When youve lived sixty-six years with a name like Mr. Portendorfer, the teacher said, glowering, you get over people pronouncing your name wrong. Profendoffer. Portenworten. Ive heard it all. So I suggest you, Oscar, ought to be less concerned about the correct pronunciation of your name!
Oliver raised his eyebrows, stunned into silence. Even the rest of his classmates seemed shocked by the outburst, because they werent even tittering with laughter. Mr. Portendorfers reaction was over the top by anyones standards, and for it to be directed at a new kid made it even worse. From the grumpy receptionist to the volatile English teacher, Oliver wondered if there was even a single nice person in this whole school!
Mr. Portendorfer began droning on about pronouns. Oliver hunkered down even further in his seat, feeling tense and unhappy. Luckily Mr. Portendorfer didnt pick on him anymore, but when the bell rang an hour later, his chastisement was still ringing in Olivers ears.
Oliver trudged through the halls in search of his math classroom. When he found it, he made sure to beeline straight for the back row. If Mr. Portendorfer didnt know he had a new student, maybe the math teacher wouldnt either. Perhaps he could be invisible for the next hour.
To Olivers relief it worked. He sat, silent and anonymous, throughout the whole class, like an algebra-obsessed ghost. But even that didnt feel like the best solution to his problems, Oliver thought. Being unnoticed was just as bad as being publicly humiliated. It made him feel insignificant.
The bell rang again. It was lunch, so Oliver followed his map down to the hall. If the playground had been intimidating it was nothing compared to the lunchroom. Here, the kids were like wild animals. Their raucous voices echoed off the walls, making the noise even more unbearable. Oliver bowed his head and hurried toward the queue.
Smack. Suddenly, he slammed into a large, foreboding body. Slowly, Oliver raised his gaze.
To his surprise, it was Chriss face he was staring into. On either side of him, in a sort of arrow formation, were three boys and one girl all scowling the same scowl. Cronies was the word that sprang to Olivers mind.
Youve made friends already? Oliver said, trying not to sound surprised.
Chris narrowed his eyes. Not all of us are antisocial loser freaks, he said.
Oliver realized then that this wasnt going to be a pleasant interaction with his brother. But then, it never was.
Chris looked over at his new cronies. This is my pipsqueak brother, Oliver, he announced. Then he let out a belly laugh. He sleeps in the alcove.
His new bully friends started to laugh too.
Hes available for swirlies, wedgies, headlocks, and my personal favorite, Chris continued. He grabbed Oliver, and pressed his knuckles into his head. Noogies.
Oliver wriggled and thrashed in Chriss grasp. Locked in the horrible, painful headlock, Oliver remembered his powers from yesterday, the moment hed broken the table leg and sent potatoes into Chriss lap. If he only knew how hed summoned those powers he could do it now and break free. But he had no idea how hed done it. All hed done was visualize in his minds eye the table breaking, the plastic soldier flying through the air. Was that all it took? His imagination?
He attempted it now, picturing himself wrestling free from Chris. But it was no good. With Chriss new friends all watching on, laughing with glee, he was just too tuned into the reality of his humiliation to shift his mind to his imagination.
Finally, Chris let him go. Oliver staggered back, rubbing his sore head. He patted down his hair, which had become frizzy with static. But more than the humiliation of Chriss bullying, Oliver felt the sting of disappointment from failing to summon his powers. Maybe the whole kitchen table thing was just a coincidence. Maybe he didnt have any special powers at all.
The girl who was hovering next to Chriss shoulder spoke up. Cant wait to get to know you better, Oliver. She said it in a menacing voice that Oliver could tell meant quite the opposite.
Hed been worried about bullies. Of course he should have anticipated the worst bully of all would be his brother.
Oliver shoved his way past Chris and his new friends and headed for the lunch queue. With a sad sigh, he grabbed a cheese sandwich from the fridge and headed, heavy-hearted, to the restroom. The toilet cubicle was the only place he felt safe.
*Olivers next lesson after lunch was science. He wandered the corridors looking for the correct room, his stomach churning with the certainty that it would be just as bad as his first two classes.
When he found the classroom he knocked against the window. The teacher was younger than hed been anticipating. Science teachers, in his experience, tended to be old and somewhat strange, but Ms. Belfry looked completely sane. She had long, straight, mousy brown hair, which was almost the same color as her cotton dress and cardigan. She turned at the sound of his knock and smiled, showing dimples on both cheeks, and beckoned him in. He opened the door timidly.
Hello, Ms. Belfry said, smiling. Are you Oliver?
Oliver nodded. Even though he was the first one there, he felt suddenly very shy. At least this teacher seemed to be expecting him. That was a relief.
Im so pleased to meet you, Ms. Belfry said, holding out a hand for him to shake.
It was all very formal and not at all what Oliver was expecting considering what hed experienced of Campbell Junior High so far. But he took her hand and shook. She had very warm skin and her friendly, respectful demeanor helped put him at ease.
Did you get a chance to do any of the reading? Ms. Belfry asked.
Olivers eyes widened and he felt a little hitch of panic in his chest. I didnt realize there was any reading.
Its fine, Ms. Belfry said reassuringly, smiling her kind smile. Not to worry. Were learning about scientists this term, and some important historical figures. She pointed at a black-and-white portrait on the wall. This is Charles Babbage, he invented the
calculator, Oliver finished.
Ms. Belfry beamed and clapped her hands. You already know?
Oliver nodded. Yes. And hes also often credited as the father of the computer, since it was his designs that led to their invention. He looked at the next picture on the wall. And thats James Watt, he said. The inventor of the steam engine.
Ms. Belfry nodded. She looked thrilled. Oliver, I can already tell were going to get along famously.
Just then, the door opened, and in poured Olivers classmates. He swallowed, his anxiety returning in a huge rush.
Why dont you take a seat? Ms. Belfry suggested.
He nodded and hurried to the one closest to the window. If it all got too much, at the very least he could look out and imagine himself somewhere else. From here, he had a great view out over the neighborhood, at all the bits of trash and crispy fall leaves blowing in the wind. The clouds above looked even darker than they had that morning. It didnt really help with Olivers sense of foreboding.
The rest of the kids in the class were very loud and very rowdy. It took a long time for Ms. Belfry to settle them down so she could start her lesson.
Today, were carrying on from where we left off last week, she said, needing to raise her voice, Oliver noticed, in order to be heard over the din. With some amazing inventors from World War Two. I wonder if anyone knows who this is?
She held up a black-and-white photo of a woman whom Oliver had read about in his inventors book. Katharine Blodgett, who invented the gas mask, the smoke screen, and the non-reflective glass that was used for wartime submarine periscopes. After Armando Illstrom, Katharine Blodgett was one of Olivers favorite inventors, because he found all the technological advances shed made in World War Two fascinating.
Just then, he noticed Ms. Belfry looking at him expectantly. She could probably tell from his face that he knew precisely who was in the picture. But after his experiences today, he was afraid to say anything aloud. His class would work out he was a nerd eventually; Oliver didnt want to hurry the process.
But Ms. Belfry nodded at him, eager and encouraging. Against his better judgment, Oliver piped up.
Thats Katharine Blodgett, he said, finally.
Ms. Belfrys grin burst onto her face, bringing her lovely dimples with it. Thats correct, Oliver. Can you tell the class who she is? What she invented?
Behind him, Oliver could hear chuckling. The kids were already cottoning on to his nerd status.
She was an inventor during World War Two, he said. She created lots of useful and important wartime inventions, like submarine periscopes. And gas masks, which saved lots of peoples lives.
Ms. Belfry looked thrilled with Oliver.
FREAK! someone shouted from the back.
No, thank you, Paul, Ms. Belfry said sternly to the boy whod shouted. She turned to the board and began to write about Katharine Blodgett.
Oliver smiled to himself. After the librarian whod gifted him the inventors book, Ms. Belfry was the kindest adult hed ever met. Her enthusiasm was like a bulletproof shield Oliver could wrap around his shoulders, deflecting the rest of his classs cruel words. He settled into the class, more at ease than hed been in days.
*Sooner than he was expecting, the bell rang for the end of the day. Everyone hurried out, running and shouting. Oliver collected his things and made for the exit.
Oliver, Im very impressed with your knowledge, Ms. Belfry said when she ran into him in the hallway. Where did you learn about all these people?
I have a book, he explained. I like inventors. I want to be one.
Do you make your own inventions? she asked, looking enthusiastic.
He nodded but didnt tell her about the invisibility coat. What if she thought it was silly? He wouldnt be able to cope with seeing anything resembling mockery on her face.
I think thats fantastic, Oliver, she said, nodding. Its very important to have dreams to follow. Who is your favorite inventor?
Oliver recalled Armando Illstroms face in the faded picture in his book.
Armando Illstrom, he said. Hes not very famous but he invented lots of cool things. He even tried to make a time machine.
A time machine? Ms. Belfry said, raising her eyebrows. Thats exciting.
Oliver nodded, feeling more able to open up thanks to her encouragement. His factory is near here. I was thinking about going to visit him.
You must, Ms. Belfry said, smiling her warm smile. You see, when I was your age, I loved physics. All the other kids teased me, they didnt understand why I wanted to make circuits instead of play with dolls. But one day, my absolute favorite physicist came to town to record an episode of his TV show. I went along and spoke to him afterward. He told me to never give up on my passion. Even if other people told me I was weird to be interested in it, if I had a dream, I had to follow it. I wouldnt be here today had it not been for that conversation. Never underestimate how important it is to receive encouragement from someone who gets you, especially when it seems as though no one else does.
Ms. Belfrys words struck Oliver powerfully. For the first time that day, he felt buoyant. He was now completely determined to find the factory and meet his hero face to face.
Thanks, Ms. Belfry, he said, grinning at her. See you next class!
And as he hurried away with a spring in his step, he heard Ms. Belfry call out, Always follow your dreams!
CHAPTER THREE
Oliver trudged toward the bus stop, fighting against the gusting winds. His mind was focused on his solace, on the one ray of light in this dark new chapter of his life: Armando Illstrom. If he could find the inventor and his factory, life would at least be bearable. Perhaps Armando Illstrom could be his ally. The sort of man whod once attempted to invent a time machine would surely be the sort of person whod get along with a boy trying to become invisible. Surely he, of anyone, could handle some of Olivers idiosyncrasies. At the very least, hed be a bigger nerd than Oliver was!
Oliver rummaged in his pocket and pulled out the slip of paper that hed scribbled the factory address on. It was farther away from his school than hed originally thought. Hed have to take a bus. He checked in his other pocket for some change and discovered he had just enough left over from lunch to pay for the journey. Relieved and filled with anticipation, he headed toward the bus stop.
As he waited for the bus, the wind around him roared. If it got any worse, he wouldnt be able to stand up straight. In fact, people who passed him were fighting to stay upright. Had he not been so drained from his first day at school, he might have found the sight amusing. But his focus was solely on the factory.
Finally, the bus arrived. It was an old, beat-up thing that had seen better days.
Oliver climbed aboard and paid for his ticket, then took a seat right at the back. It smelled on the bus, of greasy fries and onions. Olivers stomach growled, reminding him that hed probably miss the dinner that would be waiting for him at home. Maybe spending money on a bus instead of some food was a foolish decision. But finding Armandos factory was the only ray of light in Olivers otherwise bleak existence. If he didnt do this, then what was the point in any of it?
The bus hissed and juddered along the roads. Oliver looked out wistfully at the passing streets. Trash cans had been knocked on their sides and some even skidded along the roads, pushed along by the winds. The clouds above were so dark they were almost black.
The houses began to thin out and the view from his window became even more deserted and dilapidated. The bus stopped, letting off some passengers, then stopped again, this time to bid farewell to a tired mother and her wailing baby. After several stops, Oliver realized he was the only person left onboard. The silence felt eerie.
Finally, the bus passed a stop with a rusty, faded sign. Oliver realized that this was his stop. He jumped up and hurried to the front of the bus.
Can I get off please? he said.
The driver looked at him with sad, lazy eyes. Ring the bell.
Im sorry, you want me to
Ring the bell, the driver repeated monotonously. If you wanna get off the bus, you gotta ring the bell.
Oliver let out a sigh of exasperation. He pressed the bell button. It dinged. He turned back to the driver, eyebrows raised expectantly. Now can I get off?
At the next stop, the driver said.
Oliver grew infuriated. I wanted that stop!
Shouldve rung the bell sooner, the bus driver replied in his lazy drawl.
Oliver clenched his fists with exasperation. But at last, he felt the bus begin to slow. It halted beside a sign that was so old it was nothing more than a square of rust. The door slowly creaked open.