Let's Get Invisible by R. L. Stine Page B

and mushy.
    Grammy and Poppy are the names I gave them when I was a kid. It’s really
embarrassing to call them that now, but I still do. I don’t have much choice.
They even call each other Grammy and Poppy!
    They look alike, almost like brother and sister. I guess that’s what happens
when you’ve been married a hundred years. They both have long, thin faces and
short white hair. They both wear thick glasses with silver wire frames. They’re
both really skinny. And they both have sad eyes and sad expressions.
    I didn’t feel like sitting there at dinner and making small talk with them
today. I was still really pumped about what we’d been doing all afternoon.
    Being invisible was just so weird and exciting.
    I wanted to be by myself and think about it. You know. Try to relive it,
relive what it felt like.
    A lot of times after I’ve done something really exciting or interesting, I
like to go up to my room, lie down on my bed, and just think about it. Analyze
it. Tear it apart.
    Dad says I have a very scientific mind. I guess he’s right.
    I walked over to my place at the table.
    “You’re looking much shorter,” Poppy said, wiping his mouth with his cloth
napkin. That was one of his standard jokes. He said it every time he saw me.
    I forced a laugh and sat down.
    “Your soup must be ice cold by now,” Grammy said, clicking her tongue.
“Nothing I hate more than cold soup. I mean, what’s the point of having soup if
it isn’t steaming hot?”
    “It tastes okay,” I said, taking a spoonful.
    “We had some delicious cold soup last summer,” Poppy said. He loved to
contradict Grammy and start arguments with her. “Strawberry soup, remember? You
wouldn’t want that hot, would you?”
    “It wasn’t strawberry,” Grammy told him, frowning. “It wasn’t even soup. It
was some kind of fancy yogurt.”
    “No, it wasn’t,” Poppy insisted. “It was definitely cold soup.”
    “You’re wrong, as usual,” Grammy snapped.
    This could get ugly, I thought. “What kind of soup is this?” I asked, trying to stop their arguing.
    “Chicken noodle,” Mom answered quickly. “Didn’t you recognize it?”
    “Poppy and I had soup a few weeks ago that we couldn’t recognize,” my
grandmother said, shaking her head. “I had to ask the waiter what it was. It
didn’t look like what we’d ordered at all. Some kind of potato-leek soup, wasn’t
it, Poppy?”
    Poppy took a long time swallowing some noodles. “No. Tomato,” he answered.
    “Where’s your brother?” Dad asked, staring at the empty chair next to me.
    “Huh?” I reacted with surprise. I had been so busy listening to my
grandparents’ silly soup arguments, I had forgotten all about Lefty.
    “His soup is getting cold,” Poppy said.
    “You’ll have to heat it up for him,” Grammy said, tsk-tsking again.
    “So where is he?” Dad asked.
    I shrugged. “He was right behind me,” I said. I turned toward the dining room
doorway and shouted, “Lefty! Lef-teeeee!”
    “Don’t shout at the table,” Mom scolded. “Get up and go find him.”
    “Is there any more soup?” Poppy asked. “I didn’t really get enough.”
    I put my napkin down and started to get up. But before I was out of my chair,
I saw Lefty’s soup bowl rise up into the air.
    Oh, no! I thought.
    I knew instantly what was happening.
    My idiot brother had made himself invisible, and now he thought he was being
funny, trying to scare the daylights out of everyone at the table.
    The soup bowl floated up over Lefty’s place.
    I stood up and lunged for it and pulled it down as fast as I could.
    “Get out!” I whispered loudly to Lefty.
    “What did you say?” my mom asked, gaping at me.
    “I said I’m getting out and going to find Lefty,” I told her, thinking
quickly.
    “Get out—now!” I whispered to Lefty.
    “Stop talking about finding him. Just go do it,” my mom said impatiently.
    I stood up just as my dumb invisible brother raised his water glass. The