Part 8 (1/2)

Zavion couldnt help smiling.

The clowns bowed. ”Thank you, thank you,” said Skeet.

”Tip jar is by the door on your way out,” said Enzo.

”Dont you let these fools steal your money, Zavion, honey,” said Ms. Cyn. She clucked her tongue and shook her head as she bent over her knitting again.

Steal.

The word punctured the corners of Zavions upturned mouth like a pin.

The chocolate bars bounced around in his head like those apples. He should pay back what he owed Luna Market. He knew where it was.

But how?

Mamas story came to him then. Or his question. The question he asked every time she told him the story. Shed be at the edge of his bed, pulling the blanket to his chin. Hed sit up fast, the blanket falling, his nose an inch away from her nose.

”How?” hed demand. ”How does a mountain travel from one place to another? How is that possible?”

”Zavion, honey-”

Zavions head snapped up. He opened his eyes. He hadnt even known they were closed. Had he been talking out loud? Enzo, Skeet, and Tavius sat on the counters around the kitchen and Ms. Cyn still sat at the table, her knitting needles click-clacking, her eyes s.h.i.+ning again.

”Are you okay?” she said.

I will never be okay, thought Zavion.

”Are you kidding?” said Enzo. ”No one in this house is okay.”

”Especially you,” said Tavius, slapping Enzo on the back.

”Yeah, you never were,” said Skeet.

They laughed, and Zavion appreciated the s.h.i.+ft of focus.

How would anything ever be okay again?

How could he pay back the market?

He didnt know, but he knew he had to figure it out. If he could just pay back the money for the chocolate bars, maybe he could make this whole hurricane mess go away.

The sound of laughter interrupted Zavions thoughts. Ms. Cyns head was thrown back as she laughed, her laughter like bread dough, like a mountain, rising into the air.

chapter 18.

HENRY.

Henry sat at the top of the driveway and threw a rubber ball for Brae, who raced down the hill chasing it. How could Mom have done that? How could he have let it happen? How could the marble be gone?

Before that night on the mountain, Henry and Wayne had rules for exchanging the marble. They werent official or anything. They werent written down and hung up in their bedrooms. But they were rules that they just knew, and they seemed to work.

The marble worked.

Henrys football team rarely lost a game, and when they did it was because of Nopie and his stupid b.u.t.terfingers. Apple pie fingers. And Waynes soccer and baseball teams never lost. There was something about accepting the marble, and then holding it, feeling its smooth circle go round and round and round that inspired a sense of invincibility in Henry. He didnt even have to think about feeling invincible. It wasnt a thought. It just was. It was hope and bravery and confidence all rolled together just like he rolled the marble in his hand.

It was true that he found the marble the day he and Mom moved into their house. After he had picked his room, he found it on the windowsill. And it was also true that he met Wayne that same afternoon. Everyone knew those parts of the story. What they didnt know was the first part. The part about Henry getting up early in the morning, that morning he and Mom moved, and Henry feeling so heavy with sadness that he laid himself down in the driveway in front of the car and wouldnt get up. Not for breakfast, his last scrambled-egg breakfast in the only house he had ever known, not to play in the tree house his father had built, and not even when Mom finally got into the car and turned it on. She had to lift him up kicking and screaming, hold him back against the seat of the car with her elbow while she wrestled with his seat belt. She surprised him with a bag of cheese puffs for the ride, but even his favorite food didnt make him feel better.

Henry remembered believing it was the end of the world. What did he know? He was only four years old. He also remembered grabbing onto one idea and squeezing it until it was blue. If there was a sign at the new house, then he knew he would live beyond that last day in the old brown house.

So he had walked upstairs, picked his new room, and there it had been. Right on the windowsill.

The marble.

And now it was gone.

The thought made Henry want to lie down again, this time in front of the car or pickup or eighteen-wheeler or whatever had driven off with the marble. He lay down in his driveway instead, beside Brae, who was chewing on the rubber ball.

”What am I going to do?” he asked Brae. Brae leaned in to sniff Henrys nose. ”Do you smell an idea?” said Henry, rubbing Brae under the chin. ”Cause I dont feel anything cooking in here-” He tapped the side of his head. Cooking made Henry think of Nopie and his stupid apple pie, and he said, ”Stupid!” out loud and then he said, ”Oh, not you, Brae! Never you! Youre the smartest dog-cow I know-” He sat up, took the ball, put his hands inside his sweats.h.i.+rt pocket. ”Which hand?” he said. Brae sniffed Henry again, this time around his pocket, and nudged Henrys left hand. ”Right!” Henry said. ”Youre right every time!” He threw the ball again and watched Brae as he raced down the driveway.

Suddenly, his brain was racing too.

Suddenly, his brain was an oven and he was cooking up an idea fast.

If Brae could chase a ball, why couldnt Henry chase a marble?

The marble was in New Orleans.

Jake was going to New Orleans.

Henry could hitch a ride with Jake and find his marble.

This was a triple-decker cake of an idea!