Bringing Down the Mouse (5 page)

“Don't feel bad for him, Charlie. LeBron James couldn't make that shot in ten tries.”

Charlie turned to see Finn off to his left, lounging back against one of the waist-high counters, which overlooked what appeared to be a coin-toss game. Charlie could hear oversize coins bouncing off ceramic plates on the other side of the counter as a pair of older kids with their backs to him played the game a few feet to Finn's left.

“It doesn't look that tough,” Charlie finally responded. “The basket isn't nearly as high as a real one.”

“Oh, it's not tough. It's
impossible
. Or nearly impossible. The hoop isn't a circle, it's an oval. An optical illusion, really. Makes you think it's closer than it is, and that the ball is small enough to go through easily.”

Charlie watched as another shot clanged off the rim, this one bouncing so high, it smacked another group of stuffed animals hanging from the ceiling. Then he crossed to where Finn was standing.

“I guess I never noticed,” Charlie said. He could feel his nerves going off, and he felt incredibly self-conscious around the older, more self-assured kid. Finn was dressed pretty much the same as he had been before, leather jacket, dark jeans, but this time he was wearing a Red Sox baseball hat low over his eyes, and
his hands were jammed into the pockets of his coat. He looked different, somehow, but Charlie couldn't quite put his finger on why.

“You're not supposed to notice. You're supposed to think you can win. That's how all these games work, Charlie. It's all about perception.”

Finn glanced toward the two teenagers a few feet over at the counter, their backs still toward Charlie. Charlie followed his gaze. The teenagers were leaning forward, taking turns tossing gold-colored coins at the shiny porcelain plates that were glued to multitiered platforms spread out across a large rectangular area below. No matter how the teenagers tossed the coins, the results seemed to be the same; the coins were noisily bouncing and ricocheting all over the place and eventually landing on the packed dirt floor beneath the platforms. A carny was standing beneath another hanging bloom of stuffed animals, watching with a smirk on his face. The teenagers didn't seem to mind that they kept losing; they were both laughing as they played, and when one ran out of coins, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pink ticket, which the carny exchanged for three more of the oversize coins.

“So,” Charlie said when Finn finally turned his
attention back in Charlie's direction. “What exactly are we doing here? And where's Magic?”

Finn smiled.

“He's around. We're here to win prizes, like everyone else. Maybe a nice giraffe to keep you company on the ride home?”

Charlie wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, but before he had to think of something to say, Finn leaned in close.

“Oh, and when you see Magic, you don't know him.”

At first, Charlie thought the older kid was joking, but the look on his face was completely serious.

“I don't know him?”

“Nope. And his name's not Magic.”

Charlie cleared his throat.

“It's not?”

“And I'm not Finn.”

This was getting stranger by the minute.

“Who are you?”

“I'm Billy Logan. I go to Ashbury Middle School in Wellesley.”

Charlie watched as one of the teenagers exchanged another ticket for more coins.

“So you're Billy,” he said to Finn, who nodded.

“Yep.”

“And who am I?”

Finn raised an eyebrow beneath the rim of his baseball hat.

“You? You're you.”

“I don't get a fake name?”

“Why would you need a fake name?”

Charlie paused.

“I don't know.”

Finn laughed, then turned suddenly and gestured toward the carny manning the coin toss game. The carny strolled over, and Finn handed him a pink ticket, getting three of the gold-colored coins. Then Finn looked at Charlie.

Charlie started to reach into his pocket.

“I need to go to the ticket booth,” he started.

Finn stopped him with one hand, holding his other hand down at his waist, low enough that the guy working the game couldn't see. In his palm was a roll of pink tickets at least three inches thick.

“This should cover you for a while.”

Wow.
There had to be enough tickets in the roll to play fifty times. Charlie looked at Finn, wondering if he should really take them. Finn's face was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that told Charlie to
just go with it. So he took the tickets, tore one off, and handed it to the carny.

The gold coins felt cold against his palm. They were slightly larger than quarters, with some heft to them.

“You go first,” Finn said, stepping back to give Charlie room.

Charlie looked out over the field of plates. He'd played the game before, on previous visits to the fair and at other carnivals over the years. Of course, it was easy to hit the plates—you didn't even really have to aim to hit a plate—but to win, you had to actually get a coin to stay on the plate, which was really hard. In fact, Charlie had never actually won anything at the game. A chart on the wall showed the prize list. One coin on a plate got you the smallest-size stuffed animal, which was little bigger than his hand. Two coins won a medium-size critter, one of the monkeys or skunks. Three coins got you a giraffe. Charlie had never seen anyone walk out of the midway games with a giraffe. But who knew, maybe today would be his lucky day.

He licked his lips, concentrating on the nearest set of plates. Focusing all his attention on the glossy center of the highest one, he took a deep breath and tossed the first coin in a nice soft arc toward the plate.

There was a loud clack, and the coin bounced up
into the air, twisting and turning, then dropped off toward the floor. Charlie cursed to himself, glancing at Finn. Finn shrugged, and Charlie turned back toward the plates, readying his second coin. He narrowed his eyes, aimed right for the same plate, and
clack
, again, his coin bounced up into the air, ricocheted off the bottom of one of the hanging giraffes, and disappeared to the floor.

He didn't even concentrate on the third throw, he just let fly. The coin clattered from plate to plate like a stone skipping across a lake, then vanished off the edge. Charlie sighed, stepping back. Finn patted his shoulder.

“Hey, at least you hit the plates.”

Finn took Charlie's place at the counter, and gave him a little wink.

“Like I said, it's all about perception. To me, those plates are as big as the moon.”

His right arm shot out, and with a flick of his wrist, he let fly one of the gold-colored coins. The coin arced almost straight up, then came down at a very sharp angle. There was a tiny clack as the coin hit one of the plates—and stopped dead, flat against the porcelain, directly in the center. The two teenagers, still watching from a few feet away, applauded, and the carny gave Finn a smile.

“Nice shot, kid. That's one. Good luck on your second—”

Before he could finish speaking, Finn's wrist flicked again, and a second coin flashed through the air. Up, up, up, arcing so high, it seemed to almost disappear into the jungle of stuffed animals hanging from the ceiling. Then it reappeared, heading almost straight down toward the plates. It landed on the same plate as the first coin, just a few centimeters from the center, and stuck just like the other coin, dead flat against the plate. The teenagers cheered. Charlie stared at the two coins, then looked at Finn.

“That was amazing.”

Finn laughed.

“Why, you think it's hard to hit the moon from a few feet away?”

He tossed the third coin from his left hand to his right, held it up to show Charlie how it gleamed in the colored lights strewn along the tent struts, then flicked his wrist a third time. The coin shot through the air, again a nearly vertical path, and descended onto the same plate once again, clacking right between the two other coins. It didn't bounce or ricochet, it just stuck there, planted like a flag on the moon.

“Holy smokes,” one of the teenagers croaked.

The carny stared at Finn, then reached above his head and pulled one of the stuffed giraffes free from where it was hanging. He crossed to Finn and handed him the stuffed animal. Finn took it with both hands. It was so big, Finn had to crane his neck to see past the thing's body.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” he joked. The carnival worker gave him a steady look.

“Everyone gets lucky once in a while, kid. What's your name?”

“Billy,” Finn said, smartly. Then he turned and walked away from the counter. Charlie followed.

“How did you do that? You landed your first three coins. Was that some sort of trick?”

Finn waited until they were far enough away from the coin-toss game before he leaned past the giraffe, close to Charlie's ear.

“It's not a trick. It's math, chemistry, and a little physics.”

“What?”

“There he is. This should be fun to watch.”

Finn pointed with a giraffe foot, and Charlie saw Magic leaning up against another counter. This game was just as familiar as the rest, a balloon-popping game that consisted of a high wall covered in brightly colored
balloons. Kids behind the counter, located about five feet from the wall, threw darts at the balloons, trying to pop them for prizes. Charlie counted four kids taking turns tossing darts, but no matter how hard the kids were throwing them, the results were always the same. The darts either missed the balloons, or hit them and bounced right off. As far as Charlie could tell, you had to hit the things straight on with enough force, and nobody seemed to be able to do so.

Magic was standing a foot back from the other kids, just watching them throw. He had three darts in his left hand, down low against his side. He looked like he was waiting his turn.

When there was a lull in the throwing, he stepped forward, passed one of the darts from his left to right hand, and took aim. His hand jerked forward, and the dart whipped through the air. It hit one of the balloons dead-on and there was a loud pop.

All the other kids turned to look. Magic just smiled, took aim with a second dart, and tossed it just like the first. There was another pop, a second balloon bursting into nothingness. Before anyone could react, the third dart was in the air. And again,
pop!
A third balloon disintegrated.

There was a moment's silence, then applause. The
carny running the game gave Magic a look very similar to the look Finn had gotten from the coin-toss carny, then yanked an identical oversize giraffe from the jungle hanging above his head.

Magic grabbed the stuffed animal from him, slung it over his shoulder, and turned toward Finn.

“Hey, Billy,” he said, rather loudly. “Just finished up here. Mom and Dad are probably waiting in the parking lot, so we better get going.”

He and Finn headed for the exit to the tent, giraffes in hand. Charlie had to skip to keep up, they were moving so fast. His mind was whirling. As the carny had told Finn, everyone got lucky sooner or later, sure. But was it just a double display of luck that he had just witnessed? Charlie's number-obsessed mind was constantly calculating odds: little things, like what were the chances a particular color bird might fly by at a particular moment, or what were the chances of seeing someone he knew in a particular department store. Calculating these odds, well, it seemed really improbable. And the sure way both Finn and Magic had approached the games, the seeming ease in which they had thrown the coins and darts, it didn't make sense. Then he thought back to what Finn had said right before they'd run into Magic.
It's math, chemistry, and a little physics
. What did that mean?

He caught up to the older kids just as they passed through the threshold of the tent, and cleared his throat.

“You use math to win stuffed animals?” he asked.

Finn stopped, then turned and suddenly handed him the giraffe.

“We use math to win a whole lot more than stuffed animals. Or at least, we will. With your help.”

Charlie felt his heart pounding in his chest. He had no idea what the older kid was talking about, but he could feel the electricity on his skin, the way Finn's words seemed to charge the very air between them. Before he could respond, Finn and Magic were moving away. Charlie finally found his voice.

“Why me?”

The two seventh graders just kept on moving. Magic gave Charlie a little wave over his right shoulder as they went.

“We'll be in touch, kid.”

And with that, they were gone. Charlie was left standing, bewildered, at the entrance to the midway games, bathed in the colored lights of the circus tent, an oversize stuffed giraffe held tight against his chest.

HEY, JUST BE GLAD
it's not snowing. And if we die out here, at least we won't have to take Mr. Marshall's social studies exam.”