Steve looked up at him with bleary eyes. “Let’s do it.”
“Yeah. Like you could be trusted with a soldering iron right now.”
“Hey, I’m fine.” He held up a hand. “Look. Rock steady.”
It did look steady, but steadiness wasn’t al that mattered.
“Yeah, but touch your pointer to your nose.”
Jack demonstrated.
“Easy.” But when Steve tried he missed by half an inch. “Aw, who cares anyway? I ain’t soldering my nose.”
Jack was losing respect for Steve. He’d been a smart, funny kid until he’d returned from soccer camp. Since then he’d been sprinting down the road to
Loservil e. Maybe he couldn’t help it, maybe something had gone wrong in his brain. Nothing Jack could do about that.
Weezy’s words from this morning echoed back to him:
No, Miss Know-it-al , he thought, I’m not.
But right now, other than ratting him out, Jack didn’t see that he had much choice.
No, that wasn’t true. There were always choices. Steve could choose whether or not to take one of his mother’s pil s, and Jack could choose
as to getting him some help. He decided on yes. Easy to make a choice. The real problem was figuring out
ratted out by a friend.
Jack needed to give this some serious thought. He was sure he’d find a way.
As Steve’s eyelids started to drift closed, Jack shook his head.
Wel now,
He headed for the stairs.
“Later, man.”
Steve mumbled something that sounded like, “Yeah.”
Upstairs, as he was passing the den, he spotted the black humidor. Mr. Brussard had been holding it when he’d said good-bye to Vasquez. Why? They
hadn’t been smoking.
Did he dare?
No. Too risky.
But he hurried into the den anyway. Quickly he lifted the top and found an oddly shaped little red container about the size of a jewelry box for a ring; it
had six—no, seven sides.
What was in them? What was the “it” that had to be “used” at dawn with your back to the sun?
He had to know.
As he was reaching for it he heard footsteps hurrying down the stairs. Too heavy for Mrs. B—had to be Steve’s dad. With panic tightening his chest,
Jack snatched his hand out of the humidor, replaced the lid, and leaped behind a high-backed upholstered chair.
Immediately he realized what a stupid move he’d made. If Mr. B came in and spotted him, what could he say? That he and Steve were playing hide and
seek?
Yeah, right. That would fly—like a penguin.
Looking around he spotted Mr. Brussard’s stack of stereo electronics. He jumped up and stepped over to it. With his hands behind his back, he stood
before it and pretended to be studying al the neat-looking equipment.
He heard Mr. B come in behind him and stop.
“Jack?”
He turned. “Oh, hi, Mister Brussard. Just looking at your disc player here. I’d love to get my father to buy one, but he’s not al that into music.”
“Real y liked the sound, did you?” His smile looked forced, like he had something else on his mind
“Awesome.”
He picked up the humidor and looked inside.
“Wel , I’d play some for you now, but I’ve got a little work to do. Why don’t you get cracking on that computer. I’m real y looking forward to seeing it in
action.”
