respond, she’d started brushing powder all over his face. He’d opened his mouth to object, but some of the powder got sucked inside, as if he was in a sandstorm. The whole day had made Duncan feel horrible, including the moment when he’d had to hand in the release form on which he’d forged his mother’s signature. He’d carefully written:
Caroline Dorfman
No one even bothered to check whether or not it looked real. Mrs. Slater didn’t seem to care.
Duncan had asked Carl to tell his mother not to bring any of this up—the ad, the release form, or the money—to Duncan’s mother over the weekend in Yakamee. “She’s really sensitive,” he’d said vaguely, and Carl had said not to worry, his mom wouldn’t say a word.
Maybe, Duncan thought, the ads would never appear anywhere, and he would never have to tell his mother what he’d done. She still thought the trip had been paid for by the school. Not only that, but she still had no idea of the real reason Duncan had been invited to participate. She knew what the fingertips of his left hand could do, but she didn’t know that anyone else knew. To Duncan’s relief, none of this information had made its way back to her over the fall.
“I’m not experienced at all,” Duncan admitted to the girls at the tournament now.
“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” said Lucy. “In case we end up playing each other today, I mean. But I bet you’re good.”
“I don’t know about that. How about you two?” he asked.
“We’ve been playing for a while, but this is our first tournament. We mostly just like the game,” said Lucy, but Duncan knew she was probably being modest. He had a feeling the two of them were extremely good.
“I like your T-shirt,” April said to him. Then she casually asked, “Do you have a lot of shirts with things written on them?”
“No, just a couple,” said Duncan. “I mostly wear regular shirts. My mom brings them home from the store where she works. Unfortunately,” he added.
“Why unfortunately?”
“They’re the exact colors of mustard, ketchup, and relish.”
“Oh. That’s not good. But you could be a walking ad for a barbecue,” said Lucy.
“I’m already a walking ad for cigarettes,” Duncan muttered.
“What?” said Lucy, but Duncan said it was nothing, just a joke, never mind.
“I’m pretty sure the answer to this is no,” April said, “and I know it’s going to sound completely weird, but I have to ask you a question: Did you ever own a T-shirt that said ‘SETTLE MARS’?”
“No,” said Duncan. “Why?”
“Long story,” said Lucy Woolery. “But basically, April met someone years ago at a motel pool. He was wearing a T-shirt that said SETTLE MARS. Anyway, you’re not the boy from the pool, I assume. You don’t have food allergies, like he did, do you? You never met my friend April before. You would probably remember if you had.”
“No, I don’t have food allergies,” said Duncan. “And I’ve never met your friend. I’m not that boy.”
He thought about how he had never been to a motel with a pool before, let alone a big fancy hotel with a pool on the roof, like this one. But still, he thought it was pretty great that he was here now. He lightly curled the fingers of his left hand, then flexed them. In the distance, Duncan could see his mother coming up the escalator, waving to him as soon as she picked him out of the crowd. He waved back.
Suddenly the tall doors of the ballroom were flung open from inside. “IT’S STARTING!” someone shouted, and everyone rushed through the doorway.
Duncan Dorfman, April Blunt, and Nate Saviano went in with the crowd, feeling themselves pushed into the enormous red-and-gold hotel ballroom. Row after row of tables were set up there, each one with a Scrabble game lying on it. Everyone went searching for their tables.
Nate Saviano’s father Larry stood for a moment just inside the doorway, looking around in wonder. “I remember this place like
Caroline Dorfman
No one even bothered to check whether or not it looked real. Mrs. Slater didn’t seem to care.
Duncan had asked Carl to tell his mother not to bring any of this up—the ad, the release form, or the money—to Duncan’s mother over the weekend in Yakamee. “She’s really sensitive,” he’d said vaguely, and Carl had said not to worry, his mom wouldn’t say a word.
Maybe, Duncan thought, the ads would never appear anywhere, and he would never have to tell his mother what he’d done. She still thought the trip had been paid for by the school. Not only that, but she still had no idea of the real reason Duncan had been invited to participate. She knew what the fingertips of his left hand could do, but she didn’t know that anyone else knew. To Duncan’s relief, none of this information had made its way back to her over the fall.
“I’m not experienced at all,” Duncan admitted to the girls at the tournament now.
“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” said Lucy. “In case we end up playing each other today, I mean. But I bet you’re good.”
“I don’t know about that. How about you two?” he asked.
“We’ve been playing for a while, but this is our first tournament. We mostly just like the game,” said Lucy, but Duncan knew she was probably being modest. He had a feeling the two of them were extremely good.
“I like your T-shirt,” April said to him. Then she casually asked, “Do you have a lot of shirts with things written on them?”
“No, just a couple,” said Duncan. “I mostly wear regular shirts. My mom brings them home from the store where she works. Unfortunately,” he added.
“Why unfortunately?”
“They’re the exact colors of mustard, ketchup, and relish.”
“Oh. That’s not good. But you could be a walking ad for a barbecue,” said Lucy.
“I’m already a walking ad for cigarettes,” Duncan muttered.
“What?” said Lucy, but Duncan said it was nothing, just a joke, never mind.
“I’m pretty sure the answer to this is no,” April said, “and I know it’s going to sound completely weird, but I have to ask you a question: Did you ever own a T-shirt that said ‘SETTLE MARS’?”
“No,” said Duncan. “Why?”
“Long story,” said Lucy Woolery. “But basically, April met someone years ago at a motel pool. He was wearing a T-shirt that said SETTLE MARS. Anyway, you’re not the boy from the pool, I assume. You don’t have food allergies, like he did, do you? You never met my friend April before. You would probably remember if you had.”
“No, I don’t have food allergies,” said Duncan. “And I’ve never met your friend. I’m not that boy.”
He thought about how he had never been to a motel with a pool before, let alone a big fancy hotel with a pool on the roof, like this one. But still, he thought it was pretty great that he was here now. He lightly curled the fingers of his left hand, then flexed them. In the distance, Duncan could see his mother coming up the escalator, waving to him as soon as she picked him out of the crowd. He waved back.
Suddenly the tall doors of the ballroom were flung open from inside. “IT’S STARTING!” someone shouted, and everyone rushed through the doorway.
Duncan Dorfman, April Blunt, and Nate Saviano went in with the crowd, feeling themselves pushed into the enormous red-and-gold hotel ballroom. Row after row of tables were set up there, each one with a Scrabble game lying on it. Everyone went searching for their tables.
Nate Saviano’s father Larry stood for a moment just inside the doorway, looking around in wonder. “I remember this place like
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