The Invisible Harry by Marthe Jocelyn Read Free Book Online

horn. How the heck are we going to do that?”
    Now Hubert’s smile turned big and pearly enough to make him a poster boy for Dentists of America.
    “No problem,” he said happily. “Call your dad and ask if you can come over to my place after school. I know exactly where to find what we need.”

14 • Chinatown
    W hen we came out of the building at three-fifteen, Sam was waiting at the foot of the steps. He had only the sheepdog and the dalmatian, along with Harry’s pinklead. He was being eyed suspiciously by the assistant principal who oversees the departures, but as soon as Sam smiled, even that iceberg melted.
    Making the handover was a delicate operation, with so many people all around us, but Hubert and I had prepared in advance.
    Hubert greeted his mother and begged her to get us a drink from the deli. I signaled Sam to follow us, and while we waited outside the store for Hubert’s mom, Sam passed me Harry, away from the prying onlookers at school.
    “Yo!” I said. “Thanks a million. I mean it.”
    “Hey,” said Sam, “this is a mighty puppy. Same time tomorrow?”
    “Well, I don’t know,” I faltered. “I might not have him anymore … but …”
    “I’ll come by anyway, just to check.” He flashed another radiant smile. “See ya, Shortie.”
    I nodded, hoping he knew how grateful I was. He strolled away, just as our drinks arrived.
    I love going to Hubert’s house. It’s an apartment, just big enough for his parents and him, on the corner of Canal Street and Mulberry, right in the heart of Chinatown.
    Canal Street is bursting with busyness. The sidewalk is crowded with market stalls selling everything from huge fish with their heads on, to eels to bok choy to lemongrass, and lots of other things that Americans don’t usually eat. There are bins and bins of dried—well, dried things, that I have no idea what they are. All the signs are in Chinese. It all gets weighed on old-fashioned scales and packaged in little red bags. It seems like a different country.
    “I pick up few things for supper,” said Hubert’s mom at the entrance of his building. “You want come?”
    She talks in shorthand, as if using all those little connecting words is just another sign of American wastefulness.
    “Nah,” said Hubert. “We’ll see you upstairs, Mama.”
    “You have key?”
    He showed it to her. She kissed him and went off down the street, swallowed up by the crowd in seconds.
    I turned to go inside. Hubert pulled me back out to the sidewalk.
    “Come on, Billie. This is our chance. Follow me.”
    I wasn’t used to Hubert being the leader, but since we were on his territory, it seemed right.
    “Wait a sec,” I said. I took Harry out of my pack and put the skipping rope around his neck. He might as well get some exercise.
    We stepped into the flow of people and trotted along, past food stalls and guys selling fake designer watches and handbags and glittery jewelry and sunglasses.
    Harry was tugging this way and that, trying to smell everything. We turned off Canal onto a twisty side street, full of restaurants and blinking dragons on lit-up signs.
    Hubert stopped suddenly beside a window painted with lots of Chinese characters and then in English:
    LIN HOP SISTERS
HERBAL SPECIALISTS
    “This is it,” Hubert said with satisfaction. “They’ll have everything, I’m sure of it.”
    Inside was a long glass counter displaying twisted roots and dry, gnarly twigs. Baskets holding pods and seeds and brown petals. Huge mushrooms and anthills of different-colored powders.
    It’s kind of amazing how, in New York, a person can find a brand-new something to look at every day.
    The wall behind the counter was made of wooden drawers. From the ceiling all the way down were rows of drawers, each about the size of a dictionary. In a slot above eachhandle was a card with a character, I guess saying what was inside. All I could think was how tidy my room would be if I had all those places to put stuff