stuff before they come back round the front!” He spotted the clothes on the closet floor and grabbed them.
Dash ran out to join Walter in the hallway and he stood at the top of the stairs.
“What made you change your—?”
“I brought you an apple, some bread, and two boiled eggs. That’s all I could get out of—”
“Oh god, can I have it please?”
It must have been the look on Dash’s face that caused Walt to stop right there and get the food out. Dash ate the apple in about three bites.
“Jeepers,” said Walt. “Don’t give yourself a tummy ache.” The voices were coming around the front again. “Is there a back door to this place?”
Dash gestured with his head and the two boys continued down the stairs.
“To
your left!”
He passed Walter to lead him through the kitchen and toward the mudroom. The possible future-owners of 94 Victor Avenue had come into the foyer, and Dash threw the back door open just as the agent came back through the front door. Walter and Dash snuck into the backyard and hid behind a chestnut tree. They craned their necks around either side of the tree and watched the house.
After a minute, Walter retreated out of sight and beckoned Dash to join him. “That girl saw me,” Dash said. “She thought I was a ghost.”
“As good a guess as any.” Walter was staring at him. It was hard to read his expression. He said, “Show me the trick.”
“What trick?”
“The one you showed my sister.”
Dash got a quarter out of his pocket. He let Walt see it before he put it into his palm. Then he waved his hand over it—“Once, twice …”
Walter grabbed Dash’s hand, the one that was doing all the waving. The coin was still in his palm. Walter stared at it. Then, still holding Dash’s wrist tightly, he looked up into his eyes. “I’m not your friend, you know.”
“Fine,” said Dash.
“I don’t
have
to do anything for you.”
“I know.”
“Finish it.”
Dash waved his hand over the coin for a third time, and it was gone.
“Again,” said Walter.
It took him a while to get the whole technique, but by the time Dash was finished showing him (for a fifth time), Walter could do it fitfully. It wasn’t smooth or convincing, but he seemed to have the basic mechanics.
“It takes practice,” Dash reassured him.
Walt shrugged. The agent and her clients were gone now and the house was quiet. Dash led Walter back in and took him through to the foyer.
“This is the front hall,” Dash said. “There’s a table here.” Heheld his hand about three feet off the floor, laying it on top of the phantom table. “This room is the dining room, but usually we eat in the kitchen. My mum bought a chandelier made out of antique chef’s knives. It’s nicer than it sounds. My dad calls it the Chandelier of Death by a Thousand Cuts.”
“Do you really see a table and chairs?” Walter asked, squinting suspiciously with his left eye.
“No,” he said. “There’s nothing here. This is an empty room.”
“This is an empty
house
…”
“I know. But I
will
live here one day. This is the only house I’ve ever lived in.” He went down the hall. Walter was watching him very carefully now. “This is the kitchen,” he said. “This is the cereal cupboard. My dad does a lot of the shopping because his hours are more flexible than my mom’s.”
“Flexible?”
“She’s a doctor.”
“Your mother’s a doctor. My
uncle’s
a doctor.”
“Women can be doctors, Walter.”
“I know that. I’m just saying it’s a coincidence.”
“Oh,” said Dash.
“You know, a cold breakfast isn’t good for your digestion. My granny says you have to wake your stomach up gently.”
“I have cereal and cold milk every day of my life. We have a lot of different kinds at our house. Corn Flakes, Oat Squares, Multigrain Cheerios, Fibre Plus, Oat Clusters, and Count Chocula on the weekends.”
“Count—”
“It’s a chocolate-flavoured cereal.”
“Of course it
Dash ran out to join Walter in the hallway and he stood at the top of the stairs.
“What made you change your—?”
“I brought you an apple, some bread, and two boiled eggs. That’s all I could get out of—”
“Oh god, can I have it please?”
It must have been the look on Dash’s face that caused Walt to stop right there and get the food out. Dash ate the apple in about three bites.
“Jeepers,” said Walt. “Don’t give yourself a tummy ache.” The voices were coming around the front again. “Is there a back door to this place?”
Dash gestured with his head and the two boys continued down the stairs.
“To
your left!”
He passed Walter to lead him through the kitchen and toward the mudroom. The possible future-owners of 94 Victor Avenue had come into the foyer, and Dash threw the back door open just as the agent came back through the front door. Walter and Dash snuck into the backyard and hid behind a chestnut tree. They craned their necks around either side of the tree and watched the house.
After a minute, Walter retreated out of sight and beckoned Dash to join him. “That girl saw me,” Dash said. “She thought I was a ghost.”
“As good a guess as any.” Walter was staring at him. It was hard to read his expression. He said, “Show me the trick.”
“What trick?”
“The one you showed my sister.”
Dash got a quarter out of his pocket. He let Walt see it before he put it into his palm. Then he waved his hand over it—“Once, twice …”
Walter grabbed Dash’s hand, the one that was doing all the waving. The coin was still in his palm. Walter stared at it. Then, still holding Dash’s wrist tightly, he looked up into his eyes. “I’m not your friend, you know.”
“Fine,” said Dash.
“I don’t
have
to do anything for you.”
“I know.”
“Finish it.”
Dash waved his hand over the coin for a third time, and it was gone.
“Again,” said Walter.
It took him a while to get the whole technique, but by the time Dash was finished showing him (for a fifth time), Walter could do it fitfully. It wasn’t smooth or convincing, but he seemed to have the basic mechanics.
“It takes practice,” Dash reassured him.
Walt shrugged. The agent and her clients were gone now and the house was quiet. Dash led Walter back in and took him through to the foyer.
“This is the front hall,” Dash said. “There’s a table here.” Heheld his hand about three feet off the floor, laying it on top of the phantom table. “This room is the dining room, but usually we eat in the kitchen. My mum bought a chandelier made out of antique chef’s knives. It’s nicer than it sounds. My dad calls it the Chandelier of Death by a Thousand Cuts.”
“Do you really see a table and chairs?” Walter asked, squinting suspiciously with his left eye.
“No,” he said. “There’s nothing here. This is an empty room.”
“This is an empty
house
…”
“I know. But I
will
live here one day. This is the only house I’ve ever lived in.” He went down the hall. Walter was watching him very carefully now. “This is the kitchen,” he said. “This is the cereal cupboard. My dad does a lot of the shopping because his hours are more flexible than my mom’s.”
“Flexible?”
“She’s a doctor.”
“Your mother’s a doctor. My
uncle’s
a doctor.”
“Women can be doctors, Walter.”
“I know that. I’m just saying it’s a coincidence.”
“Oh,” said Dash.
“You know, a cold breakfast isn’t good for your digestion. My granny says you have to wake your stomach up gently.”
“I have cereal and cold milk every day of my life. We have a lot of different kinds at our house. Corn Flakes, Oat Squares, Multigrain Cheerios, Fibre Plus, Oat Clusters, and Count Chocula on the weekends.”
“Count—”
“It’s a chocolate-flavoured cereal.”
“Of course it
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