The Boy Who Lost His Face Read online

  Both of Roger’s parents probably worked, so there was probably no one home right now. The cane was probably just stuck inside Roger’s closet.

  He walked down the street. It was amazingly quiet. There might not have been anyone home in any of the houses.

  With his hands in his pockets, he walked around the circle of the cul-de-sac. He just wanted to get a better look at Roger’s house. He had nothing better to do. He had no intention of breaking in.

  But if he was going to break in, how would he do it? First he’d have to ring the doorbell to make sure nobody was home. And then if there was nobody home?

  At the side of the house there was a fence with a gate leading to the backyard. He could just walk through the gate, or, if it was locked, hop the fence. Once in the backyard, no one would be able to see him from the street. He would just have to find an open window.

  Or he could break a window. He smiled. Roger broke Mrs. Bayfield’s window. It would only be fair. Roger stole Mrs. Bayfield’s cane. Now he could break Roger’s window and steal back the cane. Might as well trample some flowers while he was at it.

  Of course he wasn’t really going to do that. He was just killing time until he could go home. He walked toward the Delbrooks’ front door, just to see if anybody was home.

  He tried to think of what he’d say if somebody answered. He could say he was selling magazines. No, that was too complicated. If he heard someone coming, he’d just run away. No harm, no foul.

  He rang the doorbell.

  No one answered the door.

  Just to make certain, he rang the bell again. He also knocked loudly on the door with the side of his fist.

  Nobody was home.

  He stepped backward off the stoop away from the door and looked around. The street was still empty. He casually headed toward the side of the house.

  There was a small chain sticking through a hole in the tall wooden gate. He tugged at the chain. It was locked.

  He stepped back. The fence was about seven feet tall. He took a few more steps backward, then untied the drawstring on his pants and retied it, tight.

  He ran at the fence and jumped. He grabbed the top of the gate with his hands as his feet kicked against the side trying to get some sort of traction. He managed to get his right elbow up and then swung his right leg over.

  “Hey! What are you doing?”

  He looked back to see a little kid running toward him. It was Roger’s brother, Glen.

  David was half on, half off the top of the gate. “My ball went over the fence,” he said. He hopped back down to the ground. “I rang the doorbell but nobody was home.”

  “I know who you are,” said Glen. “You’re Ricky’s brother.”

  “I was just getting my ball,” said David. He didn’t know why he was even bothering to explain himself to a fifth grader. “Forget it!” He started to walk away.

  “Stooge!”

  He stopped and turned around. “What’d you call me?”

  “Stooge!” Glen said scornfully. “You’re the Big Stooge and Ricky is the Little Stooge. That’s what everyone calls him.”

  David took a step toward him.

  “You know what Ricky said?” asked Glen. “He said The Three Stooges were highly respected in their field!” He laughed. “He said it was a compliment to be called a stooge!”

  “I’m warning you,” said David as he took another step toward Glen.

  Glen raised his fists. “You want to fight?” he asked. “I’ll fight you. I could beat you up just like I beat up Ricky.”

  David stopped. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t very well fight a little kid. “What are you doing home from school?” he demanded.

  “Half day,” said Glen, his fists in the air. “Teachers’ meeting.”

  David glared at him, then sighed disgustedly, trying to show his contempt.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Glen. “You afraid to fight a fifth grader?”

  “I got better things to do than mess with a little kid like you,” said David, turning away.

  “Stooge!” shouted Glen. “Wait till I tell my brother. Wait till I tell my brother you were afraid to fight a fifth grader! And I bet there’s no ball back there, either. Wait till I tell my brother you were—”

  David spun around. “You can tell your brother … You can tell your brother that I think he’s a sack of dogshit! Tell him that. Tell your pissant brother that I’ll be back here tomorrow, if he wants to do anything about it. Tell him I want the snake-head cane, too. You got all that or do you want me to write it down for you? Tell him David Ballinger will be back tomorrow at noon to get the snake-head cane and that he better be here!”

  He turned and strode away, leaving Glen Delbrook with his mouth hanging open.

  29

  LARRY CLARKSDALE’S number wasn’t listed in the phone book, but David was able to get it from Information.

  “What happened to you?” Larry asked after his sister called him to the phone. “Where’d you go?”

  “You didn’t hear about it?” asked David.

  “No. What?”

  “The curse struck.”

  “What happened?” Larry asked sarcastically. “Did you step on a flower?” He was obviously still a little mad from this morning.

  David was glad that at least the whole school hadn’t heard about his pants falling down. Or maybe everyone heard about it—except Larry.

  “It struck,” he said simply. “I can’t tell you how, but it was definitely the curse. I had to leave school.” He paused for effect. “I went back to Mrs. Bayfield’s house.”

  He thought he heard Larry gasp.

  He told Larry what Mrs. Bayfield said, and then what happened when he tried to steal the cane.

  “Why?” Larry asked when he was through.

  “What do you mean, ‘Why’?” asked David.

  “You don’t really believe in that stuff, do you?” asked Larry. “Curses? Witches?”

  “If you knew what happened today, you’d believe,” said David. “Besides, you’re the one who talked about boomerang curses. You’re the one who made me pour lemonade on my head!”

  “But I didn’t tell you to call Roger Delbrook a sack of dogshit,” said Larry. “That’s just asking for trouble.”

  “But—”

  “Anyway, I never lived in Australia,” Larry admitted. “I made that up.”

  David felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Larry had been his one hope. “What about Japan?” he asked.

  “I never lived outside the U.S. Hey, but don’t tell Mo, okay? She thinks I’m a man of the world.”

  “Then you don’t know kung fu?” asked David.

  “I had a couple of lessons when we lived in Indianapolis,” said Larry.

  “You said you had a black belt.”

  “I do. It goes with my gray slacks.”

  “Oh great,” said David. “I was hoping you’d help me tomorrow. I’ll fight Roger—I have to do that—but I was hoping you’d keep his friends away in case they tried anything.” He sighed. “What about Carmelita?” he asked. “You didn’t live in Venezuela, either?”

  “I bought those pictures from a guy for five bucks,” said Larry. “I think he lived in Venezuela.”

  “Thanks a lot!” said David. “You complain about how hard it is to make friends, but then I try to be your friend and all you do is lie to me. Then, when I really need you, you let me down. Some friend!”

  “Me?” asked Larry. “You’re the one who didn’t call up Tori when you said you would. And then you called Mo a dog. Man, you’re lucky you didn’t go back to school today. She was ready to kill you. And then the only reason you call me up isn’t to apologize but because you want my help. No way! I’m not going to fight your battles for you. You got yourself into this, not me. I mean, now who’s trying to get a free ride?”

  “Forget it!” snapped David. “I should have known better than to ask you to help a friend.”

  “Friend? You’re
not a friend. You’re a leech. No wonder Scott hates you!”

  “You’ve got no face,” said David. “Only a pair of ugly blue sunglasses.”

  “You’re a butthead.”

  David heard Larry slam down the phone. “And you’re a dipshit,” he said into the dead air.

  He walked down the hall. The door to Ricky’s room was open. David could see him sitting at his desk, probably doing homework.

  Big stooge, little stooge. It was one thing for Roger and Scott to call him a stooge, but it wasn’t fair that Ricky was the little stooge. Big stooge, little stooge. It gnawed at his insides whenever he thought about it. Even if there was no curse or cane, he’d have to fight Roger for that.

  Ricky turned around and looked at him.

  “Hi,” said David. “You want help with your homework or anything?”

  “Go blow your nose, snotface!” said Ricky.

  David continued down the hall. Go blow your nose, snotface! He wondered if one of the other fifth graders said that to Ricky today.

  Actually, he suddenly did feel like he needed to blow his nose. Maybe it was the power of suggestion.

  He didn’t dare let Ricky hear him. He went through his parents’ bedroom to their bathroom and closed the door.

  It seemed so hopeless. Roger was bigger and stronger than he was. Plus, Roger knew he was coming so he’d probably have all his friends there too.

  It’s me against the world. I have no friends left. My brother hates me. I’m cursed. I can never talk to Tori again.

  He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and smiled. A strange feeling of confidence came over him.

  He had nothing left to lose.

  30

  “I CLOSED my eyes,” said Tori Williams.

  She was standing at his front door. It was ten thirty, Saturday morning. He had been playing solitaire as he anxiously waited for twelve o’clock, when he heard the doorbell ring. He went to the door and there she was.

  “You asked me for my phone number,” she said. “I closed my eyes as I tried to remember it. I can remember things better when my eyes are closed. When I opened my eyes, you were gone.”

  He stared at her for a second. Or maybe it was a minute.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in, Mr. Ballinger?” she asked. “It’s not polite to leave a lady standing out in the cold.”

  “Please come in, Miss Williams. Would you care for a cup of tea?”

  “Thank you.”

  He led her into the kitchen.

  “Do you have any herb tea?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’ll check.”

  He found a brown bag of tea way in the back of the cabinet behind the coffee, decaffeinated coffee, regular tea, coffee filters, paper plates, and birthday candles. “Chamomile tea?” he asked, pronouncing it like it was spelled. He’d never heard of it before.

  “Cam-o-meel,” said Tori. “It’s good.”

  It wasn’t in tea bags and David didn’t know how to brew loose tea, so Tori made it. She used a Japanese teapot that David and Ricky had once given their mother on Mother’s Day. As far as David could remember, it had never been used before.

  They sat next to each other at the kitchen counter and sipped their tea. David added some honey to his. It didn’t taste too bad—kind of like sweet grass. Her eyes flashed at him over her raised teacup.

  He looked at the clock on the stove. It was ten to eleven. He set down his cup. “You’re going to think this is really weird,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know how to begin.” He smiled. “Fourscore and seven years ago—”

  Tori laughed.

  “Do you know that lady, uh, Mrs. Bayfield?”

  Tori swallowed her tea. “Yes. She’s—”

  “She’s a witch!” said David.

  Her eyes widened. “She is?”

  “I’m not kidding. She put a curse on me. That’s why those things have been happening to me, like what happened yesterday when I asked you for your phone number.”

  “I closed my eyes,” said Tori.

  “Well, I just want you to know it wasn’t my fault. I guess in a way it was my fault, but not in the way you’d think. It all started about three weeks ago. I used to hang out with Scott, Roger, and Randy.”

  He noticed Tori’s face redden slightly when he mentioned Randy’s name.

  “Have you ever seen Mrs. Bayfield’s snake-head cane?” he asked.

  “Uh, I think so,” said Tori. “It was stolen, wasn’t it?” She took another sip of tea.

  He wondered how she knew that. He wondered what she was doing here. It suddenly occurred to him that Randy might have sent her as part of some kind of joke. Or maybe as a spy.

  “I helped steal it,” he said.

  She raised her eyebrows.

  He told Tori what happened. How they knocked Mrs. Bayfield over and stole her cane, but the whole time he had the feeling that Tori already knew all about it.

  “At the time I thought it was a mean thing to do to a poor old lady,” he said. “You know, what if it was her only cane and she couldn’t walk without it? Little did I know …” He shook his head. “I really didn’t do anything bad to her, except for giving her the finger, which really isn’t so bad when you think about it. Mostly I just sort of stood around.” He shrugged. “But I guess followers are just as much to blame as leaders.”

  “What did Randy do?” asked Tori.

  “Randy? He was the one who pulled her rocking chair over.”

  “So then what happened?” asked Tori.

  “She put a curse on me. I know it sounds crazy, but everything that happened to her started happening to me!” He told her about throwing the baseball through the window and about the apple juice pouring on Elizabeth’s face. “Remember when I fell over in my chair in social studies?”

  “Yes!” whispered Tori. “Twice.” She put her hand over her mouth. “Was that the curse?”

  David nodded. “Just like she had been knocked over in her rocking chair. And I guess you probably heard about the beaker I broke in science.”

  She nodded. Her mouth was hidden behind her cup, but he thought she was smiling.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” he explained. “It was the curse. Roger broke her pitcher of lemonade, so she broke my pitcher.”

  “She must be a witch,” Tori said conclusively.

  He couldn’t tell if she really believed that or if she was just playing along. “She really is,” he said. “She steals people’s faces. She has them hanging all over the walls of her house. Somehow she manages to keep them preserved.”

  “The lemonade!” exclaimed Tori.

  “Huh?”

  “It probably wasn’t really lemonade. It was face juice!”

  “Uh, maybe,” said David.

  “Lucky you didn’t drink any,” said Tori.

  He nodded. He told her about seeing Mrs. Bayfield’s underwear. “And then, well, you know what happened yesterday when I was talking to you.”

  “I closed my eyes,” she reminded him.

  He smiled. “Well, even if you didn’t see what happened, she saw. She sees and hears everything I do!”

  “She does? How do you know?”

  “Well, I don’t know if you remember but, um, yesterday you said I looked like a Greek poet.”

  Tori blushed.

  “After I left you, I ran to see her. To try to beg her to remove the curse. The first thing she said to me was, ‘You look like a Greek poet.’ It was her way of telling me she’d been watching me the whole time.”

  Again, David thought he saw Tori smile behind her cup. Why did he have the feeling she knew something he didn’t?

  “I wonder if she’s watching us right now,” Tori whispered. She looked around suspiciously.

  “Probably. There’s nothing we can do about it.” He glanced at the clock. “So anyway, now I have to get the cane and bring it back to her so she’ll remove the curse.”

 
“Did she tell you that?”

  He nodded.

  “She said she’d remove the curse if you returned the cane?” For the first time, Tori seemed genuinely surprised.

  “Yes,” he said. Then he took a sip of tea.

  “Hmmm,” said Tori.

  Ricky was coming down the hall. David watched him out of the corner of his eye. The last thing he needed was for Ricky to make some crack about his brother the stooge, or his stoogy girlfriend.

  Ricky stopped and stared at Tori. He walked into the kitchen.

  “Hi,” she greeted him.

  “Hi,” said Ricky, still staring.

  David introduced them. “Tori, this is my brother, Ricky. Ricky—Tori.”

  “Would you like some chamomile tea?” Tori offered.

  David closed his eyes. He could just imagine what his brother was thinking.

  “Okay,” said Ricky.

  “Get a cup,” said Tori.

  Ricky got a teacup and sat down at the counter on the other side of Tori. He reached for the teapot, but Tori picked it up first. “It’s bad luck to pour your own tea,” she said as she poured it for him.

  He took a sip, then made a face.

  “Do you want some honey in it?” she asked.

  “Did you put honey in your tea?” asked Ricky.

  “No, I like it plain.”

  “I don’t want honey,” he said. He took another sip of tea. “It’s good.” He smiled at Tori.

  David watched, amazed. Ricky obviously didn’t think Tori was a stooge. He glanced at the clock on the stove. It was twenty-five past eleven.

  “Like this,” said Tori. She held her teacup in her first two fingers. Her pinky was sticking straight out.

  Ricky daintily picked up his teacup.

  They both laughed.

  The doorbell rang.

  David and Ricky looked at each other.

  “Somebody get that!” shouted their father.

  “I’ll get it,” Ricky said reluctantly. He took another sip of chamomile tea, then stood up and headed for the door.

  David and Tori smiled at each other like they were sharing some secret joke, except David didn’t know what the joke was.