My Best Friend Is Invisible: From the New York Times–bestselling Goosebumps series, a boy thinks invisibility is a cool superpower, until an invisible friend inhabits his bedroom.
Sammy Jacobs is into ghosts and science fiction. Not exactly the smartest hobby—at least not if you ask Sammy's parents. They're research scientists and they only believe in "real" science.
But now Sammy's met someone who's totally UN-real. He's hanging out in Sammy's room. And eating his cereal at breakfast. Sammy's got to find a way to get rid of his new "friend." Only problem is . . . Sammy's new friend is invisible!
I sat at the dinner table and wished I was invisible.
If I were invisible, I could sneak away from dinner without finishing my string beans. And I could creep up to my room and finish the book of ghost stories I'd been reading.
I started to daydream. I'm Sammy Jacobs, the Invisible Boy, I told myself. I tried to picture how I'd look if I were invisible.
Last week, I saw a movie about an invisible man. You couldn't see his face or his body. But when he ate, you could see the food digesting in his invisible stomach.
It was totally gross.
I loved it.
Staring at my string beans, I pictured them rolling around in my stomach.
My parents' voices droned on in the background. My parents are research scientists. They work in a college lab. They do weird things with light and lasers.
And then they come home and talk about their work at dinner. And talk about their work. And talk about their work.
My ten-year-old brother, Simon, and I can't get a word in.
We have to sit and listen to them talk about "light refraction" and "ocular impediments."
I'm a science-fiction freak. I love reading science-fiction books and comics. And I rent any movie that has an alien from another planet in it.
But when I have to listen to my parents talk about their work, I feel like an alien from another planet. I mean, I can't understand a single word they say!
"Hey, Mom and Dad." I tried to get into the conversation. "Guess what? I grew a tail today."
Mom and Dad didn't hear me. They were too busy arguing about something called "morphology."
"Actually, I grew two tails," I said, louder.
They didn't care. Dad was drawing some kind of chart on his napkin.
I was really bored. I kicked Simon under the table. Just for something to do.
"Ow! Stop it, Sammy!" he cried. He kicked me back.
I kicked him again.
Dad kept scribbling numbers all over his napkin. Mom squinted at his chart.
Simon kicked me back. Too hard.
"Whoa!" I screamed. My hands flew up — and sent my dinner plate flying.