Read Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend Online
Authors: Matthew Green
Max’s desk is empty. It is the only empty desk in the classroom. No one else is absent today. It would be better if someone else was absent today. It would make Max’s desk seem less empty.
Someone should have stayed home sick.
I sit at Max’s desk. The chair is pulled out enough so that I can sit without feeling squished by the idea of the desk and the idea of the chair. Mrs Gosk has stopped whacking the map. Jimmy answered the question about North America and a bunch of kids seem relieved that he knew the answer. They were afraid that Mrs Gosk would ask them where North America was, and they could tell that this is the kind of question that even a dummy should be able to answer. Now she is showing the kids a picture of the
Mayflower
, except it looks like someone has chopped the boat in half. We can see the inside of the boat. Little rooms filled with little tables and little chairs and little people.
The
Mayflower
was a big boat.
Mrs Gosk looks up from the picture to the class and says, ‘Imagine that you are leaving your home for ever. Just like the Pilgrims. You’re sailing to America and all you can bring is one small suitcase. What would you pack inside?’
Hands fly up. This is the kind of question that everyone can answer. No one needs Jimmy for this one. Even someone who hasn’t been listening can raise their hand and answer this question without sounding like a dummy. Mrs Gosk asks these kinds of questions a lot. I think she wants all the kids to have something to talk about, and she loves to make the kids feel like they are a part of the story.
Kids start answering. Mrs Gosk laughs when Malik says, ‘Lots and lots of underwear,’ and Leslyan says, ‘My cellphone charger. I always forget it when we go on vacation.’
I’m surprised that Mrs Gosk is laughing. And I’m mad. Mrs Gosk is acting just like Mrs Gosk. She is not acting like the Mrs Gosk who is missing a student and who the police tried to blame two days ago. In fact, I think she is even more like Mrs Gosk than she ever was. She is like Mrs Gosk times two. She’s practically bouncing around the room. It’s like her shoes are on fire.
Then I understand.
Mrs Gosk is
acting
like Mrs Gosk. She is smiling and asking good questions and swinging her meter-beater around because she is not the only one who is sad or worried about Max. The kids are worried, too. A lot of them don’t know Max very well and a lot of them are mean to him, some on purpose and some on accident, but they all know that Max disappeared and they must be worried and scared. Maybe even sad, too. Mrs Gosk knows this, so even though she is probably the most worried and most afraid person in the whole school, she is pretending to be Mrs Gosk times two for the kids. She is worried about Max but she is also worried about the twenty other kids in the classroom, so she is putting on a show for them. She is trying to make it the best, most normalest day that they ever had.
I love Mrs Gosk.
I might love her more than Max does.
I’m glad I came inside. Just seeing Mrs Gosk makes me feel better.
I go back to Mrs Patterson’s car. I want to stop in the office and see what Mrs Palmer is doing today. I want to see if the police chief is still sitting on her couch. I want to see if Max’s parents are coming to school today to answer more questions. I want to go to the faculty room and see what the teachers are saying about Max. I want to see if Mrs Hume and Mrs McGinn and Mrs Riner are as worried as I am. I want to find Mrs Patterson and see if she is acting normal today or if she is lying to kids like she lied to Max. Most of all I want to spend more time in Mrs Gosk’s classroom.
But if Mrs Gosk can pretend to be herself today, I can wait inside a car until Mrs Patterson comes back.
Waiting is one of the three worst things in the world, but the waiting will be over soon.
If I just sit and wait in Mrs Patterson’s car, I will find Max.
Mrs Patterson opens the door and climbs into the driver’s seat. The last bell rang about five minutes ago and there are still buses in the circle, waiting to fill up with children. But Mrs Patterson is not a teacher who is responsible for kids. She does not have to worry about how they get home or if they are getting picked up by a babysitter or an uncle or a grandmother. She doesn’t even have to worry if they have friends to play with or eat enough lunch or have a warm coat for the winter.
Only teachers like Mrs Gosk can be trusted with this stuff, so teachers like Mrs Patterson can leave when the last bell rings. This must seem good to teachers like Mrs Patterson but they don’t know how much the kids love Mrs Gosk.
Kids can’t love you if you teach them for only an hour a week.
Or if you steal them.
Mrs Patterson starts the car and turns left out of the circle so she does not get stuck behind the buses. You are not allowed to pass a bus if it has its little stop sign switched on.
I remember the day when Max ran out between the buses and almost got hit by someone who was driving through the circle and breaking the little stop sign rule.
Graham was there that day. Graham and Max. It seems so long ago.
Mrs Patterson just drives. She does not turn on the radio. She does not make a phone call. She does not sing or hum or even talk to herself. She keeps both of her hands on the steering wheel and just drives.
I watch her. I think about climbing into the front seat next to her but I don’t. I have never sat in the front seat before and I do not want to sit next to her. I want to follow her. I want her to lead me to Max so I can save him. But I do not want to sit next to her.
I was going to save Max even if I never met Summer. I love Max and I am the only one who can save him. But I still think about Summer a lot when I think about saving Max. I think about the promise that I made to her. I don’t know why, but I do.
I watch for clues while Mrs Patterson drives. I wait to hear her speak. I have been alone in the car with Max’s mom and dad before, and I have been alone in rooms with lots and lots of people who think they are alone, and they are usually doing something. Eventually everyone does something. They turn on the radio or hum or groan or fix their hair in the little mirror that is pasted onto the windshield or drum their fingers on the steering wheel. Sometimes they talk to themselves. They make lists or complain about someone to no one or talk to the other people who are driving in cars around them like the other people can hear them through the glass and metal.
Sometimes people are gross. They pick their noses in the car. This is gross even though the car seems like one of the best places to pick a nose, because no one is around and you can get rid of your boogers before you get home. Max’s mom yells at Max for picking his nose, but Max says that some boogers won’t come out with a tissue, and I think he must be right because I have seen Max’s mom picking her nose, too. But never when someone else is watching.
That’s what I tell Max.
‘Picking your nose is like pooping,’ I say to him. ‘You have to do it in private.’
Max still picks his nose around people sometimes, but not as much as he used to.
Mrs Patterson does not pick her nose. She does not scratch her head. She does not even yawn or sigh or sniffle. She keeps her eyes forward and takes her hands off the steering wheel only to switch on the flashing arrow when she turns. She is serious about driving.
Serious about everything, I think.
A serious customer
, Mrs Gosk would say, and that makes me even more scared. Serious people do serious things and don’t make mistakes. Mrs Gosk says that Katie Marzik is a serious customer because Katie always gets 100 percent on her spelling tests and solves all the math problems without any help. Even the ones that the rest of the class can’t solve with help.
If Katie Marzik wanted to be a kidnapper when she grew up, she would be a good one.
I bet Katie Marzik will drive just like Mrs Patterson someday, with her eyes on the road and her hands on the steering wheel and her mouth closed.
If Mrs Patterson is driving to her house, and I think she is, I am worried about what she has done to Max. How did she keep him stuffed away for the whole day while she was at school?
She could have tied Max up with rope, and that would be bad. Max does not like to be held still. He will not sleep in a sleeping bag because it is too tight. It squishes him, he says. And he says that turtleneck shirts choke his neck, even though they don’t but somehow do at the same time. He doesn’t go into closets even if the door is wide open and never pulls blankets over his head. He wears only seven pieces of clothing at one time, not counting shoes. Never more than seven, because more than seven is too much. ‘It’s too much!’ he yells. ‘Too much! Too much!’
This means that when it is very cold outside, Max’s mother can get Max to wear only underwear, pants, a shirt, a coat, two socks and a hat. Never any gloves or mittens. And even if she took away the socks or the hat and underwear, which I sometimes think she would if she could, he still would not wear the gloves or mittens because he does not like his hands all bundled up and squished inside a glove. So Max’s mom sews fur linings into all of his coat pockets and Max just puts his hands in his pockets to stay warm.
If Mrs Patterson tied Max up or locked him in a closet or inside a box for the day, that would be very, very bad.
I’m mad at myself for not thinking about this before, but I am glad that I did not think about it before, too, because it would have worried me even more.
Maybe Mrs Patterson has someone helping her. Maybe Mrs Patterson is married and her husband is stealing Max, too. Maybe it was his idea. Maybe Mrs Patterson told Mr Patterson that they would be better parents for Max than Max’s parents, so Mr Patterson has been pretending to be a dad by watching Max all day, which would be better than tying Max up or locking him in a cupboard, but still bad because Max does not like strangers or strange places or new foods or different bedtimes or anything that is different.
Mrs Patterson turns on her blinking arrow but there is no street ahead to turn on to. Just houses. One of these houses must be her house. Max is inside one of these houses. I can barely sit still now. I am finally almost there.
She drives past three driveways and then finally turns right. There is a long driveway in front of us. At the top of the hill is a blue house. It is small but it looks perfect. Like a picture from a book or a magazine. There are four big trees on her front lawn but not one single leaf on the grass even though there is not one single leaf in the trees either. No leaves sticking out of the gutters or bunched around the edges of the house, either. There are two baskets of flowers sitting on the stoop by the front door. The same kind that the parents sell every year at school. Tiny yellow flowers in baskets. Maybe Mrs Patterson bought them from the parents last week when they were on sale. Every tiny flower in the baskets looks perfect. Her driveway is perfect, too. No cracks or patches at all. There is a pond behind her house. A big pond, I think. I can see little bits of it around the corners of the house.
As she drives up the hill, she picks up a remote control and presses a button. The garage door opens. She drives into the garage and turns off the car. A second later I hear the garage door rattling and humming. It is closing.
I am inside Mrs Patterson’s house.
I hear Summer’s voice in my head again, making me promise to save Max.
‘I know,’ I say.
Mrs Patterson can’t hear me. Only Max can hear me, and soon he will hear me for real. He is somewhere in this house. He is close by, and I am going to find him. I can’t believe I have made it this far.
Mrs Patterson opens the door and climbs out of the car.
I step out of the car.
It is time to find my friend.
‘Time to save Max,’ I say.
I try to sound brave but I am not.
I do not wait for Mrs Patterson. She stops in a little room just inside the garage to take off her coat and scarf. There are hooks for hanging things and a neat row of boots and shoes along the floor and a washer machine and dryer machine but no Max, so I walk past her into a living room.
There are chairs and a couch and a fireplace and a television hanging on the wall and a little table with books and photographs in silver frames, but there is no Max.
There is a hallway and staircase to my right so I turn and climb the stairs. I climb them two at a time. I do not need to hurry now because I am finally inside Mrs Patterson’s house, but I do anyway. I feel like every second counts.
There is a hallway at the top of the stairs and four doors. Three of the doors are open and one is closed.
The first door on the left is open. It is a bedroom, but it is not Mrs Patterson’s bedroom. There is no stuff in it. Just a bed and a dresser and a nightstand and a mirror. Furniture but no stuff. Nothing on the dresser. Nothing on the floor. No robe or jacket hanging from the hooks on the door. Too many pillows on the bed. A mountain of pillows. It is just like the bedroom that Max’s mom and dad have at the end of the upstairs hall. The guest bedroom, they call it, but Max’s mom and dad have never had a guest. Probably because Max would not like a sleep-over guest. It’s like a pretend bedroom. A bedroom that you only look at but never use. Like a bedroom in a museum.
There is a closet next to the bed so I check it. I pass through the door into a dark space. I can’t see anything because it’s so dark so I whisper. ‘Max? Are you here?’
He is not. I know it before I even whisper his name.
I don’t know why I whisper his name since Max is the only person who can hear me. Max’s mom would say that I have watched too much television, and she is probably right.
The second door on the left is also open. It is a bathroom. This bathroom looks like a pretend room, too. A museum bathroom. There is no stuff in here, either. Nothing on the sink or floor. The towels are all hanging perfectly on the rods and the toilet seat is closed. It is a guest bathroom, I think, even though I have never heard of a guest bathroom before.