Revenge of the Invisible Boy

 ALSO DEDICATED TO THE BOYS THAT HELPED INSPIRE THIS PIECE.

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“Caleb Storm!” Mr. Lark barked, clearly in a foul mood. The hulking kid in the back of the classroom raised his right hand just enough for the teacher to see. He didn’t say anything like most of his classmates, not that anyone really expected anything different. The giant kid kept to himself mostly, peering out at everyone with his black eyes from behind the wall of dark hair that masked most of his features. Some spiteful kids spread rumors about him being a delinquent, or a mute, but what almost everyone agreed on, was that he was one of the nicest kids they’d ever met.

Satisfied that Mr. Lark wouldn’t bother him for a while, Caleb bent his head over the next fresh sheet of notebook paper in his journal and began scribbling the last bit of his new, fantastic idea for a story on the straight, blue lines that were so familiar to him. As his hand flew across the paper creating legible words and fluid sentences, he became lost in the world of his imagination. That is, until the kid next to him poked his massive forearm to capture his attention.

He glanced up, and Shepherd Wilkinson pointed to the seething teacher who stood in the front of the room, arms folded, glaring at him. “Mister Storm,” Mr. Lark growled, eyes blazing. “If you’ve forgotten, this is an A.P. English class, not Creative Writing,” he spat wickedly. It wasn’t the first time Caleb had been caught writing stories instead of paying attention in class (despite his mumbled excuse, “It helps me concentrate,”) and Mr. Lark was getting sick and tired of the blatant disrespect.

The fact was though, that regardless of what anyone else demanded of him, if an idea came, it was as though he was possessed, he couldn’t stop writing unless the story was finished, or he ran out of things to say.

Deciding to make the boy look like a fool in front of the entire class of eleventh graders, Mr. Lark beckoned him to approach the front of the room. He smirked cruelly at the kid. “If whatever you’re writing is more important than what I have to teach you, why don’t you just come right up and read it to us,” he snarled smugly.

Caleb glanced around at his classmates, most of whom looked bored, but some were gazing at him with interest. He slid out of his desk, his composition notebook tucked under his arm. He slowly trudged from his seat, squeezing through the narrow pathway to the front, where Mr. Lark was tapping his foot impatiently.

He gazed up at his peers and opened his notebook to the short story he’d been writing all day. “I just wrote this, so I don’t have a title for it,” he began, scanning the classroom until he found the glittering, excited violet eyes. Alyssa Mansfield had been his best and only, friend since they were five. They didn’t hang out much anymore, but his stories had always been a kind of an addiction for her.

“Well… get on with it,” Mr. Lark urged grimly as he took a seat in the only comfortable chair in the room.

Caleb took a deep breath and began, “He walked briskly through the unseasonably cold July night. His calloused hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his thick black sweatshirt. His head was tilted upward so he could examine the darkening azure sky. His mind drifted as he thought about what They’d said. Just thinking about it made his stomach churn violently. They promised it could be destroyed, but They waited too damn long. His eyes narrowed at the oddly clear, breathtaking sky. Its beauty was glorious. A tiny smile played on his lips as an unwanted, but desperately needed sense of peace washed over him…” His black eyes probed his classmates curiously. The bored expressions were slowly fading into mild interest. He could see the questions playing on their lips. Who are They? What's in the sky? He hid his smile and continued reading about the five person family, whose strange little girl, Rhyker, was almost prophetic. “… Stanley and Anna soon joined their children in the king sized bed that they all decided to share for the night, curling up beside them, enjoying the sounds of their sleeping family. They whispered their last “I love you’s” before they themselves drifted off into a deep slumber. When Rhyker was sure her family was asleep, she silently slid out from under Rory’s elbow and climbed over Arik. She slunk down the hallway and stood in front of the large front window. With every passing second the sky began to get lighter and lighter. The ball of invasive blue illumination grew larger and more visible. Finally, it entered Earth’s atmosphere and with a sinking feeling, Rhyker knew she had been correct. The asteroid, surrounded by the turquoise cloud, glided across the sky gracefully, flying downward, out of sight. She only felt the slight tremble of the inevitable impact, but it was enough. She didn’t want to watch the poison cloud’s destruction. She turned her back on the window and returned to her parents’ bedroom. She climbed over Arik once again, and his eyes shot open.