Part 2 (2/2)

”Just some little things. Nothing major.”

In the pulpit, Adam let out a snort. ”Sure, nothing major. Nothing except --”

”Adam!” I warned.

”What?” said Julie.

”It's nothing,” I told her. ”Adam just said something very rude, is all.”

She leaned forward, curious. ”What did he say?”

”It's nothing, really. Just Adam being a pest.”

”Has he been listening to us this whole time?”

I nodded. ”Listening and commenting. It's what he does.”

”Can I talk to him?”

It was an innocent request, and, as I eventually learned, a common one. Like a lot of Julie's other questions, though, it caught me by surprise; instead of recognizing that she was simply curious about Adam, my first thought was that she didn't want to talk to me anymore.

”What did I do wrong?” I asked Adam.

”You didn't do anything wrong. She's not mad -- she just wants to see a trick.”

”A trick?”

”A magic trick.”

”You want to see a magic trick?” I asked Julie, confused again.

”What?” said Julie.

”Here,” Adam offered, ”I'll show you what I mean. Just let me have the body for a second. . .”

I should have refused; even a month out of the lake, I knew better than to trust Adam's generosity. But he sounded so self-a.s.sured, and I was so at a loss, that I stepped back into the pulpit and let him take over.

Now it was Julie's turn to be startled. People who have never seen a switch before often expect some dramatic physical transformation, like a werewolf sprouting hair and fangs under a full moon. In reality it's much more subtle -- the body doesn't change, just the body language, which can actually be a lot more unsettling. I'm naturally a little shy, and though I try to keep eye contact for courtesy's sake, I have what Aunt Sam calls ”a politely unintrusive gaze.” Adam, of course, is the opposite of unintrusive.

The first thing he did when he took the body from me was flash Julie his crudest adolescent leer. I could tell by the way she reacted: she stopped smiling and s.h.i.+fted back defensively in her seat. It was my first hint that I'd just made a big mistake.

”h.e.l.lo, Julie,” said Adam, in a silky voice that even spooked me a little. ”Watch closely.” He lifted up his right arm and waggled it in the air. ”Nothing up this sleeve. . .” He did the same with his left arm. ”.

. . and nothing up this one.” He lowered his arms and brought them together, hands clasping around the sides of the beer pitcher. ”Watch. . .”

”Oh no,” I said. ”Adam! No!”

The beer: of course: it was the beer that he wanted. Alcohol is against the rules of the house, but Adam doesn't care about the rules -- he is Gideon's son, after all. And he loves drinking, even more than he loves Playboy.

As he brought the pitcher to his lips I tried to wrest the body back from him, but he was determined to hang on until he finished. He didn't need to hold me off for long. Blitz-drinking is one of Adam's most refined ”talents”: he just threw his head back, and the stout in the pitcher slid out of sight like rainwater was.h.i.+ng down a drainpipe, with no pause for swallowing.

”Aaaaaaahhhh --” Adam slammed the empty pitcher down on the table. He drained the gla.s.ses next, grabbing Julie's in one fist and mine in the other, tossing them back as if they were no more than thimble-sized, and ending with a flourish: ”TA-DAAAAH!” Then he leaned forward across the table, opened his mouth and belched explosively, right in Julie's face.

And that was all. Cackling hysterically at his joke, Adam fled the body and ran back into the house, leaving me to deal with the aftermath.

Julie looked as though she'd been slapped: she sat bolt upright, palms flat and rigid against the edge of the table as if frozen in the act of pus.h.i.+ng away. From inside the house I could hear my father roaring in fury, and beneath the roar a door slam as Adam, still cackling, barricaded himself in his room, but that was all very distant. The immediate universe was made up of Julie and her wide-eyed expression of shock.

I jerked back in my own seat and my hands flew up to my mouth, as if I could somehow cram Adam's belch back inside. I would have given a lot to be able to abandon the body myself just then, to push it and the whole situation off on another soul; but that wasn't allowed. I could call on Seferis to handle physical threats, but coping with embarra.s.sment was my own responsibility -- even when it wasn't my fault. House rule.

”I'm so sorry. . .” The words came rus.h.i.+ng out, m.u.f.fled by the hands still pressed to my mouth.

”I'm so sorry, Julie --”

Julie blinked and came back to life. ”That was Adam?” she asked me.

I nodded. ”That was Adam.”

”You were right,” she said. ”He is a teenager.”

The evening ended pretty soon after that. I kept apologizing, even as Julie insisted that she hadn't been offended. ”I'm just a little stunned, is all.” But she seemed more than stunned; she seemed wary and withdrawn. She didn't ask me any more questions, and the conversation fumbled to a standstill.

I started to feel strange, light-headed and nauseous. Adam had taken as much of the drunk with him as he could, to savor it in private, but there's enough alcohol in a half gallon of stout to make two souls woozy. Julie saw my eyes glazing over and said: ”I think it's time for you to go home.”

”No,” I said, head weaving side to side, ”I'm fine, really, I just --” But Julie had already slipped out of the booth and gone to settle the tab. I stared at a bit of foam on the lip of the beer pitcher until she came back. ”Come on,” she said, prodding me in the shoulder. ”I'll take you home.”

Her fingers didn't feel so nice this time; when I looked up, her expression was unsmiling and cold.

”I can walk home,” I suggested.

”I wouldn't count on it.”

”Are you sure you can drive?”

Julie let out a terse bark of a laugh. ”Yeah, I think so,” she said. ”I only had the one gla.s.s, remember?”

It was a very short ride, but by the time we reached Mrs. Winslow's I was starting to nod out. ”Is this it?” Julie asked, nudging me awake. ”You said Temple Street, right?”

I swung my head up. We were parked in front of a Victorian, but it took a moment to be sure it was the right Victorian. ”I think this is it,” I said. ”But it looks funny. Everything looks funny. . .”

”Go inside,” Julie commanded. ”Go to bed.”

”All right. . .” But before getting out of the car, I tried to apologize one more time. Julie cut me off: ”Go to bed, Andrew.”

”All right,” I said. ”All right.” I tugged at the door handle; the latch seemed stuck, so I shoved hard and the door swung open with a screech, scuffing off paint in a broad streak against the curb.

Julie let out a hiss. Then I started to apologize again, and she said: ”Just get out of the car. Just get out, and let me shut the door.”

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