Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“What the...?”
“Game on,” said a voice over his shoulder, and Zachary turned to see Bram standing there, grinning.
“You—I—Did you—?”
“You started it,” Bram said, nodding toward the dragon. “But now it’s on.”
Zachary goggled. Bram had seen him. He’d seen him do something mean-spirited and awful, and had seen it in the context of a prank...he was either very generous or very deluded. And for some reason, Zachary found himself hoping it was the former.
“I’m very, very sorry about the paint. I honestly don’t know what possessed me. That is, I wasn’t actually possessed; I take responsibility for my actions. Just, I didn’t actually think I was going to do it until I did, and then, uh, it was too late. Because I’d done it.”
“Yeah, that’s usually how that works,” Bram agreed. But he still didn’t seem angry. He seemed...impish.
“Are you...enjoying this?”
Bram just raised his eyebrows and winked. “Consider us even. For now.” Then he took a magazine from his back pocket and handed it to Zachary. Global Architecture.
“Thanks.”
Bram smiled mysteriously and said, “You never know what I might do next.” Then he sauntered back across the street, leaving Zachary a mess of uncertainty and glitter.
When he got a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror, he gaped. The glitter coated his skin, his hair, his eyebrows, everything. He looked like some kind of science fiction extra from Planet Sparkle. His mind whirled with ideas, the sick feeling of guilt replaced by something buoyant.
It was eight minutes until he was supposed to start work and now he had to shower again. He was definitely going to get a late start, which usually filled him with irritation and anxiety.
So why was his reflection grinning back at him?
In the shower as he scrubbed the stubborn glitter from his skin, he realized what it was.
He was having fun. And he couldn’t remember the last time he had.
Sure, he enjoyed a lot of what he did. He loved designing his buildings, horror movies, corresponding with his pen pals, creating his Halloween decorationscape. But enjoyment wasn’t the same thing as the fizzy joy of pure, shared fun.
* * *
Operation Prank War was now Zachary’s prime objective and he texted Wes an SOS: I need ideas for pranks. Now that you have a human child, make her say some silly, childish things that I can implement.
Roger that.
While he waited for Wes’ boyfriend’s daughter Gus’ nine-year-old input, Zachary googled “prank.” A practical joke or mischievous act. That wasn’t very illuminating.
Nor were the pranks listed very useful. They seemed mainly to involve the replacement of one object with another and to require proximity—a shared bathroom that would allow you to replace toothpaste with frosting or shampoo with mayonnaise (disgusting; he would never).
The other kind of pranks were elaborate and seemed to have as their goal the complete destruction of the recipient’s sanity. He read about a prank where a suite of college roommates drywalled over the doorway to one of their roommates’ bedrooms while he was away for the weekend, and when he returned they all pretended not to know who he was.
That was very impressive, and Zachary filed it away for future use on Wes, if the situation ever arose, but it wasn’t right for Bram. Bram was...sunnier. Lighter. For Bram he wanted something, well, fun.
* * *
Timing was the soul of comedy, and so Zachary waited for the perfect moment to unleash his find. It came four days later, when a thunderstorm prevented Bram and Hemlock from their daily outdoor whittling (Bram) and lying like a pile of jelly (Hemlock).
When the next morning dawned, Zachary had set it all up. He left his house early and by the back door, and crept around the cul-de-sac, to the side of Bram’s house where the inflatable was plugged into the exterior socket. He flipped the switch and watched as the inflatable ghost engorged. It was ten feet tall, and Zachary had situated it directly in front of Bram’s front door. When it was fully inflated, Zachary waited.
Bram should be coming outside any minute.
Zachary’s fingers were restless, and he was bouncing on the balls of his feet, psychically urging Bram to emerge. Irritatingly, Bram didn’t come out at the exact same time every day—didn’t, in fact, seem to have any dependable schedule at all. Zachary didn’t know how he did it.
After what felt like an age but was only ten minutes, the door began to open. Unfortunately, Zachary couldn’t see Bram’s face because Bram was inside the house, but he heard his gasp, and he certainly heard Hemlock’s low, urgent growl.
Then Bram pushed his way outside past the inflated ghost, a smile on his face. Hemlock sniffed at it in all directions, finally seeming to decide it was no threat, even if it was on her preferred snoozing stoop.
Bram’s eyes met Zachary’s and they both grinned.