Chapter 6
George

The world returns. My nostrils are greeted by the scent of the three 2,000-pound animals who reside somewhere along this damp, winding hallway lined with secret metal doors.

Did I just disappear through the Employees Only door? I thought once people saw me again, the disappearing act would be over. And they’re supposed to see me now. I’m at the zoo. That ticket guy told me to enter. Didn’t he?

As I try to remember exactly what he said to me, five thousand jingling keys announce the arrival of a zookeeper carrying a bucket filled to the brim with—I sniff the air—what smells like raw fish and clammy water. My stomach grumbles. Who knew a bucket of fish could smell so delicious?

My whiskers prickle when I realize how much trouble I’ll be in if I get caught sneaking into the Employees Only section of the zoo. As the zookeeper gets closer, I almost can’t decide whether I want to be visible or not. Cautiously, I wave. “Why hello there!” I say. Trying to sound as employee-ish as possible, I add, “Dividends. Financial projections,” mimicking Jack’s dad. I’m lucky he always used to work at home when he wasn’t traveling.

The zookeeper doesn’t acknowledge me at all. My heart flickers, deciding for me: being seen and in trouble would be better than this.

When the zookeeper is close enough that I can read her name tag—Josie—I make one more attempt to attract her attention. After twirling my whiskers like a cartoon villain, I dip my hand into the bucket. My fingers wrap around something slimy. “Stop, thief!” I cry as I extract a small clam. It oozes in my open palm.

Josie brushes past, oblivious to the still-one-hundred-percent-invisible criminal.

There’s a tiny splunk as I toss the clam back into the bucket. I didn’t really want to steal. I just wanted to be told not to. “I really thought the zoo would be the answer,” I grumble to no one.

“All right, Chester, you ready for your dinner?” Josie asks, and I realize I’ve overlooked one last possibility. Humans still can’t see me—but maybe my fellow walruses can!

“Chester!” I race after her. When we reach a door made of metal bars, Josie sifts through her keys until she’s found the right one. With a click, the prison-like door swings open.

I hear the swish of the water against the rocks, and in the distance, I see the three lazy lumps Chester, Wanda, and Wendla. They have the most amazing bulgy eyes, and their whiskers are short disheveled straws sticking out in all directions around their mouths. They’re magnificent. And they’re my family.

“Who’s hungry?” Josie asks. I raise my hand even though I know she’s not talking to me. Like a trio of oversized accordions, squishing and stretching, the walruses flop toward us. Josie tosses Wanda a fish.

“Uncle Chester,” I cry out, waving both arms and hoping that he can see me. I’ve never tried to meet a walrus before. My legs seem to squish, flop, and stretch as I wobble closer. “It’s me! George!”

He grunts, then lifts his head to catch and gobble down one of the clams. Slobber dribbles down his cheek. Did we just make eye contact? I think we did!

I have so many questions, and they pour out of me all at once: “How are Wanda and Wendla related to us? Where do you go to the bathroom? Are you disappearing too? How do you brush your tusks? Do you like working at the zoo? Do they pay well?”

Uncle Chester doesn’t answer, but I know you’re not supposed to talk with your mouth full of clams, plus I’m pretty sure that whole-walruses don’t speak English.

I scan the enclosure as he eats. The water is tropical teal. I crouch down and dip my hand in. Yowza! It’s freezing! I yank my hand out and shake it around. Rising to my feet, I notice the crowd. Twenty, maybe thirty people of all ages look down at us from above. A shiver runs along my spine, but it’s not from the freezing water. This is . . . it’s amazing.

Even though I’m pretty sure none of these people can see me, I wave to the crowd and take a bow. A camera flashes. I pucker my lips and throw back my hips to pose for another cell phone that I dream is taking a picture of me. “You’re too kind.”

That’s when I see him. Pushing between a hipster couple to peer over the glass above.

Goosebumps shoot up my already bumpy arms as my heart drops down toward my ample belly.

“Jack?” I whisper.

Our eyes meet. His pop open, almost as bulgy as Chester’s. “George?” I’m sure he shouts, but it’s impossible to hear from down here. Jack’s mom appears and attempts to pull him away. He fights, but she’s bigger and stronger, and the next thing I know, Jack is gone.

“Did you see that?” I ask Wanda, who ignores me like everyone else besides Jack and that gopher lady. “I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s been great, Uncle Chester, but I have to go. Be back soon.”

Within moments, I’m out of the Employees Only section, racing toward the spot where I last saw Jack and his mom. It’s nearly closing time, and the crowd heading toward the exit has thickened. “Jack?” I’ve lost sight of him in the sea of people. “JACK!” I shout this time, my eyes scanning frantically as people almost walk right through me. “Jack’s mom?” I call more softly, though I don’t expect her to hear me either, since she never did.

There’s a break in the crowd, and I see it: the bench where Jack and I first met. It’s empty.

My heart is still jumping as I walk over to the bench and sit down. It’s warm—freshly used, maybe—but Jack is absolutely not here. I must have made it up. With the excitement of being here, of finding my family, I guess it was wishful thinking. I’d wanted my best friend to be here to share the moment with me.

A stray piece of paper clings to the pavement by my feet. I pick it up hoping for a note from Jack but instead find a receipt. The bluish-purple text says playing cards. The paper dissolves as I rub it around in my still-wet hand. Of course Jack’s not here.

I trudge back to Uncle Chester’s Employees Only door, but I don’t disappear through it now that I actually want to. I pound on the door for ten minutes, but nobody answers, and the zoo is about to close.

With nowhere else to go, I hop onto the next bus, hoping to find that gopher lady again, since she’s the only one who can see me. The only one who cares. The only one who seems to know what’s going on with me and might be able to help.

Unfortunately, there’s no gopher lady on this bus, just some high schoolers blasting their music for everyone to hear, and an exhausted woman with a scruffy dog panting on her lap. When the bus reaches its final stop, I switch to the subway to continue my search. But how am I supposed to find her? There must be a billion people in this city.

I should feel worse, but as I think about my day, I can’t stop a grin from sneaking onto my face. For the first time in I don’t know how long, I was seen. I learned about my family. I met my uncle. It’s the backstory that I’ve been missing my whole life. Now I’m well-rounded. I look at my belly. Some might even say ample. Disappearing or not, somehow, I feel ready for the world.

I get off at the Haymarket stop because, I don’t know, maybe gophers eat hay? My stomach rumbles as I crawl up the stairs to the street. A mouthful of hay almost sounds good about now. Man, I wish I’d taken some of Uncle Chester’s clams for the road.

My stomach blurbles again, and that’s when I notice Cone-y Island. The stand’s neon pink sign boasts “Thirty-one flavors of ice cream!” and the drawings on the menu board make each flavor look more delicious than the next. Wouldn’t mind a quick sundae before my mouth disappears.

I stride up to the window with the confidence of someone with an interesting backstory who deserves to be seen, clear my throat, and politely say to the man behind the counter, “Vanilla, please.” Of course, he doesn’t hear me, and no burp or mismatched socks or flier or clam heist is going to change that.

My ample belly fades away into thin air, taking my hunger with it.

I bite my lip—which, fortunately, has not vanished yet.

Well. I thought I was ready for the world, but I’m not so sure. A last name and an uncle might not be enough.