by Jeff Strand
Marcus walked across the parking lot to where Bernard stood. He didn’t look happy.
“Hi,” said Marcus.
Bernard handed him a small poster. “Explain this.”
It was a photo of Marcus dressed in a black tuxedo and top hat, waving a magic wand at an immense tank in which a great white shark swam. Big dramatic words proclaimed, See Marcus the Stupendous Perform His Amazing Vanishing Shark Illusion! Pinther Theater. Friday, January 13. 2:00 p.m. Parental Discretion Advised.
“Uuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” said Marcus.
“I’m waiting.”
“Where did you get this?”
“They’re plastered all over my theater. And on every business in a six-block radius. Do you know how many complaints I’ve had about posters being put up without permission? We never agreed on a date or a time. I understand that you’re young and your brain hasn’t fully developed, but what made you think this was okay?”
“I didn’t do it,” said Marcus.
“Then who did? Zachary back from the dead?” Bernard frowned. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. If you want to make a tasteless remark about one of my deceased relatives, I’ll allow it.”
“No, that’s okay.”
“I understand that your great-grandfather and I let our emotions get in the way of rational thinking, but I still have a theater to run. You can’t go putting up posters without consulting me. I assume your trick will be terrible, so I have to keep audience expectations low!”
“I said I didn’t make the posters.” It was a pretty cool poster though. The image was clearly done in Photoshop, but whoever designed it had added filters to make it look like a poster from a hundred years ago.
“Then who did?” Bernard demanded.
In the bottom right corner were two tiny letters—S. S.
“I don’t know,” said Marcus.
“Are you saying the posters just magically appeared? Is that what happened? Are you such an astoundingly talented magician that your publicity materials appear by themselves? Wow, what a trick! David Copperfield might as well quit now because there’s a new master in town!”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Marcus said. “It wasn’t me.”
Bernard studied him. “Why have you gone pale?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your face was normal-colored when you walked over here, and now you’re pale. You look frightened. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Is it me? Am I too intimidating? I could scale back my assertiveness if that’s the issue.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Why do you keep looking at that one specific corner of the poster?” Bernard asked.
“No reason.”
Bernard took the poster from him and studied it. “S. S.” He suddenly went pale too. “Sinister Seamus?”
Marcus avoided his gaze. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
Bernard lowered his voice. “Did Sinister Seamus contact you? Old guy. Two silver teeth and two gold ones. Pure evil.”
“I—”
“I won’t breathe a word to him, I swear. But I have to know how much danger you’re in. Does Sinister Seamus know about the bet?”
“Yes,” Marcus whispered.
“Oh no,” said Bernard. “That’s bad, Marcus. It’s very, very bad. Worse than bad. Do you know how many people he’s killed? Guess.”
“Fourteen?”
Bernard let out a snort. “If only! Oh, what a happy, sunshiny day it would be if Sinister Seamus’d killed a mere fourteen people. Guess again.”
“A thousand?”
“Now you’re just being silly. Obviously, he didn’t kill a thousand people. What did he say to you?”
“He said he wanted to raise the stakes and that if I didn’t win the bet, he’d kill me.”
Bernard closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Doomed,” he said. “You’re doomed. Sinister Seamus may seem a little dopey, but I assure you, he’s a criminal genius. There’s nothing dopey about him. Do you know why I keep a severed finger in my desk drawer?”
“I didn’t know you had a severed finger.”
“Well, I do. Do you want to know why?”
“I kind of don’t.”
“I keep it there because Sinister Seamus sent it to me…as a reminder.”
“A reminder of what?”
“A reminder that he could send a finger to me anytime he wanted! That’s how evil he is! And if he’s paying attention to our wager, then you absolutely have to win. Have you finalized how your disappearing shark trick is going to work?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Well, you’d better do it before January 14.”
“Can’t we cheat a bit?” asked Marcus. “What if we set it up so that only one member of the audience has to enjoy the trick for me to win? I’ll have a friend come and pretend to be shocked and amazed.”
“Sinister Seamus will never allow that. It has to be a legitimately successful illusion, or terrible things will happen. Don’t go thinking that your demise will be quick and painless. Have you ever seen Return of the Jedi?”
“Of course.”
“Do you remember the Sarlaac Pit, where it takes a thousand years to be digested?”
“Yes,” said Marcus, feeling sick.
“Of course, you’d die of old age before the thousand years was up, so it’s not a perfect comparison, but you get what I’m saying. You have to make that shark disappear. You have no choice.”
“I don’t even know if I can get a shark!”
“All I can say is that you’re better off draping some raw meat over your shoulders and jumping into the ocean than you are facing Sinister Seamus. Don’t even try to change your identity. It won’t work. Edgar Wooverton, formerly Clifford Simmons, knows that all too well.”
“Gosh darn it,” said Marcus, approximately.
“Sorry I made your day worse,” said Bernard. “Don’t worry about the posters.”
Bernard got in his car as Marcus walked back to Peter.
“That looked upsetting,” said Peter.
“It was. There literally wasn’t a single sentence of that conversation that I enjoyed.”
“Whoa, that’s awesome!” said Peter, noticing the poster in Marcus’s hand. “I had no idea your magic show was going to be that cool! I’m so glad I get to be part of it!”
“I hope we deliver.”
“We will. And if not, no big deal. It’ll be the first of many shows.”
They walked silently until they reached Peter’s street, where Ken, Chris, and Joe were waiting for them.
13
“You’re in for it now,” said Ken. He punched his open palm with his fist, obviously trying to convey the message that Marcus’s face could be punched in the same manner.
“Nah,” said Marcus. “I’m not interested.”
“What do you mean you’re not interested?”
“Just what I said. I’ve got a lot of problems right now, and you’re low on the list. Honestly, getting beaten up by you guys would be way more enjoyable than dealing with what’s happening in my life.”
Ken looked confused. “You understand that I’m threatening to cause you extreme pain, right?”
“Of course. It’s not about a lack of awareness on my part. It’s about ranking. Don’t get me wrong, you’re awful, but I’ve got worse things going on.”
“But…we’re going to beat you up. It would be better if you were terrified.”
Ken looked to Chris and Joe for help. They both just shrugged.
“What could be worse than us beating you up?” Ken asked.
“I can’t talk about it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Marcus shrugged. “That’s not my problem. Look, if you want to
beat me up, go right ahead, but I’ll be thinking about something else the whole time.”
Ken lowered his arms. “Maybe we’ll do it some other day then.”
“That’s probably for the best.”
“C’mon, let’s go,” said Ken, walking away. Chris and Joe followed him.
“That went better than I thought,” said Peter. “I figured at least one of us would end up unconscious.”
“Would you have fought back?”
“Nah.”
“That still doesn’t make sense to me. As a scrawny guy, I understand my own hesitation but not yours.”
“Just can’t do it,” said Peter.
“Why not?”
“Can’t talk about it.”
“All right. Well, I’m going to stand here for about thirty seconds so that I don’t catch up to them while I’m walking the rest of the way home.”
“Do you want me to wait with you?”
“You might as well.”
“I will then.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you timing it?”
“No. It doesn’t need to be exactly thirty seconds.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t start building anything yet.”
“I haven’t.”
“I’m sure there are some federal guidelines about tanks holding sharks in front of an audience. I’ll research all of that and get back to you.”
“I’ll get more glass in the meantime.”
“You know these will need to be huge pieces of glass, right? Not smaller pieces glued together.”
“We’ll work it out.”
“I feel like maybe you don’t understand the concept.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“I don’t want you to put in the effort if it’s material we can’t use.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“Magic is an exact science.”
“Got it.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
“You sure will.”
Marcus began to walk away.
“Hey, Marcus?”
Marcus stopped. “Yeah?”
“Can I ask you a favor?”
“Sure.”
“It’s kinda pathetic.”
“That’s okay.”
“I mean, I don’t even want to ask.”
“Does it involve popping zits on your back?”
“Nah.”
“Then it’ll be okay. What’s the favor?”
Peter hesitated. “My mom worries about me a lot. I told her you came over yesterday, and that made her happy. But I sort of think she thinks I made it up.”
“She thinks you made me up?”
“Yeah, I make up stuff sometimes. This one time she called me from work, and I told her that Dad came back because I thought it would make her feel better for a little while. But she knew it wasn’t true.”
Marcus frowned. “So your dad left you guys?”
Peter nodded. “Yeah, about four years ago. He didn’t have a girlfriend or anything. He just didn’t like having a wife and a kid, I guess. I hid the note he left because I thought it would be better if he went missing on accident instead of on purpose, but my mom found it and got really mad.”
“You never see him?” Marcus couldn’t imagine never seeing Dad.
“Nah. Don’t even know where he is.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault. Anyway, my mom doesn’t get home from work until around nine. And I know this is stupid, but I was wondering if you could come over and, I don’t know, lend me a book or something.”
“Lend you a book?”
“I just want my mom to know that you’re real. She works hard and deserves a better son, and I thought it would make her happy if she thought I’d made a friend at school who’d lend me a book.”
“Sure, yeah, I can do that. What kind of books do you like?”
“I don’t know. A lot of times the words just don’t line up right. Do you have a beginner’s guide to magic?”
“I’ve got several of them. I’ll bring one.”
“Thank you. I’m probably the most pitiful friend you’ve ever had, if you even think of me as a friend, which there’s no reason why you should. Don’t tell anybody I asked you this favor, okay? Make fun of me in your mind, but please don’t make fun of me to other people.”
“It’s totally okay,” said Marcus. “I won’t even make fun of you in my mind.”
“I’m not good at ending conversations, so I’m just going to go home.” Peter turned and walked away.
I guess I’ve got another friend, thought Marcus as he walked home. Honestly, though he wouldn’t say this to Peter, friend was maybe too strong of a word just yet. They didn’t have much in common, and Peter wasn’t all that easy to talk to. But Marcus wasn’t willing to rule out the possibility that they’d become friends in the future, which seemed a lot better for his social life than just hanging out with Kimberly sometimes.
As soon as he stepped onto his front porch, Marcus’s cell phone vibrated. It was a text from Kimberly: Practice canceled. Want to talk magic? He wasn’t sure if she meant soccer, cello, or Oliver Twist. (It was hard to keep track of her schedule.) But he definitely wanted to talk magic.
Absolutely!!! he texted back.
That’s a lot of exclamation points.
Should I tone it down?
No, I’ll let you know if it gets out of hand.
Thank you!!! I appreciate that!!!!!!!!!
Okay to come over now?
Yes!!!???!!!???@#$%&!
On my way.
Except in this particular instance, where Marcus was purposely overusing and misusing punctuation marks for comedic effect, one of the things he really liked about Kimberly was that they both used correct grammar and spelling in their text messages.
After dumping his backpack in his room, he went to the refrigerator to get Kimberly and himself something to drink—a can of delicious, sugary, maximum-calorie soda for him and a can of nasty, sugar-free, zero-calorie diet soda for her. He didn’t know how she could drink this stuff.
Then he went upstairs to brush his teeth. Though Marcus had excellent dental hygiene, his typical regimen involved brushing and flossing in the morning and in the evening. He wasn’t prone to midday brushing unless he knew Kimberly was on her way. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with this.
A few minutes later, the doorbell rang. Since Halloween was over, the doorbell no longer let out a piercing shriek.
He opened the door. For a split second, he worried that Seamus would be standing there. Or to a lesser extent of worry, Ken, Chris, and Joe. But no, it was indeed Kimberly.
“Hi,” she said as she walked inside and tossed her backpack on his couch. “How’re you holding up?”
“I’m fine.”
“You sure? You look a little haunted. And it’s like you’ve aged. You could pass for seventeen or eighteen now.”
“Stressful week.” Marcus handed Kimberly her soda. “Wanna go up to my room?”
“Okay, yeah.”
Marcus’s mom and dad loved Kimberly, and they wouldn’t care if she was in his room when they weren’t home because they knew nothing would happen. Marcus was perfectly aware that nothing would happen, but he did sort of wish that his parents would forbid her from being in his room, to float the possibility that their trust that nothing would happen might be misplaced.
Kimberly scooted out Marcus’s desk chair and plopped down on it. She popped open her soda and took a big drink. “What amazing ideas have you come up with?”
Marcus suddenly realized that he hadn’t told her about his plans yet. He’d had too much on his mind, what with all the peril. “The magical vanishing shark.”
“Interesting,” said Kimberly. “So your trick is to destroy their natural habitat and drive them to extinction?”
“Nope. Not enough room on the stage for an entire ecosystem.”
Kimberly laughed. “That’s why you’re the magician and I’m the magician’s assistant. Although everybody knows the assistant does all of the real work.”
Very often, that was true. When a magician slid a whole bunch of swords into a box, it was the assistant inside the box, twisting herself into the right position and guiding the blades to create the illusion that a dozen swords had stabbed through the box without poking her.
“Don’t worry,” said Marcus. “I won’t make you get in the tank with the shark.”
“What’s it going to be? A puppet?”
“No, a real shark.”
Kimberly set her drink on a coaster on his desk. “What?”
“I’m going to try to get a real shark for the trick.”
“Have you discussed this with others?”
“A couple of people, yeah.”
“And did they try to dissuade you?”
“Not passionately.”
Kimberly paused to consider this. “Maybe I need more information. You mean a tiny shark, right? Something that’s technically a shark but is the size of a trout?”
“No,” said Marcus. “I mean a full-size, nightmare-inducing shark. A shark that would make lifeguards close a beach.”
“Interesting.”
“You think it’s a bad idea?”
“It’s definitely not the concept I anticipated when I heard about the bet.”
“Do you think I’m not going to be able to pull it off?”
“There are some ideas that aren’t about whether you can do something. They’re about whether you should. My concerns aren’t like that. This is all about whether you can. How are you going to get a shark, Marcus?”
“It’s on my to-do list.”
“I hope it’s near the top.”
“I wanted to be sure I could make a shark disappear before I looked into how to get one.”
“I feel like it should be the other way around,” said Kimberly. “When you told these other people, what was their reaction?”
“I guess there was some confusion. A little disbelief. Maybe a smidgen of sympathy for my mental state.”
