My father inspected the boy like he was from another planet. “Big whoop.”
“It is a big whoop,” the boy said. “You may not like magic, although frankly I can’t see w- . . . w-why you came tonight if you don’t, but how many stages have you ever stood on? How many people have paid their hard-earned money to hear you talk?”
Sir was at a loss for words, something I’d witnessed only once or twice in my life.
“Not many, I’m guessing. If this is how you treat people.”
Sir’s teeth clenched. “I’ll talk to my daughter however I damn well please.”
Surprise wrinkled the boy’s otherwise flawless skin. “Oh, you’re her father, then?” He considered me. “Guess you drew the short straw on that front. Sorry to hear it. My dad’s a b- . . . b-bastard too.” He shrugged.
The corners of my lips twitched.
Sir’s face was beginning to purple. “I oughta smack you into next Tuesday.”
The teen grinned. “I w- . . . w-wouldn’t, sir. I played football for Aldsville, so I’m pretty good at taking hits. Used to making them too.” He continued smiling, delivering the threat as merrily as if he were wishing Sir a happy birthday.
“How dare you talk to me that way?” Sir said.
“How dare you talk to her that w- . . . w-way?”
“W-w-w-way,” Sir mocked him. I cringed.
“Well done, sir.” The boy nodded toward my father. “Punch me right in the stutter. It’s a low blow, and not an entirely original one, but a blow nonetheless. I have to warn you, it’ll take much w- . . . w-worse than that to send me running.” He rocked onto his heels and put his hands behind his back like he was happy to stand there all night.
Sir glared at me. “You gonna do something about this punk?”
My father was wrong about me: I did have something to offer; I was talented. Someday I would change the world. “I think you should go,” I said.
“I knew it was a mistake coming here. I told your sister as much.”
No one said anything. I stared at Sir, willing him to leave.
Finally he did. “Don’t bother showing your face around these parts again.”
“Gladly,” I said loudly enough for him to hear.
He stormed out of the room, shoulder checking the boy on his way. The teen barely moved, rock solid. Once Sir was gone, the air returned to my lungs.
“Thank you.”
The boy smiled sympathetically. “As I said, I’ve got a model like him at home.”
I remembered myself then, that I was to be the nonpareil of fearlessness. I squared my shoulders, forced my chin to higher ground. “I don’t need other people fighting my battles for me.”
“Of course you don’t. You’re Madame Fearless. But sometimes it’s nice to know someone has your back.”
Something loosened inside of me. “Call me Rebecca.” He nodded but made no move to state his intentions. “How can I help you?”
“You don’t remember me?”
I squinted.
“From your magic show. W- . . . w-when you were in high school.”
“I performed that show three times a week for four years.” I put a hand on my hip. “Might you narrow it down for me a touch?”
“I was your assistant in the handcuff routine,” he said at the same time I recognized him. He was the boy in the second row at the show Sir and Mother had attended, the one I’d bungled due to the provocations of the drama club. A lifetime had passed between then and now.
I shook his hand. “Remind me of your name?”
“Gabe.” He grinned. “I’ve b- . . . b-been excited for this show for months. It was fantastic.”
“You flatter me, Gabe.”
“You deserve it. You were a master up there.”
“Generous of you to say.” I paused. “Do you want me to sign something? Take a photo?”
“Actually, I was hoping I could offer you something. I w- . . . w-wondered if you might need an apprentice.”
I considered the quickest way to turn him down while he prattled. True, I desperately needed an assistant, but the plan was to find my hire through a temp agency. This jaunty boy was emphatically not part of the plan. “I’m studying public relations, so I could help you get the w- . . . w-word out about your shows.”
He was in college, then, older than I’d thought.
“I’ll take care of whatever you need, like a p- . . . like a p-personal assistant.”