Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend (26 page)

Even Max can tell if a teacher is playing school. Teachers who play school are bad at making kids behave. They like the boys and girls who sit in their seats and listen carefully and never shoot elastics across the room. They want all the boys and girls to be just like they were in school, all neat and perfect and sweet. Teachers who play school don’t know what to do with kids like Max or Tommy Swinden or Annie Brinker, who once threw up on Mrs Wilson’s desk on purpose. They don’t understand kids like Max because they would rather be teaching their dolls than real kids. They use stickers and charts and cards to make kids behave, but none of that junk ever really works.

Mrs Gosk and Miss Daggery and Mrs Sera love kids like Max and Annie and even Tommy Swinden. They make kids want to behave, and they are not afraid to tell kids when they stink. And that makes them the best teachers to sit with at lunchtime.

Mrs Gosk is eating something called a sardine sandwich. I don’t know what a
sardine
is, but I don’t think it is good. Miss Daggerty crinkles her nose when Mrs Gosk tells her what she is eating.

‘Have the police talked to you again?’ Miss Daggerty asks. She lowers her voice a little when she speaks.

There are six other teachers in the room. A bunch of them are teachers who play school.

‘No,’ Mrs Gosk says, not lowering her voice. ‘But they’d better do their goddam jobs and find Max.’

I have never seen Mrs Gosk cry, and I have seen a lot of teachers cry. Man teachers, even, but especially the woman teachers. She is not crying now, but when she said those words, she sounded angry enough to cry. Not sad tears but mad tears.

‘It has to be one of the parents,’ Miss Daggerty says. ‘Or one of his relatives. Kids just don’t disappear.’

‘I just can’t believe that it’s been … what? Four days?’ Mrs Sera says.

‘Five,’ Mrs Gosk says. ‘Five goddam days.’

‘I haven’t seen Karen all day,’ Mrs Sera says.

Karen is Mrs Palmer’s first name. Teachers who play school call her Mrs Palmer, but teachers like Mrs Sera just call her Karen.

‘She’s been locked in her office all morning,’ Miss Daggerty says.

‘I hope she’s doing something to find Max and not just hiding from everyone,’ Mrs Sera says.

‘She’d better be working to the death and the dirt to find him,’ Mrs Gosk says. There are tears in her eyes. Her cheeks are red. She stands up and leaves her sardine sandwich behind. The room gets quiet as she leaves.

I leave, too.

Mrs Patterson has a two o’clock meeting with Mrs Palmer. I know this because she asked to meet with Mrs Palmer when she came into school today but the secretary lady said that Mrs Palmer was busy until two. So Mrs Patterson said, ‘Fine,’ in that way that means it isn’t fine.

I want to be in the room for that meeting.

I still have an hour before the meeting and Mrs Gosk’s students are in gym class. Mrs Gosk is sitting at her desk, correcting papers, so I go down to Mrs Kropp’s room to see Puppy. I haven’t seen him in five days, which is a lot of days in the imaginary friend world.

That’s a lifetime for a lot of imaginary friends.

Puppy is curled up into a ball beside Piper. Piper is reading a book. Her mouth moves but she doesn’t say the word. First graders read like this a lot. Max used to read like this.

‘Puppy,’ I say.

I whisper the words at first. It’s a habit. Not my habit but everyone else’s habit, so I do it, too. Then I realize how silly it is to whisper in a room where only one person can hear me, so I speak in a normal voice.

‘Puppy! It’s me, Budo.’

Puppy doesn’t move.

‘Puppy!’ I shout, and this time he jumps up and looks around.

‘You scared me,’ he says, noticing me on the other side of the room.

‘You sleep, too?’ I ask.

‘Of course I do. Why?’

‘Graham once told me that she slept, but I never sleep.’

‘Really?’ Puppy says, walking over to me on the other side of the room.

The kids are silently reading and Mrs Kropp is reading with four kids at a side table. These are only first graders but they all read without fooling around or staring out the windows because Mrs Kropp doesn’t play school either. She teaches.

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I never sleep. I don’t even know how.’

‘I sleep more than I am awake,’ Puppy says.

I wonder if I could go to sleep if I wanted to. I never feel tired, but maybe if I lay down on a pillow and closed my eyes long enough, I would fall asleep. Then I wonder if all that sleeping might make it easier to forget how easy it is for us to stop existing.

For a second, I find myself jealous of Puppy.

‘Have you heard anything about Max?’ I ask.

‘Is he back?’ Puppy asks.

‘No, he was stolen. Remember?’

‘I know,’ Puppy says. ‘But I thought that maybe he was back.’

‘You haven’t heard anything about it?’

‘No,’ Puppy says. ‘Did you find him?’

‘I have to go,’ I say.

It’s not true, but I forgot how annoying it is to talk to Puppy. Not only is he dumb, but he thinks that the whole world is like one of those picture books that Mrs Kropp reads to her first graders. The books where everyone learns a lesson and nobody ever dies. Puppy thinks that the world is one big, happy ending. I know it’s not his fault, but it still annoys me. I can’t help it.

I turn to leave the room.

‘Maybe Wooly knows,’ Puppy says.

‘Wooly?’

‘Yeah. Wooly.’

Puppy doesn’t have any hands, so instead of pointing he nods his head in the direction of the coatroom. Standing against the far wall is a paper doll. He is about as tall as my waist, and at first I think it is one of those body tracings that Max refused to do in kindergarten when the kids were told to lie down on big sheets of paper and trace one another.

Max’s teacher tried to trace him and Max got stuck.

But when I look closer, I see the paper doll’s eyes blink. Then he nods his head left and right, like he is trying to say hello without using his hands.

‘Wooly?’ I ask Puppy again.

‘Yes. Wooly.’

‘How long has he been here?’ I ask.

‘I don’t know,’ Puppy says. ‘A little while.’

I walk over to the coatroom to where Wooly still seems to be hanging on the wall.

‘Hi,’ I say. ‘I’m Budo.’

‘I’m Wooly,’ the paper doll says.

He has two arms and two legs but not much body, and he looks like he was cut out in a hurry.
Imagined in a hurry
, I remind myself. His edges are all jagged and uneven, and he has creases all over his body from where it looks like he was folded up a million times in a million different ways.

‘How long have you been here?’ I ask.

‘In this room?’ he asks. ‘Or in the whole wide world?’

I smile. He is already smarter than Puppy.

‘World,’ I say.

‘Since last year,’ Wooly says. ‘At the end of kindergarten. But I don’t come to school very much. Kayla used to keep me at home or folded up inside her backpack, but she has been taking me out for a bunch of days now. Maybe a month.’

‘Which one is Kayla?’ I ask.

Wooly reaches out to point, but as he does so his whole body curls over and slides to the floor, face down, in a rustle of paper.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask, unsure what to do.

‘Yes,’ Wooly says, using his arms and legs to flip himself on his back so he is looking up at me. ‘This happens a lot.’

He is smiling. He doesn’t have a real mouth like me but just a line that opens and closes and changes shape. But the edges are curled up, so I can tell that it’s a smile.

I smile back. ‘Can you stand up?’ I ask.

‘Sure,’ Wooly says.

I watch as Wooly curls the middle of his body up and then down like an inch worm, pushing himself back against the wall until his head is touching it. Then he curls the middle of his body again, pushing his head against the wall and sliding it up. He does this twice more, reaching out and grabbing the edge of a small bookshelf as he does so and pulling himself up while the middle of his body pushes. When he is finished, he is standing again, but really he is just leaning against the wall.

‘That’s not easy,’ I say.

‘No. I can get around okay by scooting on my back or my belly, but climbing up the wall is hard. If there isn’t something to grab onto, it’s impossible.’

‘Sorry,’ I say.

‘It’s all right,’ Wooly says. ‘Last week I met a little boy in the shape of a popsicle stick with no arms and no legs. Just a stick. Jason brought him to school, but when Mrs Kropp let him try the new computer game first, he threw the popsicle stick boy on his desk and just forgot about him. I stood here against the wall and watched him just fade away and disappear. One minute he was here and the next minute he was gone. Have you ever seen an imaginary friend disappear?’

‘Yes,’ I say.

‘I cried,’ Wooly says. ‘I didn’t even know him but I cried. So did the popsicle stick boy. He cried until he was gone.’

‘I would’ve cried, too,’ I say.

We are both quiet for a moment. I try to imagine what it must have been like to be that popsicle stick boy.

I decide that I like Wooly a lot.

‘Why is Kayla bringing you to school now?’ I ask.

I know that when a kid starts taking an imaginary friend to new places, it usually means something bad has happened.

‘Her dad doesn’t live with her anymore. He hit her mom before he left. Right at the dinner table. Right on the face. Then she threw her food in his face and they started yelling at each other. Really loud. Kayla cried and cried, and then she started bringing me to school.’

‘Sorry,’ I say again.

‘No,’ Wooly says. ‘Be sorry for Kayla. I like coming to school. I think it means that I won’t end up like the popsicle stick boy for a while. She is always coming over to the drinking fountain to get a drink, but really she’s just checking to make sure I am here. That’s why I’m not stuffed in her backpack anymore. I think it would be a lot easier to forget about me if she still had me stuffed inside that backpack. So this is good.’

I smile. Wooly is smart. Very smart.

‘I was wondering if you heard anything about a boy named Max,’ I say. ‘He disappeared last week.’

‘He ran away. Right?’

‘What did you hear?’ I ask.

‘Mrs Kropp had lunch in here with two other ladies and they were talking about it. Mrs Kropp said that he ran away.’

‘What did the other ladies say?’ I ask.

‘One of the ladies said he was probably kidnapped by someone who knew him. She said that kidnapped kids are always kidnapped by people they know. She said that Max was too stupid to run away and hide for so long without being found.’

‘He’s not stupid,’ I say. I am surprised by how angry I sound.

‘I didn’t say it. The lady did.’

‘I know. I’m sorry. Anyways, she’s right about him being kidnapped. Mrs Patterson stole Max.’

‘Who is Mrs Patterson?’ Wooly asks.

‘She is Max’s teacher.’

‘A teacher?’ Wooly sounds as if he cannot believe it. I feel like I finally have someone on my side. ‘Did you tell anyone?’ he asks.

‘No. Max is the only human person who can hear me.’

‘Oh.’ Then his eyes, which are just circles inside a circle, widen. ‘Oh no. Max is your imaginer friend?’

I have never heard a human person called this before, but I say yes.

‘Maybe I should tell Kayla,’ Wooly says. ‘Then she can tell Mrs Kropp for you.’

I had not thought of this, but Wooly is right. Wooly could be my connection to the world of human persons. He could tell Kayla, and then Kayla could tell Mrs Kropp, and then Mrs Kropp could tell the police chief. I cannot believe I did not think of this before.

‘Do you think Mrs Kropp would believe her?’ I ask.

‘I don’t know,’ Wooly says. ‘Maybe.’

It might work. I used to think that Max was my only connection to his world, but every imaginary friend is a connection to Max’s world.

Every imaginary friend can touch the world of human persons. Even Puppy.

Every imaginary friend can touch the world
, I think.

Then I have a different idea. A better idea and a worse idea all rolled into one.

‘No,’ I say. ‘Don’t tell Kayla.’

I think about Mrs Patterson’s bus with the bedroom in the back and the lock on the door and I worry that if she finds out what Kayla said to Mrs Kropp, she might lock Max up in that bedroom and drive away for ever. Mrs Kropp might tell the police, but maybe Mrs Kropp would smile at Kayla and say something like, ‘Oh, did Wooly tell you that?’ And then she would tell Mrs Patterson about the funny thing that Kayla said in class today, and Mrs Patterson would panic and run away with Max before I ever found a way to save him.

Wooly’s idea might work, but I have a better connection to Max’s world.

A much better and a much worse connection.

I feel another shiver run down my spine.

CHAPTER 44

Mrs Palmer looks tired. Her voice is scratchy and her eyes are puffy and they look like they want to close. Even her clothes and hair look tired.

‘How are you doing?’ Mrs Patterson asks her.

I notice that Mrs Palmer’s desk is cluttered with papers and folders and styrofoam coffee cups. There is a pile of newspapers on the floor beside the trash can. I have never before seen anything on her desk except for a computer and a telephone. I can’t remember ever seeing a single scrap of paper in this office.

‘I’m fine,’ Mrs Palmer says, and even those two words sound tired. ‘I’ll be much better once we find Max, but I know we’re doing everything we can.’

‘There’s not much that we can do. Is there?’ Mrs Patterson asks.

‘I’m helping the police as much as possible, and I’m handling the media inquiries. And I’m trying to help Mr and Mrs Delaney any way I can. But you’re right. There’s not much we can do now but wait and pray.’

‘I’m certainly glad that you’re in charge and not me,’ Mrs Patterson says. ‘I give you a lot of credit, Karen. I don’t know how you do it.’

But Mrs Palmer is not in charge, and Mrs Patterson knows it. Mrs Palmer answers the phone and makes the announcements over the intercom and reminds Mr Fedyzyn to wear a tie at graduation, but she is supposed to be in charge of making sure that kids are safe. That is her real job. But Max is not safe, and the person who stole him is sitting right here in her office and she doesn’t know it.