checkout counter in the grocery store.
Heâd be so good at it! He was so talented! Why couldnât they see that? Heâd already been approached by a talent agencyâa scout just walked up to him, near the Eaton Centre, and told him he had the right look to make it in the acting business. But he needed to have a portfolio done, and it was expensive. After that, all heâd need was an agent, and maybe some acting classes. Other kids his age were making thousands in TV commercials, TV shows, even movies! He was way cooler than Aeden Cooper, who was in his class at school, and who had already made two commercials. If only he had Aeden Cooperâs parents.
Dylan had big plans. When he got his licence, he didnât want to be asking his mom and dad if he could borrow the car, like John. He wanted his own car, the sportier the better.
The problem was that he was fifteen. If only he were older, nothing would hold him back. But any reputable agent required his parentsâ consent to represent him, and they absolutely refused. They wouldnât even discuss it anymore.
Still, that left the disreputable agents.
⢠⢠â¢
H AROLD WALKED IN the front door that night after work carrying a large box that contained a shredder, complete with wastebasket. Audrey had considered buying Harold a shredder for his forty-ninth birthday but thought that might be a little insensitive, considering. Still, they needed one, and she didnât think heâd actually go out and get it himself. So she was pleasantly surprised when he arrived home with the new shredder. Well, she thought, thatâs one less thing to do.
The boys watched him pull it out of the box and put it together in the living room while she got supper on the table. Harold plugged it in and Audrey came out of the kitchen to see. Harold was feeding through a piece of scrap paper. The machine made a loud, whirring, grinding sound, like a garbage disposal. Harold took the top off the wastebasket and they all peered inside at the nest of tiny, unreadable shreds of paper.
This could come in handy , Audrey thought.
âItâs like taking the weed whacker to a piece of paper,â Harold said, admiring the neat job the machine had done.
Later that evening, after supper, Harold was resting in his chair in the living roomâhead back and feet up on the footrestâwhile Audrey cleaned up in the kitchen and the boys played basketball in the driveway.
âI didnât want to bother you at work,â his mother said, somewhere to his left. Harold went rigid in his reclining chair.
Damn. He should have insisted on helping Audrey in the kitchen.
Harold did not want to hear what his mother had to say to him. He wasnât curious. He only wanted her to go away. He was determined to ignore her. If Harold had a totem, it would be the ostrich.
He clutched the arms of his chair and mentally stopped up his ears and took deep breaths and pretended she wasnât there. But he was uneasy about ignoring the dead; that was usually when things went flying. He hoped desperately that dishes wouldnât start smashing all over the house, because he didnât think Audrey would take it in stride. However, his mum hadnât been one to waste a scrap of waxed paper, much less a plate, and he didnât think she could have changed that much.
Harold was afraid of the dead. They were unpredictable, for one thing.
Fortunately, Audrey walked in from the kitchen holding the yellow ticket for Johnâs careless driving charge. âWhat are we going to do about this?â she said. âIt canât wait forever.â
Harold had noticed that his mother seemed to leave him alone whenever anyone else was around. So he eagerly motioned Audrey over and grabbed the ticket, peering at the faint writing. âIâll call first thing tomorrow,â he said. As Audrey turned to go, he said, âYou want to play cards?â
Audrey paused,
Heâd be so good at it! He was so talented! Why couldnât they see that? Heâd already been approached by a talent agencyâa scout just walked up to him, near the Eaton Centre, and told him he had the right look to make it in the acting business. But he needed to have a portfolio done, and it was expensive. After that, all heâd need was an agent, and maybe some acting classes. Other kids his age were making thousands in TV commercials, TV shows, even movies! He was way cooler than Aeden Cooper, who was in his class at school, and who had already made two commercials. If only he had Aeden Cooperâs parents.
Dylan had big plans. When he got his licence, he didnât want to be asking his mom and dad if he could borrow the car, like John. He wanted his own car, the sportier the better.
The problem was that he was fifteen. If only he were older, nothing would hold him back. But any reputable agent required his parentsâ consent to represent him, and they absolutely refused. They wouldnât even discuss it anymore.
Still, that left the disreputable agents.
⢠⢠â¢
H AROLD WALKED IN the front door that night after work carrying a large box that contained a shredder, complete with wastebasket. Audrey had considered buying Harold a shredder for his forty-ninth birthday but thought that might be a little insensitive, considering. Still, they needed one, and she didnât think heâd actually go out and get it himself. So she was pleasantly surprised when he arrived home with the new shredder. Well, she thought, thatâs one less thing to do.
The boys watched him pull it out of the box and put it together in the living room while she got supper on the table. Harold plugged it in and Audrey came out of the kitchen to see. Harold was feeding through a piece of scrap paper. The machine made a loud, whirring, grinding sound, like a garbage disposal. Harold took the top off the wastebasket and they all peered inside at the nest of tiny, unreadable shreds of paper.
This could come in handy , Audrey thought.
âItâs like taking the weed whacker to a piece of paper,â Harold said, admiring the neat job the machine had done.
Later that evening, after supper, Harold was resting in his chair in the living roomâhead back and feet up on the footrestâwhile Audrey cleaned up in the kitchen and the boys played basketball in the driveway.
âI didnât want to bother you at work,â his mother said, somewhere to his left. Harold went rigid in his reclining chair.
Damn. He should have insisted on helping Audrey in the kitchen.
Harold did not want to hear what his mother had to say to him. He wasnât curious. He only wanted her to go away. He was determined to ignore her. If Harold had a totem, it would be the ostrich.
He clutched the arms of his chair and mentally stopped up his ears and took deep breaths and pretended she wasnât there. But he was uneasy about ignoring the dead; that was usually when things went flying. He hoped desperately that dishes wouldnât start smashing all over the house, because he didnât think Audrey would take it in stride. However, his mum hadnât been one to waste a scrap of waxed paper, much less a plate, and he didnât think she could have changed that much.
Harold was afraid of the dead. They were unpredictable, for one thing.
Fortunately, Audrey walked in from the kitchen holding the yellow ticket for Johnâs careless driving charge. âWhat are we going to do about this?â she said. âIt canât wait forever.â
Harold had noticed that his mother seemed to leave him alone whenever anyone else was around. So he eagerly motioned Audrey over and grabbed the ticket, peering at the faint writing. âIâll call first thing tomorrow,â he said. As Audrey turned to go, he said, âYou want to play cards?â
Audrey paused,
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