Waking Lazarus by T. L. Hines Page B

let loose all those jumbled thoughts. That, and his True Work.
    Most people hated their day jobs, but Frank wasn’t one of them. It gave him a chance to be around kids. Especially the young ones, kindergarten age or so. A janitor was just as fascinating to them as an astronaut, and they were always full of smiles and questions. And Frank, for his part, made sure he was full of answers. Oh, sure, he acted as if he didn’t care for the kids when he was around Ron and other adults—it was so much easier to do that, because adults never trusted anyone who genuinely loved being around children—but deep down he was drawn to the young kids. They were, after all, what his True Work was all about.
    Overall, being a janitor had a good beat, and you could dance to it. Frank gave it an 87.
    Ron, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be happy anywhere. He walked through life in a cloudy daze, like that kid in the Charlie Brown cartoons who always had the storm of dust swirling around him. Frank knew a lot of kids picked up on that kind of thing, but he doubted Ron did. Or cared. Sometimes Frank would just sit Ron down and tell him the way things worked. In a small-town school such as this, you had to deal with kids of all ages.
    And while Frank genuinely loved the small children, the older ones were a pain in the pants. Once they got up around middle school age, an orneriness leaked into their personalities. With these older kids, you couldn’t be friendly. You had to be firm, in control. Frank knew that; any blooming idiot would know it. Ron, on the other hand, was always in some world far away, and the middle school kids liked to take advantage. If Ron heard his name, the haze lifted for a few moments; once the conversation at hand was done, the haze always returned.
    Frank watched as Ron emptied garbage cans, obviously nose-deep in his own little dream world. A group of middle school boys—that snotty, uncontrollable age—walked by Ron, and one of the boys kicked over a full, as yet untied, garbage bag. Refuse scattered in every direction. The boys snickered as they walked on, and Frank waited a few seconds. Maybe Ron would say something. Maybe he’d take control of the situation. Had to happen some day, didn’t it?
    Instead, Ron simply bent down and started picking up the garbage, then stuffing it back into the bag.
    Frank sighed. ‘‘Earth to la-la land,’’ he said, a bit torqued that Ron had let the middle school kids get away with their stunt. That meant they might try other stunts. Maybe even with him.
    Ron’s eyes focused briefly.
    ‘‘Sorry, Frank. Just . . . uh, thinking.’’
    Frank smiled. Yeah, thinking. Maybe that was Ron’s True Work. He grinned, picturing Ron’s head on that famous Thinker statue.
    That thought, in turn, made him think of his own True Work again.
    And his smile grew.

9
    COUNTING
    That night, Jude stood on Rachel’s porch, unsure of what to do. Rachel invited him over frequently—he was thankful for the chance to see Nathan, even if he’d never told Rachel so—but he always felt so awkward just before knocking on the door. Every time he felt like he should just turn and run. And keep running.
    He knocked. He expected to wait for a few minutes before Rachel answered, but the door swung open almost in mid-knock.
    Rachel stood in the doorway, looking surprised. ‘‘Oh, it’s you,’’ she said. Jude couldn’t quite tell if she had been expecting someone else or if she just couldn’t think of anything else to say right away. ‘‘You’re early.’’
    ‘‘First time for everything,’’ he said, trying a joke. She looked somewhat puzzled by his statement but then smiled before swinging the door open and inviting him to enter.
    Rachel retreated to the kitchen while Jude found his way back to Nathan’s room. He peeked around the door and saw Nathan on the floor playing with toys from his own childhood: good old Lincoln Logs. Jude smiled as he watched his son. Every time he saw