Free Invisible Inkling by Emily Jenkins Page A

just unpacked my food and am biting into my apple when suddenly he is standing next to me, unloading his tray.
    What? Why unload?
    He’s never unloaded before.
    Is he going to sit down with us?
    Why would he sit down with us?
    He does sit down. Makes himself at home. Like he’s welcome to eat lunch with us or something.
    â€œHey, Spank.” Gillicut waves his hand in front of my face. “Didn’t I tell you not to start eating until we’ve had our daily chat?”
    I look up.
    Not a lunch aide in sight.
    â€œSprinkie tax,” Gillicut says, reaching over to grab my Tupperware.
    I hold my breath.
    â€œI’ll take these, too,” he says, reaching for a bag of Cheddar Bunnies.
    Gillicut dumps the bunnies on the table and shoves some in his mouth.
    What’s he going to do next?
    He must have some evil plan or he wouldn’t have sat down.
    Chin has her arms protectively around her apple-butter-and-pickle sandwich.
    â€œMay I sit here?” Ms. Cherry stands over us, holding a tray of pizza, cranberry juice, and fruit salad.
    I breathe out.
    If a teacher is going to sit with us, I should be safe. What can Gillicut do with Ms. Cherry sitting across from him?
    â€œSure,” I answer. Chin scoots over to make room.
    â€œI’ve decided I should eat with my students on pizza day,” says Ms. Cherry, setting her food down and touching her complicated hair. She eases herself onto the bench. “I never get a chance to just chat with you guys!” She reaches over and pats my hand. “I love to connect with kids outside of the classroom.”
    â€œHello, Ms. Cherry,” says Gillicut, chewing my bunnies.
    â€œBruno, did Hank give you his ice-cream-shop sprinkles today?” she says, noticing the container.
    I’m about to say “No!” when Gillicut kicks me under the table. “Thank you so much for the sprinkies, Hank!” He smiles. “Ms. Cherry, would you like some? They’re rainbow.”
    â€œHank!” Ms. Cherry pats my hand again. “Did you decide to be an ambassador of goodwill? Because I think you did !”
    â€œNot really,” I say. “I—”
    â€œI love sprinkles,” says Ms. Cherry, picking up the Tupperware and peeking in. “My favorite ice-cream combo is peppermint with chocolate. Oh, and whipped cream. What about you, Sasha?”
    But before Chin can answer, Ms. Cherry drops the container and screams.

All Tomato Sauce and Anger
    M s. Cherry bends over, yelling. She clutches her hair, which is rapidly unwinding, as if by magic. Her lunch tray skids across the table, spraying cranberry juice everywhere. She falls to the floor, yowling and thrashing as if some invisible—
    Oh.
    It’s Inkling.
    He is here, after all!
    Despite what I did to him, he didn’t leave me to face Gillicut alone.
    Only: He has dropped on the wrong person. He dropped on Ms. Cherry!
    The items on the tabletop skid to the ground as Inkling launches himself at Gillicut’s pizza. He must grab the crust in his mouth because the slice lifts into the air, waving violently so that the triangle part
flaps.
    Whomp! It hits Gillicut hard across the face, smearing him with cheese and pepperoni.
    And whomp! Back the other way with the crust side.
    Gillicut is all over tomato sauce and anger. He tackles me and rolls me on the floor. I can see Ms. Cherry flailing, trying to pull herself to standing, high heels slipping on a puddle of cranberry juice. Gillicut and I land several feet from her, rolling onto the plastic carton of blueberry yogurt from my lunch. I can feel it burst under my head. Gillicut’s hot face is right in mine. He’s crushing me, and I can barely breathe. The yogurt is all in my hair. Chin yanks at Gillicut’s shirt, trying to get him off me, but he bats her away.
    Where is Inkling?
    Why isn’t he helping?
    Oh, wait—I bet he stopped to eat Gillicut’s pizza.
    Yep.
    Inkling is filling