Crenshaw

by Katherine Applegate

Like the fact that a cheetah can run seventy miles per hour. Or the fact that a headless cockroach can survive for more than two weeks. Or the fact that when a horned toad gets mad it shoots blood from its eyes.

No matter how adult I seemed, she told them, I would definitely grow out of it when I became a teenager.

“I don’t think you understand what’s going on here, Jackson,” he said. “Imaginary friends don’t come of their own volition. We are invited. We stay as long as we’re needed. And then, and only then, do we leave.”

In any case, Crenshaw had excellent timing. He came into my life just when I needed him to.

What bothered me most, though, was that I couldn’t fix anything. I couldn’t control anything. It was like driving a bumper car without a steering wheel. I kept getting slammed, and I just had to sit there and hold on tight.

Ms. Malone said something else about bats that day. She said she sometimes wondered if maybe bats are better human beings than human beings are.

But Crenshaw told me something else. He said imaginary friends never leave. He said they were on call. Just waiting, in case they were needed.