Free Dull Boy by Sarah Cross Page A

“I understand that things went badly the other night. I didn’t intend that. I don’t blame you if you’re angry.”
    “Why would I be angry?” I rip open one of the plastic packages with my teeth. “Because you set me up and almost got me arrested?”
    “Yes, I suppose I deserve that.” She sighs. “But I had to see what you would do, Avery. You insist on putting yourself in this ‘hero’ role, and while it has been on a small scale . . . I had to see how you would react if a more dangerous situation presented itself.”
    “And?”
    “And I am worried.”
    Cherchette’s kneeling next to me on the carpet, and a cloud of cold wafts off her, like when you stand in the refrigerated aisle in the grocery store. The air in my lungs feels like winter.
    “The ‘criminals’ you encountered were carrying unloaded guns. If you had interfered in an actual robbery, you would have been killed.”
    “Maybe,” I say, shivering. My fine motor control’s shutting down. I have to try twice to plug in one of the cables. “Maybe not.”
    A buff space marine appears on the screen, his boot balanced on a dead alien’s armored back. I’m watching the shiny graphics of my new game, but my mind’s replaying the moment that gun got shoved in my face. Staring down the barrel, sure that I could make everything right. Not knowing the threat was never real.
    “I want you to understand these things before it’s too late. You have a wonderful gift. I don’t want it to end up hurting you.”
    The game’s theme music booms like a moody opening salvo.
    “Is it working? Wonderful!” Cherchette claps her hands. “Now we’ll play.” She gives me controller one and keeps the other for herself. “Be careful not to throw the controller at the screen, Avery. I read about that—it will break.” She sounds concerned, which strikes me as absurd. I mean, she set me up to go toe to toe with two thugs in an antiques shop—wasn’t she worried about me breaking crap there?
    “I’m not going to put a hole in my parents’ TV. Don’t worry.” I choose the cooperative mode; skip the intro and vanquish the first few enemies while Cherchette examines her controller.
    “How do I do this?”
    “Uh, just hide behind something. Or mash some buttons; you’ll see what they do.”
    “He won’t stop jumping!”
    “Try a different button. If you keep hitting that one, you’re going to keep doing that.” I try not to laugh as Cherchette gets vaporized by an alien, then sputters in shock that the alien was cheating.
    We play for a while longer, Cherchette displaying some very dramatic poor sportsmanship, and then she tells me she has to go.
    “But I will be in touch. And”—she reaches down and pats my head, sends a chill down my spine—“I’ve settled your bill with the antique-store owner. He’ll refund your parents’ money shortly. So don’t worry about that.”
    “Really?” I can’t help it; this goofy smile takes over my face. My mom and dad might even let me out of that crappy school if the owner says he realized it was an accident or something. “Thank you! It was . . . a lot.”
    “I will always take care of you.” Cherchette drapes this little fur cape over her shoulders, and gazes at me like . . . I dunno, like a proud parent or something. Her eyes narrow when she smiles, just a sliver of blue shining through, but the skin on her face remains as smooth as always. Like a watchful statue’s.
    “See you soon,” she coos.
    As soon as Cherchette leaves I yank all the cables out of the TV, bundle my new game system in a blanket, and run upstairs to hide it in my closet. Time flies when you’re having fun with a morally suspect ice goddess—my parents will be home any minute! I run back down and tear the box up, cram it into the bottom of our garbage can, and even dump some nasty leftovers on top so my parents are less likely to find it. I’m washing splattered spaghetti sauce off my hands when I hear the garage door