The Puzzle Master (9 page)

“Huh?” Marshall went to the table to clean up the milk. Mom and dad were still in bed, trying to sleep in. But the cartoons were blaring a bit loud. Just the way Leila liked them.

“Why are you so, I don’t know, not here?” Mason returned to chewing, and began slurping the milk out of his bowl.

“I’m here,” he lied and finished wiping up the mess. “I just didn’t sleep well, is all. Why do you care?”

“I didn’t hear you breathing funny or coughing. What, is that Iris girl keeping you awake?” Mason raised his eyebrows. “She sure is pretty.”

“You shut up about her,” Marshall hissed. “She’s my friend.”

Mason smirked and looked back into his bowl. “Sure, Marsh, whatever you say.”

    “Ooh, you’re not supposed to say that word,” Leila interjected. “I’m telling on Mom that you said shut up.” She skipped out of the kitchen, sing-
songing
her tattle.

Marshall sighed and took the milk soaked rag back to the sink to rinse it out. If he didn’t, it would stink up the kitchen, and he’d be to blame. He had to think of everything,
absolutely everything
. There had to be nothing they could question; nothing they could blame on him. He had to get to Luke’s at four. The big one waiting there in a pile was weighing heavy on him. They had to get started so he could get his big prize, to win the bet. It would mean he could join Michael’s group. That is, if they thought an old fishing pole was cool. They probably would, just knowing how much it was worth and not because they liked antiques.

But as he put his cereal bowl in the sink, he was beginning to wonder if he even wanted to be in their stupid club anymore.

***

That afternoon, other than going to Luke’s, he was running out of ideas to keep himself busy. He thought about swimming, but his neighbor Jerry had the flu, and he probably didn’t feel like swimming. It would’ve been nice to get a last summer swim in before autumn set in. And Jerry was just a few houses down. Maybe he was better?

Marshall went out to the garage and grabbed his bike. He rode over to Jerry’s house and rang the bell but no one answered. He figured as much. The flu was terrible, like a hundred bad things happening to you at once. It made you wish you didn’t have to feel anything; no pain, no feeling, nothing.

He headed home and saw one of the Williams’ twins riding around on his bike too.

“Hey Marsh.”
It was Brewster. Marshall could always tell it was
him
, because he said hi to him first. Benton never did.  Brewster was genuinely happy to see him where as Benton seemed to have his own agenda; people he wanted to know, the things he wanted to do. They were identical, but their attitudes were night and day. The worst part of it all was that they were both above par at riding their bikes. They beat him every time.

“Hi Brewster.”
They both stopped their bikes in the middle of the street. The sun was low in the morning sky, and the air had a crisp touch to it. But the heat was still there, and they knew they were in for another scorcher. Marshall just couldn’t wait for summer to end.

“What’re you doing?” asked Brewster who lounged on his bike
like
he was born on it. It was like another arm or leg for him to use.

“Ah, I don’t know.
Was going to see if Jerry was home.”

“Nah, he’s sick.
Been in bed all week.
Bad luck with it being the first week of school.”

Marshall nodded and saw Benton riding toward them.

“What are you doing?”

“We were going to go up to Devil’s Hill and try it out since they just repaved it.”

“Devil’s Hill has been repaved?” Marshall asked, his jaw dropping in response. “You guys are crazy.”

“But just think how fast we can go down it now. There’s not much traffic this time of day either.”

Benton rode up, hearing the tail end of their conversation. “
Bet
we could go three wide,” he said with a sneer. “And I bet I would win too.”

“Guys, that hill is nuts. I don’t need to remind you how much road rash we’ve gotten over the years with that thing.”

“Exactly why we need to try it out now,” said Brewster.  “It’s got to be a piece of cake now; it’s so smooth.”

Marshall shook his head no. “I don’t know. Mom’s pretty much forbidden me to go down it anymore, after Mason nearly took off his arm.” He looked at them both. They appeared to love the words ‘no’. It was a new challenge to overcome.

Marshall continued. “You know, when he ran into that tree down at the bottom of it … that huge oak?”

Benton grinned wickedly. “You saying you can’t do it, or won’t do it? ‘Cause plenty of people would love to know you were too chicken to go down it.”

Brewster shoved his brother. “Cut it out, Benton. If Marsh doesn’t want to, he doesn’t …”

“No,” said Marshall, thinking about Michael’s chiding, knowing if he heard about Marshall’s lack of guts he’d ban him from the group on a technicality. “I’ll do it.” He automatically patted the side of his pocket, waiting to feel the stiff plastic and metal of his inhaler.

But it wasn’t there. He’d forgotten it on his nightstand at home.

“What’s the matter? You look sick Marsh,” Benton said egging him on.

“Cut it out, will you,” said Brewster, shoving his brother again.

Marshall had to go through with it.
Without the inhaler.
This was a perfect opportunity for him to practice his breathing technique, and to do what Iris had mentioned. It was crazy! But he had to. Benton could easily tell the story to Michael. He didn’t need any more harassment, especially from him. People had already forgotten he was asthmatic.

It needed to stay that way.

“Okay, let’s go.” Marshall led them and took off toward the far end of their neighborhood, where the steep climb nearly took all the breath out of him.

Brewster was by his side the whole way. “You don’t have to do this you know,” he hissed at him.

“Yes I do,” Marshall hissed back, coughing in between breaths and dying to let his lungs take a breather.

“But your asthma, this could really hurt you.”

“No, I’m fine,” he lied again. What an awful lie. He really could get hurt, he could die actually. Iris was wrong. He could just as easily die from his asthma as she could from cancer. Wouldn’t that be great?

But he couldn’t think about that. He had to control his breathing, he had to think about Iris, her words, her wisdom and believe that he could get better. “I’ve got my inhaler.”

Sure,
he thought,
back at home on my side table.

After five grueling minutes up the hill, they made it to the top. Even the Brewster twins were out of breath and that put Marshall at ease. The new road was black and smooth, just like a giant vat of dark chocolate
had been poured
down it. Marshall hadn’t noticed the smoothness of it on the way up. His lungs had kept him busy. But now that he could look at it without needing to gag, it was beautiful. It was a piece of art.

“Okay,” said Benton after he caught his breath, and the last set of cars went by. It was quiet, no one but a lady walking her dog was around, and she hadn’t even noticed
them
. “You sure you want to do this?”

Marshall swallowed hard, trying to control his breathing. His lungs were burning, and his cough was almost uncontrollable. But he had too. He had to control it, or he wouldn’t be able to ride; he’d be the clown of the school.

He thought about his time with Iris, out in the back yard, swinging underneath the tree.
The cool breeze, her laughter filtering up through the tree like bubbles.
And suddenly, the tickle in his throat backed down; his lungs didn’t feel quite so tight. He looked at the brothers. They were watching him think.

“Okay,” said Marshall. “I’m ready.”

The three of them rode out to the start of the hill, in the middle of the intersection.

“Ready,” said Benton, “Set,” and they looked at each other.

“I’ll see you at the bottom,” growled Marshall.

“Go!”

The boys took off down Devil’s Hill like birds dive-bombing their predators. The road was smooth; every bump they used to have to deal with was gone. It was like ice-skating; almost tranquil. It felt like they could go a thousand miles an hour and still not feel a bump or groove.

Marshall didn’t have the fastest bike. Brewster and Benton had both gotten new bikes last Christmas; top-of-the-line sports bikes at that. Marshall’s bike was Mason’s hand-me-down from five years ago.

He leaned into the bike, back parallel with the road and the bike. His hands gripped the bar, unwilling to yield to anything. He was going to get to the bottom of the hill if it was the last thing he did.

He thought about going to Luke’s at four, and dearly hoped he didn’t hurt himself. No one gets road rash that badly from playing out in the front yard, and his parents would know in an instant he’d gone down Devil’s Hill. Benton moved ahead of them. Then Brewster moved ahead. They were moving too fast to pedal. All they could do now was steer and pray they didn’t hit anything or anyone.

Marshall leaned in even more, so that his head was almost below the handlebars. He couldn’t get too low, or he’d lose control of the bars and
be tossed off
. The wind was in his face, pushing him back and whistling over his ears. He wished he’d had his sunglasses. Bugs smashed into his mouth, his lips. He wiped them off and ignored the smell of fish food.

The end of the hill was near; they were heading into the neighborhood. They had to pass Anna
Caplowsky’s
house for the race to end. It was at the start of the neighborhood, but far enough away so that most people couldn’t see
who
it was coming down the hill.

Marshall began to laugh. Brewster leaned in and howled. Benton laughed and looked back at them. But that was his last and biggest mistake. Because when he looked away, it steered his bike away, so that he almost ran into a parked car. He slammed on his brakes so hard, that the sound of squealing rubber and metal grated their ears. Brewster and Marshall didn’t slow down. Benton deserved to lose.

They sailed past Anna’s house, past Jerry’s house, and flew by the cookie cutter homes. Brewster and Marshall were neck and neck—dead even. And just like that, the race was over. Benton, way behind them now, scowled at them and then pedaled to his house.

Marshall waved to Brewster, and that was it. The race was over; nothing more to be said. Marshall was happy. He’d finally tied one of the twins, and not only that, he managed his asthma. He’d never been able to control it before, but this time he had.

He pondered this inspirational event and went inside. Leila was in front of the television watching her Saturday cartoons. Mason was out back mowing the grass, and getting paid too much for it.

It was only ten. What else could he possibly do to make the time go by faster? He wondered what Iris was
up to
. Maybe they could meet up now, and work on the puzzle later?

He thought about calling Luke’s. She was probably there.

Marshall sat on his bed. He wanted to turn the air on. It was so early, but so hot. After the bike race, he was sticking to his clothes and it made him itchy all over. He thought some more about Iris, and what it was like to keep switching from house to house from year to year with various family members. It had to be confusing, never fully knowing how the day was going to end.

He licked his lips and tried to relax on his bed. He couldn’t. He needed water; something cold to jump in. He could imagine the calm—the refreshing feel. Where could he go if Jerry wasn’t well enough to invite him over to the pool?

“The river,” he said out loud.
“Of course.”
A few blocks away, and even further down the hill where he lived was a park that led to a fork of the river, the main one that ran through the city; the American River. His parents wouldn’t let him go alone, or swim alone for that matter, but just to touch his toes in the water, or to splash some of it on his skin, would be perfect.

He snapped off of his bed, grabbed his inhaler and headed to his bike. He didn’t dare ask Mason to go with him. He’d probably just say no anyway.

His mom was working in the kitchen, making pancakes for them. It was Leila’s second breakfast. He rolled his eyes.

“Where are you going?” she asked. A dishtowel was draped over her shoulder, and she was flipping the pancakes
like
she was swatting flies.

“Was going to the river, you know, Fool’s
Landing
.”

She nodded.

“Where’s Dad?” Marshall asked.

“He’s at the office.”

“Again?”

She didn’t say anything, but kept right on tossing the flapjacks. She piled them onto a plate, and set them on the table.

“Just make sure you don’t go in the water. There’ve been enough
drownings
reported there this year already. We don’t need anymore.” He figured that was her way of saying to take care of
himself
.

“’Kay mom.”
Marshall grabbed a couple of pancakes and stuffed them into his pocket. His mother looked at him, but said nothing, just a flick of her eyebrows. “I’ll be back before lunch.”