: Get more friends! I have a best friend, Hubert, but he’s also pretty much my only friend. I had decided to make an impression on more of the world than just Hubert. I was going to find this new boy and be really nice and help him fit in, and
he would be friends with Hubert and me and not with Alyssa.
Resolution Number Two was to stop letting Alyssa Morgan bother me so much. That one dissolved as soon as Hubert and I stepped into the courtyard. As she stood on the steps, passing around a box of brownies, my sworn enemy looked like a queen tossing crumbs from the castle tower. A typical Alyssa gesture—bribing the peasants in an effort to inspire devotion. Half the sixth grade crowded around her, munching chocolate and screaming praise, their breath puffing out in the cold air like steam on cocoa.
Crossing the yard, I looked around for a new face, but all I saw were familiar ones with full mouths.
“These are wicked good!” said Josh, still chewing, so it came out,
Ese ur icky goo!
“You made these, Alyssa?” said Sarah. “They’re awesome!”
“Get one, Hubert.” Victor drooled brown slime.
“Oh, uh, no, maybe, I dunno,” said Hubert, glancing at me. I could tell he was weighing
the loyalty issue. But the brownies were Rocky Roads, with nuts and marshmallows plunked on top.
Alyssa waved the box under Hubert’s nose. “Come on, Bertie. You don’t need her permission.”
“Thanks,” he said, taking one.
Alyssa looked at me and smirked, like she’d won five points. Then she held the box in my direction. I admit, they smelled delicious. I fell for it and reached out.
“Oh, sorry.” She snatched the box back, leaving my hand stranded in midair. “I don’t seem to have enough for you.”
There were at least five left. I saw them! My cheeks burned. Resolution Number Two was now crushed under my boots like old snow.
Alyssa hopped off the step and spun around on the toes of her silver boots, cackling.
I stood there like a dolt, hating her. Of course, if I use the word
hate,
my mother says it’s as bad as swearing, and I should put ten cents in the Bad Word Jar.
Alyssa has been in my class every year from
kindergarten right up till now. In kindergarten, she bit me so hard her teeth made marks through my sweater. Now she bites just with words. She’s so mean to Hubert, I could spit. Last year she stole his idea for the fifth-grade project and then just copied her work out of books, totally cheating.
Recently I’ve had a couple of good swipes at revenge, thanks to having a secret weapon. But it’s so secret that Alyssa’s not sure I’m to blame, and what’s the fun in that? If I added up all the ten-centses I’ve spent on hating her, I’d have enough money to buy my own portable CD player.
“Here.” Hubert broke his brownie and offered me half. Alyssa watched me in anticipation.
“I wouldn’t eat that if it were the last food in New York City,” I said loudly. “She probably didn’t make them herself anyway. She bought them from a deli and just says they’re hers.”
“That’s a stinking lie, Billie Stoner!” said Alyssa. “I did so make them!”
Good, her face had that hot, ugly look. I rolled my eyes in a superior kind of a way and
caught sight of a boy leaning against the tree near the fence. Even though it was freezing, he was wearing only a bashed-up denim jacket. He had wild black hair and no hat and—oh—it must be him!
“Hey!” I announced, as casually as I could. “I guess that’s the new boy in our class. The one my mother was telling me all about.”
Alyssa clapped the lid on her brownie box. Everyone turned to stare at the stranger. Our school is small enough to welcome new blood like a gift at a vampire wedding. Of course, from across the yard, the new boy didn’t know why he was suddenly the center of attention. He glanced behind him, but no one was there.
“Ohmigod, he’s cute!” said Alyssa.
I totally agreed, only of course I didn’t say so.
“He looks like a gypsy,” said Alyssa. That was true, too, partly because of his dark hair and skin, but mostly because he didn’t look American. He looked exotic and confident and— well, cute. He somehow managed to keep looking at us while we inspected him. I would have ducked my eyes in a second.
After a minute he pulled a chrome yo-yo out of his pocket and zipped it up and down a couple of times, not wearing gloves, of course. Then, with a casual flick, the yo-yo sailed above his head like a tiny, glittering spotlight before whooshing behind him and all the way back up again in front. He had executed a perfect Reach-for-the-Moon.
“Wow,” said Hubert.
“Mighty!” gushed Josh, who’d been trying to master that move since September, when everyone seemed to get new yo-yos at the same time.
“Yep,” I said, “that’s him all right.”
“What school was he at?” asked Josh.
“He’s French,” I said. “I mean, he talks French. From Montreal, Quebec.”
Mouths dropped open all around me. Hubert gaped. I think he was hurt that I hadn’t told him about the new boy. But how could I have explained about my secret plan to recruit him as a friend?
“I love his hair,” said Alyssa.
Was he still watching us? I got a crick in my neck trying to see without turning to look.
“Why did he transfer in the middle of the year?” asked Megan.
“His mother is part of a teaching exchange at New York University,” I said. “She’s a professor of, um, French.”
“Well, la-di-da. What’s his name, you know-it-all?” asked Alyssa.
“He sure can handle a yo-yo,” said Hubert, not even pretending not to look. The bell rang for class. The boy stuffed the yo-yo in his pocket and headed toward the school doors.
“His name is Jean-Pierre,” I said in triumph. “Jean-Pierre de la Tutu or something. And I think we should say hello.” But Alyssa beat me to it.
“Bon joor!” she shouted. “Bon joor!” She flipped a shining braid over her shoulder and waved as if the boy were a taxi driver. “Hey! You!” She used her fashion-model waggle to cross the yard. A parade of other kids followed. I shoved my fists in my pockets and watched Alyssa grab my new friend.
“Voolay-voo oon brownie? I’ve got lots left over!”
T
he desks in our classroom are arranged in a sort of circle, so we all face each other. Mr. Donaldson had squeezed in an extra desk with the name
Jean-Pierre
printed on a card to match the others. I watched, steaming, while Alyssa guided the poor boy to his place as if he were blind.
“I speak English,” I heard him say. “And I can see.”
His voice was a bit husky, which made his accent sound like someone in a movie. He was even cuter close up, with hazely eyes and long lashes. Alyssa just kept standing there, staring at him. Her pal Megan leaned over and poked her to stop making a fool of herself.
“Take your seats, people. Settle down. Welcome back, everyone. I’d like to officially welcome
our newcomer, Jean-Pierre de LaTour.”
Jean-Pierre saluted and smiled a crooked smile. His desk was directly opposite mine, so I caught the main shine. Hubert is next to me, and Alyssa is three over, well out of smile range.
“You’ll have plenty of time during the day to show Jean-Pierre how friendly New Yorkers can be.” Mr. Donaldson looked around. “Ah, Hubert? Would you be Jean-Pierre’s buddy for today?”
Hubert blushed and nodded at Jean-Pierre to introduce himself. In our class, it is well known that Hubert does not like to speak out loud. Especially not to strangers. Mr. D. picked him on purpose—an exercise in torture disguised as social encouragement.
“Show him around, make sure he finds the cafeteria and other essential facilities. …” Mr. Donaldson always calls the bathroom “the facilities.”
Jean-Pierre nodded back at Hubert and spun his yo-yo like a top across his desk.
“Toys are not allowed in the classroom,” said Mr. Donaldson, with a laser-beam squint. “Since it’s your first day, I’ll let you off with a
warning.” He laughed to try to show he was a nice guy, but we all knew he was dying to add that yo-yo to the collection of our treasures in his bottom drawer.
“All right then, listen up, people. We have a busy quarter ahead of us, with the first focus on your projects about medieval life. We have a couple of field trips coming up, starting this week—”
“Are we going on a school bus or the subway?” asked Josh.
“—with an excursion, on a school bus, to the Cloisters. That’s Friday, leaving first thing. We’ll be seeing a marvelous reconstruction of medieval architecture as well as—yes, Josh?”
“Do we have to bring lunch?”
“You’ll need to bring a bag lunch, no glass bottles, no candy—yes, Josh?”
“Can we have soda, sir?”
“Yes, you
may
have soda. Eyes on me, people. This trip will be very instructive for all of you who—”
I noticed Hubert was watching Jean-Pierre instead of the teacher. I guess we all were.
I wrote a note and passed it along with my elbow.
Don’t worry. I’ll help with the new kid
.
Hubert and I waited after class while Jean-Pierre collected a stack of textbooks from Mr. D. and stuffed them into a plastic shopping bag. Alyssa hovered at the door, trying, as usual, to barge in where she’s not wanted.
Jean-Pierre saw us looking at the plastic bag.
“I was waiting to see what the other kids use,” he said, shrugging. “I want to look like a New Yorker!”
“We all have backpacks.” I turned around to show him.
“Billie would probably die without her backpack.” Alyssa giggled, tugging on my strap.
I yanked away from her.
“See? Taking Billie’s backpack would be like ripping the shell off a turtle.”
Alyssa has been suspicious of my backpack ever since the day last fall when my puppy, Harry, came to school inside it. Thanks to my secret weapon, he was invisible at the time, but
he wiggled enough to nearly give himself away. Now Alyssa pokes my pack whenever she can, just in case it will move. She won’t give up the hope that she might uncover something to get me in trouble.
What if she knew the truth? I have to keep it hidden from my ever-curious little sister, so I carry it with me at all times. In my backpack is enough Vanishing Powder to make Alyssa disappear from my life.