I know what new means, but what’s a fangled?
Max loves these toys. Max’s mom would say that Max is engaged, which means that he has stopped paying attention to everything around him. Max gets engaged a lot, which is good because it means that he is happy, but it also means that he forgets everything else. When Max is engaged, it is like only one thing exists. Ever since he sat down on the carpet in front of the coffee table and started playing with these toys, I don’t think he’s looked up once.
Dr Hogan is smart enough to let Max play. Every now and then she asks a question, and so far all of her questions have only needed yes-or-no and one-word answers, so Max has been answering most of them.
That’s smart, too. If Dr Hogan had tried to get Max to just talk, without the thinker toys and the quiet time, he would have probably clammed up, which is what Mrs Hume says about Max when he won’t talk to her. But Max is slowly getting used to Dr Hogan and eventually he might be able to talk to her if she waits long enough. Especially if she doesn’t make him feel like she’s staring at him and recording everything that he says. Most of the time adults start out slow with Max but eventually they lose their patience and mess things up.
Dr Hogan is pretty. She’s younger than Max’s mom, I think, and she isn’t dressed too fancy. She is wearing a skirt and a T-shirt and sneakers, like she’s going for a walk in the park. This is smart, too, because she looks like just another girl. Not a real doctor.
Max is afraid of doctors.
Best of all, she hasn’t asked one single question about me. Not one. I was worried that she would be asking Max about me for the whole time, but instead, it seems like she’s more interested in Max’s favorite food (macaroni) and his favorite flavor of ice cream (vanilla) than his imaginary friend.
‘Do you like school?’ Dr Hogan asks.
Dr Hogan told Max that he could call her Ellen, but that is too weird for me. Max hasn’t had to say her name yet, so I don’t know what he has decided to do, but I bet he will call her Dr Hogan, too. If he can remember her name. If he was listening when she told him.
‘Kind of,’ Max says.
His tongue is sticking out of the corner of his mouth and he is squinting, staring at two pieces of thinker toys, trying to figure out how they go together.
‘What’s your favorite part of school?’
Max doesn’t say anything for ten seconds, and then he says, ‘Lunch.’
‘Oh,’ Dr Hogan says. ‘Do you know why lunch is your favorite part of school?’
See how smart she is? She doesn’t ask Max why lunch is his favorite until she knows that he knows. If Max can’t explain why lunch is his favorite part of school, then he can just say no, and he doesn’t have to feel dumb for not knowing the answer. If Dr Hogan asks a question that makes Max feel dumb, she might never get him to talk.
‘No,’ Max says, and Dr Hogan doesn’t seem surprised one bit.
I’m not surprised either. But I think I know why Max likes lunch best. I think it is because it’s the part of the school day when he is left alone. No one bothers him, and no one tells him what to do. He sits at the end of the lunch table, all alone, reading his book and eating the same thing every day: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a granola bar, and an apple juice. The rest of the school day is unpredictable. You never know what might happen. Things are always changing, and teachers and kids are always surprising Max. But lunch is always the same.
This is only a guess. I don’t know why Max likes lunch the best, because I don’t think Max knows. Sometimes you can feel something but not know why you feel that way. Like the way I feel about Mrs Patterson. I knew I did not like her as soon as I met her, but I can’t explain why. I just knew. And now that she and Max have a secret, I like her even less.
‘Who is your best friend, Max?’ Dr Hogan asks.
Max says ‘Timothy’ because that is what Max always says when someone asks him who his best friend is, even though I know that I am his real best friend. But Max knows that if he says my name, people will ask him questions and tell him that I don’t exist. Timothy is a boy who spends time in the Learning Center when Max is there, and sometimes Timothy and Max work together. Max says that Timothy is his best friend because they don’t fight. Neither one likes working with other kids, so when their teachers make them work together, they try to find a way to work alone together.
Mrs Hume once told Max’s mom that it is sad that Max’s best friends are the kids who leave him alone, but Mrs Hume doesn’t understand that Max is happy when he is alone. Just because Mrs Hume and Max’s mom and most people are happiest when they are with their friends doesn’t mean that Max needs friends to be happy. Max doesn’t like other people, so he is happiest when people just leave him alone.
It’s like me with food. I don’t eat. I’ve never met an imaginary friend who eats. I was visiting the hospital one night, because the hospital never closes, and I was spending time with Susan, a lady who does not eat food with her mouth anymore. She has a straw that goes straight into her belly, and the nurses feed her pudding through the straw. Susan’s sisters were visiting, and when they were in the hallway outside Susan’s room, her fat sister said it was sad that Susan could not eat anymore because there is so much joy in food.
‘No there’s not!’ I said, but no one heard me.
But it’s true. I’m glad that I don’t eat, no matter what Susan’s fat sister says. Eating seems like a pain in the butt to me. Even if the food tastes good, you have to worry about having enough money to buy the food and cooking the food and not burning the food and eating the right amount without getting fat like Susan’s sister. Plus all the time it takes to cook the food and clean the dishes and cut the mango and peel the potatoes and ask the waiter for milk instead of cream. The dangers of choking on food or being allergic to certain foods. It all seems so complicated. I don’t care how good the food might taste. It wouldn’t be worth all the trouble. Maybe Susan feels this way, too, now that she eats with a belly straw, which seems a lot easier than cooking dinner every night. But even if she doesn’t feel this way, I still feel this way. If I was given a chance to eat food right now, I’d say no, because I wouldn’t want to get in the habit of eating food and starting all of that rigmarole, which is one of Mrs Gosk’s favorite words.
Even though I don’t eat, I’m still happy, even if there is so much joy in food. Because there is joy in not worrying about food, too. More joy, I think.
For Max, there’s joy in being alone. He’s not lonely. He just doesn’t like people very much. But he is happy.
‘What is your least favorite food?’ Dr Hogan asks.
Max stops for a moment, his hands sort of frozen in midair, and then he says, ‘Peas.’
I would have guessed zucchini. I bet he forgot about zucchini.
‘What’s your least favorite part of school?’ Dr Hogan asks.
‘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, st
ill 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.