Things Not Seen (21 page)

But as I start walking home, everything's not okay now. All I can think about are those little fingernails, chewed down to nothing.

 

Back home I go into the den, turn on the computer, and open up Instant Messenger. I click around to see if Alicia's online. She is.

Nothing. And I try about six more greetings. Nothing.

So I just leave it on and hurry down to the basement to find a cardboard box. Because walking home, I decided to do something. Something only I can do. I grab a box and run up the stairs to my room because I have to do this fast, like, maybe it's already too late. Because maybe it's gone. The blanket. Because I didn't actually see it this morning. Maybe Dad took it to the lab.

But he didn't. It's folded up on the seat of my desk chair, right where Mom put it early this morning.

So, I put the blanket and the controller into the box. I grab the sheet with Sheila's address and stuff it into the back pocket of my jeans. I put the list of names from Sears into the box, and I pick up the cell phone and clear its memory.

I take the box, trot down to the parlor, scoop up all Dad's notes and diagrams plus the information sheets about the electric blanket, and toss them into the box.

Back in the den I check the messenger window. No response yet from Alicia. I open up the browser, find the SOHO page I looked at last night, and then print out a copy and toss it into the box.

In the kitchen I rummage around for almost ten minutes, but I can't find any strong tape. But I do find a black Magic Marker, and I put that into my jacket pocket.

Three blocks away, I hurry up the front steps of the post office. At a table I write Sheila's name and address on the box. Then I wait in line with the box.

The man in the blue shirt has a big mustache.

“Regular delivery or express on this?”

“Um, surface is okay.”

“Parcel post will cost…three dollars and ten cents. That'll take about a week, maybe more. Or you can send it priority. Be there in two days, but it'll cost you…six dollars and seventy-five cents.”

“Priority, please. And can you close it up with some of that tape?”

“Sure.”

As he reaches for the tape, I say, “Hey—can I put one more thing in there?”

“Yup, but you'll have to get back in line.”

I take the box back to the table, and on the blank side of an insurance form I write,

I'm not telling Sheila what to do. I just want her to know that anytime the sun acts up, she has a choice.

Five minutes later, the box is in the hands of the postal service.

When I get home, there's a message waiting for me on the computer screen, very short.

I do, and a letter is waiting.

People talk about crying from happiness, and it sounds stupid—crying from happiness. I never knew what it meant. It's not really happiness that makes the tears. It's everything at once, everything that's good and sad and wonderful all at once, except the things that are wonderful mean so much more than the sad things. Crying from happiness, right there, sitting in front of the computer, reading Alicia's e-mail.

I wipe my eyes on the sleeve of my jacket, and I start to open up Instant Messenger. Then I stop, and I print out Alicia's e-mail, and then I shut the computer down.

I fold up the letter and stick it in my pocket. As I open the front door, something moves. I turn, startled. It's me, in the big hall mirror. But I don't stop to look. I'm out the door. I'm in a hurry. I've got to get over to Alicia's house. I need to tell her how much I love…how much I love her poem.

And I need to be there to see her face when I tell her.

PLATINUM EDITION

Bonus Material

Where do you get your ideas for books?

Most of my story ideas come from my own life in one way or another. If I'm writing about school, I remember the years I spent as a student myself, the years I spent as a teacher, the years I have spent as a parent of children in school. And I dig around. It's like being a miner. I dig around in this huge pile of memories, find a little chunk of an idea, and I work on it and polish it up, refine it into something useful or interesting.

How did you come up with the idea for
Things Not Seen
?

Invisibility is not a new idea—it's actually as old as God. And books about people who become invisible—that's not a new idea either, but most of these earlier books were either science fiction or scary, mad-scientist stories. I just wanted to explore what might happen if a normal kid woke up invisible one day. Would it be pure fun, or would there be another side to the experience? And that idea got the story started.

Are any of your characters similar to you? Did you ever do any of the things they do?

When I was a fourth-grade teacher and kids would come up to me and ask, “Mr. Clements, how do you spell ‘pancakes'?” and I would say, “Go look it up in the dictionary!”—Mrs. Granger in
Frindle
says that a lot. So in a way, Mrs. Granger is sort of like me. Yes, there are little bits of me in all of my characters.

What was your favorite book as a child?

When I was very young it was the Winnie-the-Pooh books by A. A. Milne and
The Little Fireman
by Margaret Wise Brown. Later, I loved
The Call of the Wild
by Jack London,
Kidnapped
and
Treasure Island
by Robert Louis Stevenson, the Sherlock Holmes mysteries—all sorts of books. I read a lot.

When did you know you wanted to be a writer?

I knew I loved reading and books early on, but didn't realize I was a good writer until a high-school English teacher named Mrs. Rappell made me work at it. Once I'd figured out I was a pretty good writer, I went through years and years when I wrote short things—mostly poems, descriptive sketches, song lyrics. I wrote short things because I didn't make the time to write and because writing for me is not easy—which is true for most people, and which is especially true for most writers. I taught school for years and was good at that; I worked as an editor for years and was reasonably good at that, too. Knowing I wanted to be a writer was not a lightning-bolt moment. I simply discovered over many years that writing is what I seem to do best.

If writing is not easy for you, why do you do it?

On a windy, drizzly fall day in New England, I stacked firewood for five hours straight, three cords of wood—it had to be a couple tons of the stuff. It was difficult, but come winter, there would be a cheery fire in the fireplace, and toasty warmth from the stove in my writing shed in the backyard. I like cheery fires and toasty stoves enough to want to do the hard work of stacking wood.

I know from my own experience that reading a good book can be a life-changing event. So I'm willing, actually happy, to do the work of stacking all those words so they'll give off some heat and light in another's life on a winter afternoon or a summer night. And if I have the ability to perhaps make that happen, then the work becomes fun.

Where do you write?

Most of the time I write in a little shed in my backyard. It's small, only ten feet wide and twelve feet long. It's about seventy feet from the back of the house, and it's quiet out there. There's no phone, no e-mail, no TV, no music system. There's a door and two small windows. There's an air conditioner for the summer and a woodstove for the winter. There's a three-feet-by-six-feet plank-top desk, a comfortable desk chair, and the laptop computer I carry back and forth. And there's also a folding cot that my wife and kids gave me for Father's Day. And that's it.

With whom do you share your writing first?

My wife, Rebecca, is my first and best critic. After she's read it, it goes to my kids. When work is ready to leave the house, it goes to my agent and the project editor, sometimes one before the other, sometimes simultaneously.

Do you read reviews of your own work?

Yes. It's hard not to. You learn to be grateful for the good ones. You learn to be tolerant of the ones that completely miss the point. You learn to resist the temptation to fire off an indignant e-mail. When reviewers write, I nod politely. I hear what they have to say. But when librarians and teachers and parents tell me what they think, I listen. And when kids tell me what they think, I really listen.

Do you have any advice for aspiring authors?

First rule: Read, read, read. Read all the good books you can to learn what good writing sounds like and feels like. And think about what you read. Remember that everything you read in a book happens on purpose. Try to figure out why the author chose that particular word at that spot in the story—because he or she did choose that very one and not all the other possible words. Then, you have to write yourself. And find good teachers to help. Read books about writing. Read what authors say about their own writing. And above all, be persistent.

What's the best question a reader has ever asked you about your writing?

A boy once asked me, “Aren't you afraid you're going to run out of things to write about?” I thought about that one carefully. But the answer has to be no. One of my greatest discoveries has been that there is no shortage of good ideas.

Discussion Guide

• 1.
  What would you do if you woke up one morning to find that you were invisible? What do you think the hardest thing about being invisible would be? Would you behave differently if no one could see you?
  
• 2.
  What if you had the ability to change yourself in one big way? Would you become invisible, fly, have superstrength, etc.? What would you do with your new talent?
  
• 3.
  This is a fictional story, but people can feel invisible in real life when they are ignored or shunned by society. Can you think of other times in history when an individual or a group of people have been treated as “invisible”? Have you ever felt as though you were “invisible”? What did you do?
  
• 4.
  As humans, we know that we will be seen by others. It is a fundamental truth, or a fact of life. What is another fundamental truth—something that you take for granted? How might your life be different if that changed?
  
• 5.
  What do you think of Bobby's relationship with Alicia? Do you think they would have become friends if he had not become invisible or if she had not been blind? How do you think the story would be different if one or both of them had not been changed by the situations in their lives?
  
• 6.
  Bobby and Sheila have very different ways of handling their problems. Which way do you think was better? What would you have done if you were in their situation?
  
• 7.
  What do you think is the most important thing Bobby learns about himself during his adventure in invisibility?