Chapter 20
George

The floor beneath me seems to be made of rainbow Jell-O. It wobbles and threatens to collapse with each step. I take bigger, bouncier strides, as I desperately search for more solid ground. Instead, I find a thick air that seems to hold me up longer and farther with each bounce. I’m floating, almost flying.

And I thought I was magic before. Shows what Jack knows!

Rather than the usual light blue sky I’ve come to know, the atmosphere here is a swirl of rainbow sherbet. “Something’s wrong with the gravity,” I announce to anyone who will listen.

Three mice—one brown, one gray, one purple—scurry past me along the gelatinous ground, their tiny feet making dents in its fragile surface. “It’s fine,” one replies, with a much gruffer voice than I’d expect from such a small creature.

“Excuse me. Where are we?” I chase after them as I scan the horizon. Whimsical buildings that look like cartoon drawings dot the street. Some have faces. Dozens of curious creatures poke their heads out of windows while others float or bounce along the sidewalk.

An enormous, four-headed turquoise monster wearing a red striped button-down shirt strolls past, singing in harmony—a barbershop quartet. Or would that be a barbershop solo? “Has anybody seen my pal?”

“My pal?”

“My pal?”

“My paaaaalll?” In response to this deep baritone voice, the rubbery ground ripples.

At the crosswalk, a gigantic pink brontosaurus in yellow galoshes looks left and right and left again, afraid to cross. With a deep breath that I can feel ruffle my hair from all the way down here, he takes a single cautious step forward. The ground wobbles. The mice and I pop into the sky with a comic booiiinnng sound.

“Watch it, Buster!” the brown mouse cries out, shaking his fist.

The dinosaur steps back, his neck drooping. “Sorry,” he apologizes, again frozen at the curb.

“We’ll never find her now!” the purple mouse squeaks as they all flop onto their sides. Find who? I wonder.

“Where am I?” I ask again.

“No time,” the gray mouse says, as all three take a tiny synchronized hop that propels them into the air. This time, they don’t land, flying away to who-knows-where to find who-knows-who.

“You new here?” A scraggly girl with a furry face approaches. She has bare feet and a faded floral shawl draped around her shoulders.

I nod. “I guess so.”

“Who you looking for?” she asks, as if that’s an obvious follow-up question.

I think back to the posters I made right before I found Jack. “I guess me,” I state.

She spits on the ground. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

I shrug. “None of this does. Who are you looking for?” I ask in case that’s the polite thing to say around here.

“My twin sister. She warned me, but I didn’t listen.” Her voice cracks.

My heart breaks for this poor bedraggled girl, until I notice something vaguely familiar about her. I squint to picture an oversized hat upon her head. As if by magic, a yellow hat suddenly appears, and before I can even blink, she and I are seated together on a bus that looks like it was yanked out of a cartoon. What the fedora?

My new friend now looks exactly like the mysterious gopher lady. “What’s your name?” I ask.

“Miranda,” she says, sniffling, equally confused by her new hat and our sudden location change.

“You look just like—”

“George?” a voice interrupts. I glance across the aisle to see what I can only describe as a talking, faceless mop man with at least twenty flopping arms. If he has a face, it’s well hidden. The seat beneath him is drenched. “It’s been a while!” he exclaims. “What’s up, man?” Three of his arms reach across the aisle and wrap around me, pulling me in for a soppy one-sided hug.

“I’ve seen you before?” I don’t understand. I didn’t even realize I’d been here before.

“Oh ho, look at you, Mr. High and Mighty,” the mop man says. “You don’t see me for what, two weeks, and suddenly you’ve forgotten all about Old Mopsy?”

Two . . . weeks . . . ? What is he talking about?

All of a sudden, the memories come flowing in.

Jack’s tenth birthday. Friends over. Real Ones, as his mom so proudly called them.

Me, making an over-the-shoulder wish as Jack blew out his candles that I’d stop being invisible so Jack would stop being embarrassed by me. My spit coating the cake.

Jack, with clenched teeth. “Go away, George.” The anger. “Just leave me alone. Go play hide-and-seek or something.”

Hiding in the closet. Waiting. Crying. Leaving.

Finding myself here, in this floppy, jiggly nowhere land, with these rejected creatures, all looking for someone and never being found or finding anyone. I was one of them. I am one of them.

“But I went back,” I blurt out.

“BACK?!” Miranda and Old Mopsy bellow in unison.

The tires come to a screeching halt. “BACK?!” the bus itself seems to exclaim. Its door swings open, and I assume that’s my cue to slip away.

“I should go,” I say to my new, or perhaps old, friends just before I race down the aisle and hop off the bus.

So this is what Jack wanted to know. This is where I was, whatever this place is. And I’m like ninety-seven percent sure that his parents aren’t here.

I think back to his dad’s voicemail that ruined everything, and suddenly I remember what his dad said last: “Friday at one. Our usual barbecue place. Call me back or don’t, but I’ll be waiting.”

That’s what Jack needs! I have something actually useful, something that can bring him face to face with his dad, and maybe even his mom, but I’m stuck here. I slowly lift my foot, which feels almost taped to the gooey floor.

How did I get back before? I think of my fliers again. Have you seen this person?

I think I went back because Jack was looking for me, though I didn’t realize it at the time. There’s no hope now. He hates me. He doesn’t understand he needs me, but I’m positive he does. “Can you hear me, Jack?” I cry into the Crayola sky. “You may not realize it, but dang it, it doesn’t matter because I do. You need me, Jack, and somehow, I am going to help you.”

An ostrich-like bird that seems too big to be in flight casts a shadow overhead and caw-caws in response. She momentarily blocks out the entire sun, and when the light returns, I find myself back in Jack’s house.

I rub the back of my head. “What was that?” I wonder to myself, as I feel the memories of that strange world being plucked from my mind, being replaced with black voids. It’s like there are two separate worlds that want nothing to do with each other and the memory of one can’t exist in the other. “Miranda?” I whisper before she’s gone. “Who’s gone?” I ask myself.

I’m shaking, and my head is throbbing, but that doesn’t matter. With my legs now intact, I slowly rise to my feet, more determined to help than ever. “Ready or not, Jack, here I come.”