The Boy Who Lost His Face by Louis Sachar Page A

Ricky, like Roger had said. Was that why Ricky hated him?
    He went into his closet, got his baseball and glove, then headed for his brother’s room. He was surprisedby how nervous he felt. “So, you want to play catch?” he asked.
    Ricky didn’t look up from his paperback book.
    David stood in Ricky’s room, pounding the ball into his glove.
    Ricky put his book down. “What do you want?”
    “Did you get in a fight with Glen Delbrook?”
    “What do you care?”
    “I care. I’m your brother.”
    “Unfortunately!”
    “What did I do?” asked David. “Just tell me what I did!”
    “You’re a stooge!” said Ricky.
    “Look, just because Roger calls me names. That’s his problem. Names don’t hurt me.”
    “But it’s true!” said Ricky. “You are a stooge. I saw you and your stoogy friends. You dumped a whole pitcher of pink lemonade on your head.”
    “Look, I—”
    “Why’d you do that?” Ricky demanded. “If you’re not a stooge, why’d you do that?”
    David didn’t know what to say. How could he tell Ricky about the curse? Ricky would only think he was a bigger fool. Ricky was too smart to believe in curses.
    “Stooge!” said Ricky.
    David walked out to the backyard. He tossed the ball onto the roof of the house, then caught it when it rolled down. He tossed it up again. It momentarily disappeared from view, then he lunged and caught it as it rolled off the roof.
    “Careful,” his mother called to him from the kitchen. “You already broke one window.”
    “I won’t,” said David.
    He tossed the ball back onto the roof, just above the window.

24
    T HURSDAY .
    David was wearing socks, no shoes. “I made orange juice,” he said, holding the pitcher in his hand. “Anybody want some?”
    “That’s very nice, thank you,” said his mother.
    David poured a glass for his mother, holding the glass in one hand and the pitcher in the other. His feet slid a little bit as he handed it to her.
    “Dad?” he asked.
    “Sure,” said his father. “Careful, not too full.”
    He didn’t spill a drop.
    “Hey, Ricky, you want some orange juice?” he asked as his brother entered the kitchen.
    “I’m not thirsty,” said Ricky.
    David put down the pitcher.
    Ricky walked over, picked up the pitcher, and poured himself a glass of orange juice.
    H E SAW Tori Williams when he got to school. He didn’t say anything to her, and this time she didn’t try to say anything to him either. She just walked right past him as if he wasn’t even there.
    “I don’t think she likes me,” he told his friends at recess.
    “You’re just too chicken to ask her out,” said Mo.
    “No, I’m not. It’s just that she ignores me all the time. She won’t even say hello to me anymore. I think she likes Randy.”
    “Well, you still have to call her up today,” said Mo.
    “Unless the curse strikes,” said David. “I still have until four seventeen.”
    “You sound like you want the curse to strike,” said Larry.
    “No, I don’t,” David insisted. “I just want to be sure it’s gone, that’s all.”
    “He’s afraid to call up Tori,” said Mo.
    David changed the subject. “So,” he asked, “did you go watch the criminals pick up trash?”
    “Yes!” exclaimed Mo. “They were so scary. You should have been there. There were robbers and murderers. You could tell they were planning an escape, too.”
    “A criminal spoke to her,” said Larry.
    “It was horrible!” said Mo, grinning from ear to ear.
    “What’d he say?” asked David.
    “I remember every word,” said Mo. “We were sitting by these bushes with these weird-looking yellow and red flowers and the man picked up a piece of paper right next to me!”
    “She put it there,” said Larry, “so that he’d have to come near us to pick it up.”
    “It was my math test,” said Mo. “It has my name on it! Luckily it didn’t have my address.”
    “What did he say to you?” asked David.
    Mo looked at David with wide, frightened eyes.