B003J5UJ4U EBOK (9 page)

“
THANK YOU. IT’S
good to be here.” Flinch scanned the crowd, wondering who’d be the first to take a shot at him. Probably someone at the table in the second row that was filled with college kids.
I’ll find out soon enough.

This was his first time at The Laughing Gherkin—one of dozens of comedy clubs in the area that filled their evenings with local acts. The clubs were all the same—small spaces jammed with tiny tables charging large prices for miniature beverages.

He took a deep breath and launched into his routine. Before he could get two words out, a guy in the rear shouted, “Why don’t you come back when you’re old enough to shave?”

The instant the last word cleared the heckler’s mouth, Flinch shot back at him with, “I’m old enough to shave right now.” He jammed his hand in his pocket, gave the guy an exaggerated glare, and added, “Come on up and I’ll shave a bunch of years off your life.”

The crowd loved it. Flinch knew it wasn’t the best comeback in the world. Even as he spoke, several better ones
popped into his mind.
Yeah, I don’t need to shave, but you really need to bathe. Why don’t you go home until they find a cure for ugly?
But it didn’t matter if the line wasn’t the best. Not when it was the fastest. His mind was already fast. He could almost always come up with a good line to cut down a heckler. His brain was wired for comedy. That was his gift. His true talent. But his other talent—his supernatural one—gave him an edge no other comedian had. He really was faster than lightning.

Flinch waited for the perfect moment, just long enough so his comeback still lingered in the air, and not so long that his next words would seem like an afterthought. “Sorry, man. I saw
that
coming.”

I saw
that
coming.
It was quickly becoming his catch phrase. The sweet part was that he really had seen it coming. Heard it, too.

He picked up where he’d left off and finished the first joke of his routine. “As I was saying, I’m glad school’s out. I had to take the bus. That’s fine, except they use the same bus for the kindergarten kids. You know, there’s only one difference between a kindergarten bus seat and a cat litter box.” He paused a second, then hit them with the punch line. “The litter box is a lot dryer.”

That went over nicely. As the laughs faded, a woman in the second row took a shot at him.

Flinch destroyed her before the last word left her lips. The crowd loved it. Even the woman had to smile. That’s why she was there. That’s why they were all there. Not just to hear his comedy routine. They were here for the dazzling comebacks.
He remembered reading about an old magic act where the guy caught a bullet in his teeth. People flocked to see him. Flinch knew they weren’t just coming to see the trick—they were coming because, just maybe, they’d see the magician get shot. Which, sadly, eventually happened. The guy died on stage.
They won’t see me get shot,
he thought. No way he’d die on stage. He’d already dodged the first two rounds and was feeling bulletproof.

“Sorry, lady,” he said to his latest victim. This time, he paused for slightly longer, allowing the audience to pick up on the phrase. They all joined him, shouting out the words, “I saw
that
coming.”

The whole crowd was into it, smiling like they were members of a special club. Flinch couldn’t help grinning, too. But he was grinning for another reason. Here he was, getting all this attention for doing the very same thing that had gotten his pal Martin in so much trouble.

Me and my smart mouth,
Flinch thought. Of course, his cuts were meant to be funny. Martin’s were meant to hurt. But this was no time to think about his friends. Right now, he had to keep his mind on the crowd. A guy in the front row was rattling off an insult.

Loving every second of it, Flinch shot back and sliced him to ribbons.

I saw
that
coming.

martin engineers
an escape

THE FIRST THREE
blocks he walked, Martin mostly thought about strangling his father. The fourth block, he had brief fantasies involving explosives and a chain saw. The next two blocks, he thought about their argument and wondered if he’d overreacted. The block after that, he almost turned back.

But the thought of his father’s mocking voice was enough to keep him moving.
I knew you’d come crawling home.
Martin couldn’t give him that kind of ammunition. At the very least, he needed to stay away for a couple days, just to prove he could survive on his own. He’d made some friends at school, but they weren’t around right now. His sister was working at a summer camp, but that was way up in Maine. If he wanted to avoid sleeping in the park, he had to go see one of his Edgeview friends.

Or I could go to Philly.

No, there was no reason to go there. It was odd he’d even thought of it. None of his friends lived in the city. His best bet was to visit Cheater. He was the closest—only about thirty miles away.

Good plan. But all his cash was back at the house, so he couldn’t take a bus.

Something will come up.
Whatever else Martin could say about his life, it was never uninteresting. He walked into town. Nothing came up, so he walked through town.

One mile down, twenty-nine to go,
he thought. But a block later, he spotted two guys loading boxes and bags into a beat-up old Tercel. He moved close enough to peer into their hidden places and make sure neither was deeply ashamed—or deeply proud—of being an axe murderer or pervert.

“Got any extra room?” he asked.

One of the guys nodded. “Where you going?”

Martin told him.

“We can take you part way,” the guy said.

“Good enough.” Martin slid into the back seat. The two guys got in front. Martin knew the driver was proud he was pulling a 4.0 grade average in a tough engineering program. On the other hand, he was ashamed that he was cheating on his girl friend.

“Heading to school?” Martin asked.

The driver nodded. “Yeah. We’re doing summer session at UD. We just came home for the day to get some stuff for the house we’re renting.”

“Delaware’s great,” Martin said. He took a deep breath, and convinced himself there was nothing sleazy about making them like him. That was the flip side of his talent. If he dug at someone’s deepest shames and failings, he made enemies. If he stroked their deepest prides, he made friends. “I’d love to go there for engineering.” It was a harmless lie.
And there could even be a bit of truth in it—if he had a clue what engineering students studied.

“No kidding?” The two guys exchanged glances. “That’s our major.”

“Cool.” Martin settled into the seat. Riding definitely beat walking. He couldn’t wait to get his license.

“You know what?” the other guy said. “We were going to head down 476, but if we take the back way, we can get you a lot closer to where you’re going.”

The driver nodded. “That’s the least we can do for a future engineer.”

“Thanks.” Martin glanced out the rear window as the car pulled away from the curb. An hour ago, he’d had no idea what would happen to him. Now, he was headed where he wanted. Maybe running away from home wouldn’t be all that hard.

Torchie learns that wishes do come true

“
THANKS FOR THE
ride, Mr. Wickman,” Torchie said as he got out of the pickup truck. He sure had the nicest neighbors in the world. They all loved his music. He grabbed his accordion from the back. He’d tried to bring it in front so he could play as they rode, but Mr. Wickman told him there was a state law against playing live music in moving vehicles.

“Did you have a good day?” his mom asked when he walked in the house.

“It was great. I figured out a new song.” He started to play “Roll Out the Barrel.”

“That reminds me,” his mom said, “I signed you up for accordion camp.”

“Really? I thought it was too expensive.”

“Money isn’t important when you have so much love for music,” his mom said. “You need to make use of your gift.”

“It’s two whole weeks,” Torchie said. “Won’t you miss me?”

“Of course I will,” his mom said. “But it’s too good an opportunity to pass up.”

“This is great. Are you sure we can afford it?”

“I’m positive. We had help. The neighbors are all so proud
of you, they chipped in money to help send you away. They said no amount was too much to pay to get you there.”

“Can I go there right away?” Torchie asked.

“They already started this session. You’ll have to wait for the next one. It’s only two weeks.”

“Ask them if I can start tomorrow, okay? I don’t mind if I missed the first couple days.”

“If that’s what you want,” his mom said. “I guess I can check with them.”

“That’s what I want,” Torchie said. He couldn’t wait to get to Philadelphia.

lucky dwells on the past

THE MEMORIES WEREN’T
bad when they were wrapped in the haze. Lucky drifted and looked back. School had been okay. His talent was always there—he heard lost objects crying out—but it was under control most of the time. There wasn’t all that much lost stuff around him. Just pens, coins, junk like that.

Martin had taught him to search for new ways to solve problems. Lucky’s problem was simple. If he didn’t pick up on the lost objects, their cries grew louder and louder, until they drowned everything else out. Once he took them, he had to keep them or give them away. It seemed like they needed to be owned. He wasn’t even sure whether the voice was from the object itself, or some sort of imprint left by the owner. In his darkest moments, he wondered whether his only talent was to sense the objects. Maybe it was his own mind that spoke for them. The source didn’t matter. What mattered was silencing the voices.

After two months in high school, and after filling three large cardboard boxes with the things he’d found, Lucky sorted the contents and gave them all away. He took pens,
pencils, erasers, and markers to a local day-care center. He took the rest of the stuff to the Goodwill store. The people were happy to get the items. The voices remained silent. And Lucky enjoyed giving things away.

The two times he found a wallet, he took them to the lost-and-found departments of local stores. He knew better than to turn in anything valuable at school. That’s what had gotten him into trouble in the past. You can only hand over so many wallets before people start to think you’re a crook.

But there were plenty of stores and other places with lost-and-found departments, so that wouldn’t be a problem. He was nervous the whole time he had each wallet with him—especially the one that had been cleaned out of cash—but he’d managed to take care of them without getting in trouble. It looked like his days of being called a thief were over.

Then, last February, because of overcrowding at his high school, the ninth graders had been moved to the new middle school. The instant Lucky walked in, he heard faint whispers. They seemed far off. But there were dozens of voices. Maybe even hundreds.

Between classes, he searched the halls, trying to find lost objects. There was nothing. The building was brand
new.
But the voices grew louder every day. Whispers became cries, and then shouts. He found a nickel, two pencils, and a pen. But none of that made a difference. By the third day in school, the noise became a distraction. By the fifth, it had become unbearable. He couldn’t concentrate in class. People stared at him like he was crazy. He hated that more than
anything. He tried to stay home, but his parents made him go to school.