“I do, Sir.” I rattled them off. “Two points for making my bed this morning, two for going to school, three for bringing home an ‘Excellent’ on my Charlotte’s Web book report.” I showed the pristine white pages to him. “One for setting the table before dinner, one for clearing my plate after dinner, two for mastering the three-card prediction trick, three for graduating to level five in swim class, and one for folding laundry.”
I handed the notebook to him so he could check my math. He stared at it awhile, so long that I began getting nervous I had, in fact, messed up the count. Mother shuffled into the living room, settled in the other recliner, and picked up her cross-stitch with a tired sigh.
Sir looked up. “Let’s see the three-card trick, then.”
I kneeled at the coffee table in front of his recliner and moved a stack of old newspapers out of the way. Underneath them was the rope I’d misplaced. I set it on top of the papers. Sir closed the footrest and leaned forward, eagle-eyed, as I pulled the deck from my pocket. I spread the cards out in front of him, restacked them, cut the deck, and shuffled it with the ease of a Vegas dealer. I fanned the deck out in my hands, chose a card, and placed it facedown. I let him choose a card. He plucked the seven of hearts and put it faceup next to the first card. I chose a second card and handed him the deck to pick another. We repeated the process a second time. Six cards sat on the table in three pairs. Sir’s picks lay faceup, mine facedown.
By this point my mother was watching. I paused for a dramatic flourish, then started with the card next to the seven of hearts. I flipped it over to reveal the seven of diamonds. Next to the four of spades was a four of clubs. And next to the jack of hearts was a jack of diamonds. I had performed the entire trick in under two minutes without any fumbles or hesitation （+2）。 I resisted the urge to preen. Two months ago I had mastered the one-card prediction trick, and now I’d already graduated to three.
Mother clapped enthusiastically but Sir kept his cool. He ran a hand over his buzz cut and gave a single nod—“I’d call that good as mastered”—then inspected my notebook. I bit my lips to keep from grinning and gathered my deck back into its sleeve.
Sir pulled his glasses from his plaid shirt pocket and settled them on the crook of his nose. “We got some issues with the math here, though.”
I froze.
“Two points for going to school? Every nimrod on the block has to do that. That might’ve been well and good when you were in kindergarten and afraid to leave the house, but you’re, what, eleven now?”
“Ten,” I whispered.
“No more rewards for things you have to do. Like setting the table and cleaning up after dinner. We’re not charging you room and board here, are we? We expect you and your sister to pay your dues in other ways. What kind of father would I be if I raised two loafers? You’ll grow up expecting government handouts instead of making a good, honest living. And two points for making your bed? I don’t think so, sweetheart. By my count, this puts you at nine. What else you got?”
I stared blankly. He had never invalidated activities.
He raised his eyebrows.
“I don’t—I don’t have anything else. Sir.”
He sighed and glanced at his watch. “You’re going to have to do something big if you want to get to bed before midnight.”
I tried to recall the highest-value task I’d ever completed. I had once earned four points for sitting in the snow without a coat for an hour. Four for the time I’d held my breath for two minutes. Five for kneeling on broken glass. I waited for what he would conjure this time, wished fleetingly that my sister had come downstairs with me. Not that she’d ever stood up to Sir. Why would she start now?
His eyes searched the room, stopping on my dead grandmother’s serving platter. It was my mother’s most treasured possession, her only belonging of any value, made of fine bone china with English roses painted on it. We never actually used the platter; Mother didn’t want to risk any scratches. Though it clashed with the shag rug and tattered furniture, she had hung it on the wall as a decoration after my grandmother passed.
Panic filled me, but I kept my face neutral. Showing you were scared only made things worse, something Mother never understood. I channeled my inner Houdini. How would the master of escapes get himself out of this fix?
Sir rose from his chair and pulled the platter off the wall. He spun it around on his finger like pizza dough. Mother gasped. He silenced her with a warning stare.