by Jeff Strand
There were a lot of details to work out with his illusion, but as far as he could tell, pulling it off would be really, really, really difficult instead of impossible.
The bullies, growing bolder, flung a much larger chunk of meat loaf (or very old ham) at Peter’s head. It struck him in the ear and bounced onto the table. Peter’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t turn back to look at them.
Marcus forced himself to focus on his sketch. Peter didn’t need his help. After all, he could only distract the bullies for thirty-five to thirty-eight seconds while they pounded him into the floor, after which they would return to throwing food.
The biggest challenge with the tank was that if you saw the sides, it would give away how the trick was done. If he painted them, the audience would say, “Hey, why are the sides of that tank painted? What is he hiding?” Marcus would have to come up with a design that looked decorative instead of sneaky. It would also help if he knew the layout of the stage. And the theater seating. And various other factors that he hadn’t considered yet.
Still, this was going to be fantastic.
Unless he couldn’t get a shark.
But he’d get a shark. He had faith in his ability to get a shark.
He couldn’t get a shark. Nobody got sharks.
That’s what would make the trick so impressive. Even if the audience wasn’t fooled by the illusion, people would say, “Whoa, where’d that kid get the shark?”
He was going to humiliate himself trying to rent a shark.
This was going to work.
This wasn’t going to work.
He was headed for glory.
He was headed for disgrace. Dump trucks full of disgrace. Marcus would be standing under a waterfall of disgrace. He’d find little flecks of disgrace between his toes for the next twenty years.
He had to think positive.
No, the smart thing would be to think negative. Then he would be guaranteed to exceed his expectations.
The bell rang. This was good because if lunch continued much longer, Peter would be able to run a buffet line past his hair. Marcus decided to try not to think about sharks for the rest of the school day. He still had about seven weeks to go, and it was best to pay attention in class and pass tests and stuff.
• • •
Marcus was unsuccessful in his attempt to not think about sharks for the rest of the day.
• • •
After the final bell rang, Marcus walked over to his locker. He’d always wanted to do a trick where he opened his locker and a dozen white doves flew out, freaking out everybody in the hallway, but he didn’t think the custodial staff would look favorably upon that idea. And he didn’t want any doves to get hurt.
He shoved his books into his backpack, closed his doveless locker, and headed for the main exit. As he turned the corner, he noticed Peter at his own locker. He’d cleaned most but not all of the food out of his hair.
Marcus had probably passed Peter every afternoon for the last month, but this was the first time Marcus had actually paid attention. Peter’s locker was far messier than anybody should’ve been able to accomplish in four short weeks, even on purpose. Peter slowly dropped some books into a brown paper bag, moving as if each book weighed several hundred pounds.
He knew it was weird, but Marcus couldn’t help but stand there and watch him.
“Watch it, dork,” said somebody larger than Marcus, bumping into him.
Peter finished loading his bag, halfheartedly closed his locker, and walked away. Marcus followed him, trying to decide if he should let him know that there was still a pea in his hair.
He could’ve caught up pretty easily, but he didn’t, choosing instead to follow about twenty feet behind Peter. Following a kid he barely knew down the school hallway was not a typical activity for Marcus, but he figured that he was devastated by the loss of Grandpa Zachary and stressed out by the bet with Bernard, so he could justify some abnormal behavior.
They walked out of the school. Peter walked past the parked busses in the same direction that Marcus walked home each day. Good. This didn’t officially become creepy until Peter went in a different direction than Marcus’s normal path home.
Marcus noticed that Ken and the other two jerks were also walking in that direction, closer to Peter than Marcus was. What was their deal? They wouldn’t really be following Peter, would they? That was nuts. Marcus slowed his pace so that he could better monitor the situation.
As they walked away from school and the crowd of kids thinned, it became clear that yeah, the three unpleasant gentlemen were indeed following Peter. Peter walked extremely slowly, with his head hung, so not passing him required that Marcus and the others walk at a rate that was almost a parody of slow walking.
Ken and his pet bullies probably weren’t following Peter to compliment him on his fine attire. Were they following him all the way home or just off school grounds?
What should Marcus do? Shout a warning? Pretend he’d forgotten something in his locker and hightail it back to the school, assuming that everything would work out just fine for everybody? Find out if he’d somehow acquired martial arts skills without ever knowing about it?
Marcus just continued to follow the boys. He could decide between the brave or the cowardly approach later.
One of the guys whispered something to the other seniors, and they all had a good, menacing chuckle. Marcus could tell just from their body language that they were going to do something to Peter.
Peter turned right at the first corner onto Cricken Street. The bullies followed. Marcus followed the bullies. This was a quiet residential street where, in theory, three seniors would have the chance to beat up a freshman and run off before anybody stopped them.
Peter had to know he was being followed. They were maybe ten feet behind him, and they made no attempt to be subtle about it. The guys wanted him to know. That was part of their fun. So shouting a warning wouldn’t do any good. And Marcus certainly wasn’t going to provide any useful assistance in a fight. His role now was essentially that of the helpless onlooker.
Ken, Jerk #1, and Jerk #2 seemed to come to an agreement, and they simultaneously rushed forward, shoving Peter to the ground.
Peter hit the sidewalk, but he’d braced himself for the impact. He probably knew what was coming. He didn’t get up or say anything. He just moved from his hands and knees to a sitting position and stared at the concrete.
Marcus was terrified that the boys might start kicking Peter. Instead Ken took a can of root beer out of his bag, popped it open, and began to pour it on Peter’s head while his buddies howled with laughter.
Why didn’t Peter do something? He was outnumbered, yeah, but why would he let them treat him like this? If he stood up and raised a fist, Ken would probably drop the root beer and run, yipping like a dog.
Ken emptied the entire can over Peter’s head and then dropped it on Peter’s head. It bounced off and landed next to him. Peter continued to do nothing and say nothing.
This was too much. Marcus couldn’t just stand there and watch.
“Hey!” he said in a loud voice. “Knock it off!”
As the three bullies turned to look at him, Marcus suddenly wished that he were a real magician, one with the power to travel ten seconds into the past to undo previous decisions.
8
Since Marcus did not possess the ability to travel back in time, he had to accept the consequences of his foolish words.
“Hey, Magic Boy,” said Ken, “why don’t you mind your own business?”
Marcus was a little flattered. He didn’t know Ken knew he was into magic.
Peter looked over at Marcus. He made no effort to wipe at the root beer that trickled down his face, but he did seem relieved to have Marcus there.
“C’mon, guys. There’s no reason to do this,” said Marcus, even though th
e opportunity to laugh at another person’s misfortune was a perfectly good reason for somebody like Ken to be a jerk. “What did he ever do to you?”
“His very existence makes me sad,” said Ken.
“You’ve had your fun. Leave him alone.”
“I don’t think my fun level is sufficient,” said Ken. “What about you, Chris? Is your fun level sufficient?”
“No,” said Chris, “my fun level isn’t sufficient.”
“What about you, Joe? Is your fun level sufficient?”
“No,” said Joe, “my fun level isn’t sufficient.”
“So,” said Ken, “I guess our fun level isn’t sufficient.”
“That’s a strange thing to keep repeating,” said Marcus. “I mean, I totally understand what you’re saying, but the phrasing is weird. It sounds like something you planned to say instead of something that you just said naturally.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“Not a sufficient amount.”
Why had Marcus said that? That was not a smart thing to say. It was, in fact, the least smart thing he’d said in recent memory. Why not just borrow some magic markers and draw a great big target on his face?
Maybe Ken wouldn’t get the joke. Being a bully was not typically a high-IQ profession. Marcus’s comment might have flown right over his head.
Nope, Ken got the joke.
“Ha-ha. I have a sense of humor about myself, and I admire the way you incorporated my own comment into your comeback,” is not what Ken said. In fact, he said nothing. His face contorted into a scowl. His hands clenched into fists. Marcus didn’t know if Ken was the kind of guy who heard voices in his head, but if he did, they were saying, Destroy Magic Boy. Destroy Magic Boy.
Should Marcus apologize, or was it too late?
“I’m sorry,” said Marcus.
“It’s too late for that,” said Ken. “You want some of what he got? Do you?”
“Uhhhh…do you have another can of root beer?” Marcus asked.
Ken walked toward Marcus, flanked by his two goons.
Marcus supposed Peter would understand if he fled. It was a reasonable response to Ken’s building anger toward him. And Marcus couldn’t make a shark disappear with two broken arms. (Although, technically, doing the illusion with both arms in slings would make it even more legendary. “That kid didn’t just make a shark disappear, and he did it with two broken arms!” Still, it was an outcome best avoided.)
But Marcus didn’t run away.
With all of the recent talk about honor, he couldn’t leave a fellow freshman to be harmed. It simply wouldn’t be right.
That was the noble part of his decision. From a more practical standpoint, Marcus knew that he wasn’t a very fast runner, so they’d catch him and beat him up worse than if he just stood there.
He needed to talk his way out of this.
What compliment could he use to dissuade Ken from using physical violence? He did have beautiful blue eyes. Ken probably wouldn’t take that compliment in the spirit in which it was intended though.
As the three guys entered punching range, Marcus blurted out the first thing he could think of: “Wanna see a magic trick?”
“What?” Ken asked.
“A magic trick,” said Marcus, taking a deck of cards out of his pocket. “Do you want to see one?”
“Of course I don’t want to see one. What’s the matter with you?”
“Actually, I wouldn’t mind seeing a card trick,” said Chris. “I’ve always enjoyed those.”
“Yeah, me too,” said Joe. “My uncle used to do those.”
“Are you guys serious?” Ken asked, incredulous.
Chris shrugged. “Sure, why not? Everybody likes magic. You don’t like magic?”
“No, I don’t like magic,” said Ken. “That’s for little kids.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Joe. “That’s not true at all. You’re thinking, like, birthday party clowns pulling rabbits out of hats. That’s not what magic is all about.”
“I’ll be honest,” said Chris. “I’m eighteen, and I’d still watch a birthday party clown pull a rabbit out of a hat. You don’t age out of that kind of stuff. If you don’t enjoy magic, there’s no love in your heart.”
“I agree,” said Joe. “I totally agree.”
“Who are you? Do I even know you guys?” asked Ken.
“I’m not saying that the freshman’s trick will be any good,” said Chris. “It’ll probably suck. But I don’t see how you can dismiss the whole field of magic like that,” he said, snapping his fingers to illustrate his point.
“Okay, fine,” said Ken. “I don’t want to see his trick. How about that?”
“That’s better,” said Chris, “but I do.” He looked at Marcus. “Make you a deal. Impress us with your trick, and we won’t break your face.”
“That sounds fair,” said Marcus. He missed the days when he could just do a trick for Kimberly and have her say, “Oooh, cool!” Now everything was high stakes.
He did his most impressive shuffle, which made the cards seem to fly from one hand to the other.
“Wow,” said Joe. “How’d you learn to do that?”
“My great-grandfather taught me.”
“They’re not on a string?”
“Nope.”
“That’s blowing my mind just right there.”
Marcus glanced at Peter. Though he could forgive the fellow freshman for taking this opportunity to crawl away unnoticed, Peter sat there, watching. The root beer still dripped from his hair, though it seemed to have washed out the particles of food left over from lunch.
Marcus fanned out the deck. “Pick a card,” he said to Ken.
“I’m not picking anything,” said Ken.
“Not even your nose?” asked Joe.
Joe and Chris laughed and then high-fived each other.
“Did you really say that?” asked Ken. “What are you, six years old?”
Joe’s smile disappeared. “You’re right. That should have been beneath me. I’m sorry.”
“You even high-fived him over it.”
“Yeah, I shouldn’t have been proud of it. I lost myself for a moment there,” Joe admitted.
“I wasn’t impressed by it,” said Chris, “I’m just not one to leave a high-five hanging.”
“Well, take it back.”
Joe and Chris looked unsure of how to proceed. Then they awkwardly placed their hands together in the air and pulled them away.
“Was that a reverse high-five or just a slow motion high-five?” Joe wondered aloud.
“Stop talking and watch the trick,” said Ken.
“Oh, now you’re interested?” said Chris.
“Should I just go home?” asked Marcus.
“Nah.” Ken plucked a card from the deck and looked at it. “Do I show you?”
“Nope.” Marcus held up the fanned cards so that the three bullies and Peter could see that they were all different suits and numbers. “Put your card back in the deck.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
Ken put the ace of hearts (which Marcus knew was an ace of hearts) back in the deck. Marcus did another impressive shuffle and then fanned out the deck again.
“Is this your card?”
All of the cards had turned into the ace of hearts.
“Whoa!” said Chris. “How’d you do that?”
Normally, this was the part where Marcus would look a little smug and say that a magician never revealed his secrets, but he didn’t think that smugness was the way to go right now. “Lucky guess.”
“What else can you do?” asked Joe.
Marcus returned the deck to his pocket except for one card. He let the card fall out of his fingers…but it floated in midair.
> “That’s freaky!” said Joe. He reached for the card. Marcus grabbed it first so that Joe wouldn’t discover the secret.
“All right,” said Chris. “You passed the test.”
“Hey, that’s not for you to decide,” said Ken. “He’s just faking us out!”
“Well, uh, yeah,” said Chris. “You knew it wasn’t going to be actual sorcery, right?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
“Never mind.”
Chris didn’t let it go. “No, seriously, what did you mean by ‘he’s just faking us out’ if you weren’t referring to actual magical abilities? Did you think he was Gandalf? Explain your reasoning, Kenneth.”
Joe laughed and reached up for a high-five but then thought better of it and lowered his arm.
“I’ll explain my reasoning with my fist in your face!”
“Now see, you gave Joe a hard time about the nose-picking comment, but that’s not any better.”
“It wasn’t immature. The nose thing was immature.”
“But it was weak. You have to admit that it was weak.”
“Fine. So it was weak. Not every ad-lib can be a winner.” Ken pointed to Marcus. “He’s making comments about how it sounds like we planned what we were going to say—”
“Which we did, to be fair,” Joe said.
“Don’t tell him that!”
“Sorry.”
“So if I say something unplanned, you can’t go grading it like you’re Principal Groutberg.”
“Principal Groutberg doesn’t give grades. You’re thinking of teachers.”
Marcus was starting to wonder if this would end with the three bullies beating one another up, leaving him and Peter to casually sneak off.
“Both of you just shut up,” said Ken, whose face had become an unhealthy looking shade of red. “Hey, Magic Boy, you think this is funny?”
“No,” Marcus lied.
Ken raised his fist. “Do another one.”
Marcus just stared at him for a moment. Was that a legitimate request for another magic trick, or was it sarcasm before he threw a punch?
Three seconds later Ken still hadn’t punched him, so Marcus decided that he wanted another trick.
