Invisible Read Online Free PDF Page B

trunk and the burning floor fell out of the treehouse and crashed, hissing, into the snow. We climbed shakily down the steps and stood there watching as the rest of the treehouse went up in flames.
    I looked at Andy, who was standing on one leg, holding his bare foot up out of the snow.
    â€œWell,” I said, “you were right.”
    â€œMy Butterfingers must be all melted,” he said.
    â€œI’ll get you another bag.”
    He looked down at his bare foot. “How am I gonna walk out of here?”
    I took off my stocking cap and we used the string from his parka hood to tie it around his ankle. It wasn’t the best boot, but it helped. By the time we got home, his toes and my ears were frostbit, and I had blisters all over my palms. But it wasn’t so bad. The cottonwood itself didn’t burn up, I still had my Swiss Army knife, and we didn’t get into trouble. I washed my own smoky-smelling clothes and bandaged my own hands. I told my mother that I had fallen down and scraped my palms on the sidewalk. My mother is extremely intelligent, but forsome reason she believed me. I bought Andy another bag of Butterfingers, and I also bought him a pair of battery-powered electric socks.
    It’s become a tradition with us. Every year I buy him a brand-new pair of electric socks. I don’t want him to ever have cold feet again.

12
SIGIL
    Y ou might get the idea that Andy and I have an unhealthy relationship with fire, but you would be wrong. Fire is simply a tool to be used responsibly, like a hammer or a car or a train. We never start a fire just to watch something burn. We use it to accomplish definite goals, like to stay warm.
    For example, we started the fire in the treehouse for a very important purpose. Andy’s foot was cold and wet, and we had to do something about it. True, the fire did not work out as planned, but sometimes you just can’t control the way things go. What happened at the Tuttleplace was another example of that. And that’s all I have to say about that .
    Although art is my worst subject at school, I do not hate it. In fact, I am quite interested in lettering. I have been working on the sigil. The idea of combining our initials into one symbolic design started back at the Tuttle place. A few weeks after that, I added serifs to the letters and came up with a more refined version:

    Since then I have been using my time in art class to improve the design. Mrs. Felko is quite patient with me, although she is constantly telling me to “draw from the heart.”
    â€œI am drawing from the heart,” I say.
    â€œYou could liven up your lines, Douglas. Hold the pen loosely, let your hand talk to the paper.”
    Like many of my teachers, Mrs. Felko is completely insane.
    What I enjoy doing is changing my design one parameter at a time. For instance, I recently completed an outline version that I find quite interesting:

    I think it looks like an ancient Celtic rune or maybe the logo of a corporation run by elves. I am working now on one in yellow and blue, our school colors. I am planning to give it to Andy to hang on his wall.
    The sigil is an expression of my theory about focus. I have found that doing one thing over and over for a long period of time can be extremely satisfying. I try to explain this to Mrs. Felko.
    â€œThat’s all very well, Douglas, but what we are doing here in this class is learning how to do new things. Everyone else in class is working on their clay sculptures, and here you are, painting your symbol.”
    â€œIt’s not a symbol. It’s a sigil.”
    â€œWell, I want you to put your ‘sigil’ away for now and get yourself some clay and try something new.”
    â€œYes, Mrs. Felko,” I say politely. So I scoop some clay from the plastic bin at the back of the room and use a rolling pin to flatten it into a slab about one inch thick. I then trace the outline of the sigil on its surface and begin to