My Ex-Imaginary Friend by Jimmy Matejek-Morris

Author:Jimmy Matejek-Morris [Matejek-Morris, Jimmy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Bipolar Disorder, contemporary fiction, Divorce, Fiction - Middle Grade, Fiction, Friends and Family, Friendship, Humor, Imagination, Magic, Mental illness, Middle-Grade Fiction, Middle-Grade Novel, Middle-Grade Novels, novel, Novels
Publisher: Lerner Publishing Group
Published: 2021-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

George

Riding bikes with Jack is great! At his house, Jack only has one bike so we always had to take turns, and that usually meant Jack took turns around and around and around the street, while I watched. This is a lot more fun.

The city is starting to wake up though, so I should probably decide where we’re going to hide until it’s time for lunch with his dad.

“Where are we going?” Jack asks from behind me, wondering the same thing I am.

A cluster of trees momentarily blocks out the rising sun. And an idea hits me. As if by magic. “Follow me, Jack!” I exclaim, taking a quick left at the corner. He doesn’t say anything, but I hear tires spinning on the pavement behind me, so I know he’s still following.

In about two minutes, we’re at the park. There’s nobody here right now, but soon the city will be hopping, and nobody will notice two extra kids in a crowd. It’s the perfect place to hang out while I figure out which barbecue place is Jack’s parents’ “usual.”

We drop our bikes near the entrance, and I point to our first stop, far across the green: the tree house. I told you I’d come back for you, I mentally comfort the flier that I accidentally littered in the tree more than a week ago.

“My dad’s up there?” Jack sounds less confident, but before I can correct him and explain, he’s scurrying up the ladder into the tree house. From above, I hear him shout, “Dad!”

Oh dear.

“DAD!” he calls out again, his head emerging through the window of the tree house as he scans the park. It’s useless since his dad’s not there.

“Mom?” he says, quieter this time. What have I done?

“Jack,” I call from below before clutching the first wooden plank on the tree trunk and taking a deep breath. One step at a time, I make my way up the tree with my eyes closed, too scared to look up or down or anywhere at all.

After what feels like forever, my hand reaches up and slaps the floor of the cabin. Thank goodness! I pull myself in. The daylight seems to have filled in since the last time my eyes were open all the way at the bottom of the tree.

The tree house is smaller than I thought it would be, but it’s amazing. Four wooden walls, a wooden floor, a slanted wooden roof, three windows, and a door. Scattered leaves and junk decorate the floor. Jack is sitting in the corner, his head resting in his knees, bopping up and down. He’s . . . crying?

“Jack?” I approach my best friend cautiously.

His words are so quiet I can barely hear them. “You said he would be here. Why would you lie to me? Again?”

“I didn’t say that!” I insist, holding both of my hands out in front of me and glancing at the steep drop behind me. “You misunderstood, Jack!”

He picks up a sheet of loose paper from the floor and crinkles it in his fists.

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