usually tune him out.
“Did you?” Uncle Jet demands. Shit. Not hypothetical then.
“Ummm . . .” I stall.
“Let me make this clear. Are you listening real good right now?”
I nod.
“We. Grant. Wishes. ‘Make a wish’ isn’t a way of saying, ‘Down the hatch.’ It’s our way of saying, ‘What do you wish for?’ That’s it. Right there. We grant wishes. Do you think you maybe got that now?”
I blink at him several times. But nothing he said makes any sense no matter how many times I flap my eyelids. At last an idea slowly takes shape in my head. “Did you putW2 up to this? Is this your way of teaching me a lesson about sneaking out with shine?”
“Teaching you a lesson ?” Uncle Jet’s face grows redder with every word. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this angry before. He takes two steps toward me, and I can’t help it—I flinch. He freezes. “I’m not gonna hit ya, Lennie. But I am gonna throw you out.” He points toward the door. “Get out. Get out and don’t come back.”
I should run, but I can’t because Uncle Jet’s suddenly on his knees, clutching his chest. “My heart.” He grinds the words out between his teeth.
I put a hand on his back. “It’s okay, it’s only a panic attack. Remember what the doctor said? Your heart is fine.”
“Strong as a horse,” Uncle Dune booms behind me.
“Put your head between your knees,” I remind him. “You don’t want to faint like the last time.”
Uncle Jet staggers toward the stairs and lowers himself so that he’s sitting with his head hanging between his knees. “I didn’t faint. I’ve never fainted in my life.” He mutters.
I go into the kitchen, pour a few fingers of shine into a glass, and bring it back to Uncle Jet, setting it between his feet. I know he sees it, but it takes a long moment for his hand to find the glass. “Thanks.” He practically whispersthe word, but I hear it just the same.
“You’re welcome,” I say at precisely the same volume.
This is usually the point where I would escape back up to my bedroom, but since I was only moments ago sort of kicked out I’m not sure if I even have a bedroom anymore.
Luckily, Uncle Rod returns, throwing the door open so that it bangs against the wall. “Holy shee-it.” He gives a long exaggerated whistle. “That kid’s got stainless steel nicer than what we got in the silverware drawer wrapped around his boys. Lennie, that is some—” He stops suddenly as the scene by the staircase penetrates his brain. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing,” Uncle Jet and Uncle Dune say at the same time.
I force a weak smile and shrug when Uncle Rod’s raised eyebrows swing in my direction.
“Okay, then,” he says. “Well, I locked the man of steel in the crawl space. He’s about as sharp as a bowling ball—”
“Or his own balls,” Uncle Jet, still in the prone position, cannot resisting inserting. All three of my uncles giggle over that one. Uncle Jet even recovers enough to pull his head out from between his knees.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Uncle Rod finally says. “He won’t be happy when he wakes up. And when I came up the stairs I found this one, hovering at the back door.” Hejerks his thumb behind him and I look past Uncle Rod to see Smith standing in the doorway. His face looks like someone mistook it for a piñata and refused to stop hitting it until some candy fell out.
There is nothing good about the feeling in my chest. Part of me wants to walk over and press a finger into the angriest blackest bruise just to watch him wince. The other part wants to hand him a bag of frozen peas and stroke his forehead.
Ignoring both impulses, I cross my arms over my traitorous heart.
“Aw, shit,” Uncle Jet says, slowly rising to his feet. “You got brass balls too?”
“Stainless steel,” Uncle Rod interjects.
Uncle Jet waves a hand Uncle Rod’s way, silencing him. Then we all stare at Smith and he stares back at us with his one eye that
“Did you?” Uncle Jet demands. Shit. Not hypothetical then.
“Ummm . . .” I stall.
“Let me make this clear. Are you listening real good right now?”
I nod.
“We. Grant. Wishes. ‘Make a wish’ isn’t a way of saying, ‘Down the hatch.’ It’s our way of saying, ‘What do you wish for?’ That’s it. Right there. We grant wishes. Do you think you maybe got that now?”
I blink at him several times. But nothing he said makes any sense no matter how many times I flap my eyelids. At last an idea slowly takes shape in my head. “Did you putW2 up to this? Is this your way of teaching me a lesson about sneaking out with shine?”
“Teaching you a lesson ?” Uncle Jet’s face grows redder with every word. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this angry before. He takes two steps toward me, and I can’t help it—I flinch. He freezes. “I’m not gonna hit ya, Lennie. But I am gonna throw you out.” He points toward the door. “Get out. Get out and don’t come back.”
I should run, but I can’t because Uncle Jet’s suddenly on his knees, clutching his chest. “My heart.” He grinds the words out between his teeth.
I put a hand on his back. “It’s okay, it’s only a panic attack. Remember what the doctor said? Your heart is fine.”
“Strong as a horse,” Uncle Dune booms behind me.
“Put your head between your knees,” I remind him. “You don’t want to faint like the last time.”
Uncle Jet staggers toward the stairs and lowers himself so that he’s sitting with his head hanging between his knees. “I didn’t faint. I’ve never fainted in my life.” He mutters.
I go into the kitchen, pour a few fingers of shine into a glass, and bring it back to Uncle Jet, setting it between his feet. I know he sees it, but it takes a long moment for his hand to find the glass. “Thanks.” He practically whispersthe word, but I hear it just the same.
“You’re welcome,” I say at precisely the same volume.
This is usually the point where I would escape back up to my bedroom, but since I was only moments ago sort of kicked out I’m not sure if I even have a bedroom anymore.
Luckily, Uncle Rod returns, throwing the door open so that it bangs against the wall. “Holy shee-it.” He gives a long exaggerated whistle. “That kid’s got stainless steel nicer than what we got in the silverware drawer wrapped around his boys. Lennie, that is some—” He stops suddenly as the scene by the staircase penetrates his brain. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing,” Uncle Jet and Uncle Dune say at the same time.
I force a weak smile and shrug when Uncle Rod’s raised eyebrows swing in my direction.
“Okay, then,” he says. “Well, I locked the man of steel in the crawl space. He’s about as sharp as a bowling ball—”
“Or his own balls,” Uncle Jet, still in the prone position, cannot resisting inserting. All three of my uncles giggle over that one. Uncle Jet even recovers enough to pull his head out from between his knees.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Uncle Rod finally says. “He won’t be happy when he wakes up. And when I came up the stairs I found this one, hovering at the back door.” Hejerks his thumb behind him and I look past Uncle Rod to see Smith standing in the doorway. His face looks like someone mistook it for a piñata and refused to stop hitting it until some candy fell out.
There is nothing good about the feeling in my chest. Part of me wants to walk over and press a finger into the angriest blackest bruise just to watch him wince. The other part wants to hand him a bag of frozen peas and stroke his forehead.
Ignoring both impulses, I cross my arms over my traitorous heart.
“Aw, shit,” Uncle Jet says, slowly rising to his feet. “You got brass balls too?”
“Stainless steel,” Uncle Rod interjects.
Uncle Jet waves a hand Uncle Rod’s way, silencing him. Then we all stare at Smith and he stares back at us with his one eye that
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