“What?” I asked.
“It was some kid with a boom box playing a rap song with a siren sound in the middle of it.”
“That’s it?” I asked. “That’s the exciting thing that happened to you last night?”
“Yeah. I thought it was pretty cool.”
I looked into his eyes to see if he was putting me on. With Zeke, you could never tell.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asked.
“You really don’t know, do you?”
“No,” he replied. “How could I possibly know?”
“So you didn’t do it, did you?”
“No,” he said. “Well, that depends. Do what?”
I told him about the cell phone and my text conversation with “Harry Houdini.” He couldn’t believe it either.
“Your story was way better than mine,” he admitted when I finished.
“The guy was really convincing,” I said. “He knew everything about Houdini. He even knew that Houdini had a bullet stuck in his hand most of his life. Hardly anybody knows that.”
“So who was it?” Zeke asked.
“I don’t know!” I told him. “I thought it was you.”
“I swear it wasn’t me,” Zeke said. “And how do you even know it was a guy? It could have been a woman. It could have been a kid. It could have been a bot. With text, it could have been anybody.”
“You’re right,” I agreed. “I have no idea who it was. Do you think it could really have been Houdini?”
“I don’t believe in ghosts or supernatural stuff like that,” Zeke said.
“Me neither,” I replied. “But you never know. Weird stuff happens.”
“Did he try to sell you anything?” Zeke asked. “Did he ask you for money or your Social Security number? That would be a sure sign it was a scam.”
“That’s the thing,” I told Zeke. “He didn’t ask for a dime. It was like he just wanted to talk to somebody.”
“I’ll say this much,” Zeke told me. “That was a great prank. I wish I had come up with that idea. But let me ask you this. No offense, Harry, but are you sure you’re not still messed up in the head a little bit after being in a coma?”
“I’m fine, Zeke,” I told him.
“I mean, maybe you were dreaming, or hallucinating, or something.”
“I wasn’t dreaming,” I insisted. “I wasn’t hallucinating. It happened.”
“Then somebody was messing with you,” Zeke said. “Lemme see the cell phone.”
I was about to get the phone out of my backpack when the bell rang for first period. I had to go to math. Zeke is in the other fifth-grade class, and he had history.
“I’ll bring it with me to lunch,” I told him.
Lunchtime finally came and Zeke waved me over to a table in the corner where we could have some privacy. I pulled the cell phone out of my backpack and handed it to him.
“A flip phone?” he asked, chuckling. “Who gave this to you, Alexander Graham Bell?”
“Funny,” I said. “I know. It’s a relic.”
“They probably had phones like this when Houdini was alive,” Zeke cracked. “Who gave it to you?”
“I don’t know,” I told him. “I found it with all the flowers and candy and stuff in my room when I was in the hospital. There was no note or anything with it.”
“Maybe your mom gave it to you,” Zeke guessed. “After what happened to you, maybe she wants you to have a cell phone so you can reach her in an emergency.”
“It wasn’t my mom,” I said. “She told me just last week that she didn’t think I was ready for a cell phone. And if she did give me one, she would’ve said something.”
“You didn’t tell her about this, right?” Zeke asked.
“No way. Not yet.”
“Well, that’s good,” Zeke said, handing the cell phone back to me. “Turn it on.”
“I can’t turn it on,” I told him. “The battery’s dead. It died last night while I was texting with the Houdini impersonator.”
“Then we need to get a charger for it, or a new battery,” Zeke said. “How much money do you have on you?”
After school, Zeke and I walked down Broadway until we found a little store with a sign in the window that said they fix new and used cell phones.
“May I help you?” a teenage girl with purple hair and a pierced nose asked when we walked in.
“I need to buy a cell phone charger,” I told her, pulling the phone out of my backpack. She looked at it, turning it over in her hand.
“Wow, are you kiddin’ me?” she asked. “My mother used to have one like this a long time ago. They haven’t sold these in years. I don’t think they make chargers or batteries for these anymore.”
“I know,” I replied. “I just thought I’d give it a shot.”
“Why don’t you just get a new cell phone?” she asked. “We have a bunch you can look at. You can’t even get online with this one. Don’t the kids at your school make fun of you for carrying this thing around?”
I didn’t want to explain the whole story about Houdini. She would never believe it.
“It’s complicated,” I told her. “But I need a charger for this one. It’s kind of important.”
She looked at me like I was a little crazy.
“It’s a retro thing,” Zeke told her. “Like listening to vinyl records. All the cool kids are getting into flip phones now.”
“Just ignore him,” I told her. “I need to charge it up to see if it works.”
“Have you tried eBay?” she asked. “You might find old phone chargers there. Sorry I can’t help, you guys.”
Bummer.
“Maybe we should try Craigslist first,” Zeke said as we were about to open the door to leave. But the girl with the purple hair was calling to us.
“Hey, wait a minute,” she said. “I just remembered. We have this junk drawer. Follow me.”
She led us to the back of the store, where she opened up a big drawer and said we could rummage around in there as long as we liked. It was a
