True To Form by Elizabeth Berg Read Free Book Online Page B

and what radio station is the best in the world?”
    Well, I have no idea.
    â€œKatie?” Freddy says.
    â€œYes, sir?”
    â€œWhat radio station is the best in the world?”
    â€œKOOL!” Cynthia is whispering. “KOOL!”
    Oh.
    â€œKOOL,” I say.
    â€œYou got it!” Freddy says. “And now, in your honor, let’s listen to Travelin’ Man!”
    And he is gone. The woman comes back on the phone to tell me she’ll be sending me an airplane ticket as soon as she gets my parents’ permission—they’ll need to call her at the station. I say okay and hang up the phone.
    And then I just sit there. I want to replay everything that just happened and never forget it.
    â€œYou won!” Cynthia says. “Wow! I didn’t even know you entered!”
    â€œI know,” I say. “I didn’t tell you. I didn’t tell anyone.”
    â€œUh-oh,” Cynthia says. And I know what she means. I see myself saying, “Hey, Dad, I won a free trip to Texas!” And him, a fork on the way to his mouth, stopped in midair, What did you say? His prelude to no.

S ATURDAY NIGHT AND I AM at the kitchen table with the Wexler boys, who are finally being quiet because I told them I can do card tricks. Really, I only know two, but so far it is enough to keep them happy. Each one wants to have it done to him only, and the others can’t watch—they have to sit there with their eyes shut. Fine with me. A sip of RC cola, a dip into the chips, and do the trick again—that is my job for the rest of the evening. In half an hour, they have to go to bed. I don’t care whether they sleep on not; my duties are done once they are sent to bed. I can watch TV and read Mrs. Wexler’s magazines, even though they are not really for me; they are mainly about how to cook chicken in marinade or gardening. Sometimes there is a short story that’s good, like about a reporter who thinks she will never fall in love, but does.
    Mr. and Mrs. Wexler went out to a movie and he seemed all happy about it, and she seemed like they were going to work on a chain gang. I like Mr. Wexler so much. He’s always in a good mood and he always gives me an extra dollar when he pays me. He has the bluest eyes. He goes bowling every week, and he has his own bag and a bowling shirt with Buddy written on it in turquoise blue embroidery. There’s a picture on the shirt of two bowling pins getting knocked sky high, and the bowling ball is winking.
    â€œHow did you do that?” Mark asks, about my four kings trick, and I shrug and say, “It’s magic.”
    And now they have to shuffle around because once again it’s David’s turn, and he has announced that this time, he’s going to figure out how I do it. One thing about magic, if you know how to do it, people like you, at least while you’re doing the trick. But naturally David doesn’t figure it out, and then it’s Henry’s turn, while David and Mark play smash the chip into a thousand pieces and then suck it up off the table like a vacuum cleaner. Mrs. Wexler buys cheap potato chips called by the store’s name, which is always the giveaway. I wish she would get Lays or Ripple Chips plus some Dr Pepper. But she has not asked me for my opinion.
    â€œI’ll bet you don’t know one thing, though,” Henry says, after David has once again not figured out the trick and now is pretend-banging his head on the table.
    â€œWhat’s that?” I say, eating another crummy chip. She could at least get barbecue.
    Henry straightens in his seat. “Okay. What is the last number?”
    â€œThe last number of what?” I say.
    â€œThe last number in the world.”
    I stare at him, and David puts his head in his hands like his dog died and says, “Oh, no, Henry, not that again.”
    Henry pays no attention to his brother. He stares at me, and says, “Any number you