Houdini and Me by Dan Gutman (large screen ebook reader txt) 📕

“Don’t tell me,” Zeke said. “You heard from your new BFF again, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” I admitted.

I finally told Zeke about my chat with Houdini, and how I became convinced that he was for real when he mentioned the creaky floorboard in my bedroom. I made Zeke promise not to blab it all over school. The last thing I needed was for the kids to find out and start making fun of me. I told Zeke not to tell his parents. I probably shouldn’t even have told him.

“Do you have the flip phone with you?” Zeke asked me.

“Yup.”

I sure did. After my last session with Houdini, I had decided to carry the flip phone with me at all times. Who knew when Houdini might decide to get in touch with me? He said he was going to text that night. But what time zone was Houdini in? Do the spirits of the dead even have time zones? They’re everywhere. They might not even know what day or night means.

I patted my right back pocket, where I had carefully stashed the phone. If I lost it or if anything happened to it, that would be a disaster. No more conversations with Houdini. My phone was his link to our time.

“Are you gonna let me meet Houdini?” Zeke asked. I looked at him to see if he was putting me on.

“Maybe,” I replied. “After he and I get to know each other a little better maybe.”

“Did he say he is in heaven?” Zeke asked. “Is he in hell? Where do you think he is?”

“I don’t know,” I told him. “He told me he’s everywhere. But we didn’t get into much of that stuff. Maybe the next time I text with him.”

“When will that be?”

“Tonight,” I told Zeke. “That’s why I can’t hang out with you.”

“It’s okay.”

It didn’t look like Zeke was okay. He looked a little hurt.

“Do you believe me?” I asked him. “You believe me, don’t you?”

Zeke wouldn’t give me a yes or a no. He just shook his head sadly from side to side. I took that to mean no.

“I’m really not sure, dude,” Zeke said. “It’s hard for me to believe in stuff I can’t see with my own eyes. But let’s say it really is Houdini. Why do you think he’s communicating with you?”

“He told me he wanted to know what happened in the world after he died,” I told Zeke. “But I think it’s more than that. He must have a pretty important message he wants me to deliver. Either that, or he’s just lonely. What do you think?”

“You really want to know?” Zeke asked.

“Yeah.”

“I think you both have daddy issues,” he told me.

Oh, here we go. Zeke’s mom is a psychologist, so naturally he thinks he knows what makes everybody tick.

“Let’s hear it,” I said.

“You don’t have a dad,” Zeke explained. “You never knew your dad because he died when you were so young. So Houdini is a father figure to you.”

I snorted.

“And you think I’m crazy?” I said.

“Hear me out,” Zeke told me. “Houdini and his wife never had children, right? So maybe he has baby issues. You’re a child. So it’s like you’re his new child and he’s your new dad. It fits. That’s my theory.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I replied.

Zeke has been my best friend for a long time. We like the same teams, the same bands. He and I were always in synch on most stuff. Until now. I didn’t want to lose his friendship. But I was feeling some anger bubbling up inside on both sides.

“You’re just jealous,” I told him. “That’s what I think.”

“Jealous of what?” Zeke asked.

“You’re jealous of Houdini,” I said. “It bothers you that I’m spending time with him instead of with you. You’re afraid that he’s my new best friend.”

“Maybe he’s your imaginary friend,” Zeke replied.

I wished Houdini would have texted me at that moment. Then Zeke would know I wasn’t crazy.

I’ll tell you what else I think. I didn’t tell Zeke this, but I think he feels guilty over what happened at the Freedom Tunnel. It was his idea to put the coins on the track. He feels he’s responsible for me getting hurt that day and nearly dying. So if I suffered brain damage or went crazy after hitting my head at the railroad tracks, Zeke thinks it’s his fault. But I’m not crazy. I’m not brain damaged. Houdini really did communicate with me. I’m not hallucinating. It really happened.

“I gotta go home,” Zeke said abruptly.

We didn’t say goodbye. I watched him walk away without turning around.

I spent a few minutes watching the peacocks, but it wasn’t that much fun without Zeke so I decided to leave too. To get home from St. John the Divine, I either walk to the front and go down 110th Street, or walk out the back and go through Morningside Park, which is faster, and prettier.

I decided to go through the park.

It was a mistake.

There’s this really long staircase that goes down into Morningside Park. This is what it looks like.

It’s 155 steps. Yeah, I counted them. I was somewhere in the middle when I heard my name.

“Hey, Mancini!”

I knew who it was. Simon Foster, that jerk in my school who has been picking on me ever since we were in second grade. I don’t know what Simon’s problem is. He probably has a bad home situation or something. But hey, my dad died when I was two. I had a bad home situation, and I didn’t become a jerk like Simon.

He came out of the bushes at the side of the stairs, as if he had been hiding there waiting for me. He blocked my way. I couldn’t go past him. If I tried to run back up the steps, he would tackle me from behind.

I glanced left and right quickly. There had to be somebody else around who would see this. It’s a busy park. But