“So what? It doesn’t look like it’s gonna be much fun.”

He took a deep breath. “Sometimes . . . sometimes I’m just afraid I’ll end up like . . .”

But he refused to finish the thought. He left and I didn’t follow him, because I knew he didn’t want me to. Instead I just went back home. Dump the board. End the game. Nobody loses.

When I got back home, Howie and Ira were playing another video game.

“That guy’s one egg short of a full deck,” Howie says.

“You should sue,” says Ira.

I tried to say something, but words failed me. I understood why the Schwa did what he did. He had stood in front of them, and still he wasn’t visible. He broke the game, and even then it didn’t change anything. By tomorrow Howie and Ira will have forgotten about it.

Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll end up just like . . .

Just like who? And suddenly I could hear the Schwa’s voice in my head. Just like my mother. That’s what he was going to say!

“Are you gonna play, Antsy, or just stand there?”

I wanted to talk to them about what the Schwa had said, but I knew it was pointless. It was like Howie and Ira were now on the other side of thick soundproof glass.

“I’m not feeling too good,” I told them. “Maybe you guys should go.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I feel a case of leprosy coming on.”

They stood and said their good-byes. It took a bit longer and was a bit more awkward than the usual “see ya.” Maybe because somewhere deep down we all knew that this wasn’t “see ya.” This was more like “so long.”

8. Are Those Your Fingers in My Mouth, or Are You Just Happy to Not See Me?

I put the Schwa out of my mind, which is not hard to do, as you already know. Even with his meltdown, even with the broken game disc, I woke up in the morning without him crossing my mind once. My thoughts were occupied with the mystery of Lexie Crawley. She was fourteen, not four. I wish Crawley would have told me that up front. It put a whole new spin on the situation.

“What are you all dressed up for?” my mother asked as she peered into my bedroom that morning.

“Funeral,” I told her.

She studied me, trying to decide if I was telling the truth or just being my normal nuisance. “Who died?” she asked.

“Your sense of humor,” I told her.

She frowned at me, and made like she was going to match wisecracks, but instead she just came into my room and straightened the knot on my tie. “You got someone to impress at nine in the morning?” she asked.

“Ten,” I told her. I lifted my neck so she could get the tie just right.