Free My Invisible Boyfriend by Susie Day Page A

don’t want my boy’s crappy scribbles all over your fancy schoolwork?”
    That is sort of what I mean, though I hope my face doesn’t show it. That kind of thing is cute on the wall of the Little Leaf: I’m not sure they’ll really fly up on the hill.
    She chuckles. “Hey, Teddy! Get your head out of the oven and get out here! He’s actually pretty good, you know. As in, ‘applying to art school’ kind of good?”
    “Ignore the Proud Mommy routine, please?” he says, giving me one of his easy, lazy smiles. The kind that makes me do a little Homer Simpson drooly thing inside my head. The kind that Ed totally gets jealous about.
    “Art school, huh?” I manage to say. “Wow. That’s great. I didn’t even know there were any around here.”
    “Won’t be around here—if I get in. I’ll have to do some classes for credit first, but I’m looking at a few places out East: maybe Chicago?”
    “Whoa. That’s…you’ll be…a long way away. I mean, um, who’s going to make Teddy’s Toffee Temptation cake?”
    It’s not exactly what I mean. I might miss more than the cake.
    But Teddy’s tilting his head anyway, the smile turning awkward. Betsy twists her daisy rings, and looks at me furtively through her hair.
    “Nothing’s set, OK, hon? That’s why I didn’t want to say anything yet. But I guess you’re entitled to know. I’m selling the Little Leaf. Maybe.” She takes hold of my hand and squishes it between both of hers, though hers seem to be the ones that are shaky. “You might’ve noticed, we’re not exactly blessed with a million customers lately. You wouldn’t think it, but summer was slow this year. We’re kind of going under, honeypie. And Teddy’s dad says he’ll pay for Teddy to go to school if it’s over there, so, you know. The timing’s not so bad, really. Sometimes you’ve just got to read the signs, go with flow, land wherever the wind wants to blow you.”
    I don’t know what to say.
    Well, I do. Don’t go. Don’t leave me here. Don’t spoil my perfect day. Stay here forever and ever with your cake and your tea and your unattainably picturesque Teddy, and your being the one person I can tell anything.
    “How long?” I mumble, instead.
    “If it happens, we’ll probably aim to be back over there for Christmas.” Betsy frowns as she sees my face go all crumply. “But we’ll keep you on for as long as we can, honey, I promise. And you’ll always be welcome.”
    “I’ll do those pictures for your school thing, too,” says Teddy, shuffling his feet. “Whatever you need. You can drop in any time to talk it over. Doesn’t need to be a Saturday. You know, weekday, evening, whenever you like?”
    He’s trying so hard to be nice. It makes it worse, somehow.
    Betsy packs my scone in a paper bag, wraps me up in The Coat, and gives me a hug in the doorway before she locks up.
    The bell jingles behind me, like there’s something to be cheerful about.
    All I want to do is hide in my room and watch Mycroft Christie Investigates : a really wallowy miserable one like episode 2.11, “Through the Looking Glass,” so I can have a sad cry about Jori Song’s tragic childhood, and not have to contemplate my own. (Or at least hope that mine turns me into an ass-kicking sidekicky type with only moderate daddy issues.)
    But the Mothership has made Red Pepper and Tomato soup, and apparently I have to help her eat it.
    “You’ll find another job, babes,” says the Mothership. “Bet that coffee place across the road will be hiring. It’s always heaving in there!”
    UM.
    THANKS?
    “I don’t want to work in the Big Bean coffee shop. And it’s not the job I’m upset about.”
    The Mothership puts on her Kind Teacher Listening face.
    “I know it’s a bit awkward for you, babes, not having as much money to throw around as the other kids at school. And it’s nice that you care so much. But don’t get yourself in a knot about it. Maybe it’s for the best? Mr. Prowse keeps