TWELVE

“Owww.” Thomas’s pre-class stupor was broken by a surprise jab to the shoulder. The punch was solid enough to send a stab of pain dashing to his brain and break up his thoughts about The Book of Sorrows. “What was that for?”

“Just saying hi.” Enrique’s grin was even more mischievous than usual. “What’s with the space face? You look like a zombie.”

Thomas shrugged. They turned the corner and headed down the hall toward Mr. Dilstrom’s classroom. “I don’t know. Kind of a weird morning, I guess. What about you? Want to come over after school?”

“Can’t. Volleyball tournament. How about tomorrow? The championship game is at 4:30. I could come over right after if we make it, or ride the bus with you if we don’t.”

“Works for me.” Thomas followed Enrique into their classroom. Mr. Dilstrom ignored them and continued writing on the whiteboard. “Doodle war?”

“It’s on.” Enrique raised an eyebrow and flashed a look of mock ferocity.

Thomas summoned his energy and put on a matching expression. Enrique scrunched up his face and stuck out his tongue. Thomas extended his front teeth over his bottom lip and wrinkled his nose, answering the challenge. Enrique rolled his shoulders and eyebrows in unison, his lips forming a perfect “O.” Thomas’s game face collapsed, destroyed by an insuppressible smile.

Enrique mouthed “oh yeah!” and did a little dance move in his seat. Thomas grimaced and went to work, furiously sketching as Mr. Dilstrom launched into a painfully boring review of their reading assignment. Slowly, his idea materialized on the page. It was a classic, Enrique’s sister Maria giving Sean Parker an atomic wedgie. Parker’s slack-jawed expression and wide eyes were almost as perfect as Maria’s transformer suit.

Enrique coughed. Thomas glanced sideways, his concentration broken. A big-lipped caricature of Peggy Epelson dressed like Wonder Woman stared back, her lips puckered, and a heart-shaped word bubble floated over her head, I love you, big boy.

Thomas felt his cheeks suddenly burning. He chortled, tried to cover it with a cough, and squawked instead.

“Is there something you would like to add to our discussion, Mr. Wildus?” asked Mr. Dilstrom.

“No, sir, Mr. Dilstrom,” managed Thomas, his face burning. He forced another cough and tapped himself on the chest. “I’m fine, sir. Just had something catch in my throat.”

“Bam!” whispered Enrique. “That’s one for me.”

Thomas tucked his doodle away, ignoring Enrique’s victorious grin. Next time. Next time he’s going down for sure.

After school Thomas stopped at the bookshop to finish out his commitment of five hours. He had a growing list of questions, but once again Huxley was gone on business. After chatting with Adelia for a few minutes and dusting another row of books, he headed home, hoping to get there in time for a crack at the next chapter.

He made it with time to spare. On his second pass through chapter four, Thomas skimmed past the material describing Isham’s painful adjustment to blindness. After two days spent impatiently waiting for a chance to read about Isham’s newly acquired powers, he wanted the good stuff—details about what the powers actually were. His eyes settled on the top of the last page, where things finally started to get interesting.

On the eve of the third moon, Isham returneth unto his place by the fire, guided thereto by Elara, the fairest of his wives. A gasp riseth from the people, and children cry out, for none hadst yet seen the white and marbled eyes of the storyteller; and yet the eyes are the least of the changes wrought in Isham.

Yea, the people fall silent, for the very earth trembleth at the presence of Isham, and with force like unto the heavy drum do the words fall from his lips. And behold! dust and air, smoke and fire, even they respond to the sound of Isham’s voice.

The storyteller speaketh, and images appear in the light of the fire, called forth by the words thereof. Strange characters and curious things take shape, born of earth and sky, painted with color and light, moving through flame and shadow as if they didst truly live. Fear filleth the people, and awe, for in all the world such wonder hast never been seen.

When the tale hath ended, a shout riseth from the people, and upon their hands is Isham lifted up; yea, borne unto his dwelling upon the hands of the people is Isham, whilst the voices thereof lift him in song. Isham rejoiceth also, for all he hath spoken liveth still in the eye of his mind, the places and things therein shimmering with the light and color of life.

When all have returned unto their places, the storyteller layeth soft upon his bedcloth, giving thanks for all he hast seen and all he hath yet to see.

Thomas reread the key sentence twice. Strange characters and curious things take shape, born of earth and sky, painted with color, moving through flame and shadow as if they didst truly live. Isham’s stories had become more than make-believe. They’d become magic. His words created images, color, and light, like television, only thousands of years before electronics were invented.

The sound of a familiar voice pulled Thomas’s attention away from the book. He peered out of his window. His mom was standing next to her car, cell phone in hand and an earpiece in her ear. Her posture was rigid, her expression serious. Thomas hadn’t even heard her car pulling into the driveway. He pressed his cheek against the window and listened.

“. . . not ready. I’m sorry, it will have to wait.” She stared at her phone for a moment, then dropped it in her purse and headed for the front door. Thomas tucked the book away and hustled downstairs. “Understood. We’ll talk about it later.”

“Hi, Mom.” Thomas wrapped her in a customary hug. The book and key were once again tucked away and hidden.

“Hey, sweetie,” she replied, squeezing him right back and ruffling his hair. Whatever the phone conversation had been, she’d managed to shake it off. “I don’t think we’ve got much to eat around here. How about we head over to the Circle and find some dinner?”

“Yeah, sure. Of course,” said Thomas. She was referring to the enormous tree-lined traffic plaza at the center of downtown Orange. The Circle was a throwback to another era, a literal traffic circle ringed by historic buildings. There was an old Masonic lodge, a variety of shops, restaurants, and a couple of small office towers. “What did you have in mind?”

“How about we hop in the car and see what turns up?”

“Works for me,” replied Thomas. A bunch of his favorite restaurants were near the Circle, not to mention Collectors’ Universe. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Oh, I’m ready,” she said, squeezing him around the shoulders with one arm and messing his hair with the other. “Come on, slowpoke, let’s get out of here already.”

“Not my hair. Mom, seriously. Mom!” protested Thomas as he wriggled out of her grip. “Mom!”

“Okay, fine, but I’m definitely going to do it again if we see any girls at the restaurant. A little embarrassment is good for you. Helps you get over the fear of failure. It’s very scientific, I promise.”

“Mo-omm,” said Thomas, as he smoothed his hair.

“Okay, fine,” she said, laughing as she walked out the front door. “No embarrassment. Probably.”

Thomas smoothed his hair while his mom unplugged their silver Chevy Volt, the backup car she used for driving locally. Their destination was settled the moment they turned onto the Circle and the Green China Palace came into sight. The dumplings had long been famous among the locals, and the sesame chicken was Thomas’s absolute favorite. As usual, there was a wait. As far as Thomas was concerned, that was perfect.

“Hey, Mom, can I borrow twenty dollars?” he asked.

She raised an eyebrow. “Comics?”

“Mm-hmm,” said Thomas. “Please. I’ll only be a couple minutes. I promise.”

She fished around in her purse and came up with a pair of tens. “Hurry back. I’m starving, and they won’t give us a table until we’re both ready to be seated.”

“Me too, and I will.” Thomas tucked the cash into his pocket and headed for the door. “Thanks, Mom!”

Thomas made the fastest pass through Collectors’ Universe that he possibly could, grabbing the newest editions of Teen Titans and Ghost World without so much as a glance at anything else. The owner, Frank, looked from Thomas to something under his register and back again. Apparently satisfied, he pulled a glossy comic from under a pile of papers and tucked it into the bag with the others.

“A little gift for a loyal customer,” said Frank. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks!” Thomas smiled widely. He grabbed the bag and sprinted back to the restaurant, making it just in the nick of time.

“Wildus, table for two.” The hostess’s voice was just barely audible over the chatting and clatter that filled the little restaurant. She held up a pair of menus as Thomas skidded to a stop next to his mom.

“That’s us,” said Susan. She followed the hostess to a small round table by the window. “We don’t need menus, do we? Perfect. We’d like sesame chicken and Mongolian beef for entrees. And can we get started with some egg rolls and two orders of pan-fried dumplings?”

“Of course. The appetizers will be up in just a few minutes.”

“Perfect,” said Susan. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” The woman stepped away with a slight bow of her head.

“How’s work?” Thomas was genuinely curious but also interested in keeping the attention off himself.

“Not bad. I just finished the proposal for a new project.”

“Nice. What is it?”

She told him her idea, which had been inspired by a Harvard philosopher who suggested that dark matter might not exist. The idea had been mostly criticized and ignored, but she wanted to develop new models and theories for the “missing” parts of the universe and see if anything revolutionary turned up.

“Sounds pretty cool,” said Thomas. “What are you going to—”

“Egg rolls and two orders of pan-fried dumplings.” The waiter set the steaming trays down on their table. “The Mongolian beef, steamed rice, and sesame chicken will be coming out in just a few minutes. Would you like anything else?”

“This looks perfect,” replied Susan. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. It’s always nice to see to you here, Professor.” The waiter smiled and headed back toward the kitchen.

Between bites, Susan talked more about her idea and the challenges the project would face.

By the time they finished eating, Thomas had run out of questions about the project. He did, however, have one more request. “Can we get funnel cake?”

“I’m stuffed.” She looked skeptically from Thomas to the stack of empty plates on their table. “Are you sure you still have room?”

“For funnel cake? Yeah, of course. Can we mom? Please?”

“Sure, but you’re on your own this time. I had two dumplings too many.”

“I’ll manage,” said Thomas. Funnel Cake Kitchen was only a half block away, and he could always find room for funnel cake. Always.

By the time they pulled into the driveway, Thomas was stuffed beyond comfort and more than half asleep. He barely managed to drag himself upstairs to bed, slipping off his shoes before falling heavily onto his pillows. The door to his room creaked open as he started to drift off to sleep.

“My sweet, brilliant boy,” whispered Susan, her voice dancing at the edge of Thomas’s awareness. “Have I done enough to prepare you?”

“What?” Thomas’s eyes fluttered open. “Did you say something?”

“I love you,” said his mom. “Sleep well, my sweet boy.”

Her words were as distant as yesterday’s dreams, disappearing like vapor as Thomas drifted off to sleep.