Invisible Inkling by Emily Jenkins

Author:Emily Jenkins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

Terror in the Aisles

of Health Goddess

On the weekend, Mom goes to Health Goddess, the natural-food store near our home. It’s run by friends of my parents.

“Come on,” I tell Inkling. “I’m gonna get you a squash now.” He climbs onto my back, warm and heavy, and we go with Mom. I stroll through aisles of bean soup, almond butter, and other foods I don’t like until we get to the produce section.

As we round the corner, Inkling’s legs kick with excitement. He breathes hard in my ear.

And then I see it, too.

Squash! Piles and piles of squash! Tan ones, green ones, yellow. Even striped.

I read the signs: butternut, acorn squash, banana squash, and delicata.

“Mom!” I call. She is looking over the apples, selecting ones without bruises. “Can we get some squash?”

She crinkles her nose at me. “Hmm. What do you need it for?”

“Just to eat,” I say, innocently. “I feel like squash. You know, um, for dinner.”

“Hank, you know you don’t like squash. When we had it at Aunt Sophia’s, you made gagging noises.”

“Tastes change. Maybe I like it now.”

“That was only two months ago.”

“Maybe I like it cooked a different way!”

“It was baked with brown sugar and butter.”

Inkling whispers in my ear. “Bandapats eat it raw.”

“You don’t have to cook it,” I tell Mom.

“You can’t eat raw squash,” she says. “Nobody eats raw squash, except maybe zucchini. Is that what you want, Hank? Zucchini?”

Inkling speaks fiercely in my ear: “No! No zucchini!”

“No!” I tell Mom. “I want—”

“Butternut,” Inkling whispers.

“Butternut!”

Mom narrows her eyes at me. “You want to eat raw butternut squash for dinner.”

“Yes!” I cry. “Please?”

“No.” She selects a bunch of apples and puts them in a bag. “That’s ridiculous, Hank. It’s not even edible raw. I know you won’t like it, and I don’t want to waste money. Let’s buy broccoli.” She turns decisively and walks to the other end of the produce section, where she begins filling bags with green vegetables.

Inkling is panting on my back, muttering: “Squash here, squash there, squash piled high. But squash for Inkling? No squash for Inkling.”

“Calm down,” I say, under my breath. “I’ll come shopping another day with Dad. Maybe I can get him to buy some.”

“Want the squash. Need it now. Squash! Squash!”

“Keep your voice down!” I hiss.

Inkling begins muttering again—more to himself than to me. “Butternut. Acorn. Butternut. Acorn . . . Butternut!”

Suddenly, Inkling is not on my back anymore.

Where is he?

Oh.

Oh no.

There is a butternut squash with two bites out of it scootching down the aisle of Health Goddess.

As if it hopes no one will notice it.

Mom runs over from the broccoli and grabs my arm. “Hank, don’t freak out,” she says, “but I think there’s a rat in here. See that squash moving across the floor?”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not a rat,” I say, but I can’t think of another reason the squash would be moving.

“Well, if it’s not a rat, it’s some other vermin. We can’t have that here in Health Goddess.” She runs to a corner of the market and grabs a broom.

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