House of Secrets by Ned Vizzini, Chris Columbus Page A

Eleanor’s), but it was the last edible thing in the fridge; Slayne and his men had been alarmed by the bold packaging and had chosen to ignore it. Cordelia and Brendan pooled the snacks on a plate and arranged them into a passable spread of cold cuts and processed cheese. Will looked on with disdain. “What is this, wartime rations?”
    “Nope, they’re for school,” Eleanor said, expertly constructing a cracker sandwich.
    Will pulled out an eight-inch knife and stuck it into a piece of baloney.
    Eleanor gasped. “That’s huge!”
    “Just ignore it,” Cordelia said, rolling her eyes. “It’s his Sheffield bowie knife. He takes it with him everywhere.”

    “How do you know that?” Will asked.
    “Can I see it?” said Brendan.
    “No,” Will and Cordelia said together. Then Cordelia explained to Will, “I saw your knife before.” Of course that was a lie; she had read about it in The Fighting Ace .
    “So, when will you be helping me get back home?” Will asked. “I have a war to return to.”
    “As we explained yesterday,” Cordelia said, “you’re a character in a book. So the war you have to get back to isn’t real.”
    “Not real? It’s just as real as I am! Just as real as these . . . Lunchables!” Will nibbled baloney off his knife.
    “It’s only real to you because it was written by Denver Kristoff,” Brendan said. “I hate to say it, but Cordelia’s right.”
    “Listen here!” Will said. “If I’m a poncey character in a book, I demand to see the book! Are you hiding it somewhere? I have a right to know what happens to me . . . what if I die at the end?!”
    “I don’t know where it is,” Cordelia said, lying again; the book was upstairs under her pillow. She didn’t want to give it to Will until she herself read if he lived or died. Which she planned to do as soon as breakfast was over.
    Will sheathed his knife and approached her. “You’re lying. Men of the Royal Flying Corps don’t like being lied to. Where is it?”
    “Hey! Hold on!” Brendan got between Will and his sister. “Are you threatening a woman? I expected more of someone who fought in the Great War.”
    Will looked for a moment like he might punch Brendan—but then he stepped back, impressed with the compliment. Brendan knew that people who fought in World War I never called it World War I.
    “Anyway, Will, it doesn’t matter how the book ends,” Brendan continued, “because you came here and met us. So now you have a different destiny.”
    “I don’t want a different destiny. I want to go back.”
    “I understand, but look. You saved our lives. We owe you. If you help us get home, we can . . . I dunno . . . take you with us! You can play Red Dead Redemption on a real TV instead of a little screen. I guarantee you it’s better than what you did for fun in prewar England.”
    “Tormented sheep, mostly,” Will admitted.
    “Thing is, we don’t have any idea how to get back,” Cordelia said.
    “Maybe I can help,” said Will, “but I just want to make sure: where you come from, there’s still an England , yes?”
    “Oh yeah,” said Cordelia.
    “And you can take me there?”
    “Sure. Coach tickets, deportation . . . we’ll find a way.”
    “Excuse me?” Eleanor asked. “I’m sorry, but can you move, Will? The garbage is behind you.”
    Will stepped aside. Eleanor opened the cabinet under the sink and threw the Lunchables packaging away. “I just want to tell you guys: except for the fighting and the giant knife, that was an awesome breakfast.”
    The Walkers and Will had a moment to appreciate Eleanor’s words, and the fact that they were safe and warm and they didn’t have to go to school or war, but the moment didn’t last long.
    A thunderous crack sounded outside the house.
    It sounded like a tree splitting in two. And then, sure enough, there was a lengthy, groaning creak—Brendan tried to picture how long it would take one of those trees to reach the ground—and then a crash. A