Free 18th Emergency by Betsy Byars Page A

were trembling a little, as if the distance from the armrest of his chair to the box of checkers was long and hazardous.
    “I’ll set these up,” Mouse said. “I can do it better.” Quickly, efficiently, he put the checkers in the squares, his and Mr. Casino’s. Then he leaned back in his chair. “Go ahead, Mr. Casino.” He could hear the impatience in his own voice.
    He glanced up at Mrs. Casino, who was still standing by the door, drying her already dry hands on her apron. Then quickly Mouse looked back at the checkerboard because he had seen something in Mrs. Casino’s eyes. It was just a flash of something, a cloud over the sun, a sadness, and it bothered him.
    She said, “He’s supposed to use his left hand as much as possible.”
    “Oh,” Mouse said. He wanted to explain that the reason he was acting this way was because he had the impossible burden of being chased by Marv Hammerman. He wanted Mrs. Casino’s sympathy. “Mrs. Casino,” he wanted to say, “if you only knew what it’s like to have Marv Hammerman out to get you.”
    He felt tears stinging his eyes, and he knew he was not going to tell Mrs. Casino, and that he was not going to tell anybody else either. “Your move,” he said loudly to Mr. Casino. He shifted in his chair and then abruptly he slumped.
    He had suddenly thought back to that moment outside history class when he had turned and looked around and seen Hammerman. That first moment—it was what had been troubling him all along.
    It wasn’t entirely clear. It was as if a fog had filled the hall that day, making everything hazy. Still Mouse could remember the way Hammerman’s eyes had looked in that first unguarded moment. There hadn’t been enough fog to blot that out. Mouse thought again about that moment in the hall. It had been flitting in and out of his mind like a moth for two days. Now he made himself think about it.
    He sank lower in his chair, because he knew now what troubled him. He had felt somehow close to Hammerman in that first terrible moment. He had known how Hammerman felt. It had been the same way he had felt when everyone first started calling him Mouse. They had been united for a moment, Mouse and Neanderthal man.
    He said in a low voice, “You can have first move, Mr. Casino.”
    Mr. Casino sat for a moment and then made a gesture with his fingers as if he was flicking a fly off the armrest.
    Mrs. Casino said, “He wants you to go first, Benjie.” She was still patting the backs of her dry hands on her apron.
    “Oh, sure.” He looked at the board as if the decision was one of the most important of his life. The checkers were thin and wooden and darker in the center from the sweat of people’s fingers. They were clear for a moment and then they blurred a little. Mouse reached out and pushed one forward before they got so blurred he couldn’t find them.
    He leaned back in his chair. The late afternoon sun was coming in the window, and the dust in the sunlight gave him a sad, old-timey feeling. He thought that if he closed his eyes, he would not be able to tell even what century he was in. It could be a hundred years ago and he could be sitting here in an old-timey suit with knickers and a tie. It could be a thousand years ago. It was that kind of timeless feeling.
    Some things, he thought as he stared down at the checkerboard, just don’t change. He remembered how he used to enjoy looking through books that showed the old and the new—the Wright Brothers’ glider opposite a jet plane, or an old Victrola opposite a hi-fi set. Looking at pictures like that always made him feel superior, as if he had advanced in the same way as the machines. He felt different now. He thought of all the people who had ever lived as being run through by a single thread, like beads.
    “Well, I’ll get back to my cooking, if you don’t need me,” Mrs. Casino said.
    “No, we’ll be fine.”
    He looked at Mr. Casino who was reaching out slowly. He was still a large man,