by Lubar, David
after …
CHEATER SUNK INTO the couch and turned on the TV, cranking the volume to drown out the bagpipe music coming from the bedroom. He’d already called his brother and told him he was staying with Uncle Ray until their parents got back.
“The Cincinnati Kid,” he said out loud, recognizing the movie. He reeled off the date it was filmed and the cast members. Anyone who knew anything about movies knew that this was one of the greatest poker films ever made.
Cheater looked at the screen for a moment, sighed, then changed the channel. Somehow, poker just didn’t seem to be as much fun as it used to. But he’d find something else to challenge his mind and test his talents. Life was full of possibilities.
FLINCH GOT TO the hotel a half hour ahead of his cousin.
“Whoeee, I had a crazy weekend,” Devon said. He plopped down on one of the beds.
“I imagine.”
“Totally wild.” Devon kicked off his shoes.
“Good for you.”
“So, how’d the show go?”
“Pretty good, I think,” Flinch said. He didn’t bother saying anything more. Devon had already fallen asleep. But he smiled. It really had gone well. He felt he’d been right where he belonged—up on stage. And side-by-side with his friends when they needed him. Life was good. Funny, but good. Picking up his notebook, Flinch wrote some ideas for new jokes.
My cousin Devon is so wild…
LUCKY COULDN’T WAIT for the nurse to show up in the morning with his medicine. There’d been some excitement when he’d walked back into the ward last night, but nobody wanted to admit that they’d released him to the wrong person, so they just took him back to his room and acted as if nothing had happened.
“I think I’d like to try going without it,” he said when she came in.
The nurse nodded and smiled. “Glad to hear it. The doctor has been hoping you’d feel that way eventually.”
Lucky was glad to hear it, too. And glad that this was all he heard. He reached in his pocket and felt the gift the guys had given him. Now, he knew he could face the world. Life was no longer an endless struggle against the voices.
MARTIN WALKED BACK inside his house without saying anything. His mom rushed over and hugged him. “Are you all right?”
He backed up, freeing himself from her grasp. “I’m fine.”
Across the room, his dad glanced over. “So, did running away solve all your problems?”
“Nope. It didn’t solve any of mine.” But it sure helped Trash and Lucky. He couldn’t keep himself from smiling. His grin grew larger as he thought about Livy and the fact that he had her phone number in his pocket.
“Is something funny?” his dad asked. He started to rise from his chair.
Martin shook his head and lost the smile. “Nope. Nothing is funny.” Actually, lots of things were funny—Flinch’s jokes, Torchie’s passion for the accordion, the downfall of corrupt people—but this was no time for an argument.
“Promise me you won’t run off again,” his mom said.
Martin thought about life on the street. Sleeping in an alley. Feeling so hungry he almost sifted through a trash can. He thought of a killer who had given him twenty dollars and, a couple days later, had ended up with his life drained out on a basement floor. No, life was hard enough without creating more problems. “I promise.”
His mom gave him another hug. He was angry that she hadn’t tried to come after him. But he understood that she couldn’t. And he understood how much she missed him. This time, when she held onto him, he didn’t step away.
“I REALLY MISSED you,” Torchie said when he got home from camp. The people there had helped him fix his accordion. He couldn’t wait to show his mom all the new things he’d learned. And he was even more excited about how good he was getting on the bagpipe.
“I missed you too,” his mom said. “But I have a surprise for you.” She pointed into the living room.
Torchie went in and looked. “Wow! A piano. Where’d that come from?”
“All the neighbors chipped in,” his mom said. “They were afraid you’d hurt yourself walking all around with that heavy accordion. Or get hit by lightning like Uncle Perry.”
“It looks expensive,” Torchie said.
“They felt it was worth it.”
“I’ve got the best neighbors in the whole world. This is great. And they don’t need to worry about the accordion. I’ve got something a lot lighter to carry around when I play music for them. They’re gonna love the bagpipe. So will you.”
But he couldn’t resist the lure of a new instrument. The bagpipe could wait. Torchie sat at the piano and started figuring out “Oh Susannah.” His mom went back to the kitchen, but he managed to play loudly enough for the song to reach her.
He was so happy, he sang along. Life was great. Strange, and puzzling at times, and filled with unexpected bursts of flame and puffs of smoke, but still pretty great.
CORBIN THALMAYER LOOKED across the dinner table at Eddie. Even a week after their reunion, he still couldn’t believe his dead son had miraculously been given back to him.
There were so many things he wanted to say. But unlike his wife, who was open about her joy, he’d never been good at outward displays of affection, and he knew that teenage boys were easily embarrassed. Though Eddie had borne the initial barrage of motherly hugs with good grace.
Instead of offering hugs, Corbin Thalmayer talked about a thousand unimportant things, just for the sake of hearing a response or two. Tonight, he’d been telling Eddie about a company he was thinking of buying. “The forest land they own through their subsidiary had been fully depreciated, so it doesn’t even affect the balance sheet. The current owners have no idea of the true worth of their company.”
He paused to take a sip of water, then glanced down at the files that were spread out next to him. “I’m sorry, Eddie. I don’t mean to bore you with all this business talk.”
“I’m not bored, Dad,” Eddie said. “It’s actually kind of interesting.” He slid his chair over next to his father and picked up one of the files. “So, what’s your strategy? You’ll get in touch, but wait for them to make the first move. Right?”
“Right.” Surprised, he put his hand on his son’s shoulder. Maybe Eddie had a knack for business. Or maybe he’d follow his passion for art. Either way, it was good to have his boy by his side, and good to discover he had so many unexpected talents.
A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR
I NEVER PLANNED to write a sequel to Hidden Talents. Yet, somehow, I ended up writing two of them. Let me explain. For a long time, I resisted writing a sequel. I felt I had told Martin’s story, and there was nothing left to say about him. But readers kept asking when I was going to write a sequel. Everyone had a favorite character, and wanted to know what happened to him after Edgeview. Eventually, I decided to give it a try. I wrote a book about Martin’s first year in high school. It had some great scenes. There was a lot of humor, along with some wonderful characters. But the book, as a whole, just didn’t work.
There were various problems with it. Perhaps the greatest problem was that I was worried it wouldn’t be as good as the original. I was afraid I’d disappoint my readers, and far too aware that Hidden Talents had earned a place on a lot of recommended-reading lists. I felt as if I had a legion of critics looking over my shoulder. This is not a productive situation.
The clock was ticking. The book was scheduled for 2004. But that window came and went. The folks at Tor were wonderfully patient, but I felt I was letting them down. In November of 2004, I had a long talk with my new editor, Susan Chang, who’d been a delight to work with on my story collection, Invasion of the Road Weenies. Inspired by this, and confident that Susan wouldn’t let me dig too deep a hole for myself without tossing me some sort of ladder, I decided that the best solution might be to start from scratch. I set aside Martin’s story, though I may take another shot at it some day. But I still didn’t know what to write about.
Whenever I was asked which of the psi five was my favorite, I always picked Trash. (If I was feeling particularly evil that day, I’d add, “Because he has the power to stop your heart.”) The more I thought about him, the more I knew it was his story I wanted to tell. A long time ago, while listening to music that was way too loud and way too modern, I’d written a single dizzying scene—no more than a page or two—with someone escaping from a research lab. It was just an exercise. But when I stumbled across that scene one day, I knew it was the seed from which Trash’s story would grow. What if Trash woke up in a research lab? It was too powerful an idea to resist. I tossed the scene, but kept the concept.
So that’s the story I decided to tell. During the process of writing it, I had a ton of support from my wife, Joelle, and my daughter, Alison. I also had the luxury of being able to get feedback from my good friend Doug Baldwin.
As it became obvious to me that this book was very different from Hidden Talents in many ways, I made one other crucial decision. I needed to completely forget about reading lists, expectations, inevitable comparisons, and all of that baggage, and just write the sort of book I love to read. It was time to recapture the solid joy of crafting a rollicking adventure. Time to return to my roots. So I gave it my best shot. I hope you enjoyed the ride.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DAVID LUBAR grew up in Morristown, New Jersey. His books include Hidden Talents, an American Library Association Best Book for Young Adults; Flip, a VOYA Best of the Year; and the short story collections In the Land of the Lawn Weenies and Invasion of the Road Weenies. You can visit him on the Web at www.davidlubar.com.
DAVID LUBAR grew up in Morristown, New Jersey. His books include Hidden Talents, an American Library Association Best Book for Young Adults; Flip, a VOYA Best of the Year; and the short story collections In the Land of the Lawn Weenies and Invasion of the Road Weenies. You can visit him on the Web at www.davidlubar.com.
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