From the cover
In chapters one and two, Bobby has woken up to find himself invisible, really invisible. Now he is trying to figure out just what that is going to mean. He decides to test his invisibility in the library.Chapter 3: OUT THERE
The good thing about February in Chicago is that no one thinks it’s weird if you’re all bundled up. When I get on the city bus headed toward campus, I’m just another person who doesn’t want to freeze to death in the wind chill. The stocking cap, the turtleneck, the scarf around my face, the gloves, it all looks natural. Except maybe Dad’s huge sunglasses. They make me look like Elwood from The Blues Brothers.
It’s about a half-mile bus ride from home to the stop at Ellis and Fifty-seventh Street. Bouncing along, my heart is pounding so hard, I can hear it crinkling my eardrums. It probably isn’t such a great idea to be going to the library. But I have to. I have to. I mean, what if I sit at home all day and watch TV, and then tomorrow, I wake up and I’m my regular self again? It would be like nothing happened, same old same old. So I’m going to the library to see what it’s like. To be like this. At the library. As long as I get home before Dad does, no problem.
Looking out the window of the bus, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get into the library. It’s the big one, the Regenstein Library. You have to show an ID at the entrance. If the person on duty wants to check my face against the picture on my lab school ID, things could get messy.
But I come here a lot, and I know the guy who’s working at the security desk today. He’s a college kid.
There’s no line, and I hand him my card. “Hi, Walt. How’s it going?”
He looks at my picture and runs the card under the scanner. He smiles and says, “Everything’s good, Bobby. You out of school early today?”
I nod. “Yeah, working on a special project.”
He smiles and says, “Well, don’t get too smart all at once, okay?”
I start to walk toward the elevators and Walt says, “Hey . . . ”
I turn back, and he grins and says, “Nice shades.”
I know exactly where I’m going. The elevator takes me to the top floor. There’s a men’s room up on five, and I’m betting it’s empty. It is. I shut myself into the stall against the wall and take off my clothes. I wrap everything in my coat. I look around and realize my little plan has a flaw: A public washroom does not offer a lot of places to hide a bundle of clothes. And they have to still be here when I get back.
Then I look up. The ceiling’s like the one in my basement at home. It’s not too high, and by standing on the toilet seat, I’m just tall enough to lift up a ceiling tile, push it to one side, and stick my bundle of stuff up there next to the light fixture. Then I pull the tile back in place.
Before I leave the washroom, I look into the mirror above the sinks. I have to make sure I don’t look like I feel. Because I feel the way I am—which is totally naked. And I hope that at least for the next little while, I really do stay invisible.
Leaving my house, riding the bus, walking through the library—when I did all that I was wearing a full set of clothes. And my eyes told my brain that everything was normal. And I had no trouble walking or seeing my hand put quarters into the slot on the bus. That’s because my hand was in a glove and my feet were in my shoes.
Now I’m lost in space again, like that first trip down to the kitchen at breakfast this morning. My hands and feet...