“I know…”
“They spoil the flour and ruin everything.”
“Not Speedy. He only eats the lettuce and fruits I feed him.”
Uncle Henry gave another sigh and shook his head.
Some people said the baker looked just like Adam’s father. This made sense, since siblings tend to look alike, although from what Adam could remember, his father had been leaner and taller, with fair hair and tanner skin, whereas Uncle Henry stayed pale from a lack of sunlight due to working many hours indoors. Adam took after his mother more, who had dark hair like Adam and had also been short for her age.
Uncle Henry opened his mouth to say something—likely a lecture about how mice are the reason exterminators have secure jobs—but before he could launch into his spiel, the doorbell chimed downstairs. Adam and his uncle exchanged a puzzled look. The bakery was closed.
“It’s probably the landlord,” said Uncle Henry with a slightly worried expression.
Adam followed his uncle downstairs. Visits from the dreaded landlord, especially at night, were never a good sign. The last time the landlord had arrived, Uncle Henry had gotten a warning letter for being late on the rent.
It was not the landlord. Instead, a cheerful stranger in a raincoat stood outside the door, waving to Adam and his uncle through the glass. He held a map in one hand, and ran his other hand through his wet, graying wheat-colored hair.
“I’m terribly sorry, I know it’s late,” the man called through the door. “But I was passing by, and, well, may I say your cakes look fabulous? I simply must buy one. Or five. I hope you’re not closed?”
After the long, empty day of no customers, Uncle Henry was so giddy at the potential business that he threw open the door and practically kissed the stranger’s hand. The stranger had barely finished introducing himself as J.C. Walsh before the baker started speaking a mile a minute about the goods available.
“We have every kind of cake imaginable,” said Uncle Henry. “Carrot cake, coffee cake, a red velvet cake that I can frost for you right now with the most scrumptious whipped cream you’ve ever tasted…”
“Excellent,” said the man in the raincoat. “I’ll have that red velvet cake, please.” Then he added, “Make it with buttercream frosting—my favorite—and I’ll pay double what you’d normally charge.”
This was more than Uncle Henry could bear. He stammered a “Y-yes, of c-course,” and stumbled into the kitchen in a daze. There followed a clanging of pots and bowls, and the sound of Uncle Henry’s humming was soon accompanied by the soothing whir of the mixer.
Adam was about to head back upstairs when, to his surprise, the man in the raincoat turned to address him.
“You must be Adam Lee Tripp.”
Growing up in a city as large as New York had taught Adam not to share personal information with strangers. He didn’t answer, but stared blankly at the man, who stared back with a big smile.
“It’s been a while,” said the stranger, his voice softening.
The man reached into his pocket and held up a snow globe. Inside the glass sphere was a miniature cityscape that looked just like Manhattan, sprinkled with bright snow confetti. The man gazed at the snow globe in a sort of admiration.
“The one in which past days unfold,” he murmured. Then, as if he suddenly remembered Adam was there, he raised his head and said, “Speedy is sick and dying, but great things are in store for you.”
Adam gaped at the man. He had no idea how the stranger knew about Speedy. Could he be a fortune-teller? Adam wondered. Uncle Henry always said that fortune-tellers were con artists wrapped in glitzy shawls who charged twenty dollars per reading, and whose predictions were most of the time as wrong as two left feet.
“Speedy’s not dead yet,” Adam said hoarsely, but he said it so quietly he doubted the man heard.
“Hear me, Adam?” the man persisted. “Great things await you. Fantastic things. You will find new friends in new places, and go on journeys more magical than you could have ever imagined.”
From the kitchen in the back, Uncle Henry shouted, “Do you want fondant roses on the cake?”
“Yes, that would be delightful!” the man in the raincoat called back. He put the snow globe back in his pocket and winked at Adam. “Tonight, go up to the attic,” he instructed with a mysterious smile. “Your adventures await you there.”
Adam decided this character was not to be trusted. “Um, okay, sir,” he said, taking a step back. “Bye.”
He ran upstairs before the man could say another word. As soon as Adam was alone, he checked on Speedy again. The blueberry lay untouched. The mouse still didn’t move.
Adam felt sick. His throat burning, he gently placed the cardboard box back under the bed. He then angrily kicked his copy of Self-Guide to Caring for Mice across the floor before crawling under the covers and turning off the lights.
He spent a long time thinking about the man in the raincoat. The stranger was a weirdo; he’d known it as soon as the man said Adam’s name. And then the man mentioned the attic, of all places, which was by far Adam’s least favorite room in the building.
It was a long time before he finally drifted uncomfortably to sleep.
Little did Adam know, the stranger was right. Things were about to change in ways he couldn’t begin to imagine.
CHAPTER THREEA TRIP TO THE ATTIC
Earlier I mentioned that Adam was a peculiar boy.
“Adam is a good student,” wrote his sixth-grade teacher, Ms. Basil, on his first report card of the year, “but he never interacts with his peers.”
The year before that, his fifth-grade teacher, Mr. Lemon, observed, “Adam sits by himself at recess and reads the entire time. Every single day.”
And the year before that, Mrs. Rosemary, Adam’s fourth-grade teacher, noted, “Adam has not spoken a single word this entire year in class, other than to mumble requests to use the
